Title: Burning
Author: Brokie
Distribution: My site. All others, please ask first.
Disclaimer: Not mine. All characters are the sole property of JK Rowling, Warner Brothers, Inc., and others. No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Also, a description of a (dead) body being burned, which might squick some people.
Notes: My first completed HP fic. Please be gentle.
Summary: The war is over. Ron mourns for someone he never knew he cared about.
Draco Malfoy was dead.
His body had been found about ten minutes away from the battlefield. Some people wondered why he hadn't been closer to the fighting, but it didn't really matter. Nor did it matter that he had been found wearing his everyday Slytherin robes, rather than the traditional Death Eater cloak. Everyone knew which side he had been fighting for. It was a known fact; the sky was blue, the earth revolved around the sun, and Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater, just like his father.
Although he was lying face-down in the dust, Draco was instantly recognized by the color of his hair. He was immediately turned over and inspected. His eyes were closed, and there were thin trails down his dirty face that had been washed clean by tears. A trail of dried blood came out the corner of his mouth. His wand was still clutched tightly in one hand. Ron Weasley knew these things because he had been the one to notice the Slytherin's hair, still shining faintly behind all the dust. He had been the one to head toward him, calling to the others as he went. And then he had watched as the inspectors went to work.
The strange thing about it was that Draco hadn't been killed by magic. There was a knife protruding from the center of his chest. The front of his robes were soaked through with blood, and the hand not holding his wand was wrapped around the knife handle. The inspectors said that, despite the proximity of the blade to the heart, Draco had not died immediately, but had instead remained alive for a moment or two, bathed in intense pain, before taking his final breath. Everyone said that it served him right, and nobody said anything about how the knife had belonged to Lucius Malfoy.
The bodies of Voldemort's followers were piled together and burned. Many of the war's survivors came out to watch, and the families of those who had been killed were each allowed to light a match and throw it in. It was a solemn occasion, plagued by thoughts of fallen loved ones and memories of pain. The pile was very large, and it took a long time for it to burn, but the crowd stayed until all that remained was ash.
Draco's body had been tossed near the edge of the pile. Ron Weasley watched as flames licked closer to dirtied blond hair. He saw fire singe the Slytherin robes and then creep toward the silver handle of the knife. His eyes followed as bloodstains and tear tracks disappeared behind smoke; as pale, cold skin was engulfed by flames; and finally, as Draco's wand became nothing but a thin trail of ash. Then he turned, ready to leave the past behind him.
And if Ron cried as he walked away, nobody knew but the ghosts.
