Disclaimer: I don't own them…sorry. I'm poor anyways, so suing would do you no good. *Pulls lint from pockets*

A/N: First off…wow…thank you all for the positive response to the last chapter. I will apologize in advance for this one…it's what I like to call 'a short journey into Reika's brain, where big shit happens that she can't figure out how to word'.

Anyways, this chapter is short…but it needed to be. The next one will come soon…but this needed to stand alone, I think. Thanks, to Jasmine…for understanding me when sometimes I don't even understand myself. Like I told you…our moms had to have been smoking the same drugs…

OH…one more thing. I don't usually answer reviews specifically…but this one threw me for a loop.

Elizabeth Turner: Sweetie…I'm 21, and married, so don't worry your pretty prepubescent head, okay?

And BTW, (see above review for chapter 6)…do I really write like I could be 12?

Chapter 13………The funeral.

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The chill was almost tangible – slicing through the grey afternoon and leaving the tips of ears frigid, and fingers benumbed. The harsh and inclement air transformed the few tears that had been shed into crystalline vestiges – preserved – if only for a little while.

Draco stood by his Father's grave, stoic. All around him he could see familiar faces; yet comfort evaded him. To his left stood Michael, steadfast and silent – his gloved hands resting at his sides. At his right, Pansy, sniffling occasionally, her arm linked with Draco's, though he was certain he'd lost feeling in his appendages long ago. He had not asked Harry to come with him; he hadn't the chance. The Gryffindor thought it most appropriate that he be absent, so as not to disrupt the service with old antipathies and avoiding the provocation of ignorant people.

Narcissa stood a few feet from her son, detached and lifeless…as always. To anyone else, she might have been at a dinner party, judging by her expression. Draco, however, was a bit more familiar with the woman who had borne him. He could never claim to know his mother, but he noticed something in her eyes…or rather…something that *wasn't* in her eyes. Perhaps it was the way her head turned slightly to the left, her gaze lingering on the snow as if she were seeing it for the very first, or last time. It pained him, although minimally, to realize that he would never know just exactly what it was that was now missing from his mother's soul. It was now obvious that whatever spirit the woman had, Lucius had taken deep into the earth with him.

Family friends, allies, distant relatives…all had gathered – most out of obligation – to mark the passing of the man Draco had spent the entirety of his life believing to be indomitable.

The service had been simple, but elegant. No religious connotations…Lucius had not been a religious man, believing in man, and man's ability to control his own fate. Still, Draco found his gaze wandering upwards, to the heavens or to the sea of grey so closely resembling the orbs he stared into as a child he could not discern. Amidst his grief, confusing thoughts swirled inside his head. He thought of his own mortality, being brought up in a world with rules far more lenient than those of muggle existence had led him to think himself infallible. And now, with the wind on his face and his father at his feet, Draco could not help but feel small and ineffectual in a world where there was still so much that he did not know. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and run away. Run away from all that he had known in his life, and all he had yet to learn. He wanted to throw his arms open and feel the bitter cold sting his face, giving up…letting fate take him because finding his own answers was simply too hard. The sheer weight of realizing his place in the universe and existence of all things bore down on him and threatened to crush all he had fought to become.

Ultimately…he stood still…unwavering and stoic in an overpriced suit. Ultimately…Draco acknowledged his place…and would fight tooth and nail to succeed as his family's head of house. Ultimately…Draco understood something about the universe he hadn't before – he didn't know *anything*.

The thought was terrifying, and not just a little exciting. He vowed in that moment of intense introspection and bereavement that if he could change just one person the way he felt himself changed…if he could make just one soul finally see the fleeting nature of life…it's beauty, so intricately laced with sorrow and wisdom…he could leave this world and be free.

Unbeknownst to him, Draco's Father had given him the most precious gift he could never have afforded…humility. Humility, and a deep desire to experience all this world had to offer him while his fleeting chance remained.

Standing several meters away, hidden by the protective mass of a tree that had most likely known this planet for far longer than he, Harry Potter sighed. The air was brisk and clean and to breath it felt crisp and wonderful. Occasionally, snow would drift down onto his glasses, melting and leaving the world slightly blurry. He watched, protectively, from far away as the young man who had unwittingly and irreversibly altered his life said his goodbyes to his father. Something had changed in his sometimes lover…and Harry knew it. He could feel it from where he stood; bound to the other man by something neither could name nor explain. The difference was…subtle…but vital. Draco felt…softer…yet troubled. Harry could feel the waves of uncertainty rolling off of the other man…but stronger yet…he felt resolve. Resolve to do what, he couldn't name. In any case, Draco now had a sense of purpose about him like never before…and Harry was grateful for it. The Slytherin always seemed to flourish when given an aspiration. He was certain of one thing…amidst his grief and apparent realization, Draco still had much to deal with. Many things came with his new title…and he would need time.

He watched the blonde toss a small bouquet of flowers atop Lucius' casket. A sprig of Acacia – for well concealed affection, a fern leaf – symbolizing magic, fascination, confidence and shelter, a single tiger lily – meaning wealth and pride. The blooms had most likely been enchanted to live eternally…unlike their human counterparts. At last he saw Draco toss down his final blossom…a single crimson rose, the sign of mourning. It was over now.

Harry pulled his coat tight around him and headed away before he could be seen.

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TBC

Extremely short…I know. Sorry, but I just couldn't put anything else in this chapter. I'm sorry if it was hard to follow…my brain short circuits sometimes. I wanted it to be about human nature in a way, the epiphanies we have that change our lives…and what brings them on. I hope I succeeded at least a tiny bit.

Thank you all again for your time and trust. Please review.

Love and Kisses,

Reika