Hello everyone! Could I have waited any longer before posting this? Sorry! It's just that I'm writing two other fanfics, one other original, and having to do a ton of homework for my new college. This story was going to be quite long, but I think I'm going to try and round it off sooner. Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

P.S.

This is the beta'd version, so all spelling and grammar mistakes should be gone. I'm working on the next chapter, it should be up soon. Keep reading!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

III

Funeral

III

This time it hurt. It had never hurt before, and Draco was surprised by the satisfying pain. He couldn't help a loud gasp escaping his lips, and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. He winced, and put the shard back in the box, and looked at the cut. It oozed with his blood, and he smiled slightly as he watched it. And then there was a sound outside his door, and he watched in horror as it opened.

She wore a simple white nightie, and her red hair stood out against it. She looked so pale, almost ghost like, and for a moment it occurred to Draco that she might be a ghost.

"Weas-Ginny?" He asked, confused.

"I heard you gasp; I thought you might have hurt yourself." She said quietly. Her eyes were fixed on the red gash, and the flickered to the open box with the glass shard in it, "Oh."

For a moment the realisation hung in the air. Draco could see his insistence that it was his right wither under her gaze, and for the first time in his life he felt ashamed of his actions. He had often been humiliated, by his father, by Potter, but never by his own actions.

"You did hurt yourself." She nodded, and he could see understanding in her dark eyes. She quietly walked across the room over to his bed, and sat at the end. It occurred to him to feel offended, to order her to leave, but shock and shame had silenced him, "A few years ago I used to get nightmares." She told him, her eyes still on the shard by his bed, "And when I did, I'd go and sleep in one of my brother's rooms. When I was feeling very brave, I could make it all the way to Ron's, which was best. Sometimes I would panic half way there, and have to settle for Fred and George's room. But mostly I never even made it that far. Mostly I'd be so frightened once I left the room that I'd have to come straight into here, and sleep with Percy."

His room was right next to hers of course. And this was Percy's old room. So this is where she would come when she was most scared. But what did a Weasley have nightmares about?

"But sometimes, when the nightmares where worse, I wouldn't even make it out of the room." She whispered, "When that happened, I had only one friend. Only one way to make the bad thoughts go away."

She held out her marble pale arm, palm up, and for the first time Draco really looked at it. It was laced with tiny little pink lines, just a shade different to her own skin. Hundreds of them ran up and down her arm, and he shuddered with disgust and recognition.

"Why?" He asked.

"Don't you know?" She asked, her eyes accusing, "Everyone knows that the heir of Slytherin controlled me into opening the Chamber. Everyone knows that I was possessed by You-Know-Who."

"No one told us how." He whispered, dread filling him, "It was...my..."

"Yes. He gave me a diary with You-Know-Who's sixteen year old self in it, Tom Riddle. I wrote all my fears and secrets in it, giving Tom power. Then he poured his secrets into me, and took me over." Ginny's voice was nothing but a horse whisper, "In my nightmares he was still inside me, filling up my stomach, my eyes, my mouth, until I choked on him. And when I hurt myself, in the dark my blood looked black, and I imagined I was forcing the evil out of me. I was such a silly little girl."

"So we have something in common." Draco's voice was pleading. He wanted to have something in common with this strange girl, a girl he had never even properly looked at before. How could he have never seen the scars, so apparent, on her skin? But he was so alone, and she looked like an angel in the dark, and it seemed so right. But she was shaking her head.

"Not one of these scars are younger than three years." She told him, "Mum wanted me to heal them, but I won't, I need to keep them as a reminder. They remind me of a time that was so dark it almost blinded me, and it's the only way I can truly see how bright my present is."

"It feels...good." He muttered.

"It always does." From the folds of her nightie came a handkerchief which she pressed to his cut, "It feels good right until the point when you realise you cut too deep, and too often. My mother got to me before then, but I've seen so many people who weren't helped. Mum...she likes you. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but it looks like you've won my parents over. Don't be afraid to go to them for help."

"I don't need help." Draco snarled, his pride kicking in. He pulled his arm away from her gentle hand, and glared at her.

"Just keep it in mind." Ginny's voice was distant, and she stood up as she said it. Then, without another word, she turned around and walked out of the room. He stared at the door for a long time after that, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had Ginny actually come into his room? Had she bared her scars, insulted his pride and just left?

The next morning at breakfast, Ginny acted as normal to him. She neither sought his gaze nor avoided it, just as before. He could have believed it a dream. Except for now, when he looked at her bare arms, he saw the scars that laced them.

III

Days passed. Ginny didn't enter his room again. The woman from the ministry visited him, inspected his room, and then took him back to the manor to collect whatever possessions he wanted. Mainly he just took clothes and a few photos of his mother and father. Apart from that he couldn't really see anything he really wanted.

Back at the Weasley home, the days crept by slowly, but not slowly enough, and soon Wednesday was upon them. Draco took to the shard of glass the night before, and regretted it the next morning when he saw Ginny's reproachful stare. Even though he wore long sleeves, he knew she could tell, and looked away from her accusing brown eyes. Her brothers wouldn't look at him, and Fred and George set out for work early.

"Are you ready dear?" Molly asked quietly, and Draco nodded mutely, "Good. I'll floo to Andromeda's with you, and then come back later. She'll look after you."

So together they walked into the fire, and when Draco opened his eyes, he felt a gasp escape his mouth as his eyes fell upon his mother.

III

Arthur, Ron and Ginny sat around the dinner table after Molly and Draco had left in silence. They were all imagining Draco at his mother's funeral, trying to imagine the full horror of it for him. It was the first time Ron had ever felt anything near to sympathy for the blond boy.

"He's...well...you've been getting along with him, haven't you?" Arthur asked after a moment.

"Yeah, I suppose." Ron agreed quietly, "I mean...he hasn't been his normal ferret self."

"He hasn't said anything nasty." Ginny nodded, "Sometimes I can see he wants to, but he's stopping himself. I don't think he's ever had to stop himself before."

"But the other day, in the garden, you were sitting and talking quite well." Arthur pointed out.

"He's funny." Ron admitted, "Some of the things he says are really funny. I mean, when he's not telling Muggle jokes, or something stupid like that."

"Muggle jokes aren't even funny." Ginny agreed, "I've heard some of the Slytherins telling them, even they don't find them funny."

"But...I mean...well..." Arthur looked at a loss for words, "You don't mind...that is...well he's here, and you can get along with him...so..."

"Dad, if you're asking whether we're happy that he's here, then the answer is no." Ron cut in, "I'd way prefer for him to be living with some other Pure Blood family so we didn't have to deal with him. But you're right, he is here, and there's nowhere else for him to go. So I'm not going to complain about it. As long as he doesn't make any comments about Harry and Hermione, I'll leave him alone."

"Ah, well, yes...good." Arthur nodded, clearing his throat. Ginny was looking at her brother, a thoughtful look on her face. Then she blinked, shook her head and turned away.

III

It was his mother. It could be no one else. The same light blue eyes, the same striking blonde hair, and the same long elegant face. But there were differences too. She looked younger, for a start. Her hair had more of a wave to it, and her eyes were wider, giving her a slightly startled look. Her face was wider too, and not quite as elegant. And there was something else...her expression was one that had never crossed his mother's face. It made her look more like Molly Weasley than Narcissa Malfoy.

"Molly." She said, smiling slightly.

"Andromeda." Molly greeted warmly, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. For everything." Andromeda's eyes flickered towards Draco for a second, and then she finally turned to look at him properly, "Draco. I don't think we've ever been introduced. I am your aunt Andromeda."

"Hello." He said stiffly. She held out her hand, which he took nervously, and they shook briefly.

"Well, now that he's here, I think it'd be best if I left." Molly said nervously, "Draco, I'll pick you up from here at nine this evening."

He nodded, and watched her disappear back into the fire. Then he turned back to his Aunt, who seemed to be evaluating him.

"You're a lot like you're father." She told him, with something like distaste in her voice, "But you have some of my sister in you too. She always valued good looks, so I imagine she was quite pleased with you."

Draco was shocked to hear her talk like that. She made it sound so...trivial. Didn't she realise that this was Narcissa's funeral?

"My mother..." He began, but she cut him off.

"Come on, we have to be going. Nymphodora is waiting for us, we're all going together. You haven't met my daughter have you? She's an Auror." Andromeda even spoke like Narcissa, the same sort of detached interest. But then she looked him in the eyes, and there was a flash of sympathy, "There will be many friends of your mother there, people you already know. You won't be amongst strangers."

They made their way to a main chamber, where a young woman stood. She had medium length dead straight black hair, dark brown eyes, and a small, pretty face. She wore black clothes, and dark makeup.

"Is that how you're going Nymphodora?" Andromeda asked, looking her over. This, apparently, was Draco's cousin.

"I don't see why not, black is what you wear for funerals." She reminded her mother.

"Yes, but it's a bit...extreme." The older woman said reproachfully, "Not very respectful."

"Mum...Oh ok." Nymphodora sighed, and then scrunched up her face. When she opened her eyes again, her makeup was gone, her hair was blonde and slightly wavy, and her eyes were a greyish blue. She looked a lot like her mother, and slightly like Draco, "Is that better?"

"Much." Andromeda smiled approvingly. Draco couldn't stop himself gaping at his cousin.

"How did you do that?" He asked, amazed.

"I'm a metamorph." She explained, turning to look at him, "You must be Draco."

"Yes." He nodded.

"I'm Tonks." She told him. He looked quizzically at Andromeda, who sighed.

"Honestly, there is nothing wrong with the name Nymphodora!"

"It gives people the wrong idea about me." Tonks sulked.

"And what idea would that be?" Andromeda asked.

"Never mind." The younger woman muttered, "Shouldn't we be going?"

"Yes, I suppose we should. Are you ready Draco?" She asked, and he nodded mutely, still in awe of his cousin. His mother had mentioned her disowned sister once or twice, but never told him his cousin was a metamorph! When he was younger, he used to have fantasies about finding out that he was a metamorph, and he'd change into his father and take part in all the things he wasn't allowed to.

"Then let's go." They walked over to another fire place, and, after sprinkling on a little Floo Powder, stepped into the flames.

III

After arriving back home, Molly had started on lunch, and had not been able to sit down at all. Every time she did, she would immediately stand back up again, as though burnt.

"Stop fretting." Arthur sighed after a while, "He'll be fine, he's with family."

"But he's never met them before today!" She cried, clearly distressed, "And he's going to have to face a lot of his class mates parents! And they'll go home, and tell their children that he's living with Weasley's, and that they're not to associate themselves with him anymore, and he'll be all alone, and-"

"You're babbling Mum." Ron snapped after a while, "Don't worry about Malfoy, he'll ferret his way out of this. He'll just tell them that he's gathering information on Dumbledore for You-Know-Who."

"Ron!" Molly admonished, "Draco is a kind sweet boy, who has gone through hell over the last few weeks. Now, I've seen the two of you get along, I heard you joking at this very table less than a week ago, so you have no excuse to be so cruel. Harry and Hermione will be here in a few weeks, and I know you'll want to fall back into your old habit of ganging up against Draco. But if you even dare say one word to the poor boy, I'll-"

"I think Ron understands." Arthur said hastily, "Don't you Ron?"

"Yeah." Ron sulked.

"Ginny's civil to him." Molly pointed out, "I don't see why you can't be."

"I just feel...sorry for him." Ginny mumbled, under Ron's glare. She had so far managed to stay out of this argument, "He's not evil, not like his dad. But he would have been, if he'd stayed with him. I think we've got to him in time."

"God, what is this, the 'we love Draco Malfoy' house?" Ron sighed, "Never mind, I don't care anymore. I can't wait to see how he betrays us all."

And with that, Ron stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving a seething mother.

"Don't worry about it Mum." Ginny said soothingly, "He's been writing to Harry and Hermione, and they've got him all riled up about this. But I've written to Hermione, and I think she's starting to understand, and she'll calm Ron down about all this. As for Harry? Well, maybe she can make him see reason too."

"You're being very mature about this Ginny." Arthur observed.

"I...talked to Draco the other night." She admitted, "He still needs a lot more help then he'll admit, but he's not being as proud as he used to be. He's not like I thought he was."

"To be honest, I think he's still in shock about everything." Molly said quietly, finally sitting down, "He's being so quiet and polite, and, well...that's just not him. I like him, you know I do, but I've heard enough stories to know what he's like. When he thinks something, he says it. I'm sure he's been thinking a great many things since he got here, but he hasn't said a word."

"I think, perhaps," Arthur said slowly, "that a shock was what Draco needed. He now knows the world isn't a place that is going to bend over backwards to give him what he wants. And perhaps that's all it will take to bring out the good in him."

"You could be right." Molly agreed. Ginny was silent. She, personally, thought that Draco needed more than one shock to set him straight. But she was also fairly confident that the Weasley house could provide that.

Her thoughts were interrupted when someone quite unexpected walked in the kitchen door.

III

The Temple of the Dead was the most expensive resting ground in the Wizarding World. It was, of course, unplottable, and had a million and one anti-muggle charms on it. It was where the elite were buried when their time came, and Narcissa Malfoy was defiantly one of the elite.

It seemed to Draco that at first, people tried to avoid him and his Aunt and cousin. There was something about Andromeda and Tonks that said 'we are not the type of people who would ever be buried here'. But, eventually, people started to recognise him, and would shimmy over to whisper their condolences, give Tonks an odd look, and then shimmy away.

"You'd think they'd never seen a Half Blood before." She muttered darkly, shaking her head. Draco stiffened for a moment, and then turned to look at Nymphodora Tonks.

"Half Blood?" He asked, confused. There was a silence, where both his Aunt and cousin turned to look at him, surprise in their eyes.

"Did your mother never tell you why I was disowned?" Andromeda asked, and Draco shook his head, "I married a Muggle Born, Ted Tonks."

He looked at a now very awkward looking Tonks, who shuffled slightly, "You're a Half Blood?"

"Yes." She said defiantly, although still looking awkward, "Well, technically anyway. I'm not Pure Blood."

But she was a Metamorph! Surely only Pure Bloods can be Metamorphs, Mudbloods not having enough power in their blood. But she stood before him, looking so very much like his own mother, her chin up defiantly, with a power Draco had wished so many times to posses.

"I was disowned because I fell in love." Andromeda whispered, "Bellatrix had laughed when mother burnt my name from the Black Family Tapestry in front of the whole family, but your mother, Narcissa, had looked sad. We had always got on, in a round about way. Bella had always been just a bit too mean for the both of us. She helped me pack my bags to leave, and tried to convince me the entire time that I could change my mind. She insisted Ted wasn't good enough for me, that I'd be miserable with him. She had been wrong, but I still hold the sentiment dear. Ted and I are very happy together, and I've never regretted my actions, except that it caused me to loose contact with your mother."

Draco could see it too. Two young women, packing a bag, the older one trying to convince the younger to stay. He knew how his mother was with arguments. She would go from being angry, to sorrowful, and then to bitter, and then back to sorrowful. But the younger girl would just shake her head, and continue packing, before walking out of the house. Maybe a young man would be waiting for her, a man with a round face, like Tonk's. And his mother would watch from the window, because she loved sentimental drama. And then, the girl would look back, and see the figure of her sister in the window, and maybe burst out crying, but still walk on. Draco couldn't help himself.

"Did you cry when you saw her standing in the window, watching you go?" He asked. She looked surprised, and then smiled slightly.

"You know your mother well." She shook her head, "I refused to look back, because I knew she's be standing there. She loved drama, but I hated it."

"Oh." There was nothing else really to say. A few more people came to announce how sorry they were, before everyone took their seat.

It might have surprised Draco how similar Muggle and Wizarding funeral services where. A priest of sorts would lecture about how everyone had a time, and then a friend or family member would speak about them, and then everyone it attendance would sing the Song of the Dead.

Draco recognised the priest; it was the same one who had spoken at his Grandmother's funeral. It had only been a few years ago. Now he was speaking for the old lady's daughter.

After a while a small man sidled up to them and whispered in Andromeda's ear. She looked surprised, and there was a moment of urgent whispering, before she sighed and nodded. The small man sidled away.

"What's wrong?" He whispered.

"Elle Parkinson was supposed to speak after the priest, but she's been arrested." Andromeda explained, "I'm afraid one of us is going to have to speak for your mother."

"You'll have to do it." He told her quickly, but she shook her head.

"Look around Draco. Apart from Nymphodora, everyone here is Pure Blood. I married a Muggle Born. If I stand up to speak, they are likely to walk out."

"Can's someone else do it, please?" He begged, but again his aunt shook her head, "There's no one else. This is your mother's last goodbye. It's fitting that you'll be the one to lead it."

There was no adequate argument for this, and he nodded slowly. While the Priest finished off with the formalities, Draco thought furiously for something to say.

"And now, a friend of the deceased will speak." The Priest said, but the small man was beside him, whispering in his ear, "Oh, my mistake. A family member will speak." He looked down at the first row, where Andromeda pointedly indicated to Draco, "Draco Malfoy, I believe."

Draco stood up, and made his way to the raised stand. The Priest stepped back, and allowed him to step up, onto it.

There was a reason the elite used the Temple of the Dead for their funerals. The elite had many friends and well wishers, and only a Temple this big could hold them all. Draco looked out at the room, which was filled with people looking up at him, and cleared his voice nervously.

"I wasn't expecting to speak today." He explained shakily, "So this may not come out very well. My mother was, well, many things. To me, firstly, she was a mother. Sometimes I was short sighted enough to think that that was all she was. But I was wrong. Some of you will have seen her as the loving wife; many of you will have experienced her as a friend. One of you will even have known her as a sister. But that's just what she was to other people."

That had been easy. He had planned all that out while the priest had been talking. But, from now on, he was making it up as he went along.

"She was...a lot within herself too. She was good at judging a person's worth, and good at seeing people's real feelings, no matter how hide you tried to hide them. She'd always know if I was lying to her. She loved being with people. She had a clear set of morals, and she stuck to them. Maybe those morals weren't the same as everyone else's, but in that way, she was a lot like me." He was beginning to flounder; he was running out of thing's he new about his own mother, "She was loyal too. She would never hear a bad word against any of her friends."

It was impossible to tell what the people watching his where thinking. But what was worse was that he was starting to think he might cry.

"She was good at making me feel better." He said slowly, "I'd go to her if I was angry, and she'd calm me down. She was always good with people. But...a lot of this is still just what she was to other people. She never really let me know much about who she really was. She had a room to herself at home, and sometimes she'd go in there and lock the door. She'd be gone for hours, and I never knew what she was doing. I suppose I don't really know that much about my mother." He looked up, and tried to look like he was looking each and every one of the people in front of him in the eye, "But I do know that she'd have been pleased that you all turned up to say goodbye to her. So...thank you for that."

There was a silence before they realised he was finished, and there was the quiet clapping you always got at funerals. Reddening, he got down from the stand, and went back to his seat.

"That was very nicely said Draco." Andromeda assured him, and he smiled weakly at her.

"You're crying." Tonks whispered.

"No I'm not." He said hastily, hid hand flying to his face.

"Well, ok, but there's a tissue here if you need it." He took it, and wiped his eyes hastily. Then they stood up, and sung the Song of the Dead.

It was in Latin, and his father had made him translate it once. In the song, you told your ancestors to clear the path, because one of their descendants was coming to join them. It had been lost slightly in translation, but Draco felt much more at home with songs when he knew what he was singing.

When the last notes of the song died away, the Temple began to empty. On his way out Draco was stopped quite a few times by people telling him he had done well in his speech. He was patted on the back a few times, which he didn't mind too much. What he did mind was the one thing they all said.

"We heard that you're staying with the...er...Weasley's now. Nice family, nice family. We'd have taken you in too, except we're a little short on room."

Or sometimes it was that they were having some trouble with money, or that 'our Ira is going through a bit of a difficult phase'. They all had excuses, but they all assured him they really would have loved to take him in.

"I hate it." He told Andromeda once they were outside, "The Weasley's are as poor as dirt, and barely have enough room for themselves in their home but they took me in. They have no excuse."

"None." Andromeda agreed, and sighed, "But don't judge them too harshly. Taking on a child that isn't your own is not something you do lightly."

"I suppose." He nodded.

"Everyone's leaving." Tonks told them, watching people disappear into the fires.

"There's an after party at The Griffin's Tail." Andromeda explained, "Do you want to go Draco?"

"Are you going?" He asked.

"No." She told him, "I came to say my goodbyes, and now I have."

"Then I just want to go home." He told her, and then stiffened.

"I assume that, by home, you mean the Weasley's?" His Aunt asked, a smile on her face.

"Yes, I suppose I do." He admitted reluctantly.

"Then let's go." They walked over to a free fire place, and took some Floo Powder. Before Draco took the powder, he turned to Tonks.

"Can you learn to be a metamorph?" He asked.

"Sorry, no." She told him shrugging, "You're either born with it or not."

"Yeah. I wish I'd been born with it." He told her.

"Strangely enough, it's a gift mainly present in Half Bloods." Andromeda told him, much to his surprise.

"It didn't say that in any of the books!" He exclaimed.

"That," Tonks whispered darkly, "is because most the books are written by Pure Bloods."

But then she smiled, and once again Draco felt himself begin to like someone he wasn't quite prepared to like yet.

"You'd better be off." Andromeda told him, and held out a hand to shake, "It was nice meeting you Draco. I just wish the circumstances could have been better."

He nodded and took her hand, before turning to the fire, throwing the Floo Powder in, and stepping in himself.

"The Weasley's Burrow!" He said clearly, and watched as the forms of his Aunt and cousin disappeared from sight. He closed his eyes tightly, and when he opened them again, he found himself in the Weasley kitchen.

"Draco, you're back!" Molly exclaimed, standing up. She had been sitting at the table with Arthur, the twins, Ron and Ginny.

"Yes, I am." He nodded, looking around. He did a quick headcount, and realised something was wrong. There was someone else at the Weasley table. It was a young man, with red hair and freckles. Draco had never seen him before in his life, but there was only one person it could be.

It looked like Charlie Weasley had come early.

III

Yay! The chapter is finished! This has to be the longest time it's ever taken me to write a chapter! Well, it's done now, so please review!

Thanks to:

Kellalor: I'm working on the next chapter, it should be up soon. Thanks for the interest!

Amyro Maniac: Thanks, as before, working on the new chapter.

DreamGurl-de-Draco: Longer chapters? faints with exhaustion

Sunflour: isn't it fun, having emotionally disturbed characters?

Catmint: I think I'm being a bit too slow to get that pixie stick! I'm very grateful for the Fizzing Whizbee though! I'm glad you don't think they're out of character, I'm trying really hard!

I-Wrote-A-New-Story: In English football there is tackling, it's just different to American football tackling. I live opposite a football stadium and have a football obsessed family, so I'm regularly told all about it, although I have no interest in it  Anyway, thanks for the help all the same. I'm sure I am making a million mistakes.

Arily: Thanks, It's great to be appreciated.

SiLvErStInG04: He he, silly you. Well, you'll have a brand spanking new chapter soon, if I ever get round to finishing it!

Someonelse: I love Bill and Charlie, and I think they're such underused characters.

readingfreak742: Yeah, my "angle" is that Draco's in too much shock to try to fight the Weasley's, and by the time he starts to revert back to normal, well...Guess!