"This place is quite impressive, isn't it Weasley?" Draco Malfoy asked the tall, gangling redhead that had just apparated in with Hermione. He just nodded. Draco carried on. "Yet, it has something lingering in the air about it … must be something to do with all the dead souls that have been buried here." Hermione let out a strangled sob. She'd been trying to hold in her grief for Harry, and she wondered what she'd be like when actually seeing him in his coffin, arms crossed over his chest, looking so peaceful – like he was asleep. Draco looked down.
"Sorry Hermione." Although he called Hermione by her Christian name, him and Ron still called each other by their surnames. Draco looked up again, and began: "Harry's death has affected us all. I can't believe that he – he - " Ron shot a warning glance at him. " – that he – well, you know. Must've been really depressed, and I mean really depressed. I don't even think that a dementor could even have that kind of effect on Harry." He turned, and walked away to talk to other guests, who were waiting for the Funeral Hall to open.
The Funeral Hall was a place for wizards and witches to be buried after they died. Harry would be one of thousands buried there. No muggles could enter – unless they had a special pass, if they were related or good friends with the lately deceased. The Funeral Hall building was a large, rectangular building with white marble walls, and white marble steps that ran up to the entrance. The windows were stained glass ones, except that all the colours of the glass were different shades of blue. Surrounding the building was the graveyard, which was a vast area of land, very vast. All that could be seen for a fair distance were graves – the ones at the front were made of an older stone, and the inscriptions were hard to pick out. Only one path ran through the middle of the graveyard, and this was for access to the building.
"Hermione, shush. It's going to be okay…" Ron told the bushy haired woman crying in his arms, comforting her.
"But Ron, how can it be okay?" she said between sobs. "Harry's dead, and there's nothing we can do about it!"
"Yes but - "
"No buts Ron, h-he's dead!" she whispered in his ear.
"I know." Ron sighed. "But you've got to go up onto the podium, Hermione. It won't help if you're a nervous wreck at the time. Me and you were the only ones that knew him really well." He told her, hugging her.
"I know, Ron," she told him, and hugged back. "It's just, it's just that he'll never to be able to explore the Wizarding world, he'll never be able to get out there! And… all he learnt at Hogwarts for nothing!" a tear fell down her cheek.
"Sshh. Everything'll be okay Hermione." he comforted her. "Everything'll be okay."
Petunia Dursley walked up to the Funeral Building. It certainly didn't help that it had muggle preventing charms all around it, and it had taken her quite a while to find. She felt like she was going to walk away again without just cause, and so waved her special pass in the air. "I'm here for Harry James Potter's funeral!" she called out. Suddenly, she couldn't feel any restraints, and walked forward to the building, finally getting to her destination. How she had once hated the magical kind, she did not know.
Draco was now leaning against the side of the Funeral Hall, reminiscing. Lots of people had come for Harry's funeral, were waiting, and chatting to each other, sad expressions on their faces. Draco just stood there, alone, thinking, remembering. At the end of his sixth year - when he'd finally decided to go to the other side – Harry had trusted him so quickly it had made Draco wince. How could he have gone from enemy to trusting acquaintance in so little time? But Draco had noticed something about Harry at that time: he seemed to keep himself to himself; he wasn't the person who sought for glory in his every move as Draco had once thought. And when Draco had been taken to number 12 Grimmauld Place for the summer on Dumbledore's request, he had seen a whole new side to Harry. The sixteen-year-old hardly ate, hardly spoke, and never seemed to be there in whole, Draco observed. He observed Harry all the way through their summer holiday, until one day it became too much and Draco made himself talk to Harry.
"Harry? You okay?" he'd said whilst opening the door to Harry's room, seeing the boy lying on his bed, looking lost. Harry had sat up.
"I'm fine." He'd snapped, putting his head in his hands. Draco had walked towards him.
"No you're not. You've hardly been eating, sleeping, or breathing for that matter." He'd looked at Harry, concerned. "What's up with you?" he sat down on Harry's bed, making the mattress go down slightly. Harry'd looked at him.
"It's nothing." He had said sternly, hoping that Draco would leave him alone.
"It doesn't look like nothing to me, Harry." Draco'd told him. Harry had narrowed his eyes.
"You wouldn't understand. No one understands." Harry had said.
"Try me."
And that's where it all began. Harry had told him everything. Had told him how he hated being stereotyped as the boy-who-lived, as though he was some great person that would rid everyone of their worries. Had told him about the prophecy, that he'd not even told Ron and Hermione about, and had kept it to himself for a whole year. Had told him about how he hated the immense pressure of it all. Had told him that he wanted to die right then and there, in that very spot.
And boy, had Draco been shocked. Here he was, sitting with his old enemy, who was pouring his heart out to him, and Harry had looked at him with the death stare straight afterwards and said: "If you dare tell anyone this Draco, if you DARE, then the consequences WILL be dire." Draco still didn't get what Harry had meant by that, and had agreed solely in fear of finding out what would happen if he did tell anyone. Then it was Draco's turn to speak.
I understand more than you'll ever know, Harry." He'd said truthfully, looking at the boy. Then he'd carried on.
And he'd told Harry about how he'd hated being the son of a Death Eater, being tortured every time Lucius was home. Told him how he had been frustrated at being stereotyped as the bad guy, and had - for the past six years – steered his frustration at Harry, tormenting him at sight. Told him how he hated the Dark Lord, how he thought his ideas were stupid and disgusting, and that – if Voldemort succeeded – the whole Wizarding race would be wiped out.
And then Draco had repeated the same words that Harry had said after his confessions, and Harry had agreed. But they both knew, that after that that they had someone to confide in if they ever needed to, and they wouldn't be judged. And Draco and Harry had become very close friends, which had caused quite a scene when they had returned to Hogwarts for their last year.
He was shaken out of his reverie by Hermione, who was waving her hand in front of his face and calling his name. "Draco?" he nodded to show he was listening. "We're going inside now." She gave him a pitying look, as she knew that him and Harry had become close friends in the last year.
They sat down and took their seats in the pews of the hall. Albus Dumbledore was stood at the podium at the front of the hall, waiting for everyone to hush. And there… To the left of Dumbldore, was Harry's coffin.