Chapter 4: Consolation of the Heart

"Why on earth would we use lanterns, Narcissa? For god's sake, it's a funeral, not a wedding!"

"Because it's beautiful. It's meaningful."

"It's ridiculous!"

"Oh, and I suppose your vision of releasing hundreds of balloons is more touching?"

"It's simple and moving. Just the way James and Lily would have wanted it."

"It's depressing, something we already had enough as it is."

"You don't think I know that!" the man thundered. "Do I need to remind you that I'm arranging a funeral for two good friends of mine. One of whom was my best friend."

"Don't you dare act as if you're the only one suffering!"

Severus stepped in, his voice quiet as a whisper but carried the power of a scream. "I hope you two realize that your bickering over irrelevant matters isn't going to make this situation any better. It's been a hard time for us all. A very depressing time. I think no one knows that better than the boy locked upstairs in the guest room who will be tasked with burying his parents."

He heard his mother drew in a breath. Across the kitchen counter, impatiently waiting for Misty to finish icing the cookies (Merlin knows she needed to be watched; she never put the right amount of frosting), Draco pictured her holding it in for as long her lungs would permit before releasing it, looking away. He could feel the man's anger that was stirring like a powerful storm withering away as shock and grief slammed into him.

"I know," Draco heard the quiet confession. "I know."

It was as if the shock and grief were too great for one body to hold. He could feel some of it sliding off from the man's body, moving onto him.

Draco swallowed a hard lump.

After moments of long silence, Father had broken it. "If I were you, Lupin, I'd watch that tongue of yours and remember your place. Allow me to remind you the only reason you were granted entrance into our house in the first place is because Dumbledore believes that your insight is useful and some reason needed. Merlin knows why. It seems you've done nothing but cause migraines for us all."

"James was my best friend!"

Misty was finally done, handing over a plate of fresh-baked, vanilla-iced cookies. Draco didn't have the energy or the focus to sneer at her for being so slow, taking the plate out of her hands and walking back upstairs.

This was how the manor has been for the past month, heavy in silence, thick with high-stung tension that was occasionally broken by hushed conversations and heated arguments behind closed doors.

The people behind those closed-door conversations were his parents and Uncle Severus. They were often pinned against the legendary Dumbledore who came repeatedly to show his respect to the deceased and Remus Lupin.

It was hard to say which man Draco least liked. On one hand there was something about Dumbledore that made Draco cautious about the man. Something he couldn't put his finger on but knew that he didn't like. Some of it could be based on the less-than-warm looks Father and Severus had on their faces whenever he paid them a visit, or even spoke, watching him with narrowed eyes. Even Mother was careful around the headmaster, her demeanor civil enough, words cool and smiles thin. It could have to do with the ridiculously-high bar the man set Muggles on, despite the overwhelming bad that outweighed the good. Or it could be the all-knowing, penetrating look his eyes possessed, which always went right through Draco and made him feel naked. Eyes that knew too much and held many secrets.

Or it could simply be the fact that, just as his parents were cautious around him, Dumbledore returned the favor, keeping his distance. Though the man had never voiced hostility, never been standoffish per say, Draco knew that they weren't seen lightly in his eyes. He could never forget the odd look that danced across the man's eyes as he entered through the Floo, his eyes immediately searching for Harry then widening when he saw how close the boys were sitting together, their hands held in a tight hold. He looked surprised. Not only surprised but puzzled as if they were two pieces that didn't match in his eyes.

On the other hand, Lupin wasn't that different from the man, other than the fact that he was younger.

Uncle James had often spoken of a Remus, the third piece to their quartet puzzle called the Maunders. Uncle had described him as a sensible man who was a bit on the quiet side, but when he was pushed enough had a real wild streak. Draco had met the man two days after that fateful Halloween night. He had managed to get Harry out of bed and outside, alarmed by his friend's deadly-white complexion that was in desperate need of sunlight.

They were sitting by the patio, Harry resting his head on Draco's lap, Draco brushing his fingers through his hair, when noise thundered from inside the house.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"Dobby! You goddamn useless elf! What have I said about making sure the wards were up at all times?"

An unfamiliar voice sliced through Severus and Father's protests.

"Where is my pup?!"

His pup?

"Who do you think you are to trespass onto private property and demand-"

"Harry!"

What the heck-by the time Draco turned around, he was nearly knocked onto his back and Harry was taken away from him, being lifted into the air and crushed against the chest of a man looming over them.

"Oh my poor pup. My dear boy," He cupped the back of Harry's head and stroked his hair. "You're alright."

So this is Lupin, Draco thought, staring up at the man, annoyance flashing through him that was as hot as the pain throbbing in his lower back. He was shorter compared to Uncle James, a bit on the scrawny side but still held some muscle to him. He appeared young, around his twenties, but his face was already lined with wrinkles, hair streaked with an early touch of gray. His eyes marked with heavy, plum bags and his clothes were rumpled as if he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep for the past few days.

"Thank Merlin," he breathed, relieved. "You're safe."

Draco wasn't sure if it was because of the interruption that disturbed their peace and nearly cost him a neck or the way the man held Harry, his embrace tighter and longer than the usual hug should be, that made him almost instantly dislike the man. Or it could be the fact that he believed Harry's safety was at risk here when it was the one of the safest places he could be at.

As if I would let anything happen to him. Draco scowled, adding a new name to the list of people he didn't like. A name that was close to the top ten least-liked.

Then something happened.

The bright smile that lit up his face, erasing some of his worried lines, shattered into pieces as he set Harry down on the floor and took a look at him. His breath was caught in his chest as he came face to face with those dead, unflinching eyes that stunned Draco Halloween night when he first looked into them.

"What happened to him?" Lupin demanded later on that night. Mother had sent them off to the bed after dinner in which Harry had eaten everything on his plate, not acknowledging the man's questioning glances. He waited until he was sure the sound of the footsteps faded before he shot the question. Harry continued on to his room but Draco stayed behind, knowing this was a conversation worth hearing."What did you do to him?"

"I can assure you, Lupin, that we didn't do anything to him," Father's voice was pure ice. "Other than keeping him safe from prying eyes and lunatics demanding a glimpse of the Boy Who Lived."

That wasn't a lie. The next morning after Halloween, the media practically became a circus. The entire wizarding world going crazy over the news about the young child who avenged his parents' deaths, killing the man many believed was untouchable. Journalists and reporters alike were going at each other necks and using every one of their connection to find out the boy's location to get an elusive. Fans published their letters in the editorial section, some decent enough to express their sympathies while many asked for requests that ranged from autographs to strands of Harry's hair.

No one knew that Harry was at the manor with the Malfoys, a family no one would believe was associated with the Potters. That was a good thing otherwise Draco imagined the place would be flooding with fan-mail and reporters banging outside their door.

"Well something's happened," Lupin snapped. "He's-he's…not the same. He's so quiet. He's-"

"A boy who saw his father trying to save his family and failing miserably. A boy who saw his mother die trying to protect him," Severus heavily emphasized on the words. "How do you expect him to act, Lupin? Jolly? Cheerful? Skipping around the house, whistling show tunes, acting like he doesn't have a care in the world?"

"I expect-" The rant was cut short. The man took a deep breath. Draco imagined him running a hand through his lanky hair or placing a balled fist close to his mouth. "I expect…something. Anything. Anything other than this."

Draco didn't stick around to hear what else the others had to say.

As annoying as Lupin was, he did have a point.

Anything would be have been welcomed: tears, screams, anger. That was what they were prepared for. Any of them would have been better than what they had been dealing with.

Because that was the thing: they weren't dealing with anything. Harry was well. During the first week, he stayed in bed, only leaving to use the restroom, and accepted every mix of Dreamless Draught Severus brought him without question. He'd get so quiet, lie so still Draco checked his pulse more than once to make sure he was alive. When he finally emerged from the safety of his room, the adults have been ready for tears, fiery words of anger and vengeance, and more tears. But Harry stumped them all. He didn't fuss. He didn't cry. He came down when he was called, he eat every dish that was served to him. He didn't do anything other than go through usual actives in complete silence with a look in his eyes that chilled Draco to the core every time he looked at them.

It was a look that was ran far deeper than mere grief. It was a look that similar to calmness though it was nowhere near it. It was a look that was clear as glass, the exact opposite of vengeance or hatred or anger. It was a look of utter, hollowed emptiness. Harry just looked empty. In fact, he looked worse than empty. He looked dead, as if his body managed to remain intact after the hex but his soul followed his parents to the afterlife.

He hadn't spoken a word since Severus brought him to the manor that night. Not to his parents. Not to Severus. Not to Lupin. Not to the Aurors or Dumbledore. Not even to Draco. He became mute. Draco tried everything he could think of to get a single word, a phase, or even a sound out of him.

Some nights he'd do just that, calling his name over and over or singing those Disney songs they loved in an attempt to get a sound from him. Most nights he'd follow Harry into the guestroom, join him in the bed, and hold him tight as if he could disappear any second.

"Harry," he'd sometimes say, his voice low as a whisper "Please say something. Anything."

His plead would never get a response, and every night his heart would break more and more, piece by piece. He didn't think that it could get any worse, but it did.

After another night of silence and holding, Draco was awakened from his deep coma-like sleep by a loud scream that reached them all to the way to the room.

"What?!"

What the hell? Draco grunted, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

The conversation that ignited that loud scream continued on but Draco couldn't hear anything else. Curious, he snuck a peek over at Harry who slept on, undisturbed. He untangled his arms from the boy's waist and climbed off the bed, walking quietly into the parlor room.

He used the spare couch by the door as his camouflage, ducking low and keeping a sharp ear.

He saw Severus sitting on the couch with Mother. Father in his chair, hand clutched around his cane, eyes drawn to the fireplace. Lupin faced against two Aurors with Dumbledore in between them, as if to prevent a bloodbath from occurring.

"Remus," Dumbledore said, speaking gently. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down?" the man repeated, stunned. "Calm down? You expect me to calm down after hearing what you have to say. That-that…"

Whatever he was told was far too great for him to repeat.

Dumbledore looked like he would've patted the man's shoulder, but then decided against it, keeping his distance. "I know it's seems unbelievable-"

"It's not unbelievable, Professor. It's nonsense. A lie! It can't be true."

Draco arched his neck to get a better view, his head spinning with questions. What was unbelievable? What was nonsense? What did Lupin think was a lie?

"Evidence suggests-" one of the Aurors began, trying to be sympathetic.

"Evidence can be tampered with," Lupin argued. "And wrong."

"Not this time," the other Auror said. Unlike his partner, he wasn't up for being sympathetic. "We ran it through every angle. Went over every scenario. Each one led to the same conclusion."

What conclusion?

Dumbledore took over. "Remus," he said. "I know it's hard to believe. I can understand that it must be extremely hard to digest and that it must be a terrible blow to you. However I'm afraid that it's the truth. Two people were entrusted with the Potters' safety. Two people who knew about the wards and what the Dark Lord was after."

Anticipation built in his stomach. The bad, nerve-wrecking anticipation that came on when something bad was about to happen.

"One was me,"

He didn't like where this conversation was going.

"The other was a person that they believed was on their side. Someone James trusted with his life."

He really didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Sirius Black."

No.

Draco gripped onto the chair, needing something to keep him steady as the wind was knocked out of him, caused by the those two words that made up a familiar name.

Sirius Black, as in Mother's odd cousin, as in Uncle James' best friend, as in Harry's godfather. The man with the odd smile that was half-mad, half-brilliant. The man who let them ride on his motorcycle the first night he babysat them. The man who called Harry kiddo, and was one of Harry's favorite people in the world.

He was the one who sold the Potters out to Voldemort.

He was the one who betrayed his best friends.

He was the reason why Harry no longer smiled, no longer talked. Why he was now an orphan.

Rage built in Draco, searing hot rage that fired in his body, pulsing through his veins. He wanted to strangle him, the traitor. He wanted to strangle him with his bare hands.

"The facts speaks for themselves," the first Auror said. "The night the Potters were attacked, Black fleed the country. We searched Grimmauld place from top to bottom. A duffle bag turned up missing, along with a few clothes and some money taken from the family vault. Oblivated his house-elf before he left. He's gone."

Forget strangling him. Draco wanted to feed him to the wild animals the game-keeper kept caged at Hogwarts. Bind him and cast multiple Crucios at him until he understood even half of what he put Harry through.

"I don't believe it," Lupin was trying to hold onto that belief, desperately. From the weak stain of his voice, Draco could sense that belief waning. "Sirius wouldn't. He couldn't. He was our friend. He loved James like a brother. He cared about Lily. He cared about Harry. He would never."

The sympathetic Auror looked like he wanted to say more, but something stopped him. Something that drew his attention to the front of the room, shocking him enough that he tapped his partner's shoulder and pointed towards it.

His father's eyes followed that finger, as did the other adults. Mother sucked in a breath. Uncle Severus' lips thinned. Remus' mouth dropped.

They were all looking at his direction but they weren't focusing on him.

Draco wondered what it was.

The answer was right behind him, standing in the doorway, hearing every word.

"Harry."

He fled from the room before Lupin or Mother could come to him. Before Draco could get himself off the floor.

"Bravo Lupin." His father drawled, flat and sarcastic. Draco didn't stick around to hear the rest. He ran after his friend.

The bedroom door was slammed right at his face.

He tried for the handle but it was sealed. Stunned, he banged against the door.

"Harry! Harry!" he cried. "Open the door!"

He didn't hear a sound from inside, so he didn't know whether Harry was still awake or if he went back to bed. All he knew was that things had gone from bad to worse, and that he needed to fix it. So he continued with the door, banging harder, pleading louder. He banged and banged until his hands were numb and red. He banged until his legs gave out and he was down on his knees. He banged until his words died into silence and his cheeks were damp with tears.

He banged until he was slumped onto the floor, back pressed against the door, his weary hands wound around his propped-up knees.

He felt a cool, slender hand cupping his face, wiping away his tears. He smelt his mother's rich floral perfume as she kneeled down, her hand moving from his cheek to his hair, stroking it gently.

"Shh," she whispered. "It's okay, Dragon."

No, it wasn't. Nothing about this was okay. Black shouldn't have gotten away. Harry shouldn't be miserable. Life shouldn't be this mean. He shouldn't be crying.

He hated himself for crying, for being so weak. His best friend was hurting. More than hurting. He lost his parents, his home, his godfather that was the cause (one of the causes) to his misery. And there was nothing Draco could do about it. That was why he was crying. His best friend was hurting, and there was nothing he could do to make it better, which made feel so useless. Which made him cry harder.

Mother easily scooped him from the ground, onto her lap, rocking him like she used to when he was younger. She waited until his sobbing had quieted before speaking. "Try to put yourself in his shoes, Dragon. Imagine being in his position."

He sometimes did. Walking around his parents' lifeless bodies. The house being painted with their blood. He could never finish the thought.

She warned him that trauma was the worst type of the pain, the type that was hard to recover from. It held a powerful grip on people that was hard to break due to the memories that were hard to shake. It changed people. It broke them. It was already painful enough for a child to know that his parents were gone. But knowing your father gave it his all to protect his family that sadly wasn't enough? Watching your mother fall in front of you and being left alone with her body? Surviving through the very thing that killed them both and feeling that deep down you shouldn't be here without them? There was no word to describe something so horrendous. So painful.

"I…" His throat was tight with tears. His body was shaking. "I don't know what to do."

"I'm afraid there's nothing you can do, Dragon," she said. "The best thing we can do for Harry is give him time. And the best thing you can do for him is simply be there for him."

Draco has been doing that, though, since Halloween night: being there for him. He was constantly by Harry's side, refusing to leave him alone for a minute, but it wasn't enough.

The funeral was held at Aunt Lily's favorite church during the first week of December. Harry's cool, robotic demeanor didn't wane. Chin held high, eyes straight ahead, he didn't break as he sat in the front pew, the only one brave enough to sit so close to the caskets while his Muggle family was too scared to go near it. He didn't break down once during the service, attentive and calm through the speeches and memories that brought a majority of the mourners to tears. He didn't break down as the caskets were lowered deep underground and he tossed fistful of earth into each grave. He didn't break as people stepped forward to pay their respects, immune to their tears and unresponsive to their hugs.

His stoic expression didn't crack for a moment when his nuisance of a family came forward to talk to him.

"Apparently this Dumbledore thinks that you should live with us. Something about blood wards, which is suppose to protect you." His aunt said. She was a nasty-looking, uptight woman with a high, unpleasant voice to match her personality.

What?!

After barely escaping from the Dark Lord's wrath, Dumbledore thought that the safest place for Harry to be was with Muggles? And not just any Muggles, but ones of the worst sort. Ones that were rude and snotty, and made it clear that they found magic and those who did it sickening and unnatural.

For dear Merlin's sake, the woman looked like she'd rather face the Dark Lord herself than become her nephew's guardian.

She at least was attempting to look neutral about it. Her fat oaf of a husband didn't bother hiding his real feelings over the matter; his face flushed bright red in anger. Their son was no better.

"He's not staying in my room!" The brat shrilled. For his sake, he better be thanking his lucky stars that Draco didn't have a wand on him otherwise he'd turn the boy into a mouse, then give him away to Slyther as a chew toy.

Draco remembered the one time the Dursleys had stopped by Godric's Hollow while his family was over. He and Harry were playing on the swings until the fat lump charged towards them, pushing Harry off the swing, knocking him into the mud pile. He was about to burst into laughter till Draco picked up a heavy rock and smacked it against the boy's fat head, delighted by the nasty bruise the rock imprinted.

"This time it's a rock," he warned him, helping Harry get back on his feet and keeping him close. "Next time it will be hex if you touch, tease, or even breathe on Harry again."

Remembering that day, Draco wished he had that rock. Or a wand. Anything that would get the swine and his family out of their sight and their lives.

"Of course not, sweetheart," The woman ruffled the boy's limp hair with a smile, paying no mind to her sister's motherless son who needed comfort. Comfort she was wasting on the arse. "He'll stay in the cupboard."

Like hell he is, Draco scowled.

As if the boy could feel the sharp blade of Draco's dagger-edged glares, the pig looked over. His scowl deepened.

"Freak." he mouthed.

I'll show you a freak, pig. Fists clenched, Draco was ready to make his move. Two steps in, appearing in a flash of gray light, someone had taken care of the problem for him. A pink, curly pigtail poked a hole through the boy's pants.

How fitting.

"Mom!" the boy screamed, horrified.

The aunt looked just as horrified, chasing after her "darling" boy as he shrieked about the place, her whale husband hot on their heels.

Draco turned around where the light had come from. Uncle Severus moved his eyes over from the shrieking Muggles to him, nodding his head once before following his father who rolled his eyes.

His lips almost lifted into a smile. One that fell too quickly as a familiar pair of green, dead eyes turned to him.

The condolences and mourning continued at the wake Lupin and his mother held for the deceased. During sometime of the 'party', Harry disappeared. Any other person would have panicked, but then again that person didn't know Harry the way Draco did. He knew exactly where Harry was at. He used the Floo in the upstairs library to transport him to Godric's Hollow.

A chill swept through him as he stood in front of the house that was once lit with warmth and laughter that was now dead and cold as freezing winter night. The wards were shattered, which made sense seeing as though there was no longer a family to protect. He walked to the backyard, looking up at the tree house. It had taken Harry and his dad two whole summers to finally finish it, built entirely from hammers and nails instead of magic. It wasn't a speculator house. Compared to the forts and miniature houses his parents had done for him, Harry's tree-house looked so plain it was pathetic. But he knew how meant the house meant to Harry, especially now.

It was one of the few things he had left of his father.

Letting out a soft breath, Draco climbed.

He found Harry curled in a tight ball, back pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around drawn-up knees. His bleak eyes were fixed on the window, studying the night-sky. His eyes stayed fixed on the window even as Draco stepped inside.

"Harry." Nothing. No response. Draco was about to call his name again until the boy slowly turned over to him, rewarding Draco with those empty eyes that pierced right through him.

Those eyes were awful as ever, filled with such emptiness it was hard to look into them and not drown in the void that threatened to swallow him whole. However as awful as those eyes were, Draco discovered there was something far worse: looking into them while streams of tears ran down Harry's face.

Each tear that fell was like a sharp punch that hit Draco in the gut.

Without hesitation he rushed over to his friend, pulling him against his chest. He held onto him for dear life, not caring that his clothes were suffering from the tears that started off as lifeless, then grew to gushes as Harry's calm demeanor shattered into hard weeping, his small body shaking, fists clenching Draco's robes like they were his life-line. The only thing that could keep him from falling into the abyss of no return.

Draco decided right then that his mother was wrong. Time didn't heal. It only made things worse. He held onto Harry tight, wishing he could do something more. But what? In his family, the best solution for tears was gifts. Whenever he cried, his mother would buy him a new toy. And if that didn't work, then she'd give him a big hug and tell him that all will be well. He knew there was no toy amazing enough to fill in the hold Harry's parents left behind. Aunt Lily was no longer alive to hug her son and tell him that things would be alright.

What can I do?

A memory ran through his mind. Of him and Harry acting like snakes, laughing before Draco kissed him. The kiss was a surprise for them both, but it was one that Harry didn't seem to mind, laughing just the same when they pulled apart.

Draco thought it over for a second or two before he kissed Harry soundly on the lips. Just like before, Harry's body stilled from the touch. Just like before, Draco feared for his reaction, wondering if he pushed his boundaries. The first time they had done it, it was because their game had gone in a different direction. Now, there was no snake. This was no game. Would Harry be even more upset?

Harry's eyes were closed when Draco slowly pulled back. He took his time opening them, as if the action alone required all of his body's energy. His eyes still held tears, still were grief-stricken, but they weren't as broken.

"I see them," he confessed in a whisper so low, Draco had to move closer to hear him. "Mum and Dad. I keep hearing my dad screaming at my mom to take me away, to keep me safe. I keep hearing her say to me 'You are so loved, Harry' before she dies. That picture of her dying has been playing in my head over and over. And I can't stop it. I don't know how to make it stop."

Oh Harry. Draco felt his heart crumbling, eyes stinging with tears.

"My parents are dead. They're dead. Dumbledore says that my aunt and uncle are my only living relatives, so I have to live with them. Said that they can protect me. My aunt said that just because I live with them doesn't make us family. It just means I'm an unwanted burden. I'm all alone." At the last word, the tears Harry had been trying to hold broke free of his control and ran down his cheeks. The first set of words Harry had said in a month since his parents' death, and it made him cry.

Draco wanted nothing more than to grab a wand and hex the slimes into obviation for saying such a thing to his best friend. How could the old goat possibly think that giving Harry to them was the right thing to do? "I don't give an arse what Dumbledore has to say. Those Muggles couldn't protect an egg from cracking. You're my best friend. You're practically a Malfoy. You're staying with us. Father will make sure of it."

Harry looked up at him. Draco brushed and kissed away every tear that fell. He could see the teary waterfall was slowly letting up.

Smiling gently at the boy, Draco kissed his forehead. "Silly git. You can never be alone. Not when you have me," Kissing his forehead once more, he reminded the smaller boy of the agreement they made. "I'm yours and you're mine. Nothing can and never will separate us. Not Dumbledore. Not the Dark Lord. No one. Especially not some stupid Muggles."

For the first time in weeks the slightest hint of a smile curled Harry's lips. "I guess I never really thought of it like that. I guess that's why I have you, Draco."

"Yes, yes it is," Draco pulled Harry against him. Harry rested his head in the nape of Draco's neck, and Draco placed his cheek on top of his head. "That, and because I'm completely awesome."

He had no idea how much he missed hearing Harry's laughter until he was finally graced by the sound. It was soft, practically a whisper. Nevertheless it was beautiful all the time.