I uh... I know it's super short. This chapter needed to happen but I wasn't sure what else to put in it. Hope ya like it even though it's way shorter than all the other chapters were in book one/are going to be the rest of this book.

Draco Malfoy, like many twelve year old boys in the world, had countless things he would have preferred to do on a fine Monday evening than go to a funeral. He hadn't even known his grandfather on his mother's side particularly well. Nevertheless, there he was, squirming a little in his stiff dress robes, waiting as his mother laced up her heeled boots, and his father straightened his tie in the mirror of the entrance hall to the manor.

"Let's go, Draco," Father said when they were all ready. Draco rolled his eyes behind Father's back. His father had a habit of telling Draco to do things when he was already doing them. Did he think Draco was just standing at the door in dress robes to not be ready to go? Draco had been waiting for Father, not the other way around. Still, Draco didn't say anything.

Mother must have seen Draco roll his eyes, because she tapped his shoulder briefly and gently before following Father out the door, her own way of reminding him to keep his composure.

The funeral was a small, private matter. It was just Father, Mother, and Draco there, and of course the funeral celebrant. It was short, too. The celebrant said a few words, dirt was thrown over the coffin, and then it was over. Neither Mother nor Father had written a eulogy.

It was interesting for Draco to watch. He was used to Father taking the head with, well, most everything, but today it seemed Mother was calling the shots. She spoke a few words to Father, and he looked at Draco.

"Draco, we're going to go deal with business inside," he said. "Let's go."

They left Mother behind, staring at the grave.

When they returned home, Dobby didn't materialize instantly to take their coats as it always had. Father paused right inside the threshold, looking around.

"Dobby?" he said after a moment's pause. There was no response. No house elf materialized. Draco tensed. He knew what was going to follow.

"Dobby?" said Father again. Still no response. Father shook his head. "Where is that blasted elf?" It wasn't like the house elf to not show up when Father beckoned. Hoisting the snake headed cane that concealed his wand, Father marched into the house, still calling for the house elf.

Draco glanced at Mother, who unpursed her lips when she saw Draco watching. She glided into the house, the picture of serenity.

When Dobby the house elf suddenly appeared in the living room half an hour later with a crack, after Father had stalked the entirety of the manor searching for it, Draco jumped. He'd been curled up on the couch reading a new book.

The house elf's ears twitched, and he looked downright panicked when he heard Father calling its name.

Draco stood up slowly and placed his book down on the couch. Father rarely raised his voice to Draco, but he didn't hold back in the same way with the house elf, and Draco had never liked yelling, so Draco retreated to his room. Still, he heard some shouts and questions through the walls, floating up the majestic stairs.

"Where were you? We did not give you permission to leave the house."

"Dobby didn't mean any harm," the squeaking voice of the house elf came. "Dobby was just-"

"Just what?" When the house elf didn't respond, Father's voice grew even louder. "Just what?"

The house elf didn't answer, and Father commanded that it go punish itself.

Draco plugged his ears so he didn't have to hear the house elf yelping as it punished itself for the disobedience.

Supper that evening was a quiet affair. Afterwords, Father and Mother went upstairs to speak in their room, and Draco went out back to practice flying. After all, he was going to try out for the Quidditch team this year.