Three things happen at once: an owl from the ministry arrives, which Malve intercepts. A lynx Patronus appears in Draco's room and a terrier Patronus similarly appears in the library, searching out Harry. Malve's shrieking is heard upstairs and Draco nearly ignores Kingsley's lynx to find out what the commotion is when he hears that familiar voice utter words he wishes he could forget.
"Draco, you need to come to the Ministry. There's been an accident." The words are simple, but Draco falls to his knees. He no longer has the inclination to see what Malve's blustering on about or why Harry is battering at his door.
In the library, the terrier howls and circles him until he wakes up. Harry listens intently to Ron's voice, but he's not sure he's comprehending what he's hearing.
"Harry, you need to find Draco. We can't get hold of him. Something happened. Fuck, mate. I don't know how to tell you this. Narcissa's dead. I'm sorry, Harry. We need Draco to come in. Shacklebolt sent his Patronus, but we haven't had a response. Please, Harry. Bring him in."
The terrier circles a few times, yips at him and he jolts out of his stupor.
On his way to Draco's room, he hears the commotion downstairs, but he needs to get to Draco. He hammers against the door, but there's no answer.
"Draco! You need to answer. Are you in there?"
Draco doesn't—can't answer.
"Draco. I can't imagine what's going through your head right now, but you need to go to the Ministry." He leans against the wood, but knows that he'll hear nothing. "Fuck." He bangs his forehead against the wood, his breathing increasing and shaking out his hand before stepping back.
One deep breath—he takes one deep breath before gripping his wand and casting every unlocking charm he's ever learned. When he's done, he steps forward and thanks every god he knows that the door opens.
"Draco?" The other man is on his knees in the middle of the room. Fingers brush the carpet as his arms hang limp at his sides. He's staring at nothing.
Harry rushes forward and gently grips his shoulders. He winces at the touch, but steadies himself. "Draco?"
Draco slowly lifts his head, one tear beginning to fall. "She's gone, isn't she?"
Harry nods, his own tears a constant stream of loss down his face. "We have to go talk to Kingsley."
Draco starts to shake his head, but stops.
"You're an Auror. You know how this works."
He nods then, standing with Harry's help. For the first time, Harry is scrambling around Draco's unfamiliar room trying to find clothing and robes and shoes. Once Draco's dressed, he ushers them toward the Floo.
"Ministry of Magic," Harry calls out, then grabs Draco's upper arm and walks them both through.
After an hour of explanation, the only thing clear to Draco is that his mother is gone. Harry's taken in a bit more of the situation from his chair in the corner, but even then, his emotions play havoc with his ears. Ron looks at him throughout the meeting as if he's unsure whether to cater more to Draco or Harry. Shacklebolt is sitting on the edge of his desk speaking in quiet (as quiet as a man of his stature can be) tones to Draco. His voice resonates through the room and etches images deep in the backs of Harry's eyelids.
Almost to Twilfitt and Tattings. Attacked. Not a Death Eater. Hate crime.
Hate crime.
"Did you catch them?" were the first words out of Draco's mouth.
"No," Kingsley tells him. "We have several witnesses, but they are telling us that the caster was using a Disillusionment spell."
"So we have nothing?"
"I'm not saying that, Draco."
"We have our best on it, mate," Ron interrupts. "I know it doesn't fix anything, but you should know that we've got the best on this."
Draco glares at him. "And who, exactly, are you considering the best?"
"Myself, Thomas, Singer, and Unspeakables Nott and Zabini."
Draco flinches at the last name, but nods. "Fine."
"Right now, I think you should take care of your mother." Kingsley reaches out a hand and grips Draco's shoulder. Draco shrugs it off, standing and walking toward the door.
"This evening?" His tone is clipped and Harry doesn't quite understand the exchange.
"In about an hour. Will you be ready?"
Draco's face hardens, but again, he nods. When he opens the door, Harry must jog to keep up with him.
At the Manor, Draco is anything but calm. He's directing the house elves to open the crypt and light candles. They scurry around as he asks for them to prepare incense and linens. Malve, in particular, is flustered when he asks her to retrieve the casket. She attempts to say something, but he cuts her off with a wave of the hand and a short, "I can't."
"Draco?" Harry steps into his room. He turns away when he sees Draco putting on ceremonial robes. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
He huffs. "I have to stand vigil for the next twenty-four hours. Some whisky would be fucking fantastic."
Harry runs out of the room and returns with a decanter. He pours the glass with hands that won't stay steady. Draco walks up beside him and takes it. The liquid sloshes around, but he downs one glass, then another.
"Anything else? Do I need to greet guests or—"
"Guests?" He barks a laugh. "There won't be any guests. You and I are probably the last people in this world who cared for her, aside from that blasted house elf." Another shot of whiskey down. "This is something I have to do alone."
When the body arrives, Harry is unsure what to do. He doesn't know these rituals and is so unsure of how to handle even himself that he opens the door and lets the house elves take care of everything.
Harry retreats to his room, crawls beneath the covers, and cries for everything that Narcissa meant to him. His fingers clutch at the sheets and he's screaming when Tovo enters the room. She tries to calm him, but he yells at her to leave. In her absence, he burrows deeper in his grief and lets it swallow him whole. He feels his parents and Sirius and Remus and Tonks. He feels Dumbledore and Moody and Hedwig and Fred. It's not any of those faces that truly breaks him down, though. It's when he thinks of Snape that he becomes hysterical and loses track of everything but trying to breathe. Professor Snape who spent countless hours sneering at him and throwing jeers at him. Professor Snape who tried to help his mother. Professor Snape who, inadvertently, helped him defeat… No. Not now. Too much.
Between the sheets and beneath the cover, Harry cries for them all, but tonight, he also cries for her.