Chapter 5

Hermione stared in the mirror as she applied her lipstick. It was the same shade as her lips, so she didn't quite understand why she was even bothering with it. She didn't put on any mascara, for she knew it would only run, and there was only a light dusting of blush on her cheeks, just enough to enhance her features.

She opted for a black pantsuit with a simple white shirt, not believing a dress was appropriate for the occasion.

Dresses were for celebrations.

After blotting her lips, she stood there, looking at her reflection, but, for some reason, she couldn't see herself.

The young genius wasn't sure when she had changed from the snobbish, ugly, bucktooth girl she had been, but she wished everyday for those days back.

Back when all she worried about was getting good grades and learning all she could and before boys became involved in her pursuit of happiness.

She longed for not wondering whose funeral she would be attending next.

After a week of mourning and memorials, today was Alastor Moody's funeral.

The news that an entire squad of Aurors – led by none other than Mad-Eye himself – had been utterly defeated had rocked the wizarding world.

Moody, at the request of the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, had come out of retirement to train and lead an elite group of Aurors.

The twenty-five Aurors were handpicked by the legendary dark-wizard catcher, and they were taught to be the best, and to be the greatest threat to Death Eater raids.

They were not supposed to be beaten by two Death Eaters.

Fourteen had survived, but only six were considered fit to return to active duty immediately. Of the other eight, five were likely to never be able to return to service.

All the survivors said the same thing, though.

There may have been two Death Eaters there, but one defeated them.

Some spoke of the laughter that seemed to permeate their very souls. Others, of the maniacal glee he danced with as he battled.

One thing was clear, however.

The Death Eaters had a dangerous new soldier.

Hermione sighed as she sat on her bed, pulling on her hose and high heels.

She looked around the room she occupied at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

The chestnut-haired witch had been here for nearly a week, and she suspected she would remain here for the rest of the summer.

Her parents had been sent into hiding, with Arthur Weasley and Professor Dumbledore lending the most weight to the argument.

Hermione was well known as a friend of Harry's, and to get to her – and though her, Harry – there was a good chance Voldemort would target her parents.

So, they had disappeared to some safe house Dumbledore had set up for them in France.

Now, Hermione was alone.

Harry had said she could stay here as long as she needed to, but beyond that, he hadn't said very much at all to her.

Every time she would enter a room, he would leave. She would ask him a question, and receive nothing but monosyllabic answers, if she received one at all.

It was frustrating to be so close to her friend and have him treat her with indifference at best, contempt at the worst.

She could already feel the tears welling up in her eyes, and she wiped them away quickly before her mascara could be ruined.

A soft knock drew her attention, and she turned to her door as it opened. Harry's face peeked through, a soft sadness in his eyes.

"Hermione, I…" he started, before stopping and taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I've been horrible to you since you arrived, and I've no right to be. Not now. I told you we'd be here if you ever needed anything, and then I act like a complete arse.

"So, I'm sorry… yeah…"

Not being able to contain herself any longer, Hermione threw herself at the Harry, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "Thank you, Harry…" she whispered between sobs. "Thank you so much."

They stood in silence for a few minutes before separating.

"We should get going," he whispered before walking out.

As she followed him down to the fireplace, she realized he still hadn't forgiven her, but he was trying, and that was all she could ask for.

Harry sat in the pew and waited for the ceremony to begin. It had been a difficult couple of days, both for him personally and for the entire Order. He had lost a mentor of sorts, and everyone had lost an important symbol in the fight against the darkness.

Moody, in his will, had requested a small, private ceremony, with only those he named invited. He looked around at the surprisingly large number of people already seated around him, as well as the last of those still filtering in.

The Weasleys were sitting to his left, with Ron directly beside him. Molly was holding her composure admirably, Harry thought, and he couldn't fault the endless stream of tears that ran down her cheeks. Arthur had one arm around his wife, holding her head to his shoulder. Tears could be seen trailing down his face as well.

His other arm lay across the shoulders of his only daughter, and Harry felt his heart go out to her as she sat there, staring blankly ahead. Ginny's face held the same lost and unbelieving look many of the mourners gathered shared.

Charlie sat next to his mother, offering as much emotional support to her as she could manage, but he seemed like he was taking more than he was giving. The twins sat next to him, their eyes dry, but all joking and smiles gone from their faces. Harry thought there was something very disturbing about the picture. For as long as he had known them, the twins could think of anything to lighten the mood of any situation.

Not here, though. Not today.

Percy had not shown his face, had not even owled his parents, since well before the failed defense of Lord Maines. He had been specified in Moody's will as not invited.

Harry couldn't find fault with the late Auror's decision.

Bill and Fleur had not arrived yet, and Harry doubted they would make it at all. The second eldest Weasley was currently holed up in northern Britain with Remus Lupin, tracking the movements of the major werewolf packs and his wife was in France with her family expecting their first child.

It's a sad state of affairs when a husband can't be with his wife, Harry thought with a somber shake of his head.

The raven-haired boy's eyes drifted across Ron, and he felt a moment of pity for his redheaded best friend. He seemed to take it upon himself to be the strong one for the Weasleys through all this, even though it was more than apparent to Harry that he wanted nothing more than to cling to his mother and cry.

With a sigh, Harry set his hand on the other boy's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Ron merely nodded in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes straight ahead so he wouldn't break down.

Hearing slight shuffling to his right, Harry looked over to see Hermione standing and giving Tonks a tight hug. The two women were clinging together for dear life, and he couldn't help the slight wash of anger that quickly passed through him at the sight.

This was the girl that had been one of his closest confidants and friends through all his years in the wizarding world, and he felt ashamed at the how angry he was with her for her transgression, especially here, when they were remembering a fallen hero.

But it was the person she committed the transgression with that merited most of his anger, and had indeed managed to garner most of his hatred over the years.

For all any of them knew, he was responsible in some way for the death of the man they were here to honor.

So, for all his trying he couldn't find it in his heart to forgive her completely.

Before he could ruminate any longer, the congregation fell silent, and Harry looked up to see Dumbledore standing at the front of the audience.

There was a brief period of calm that settled over the crowd as they looked upon the composed Headmaster. He had been Alastor Moody's greatest friend, and Harry could see the toll of losing him had taken on the aged man.

The first tear escaped his eye then, but he clamped down on it quickly and forced himself to remain as composed as his mentor.

"Friends, thank you for coming. Today we are here to celebrate the life of a man that gave his over to defending ours." He paused, his mask of composure slipping slightly before he could restrain himself.

"For more than a half a century, Alastor Moody was committed to the pursuit of justice. He made many enemies throughout his career, but he also made many friends. Trust came hard to Alastor, so you could easily consider yourself lucky to be counted as a friend by him, as all present are.

"I first met Alastor sixty years ago. I was beginning my tenure at Hogwarts as a professor, and he was a troublesome seventh-year. It's not very difficult for me to admit that we did not like each other much," he said with a smile. "He considered me an arrogant blowhard, and I considered him an obnoxious delinquent."

"This animosity between us continued through his Auror training, as I was great friends with the head of the Auror department of the time, Jackson Tribadou, and I often stuck my head in to see how his new recruits were doing.

"At the beginning of the First War, however, things changed quickly between us. I was taking a stroll through the countryside when I was assaulted by a score of Death Eaters. At the time, I had not acquired all the intelligence now in my possession, and therefore, things were looking quite bleak for me. Then, a young man appeared, and, standing back-to-back, we drove of the villains. Alastor lost his eye in that battle, and a strong friendship was borne from the fires of battle," he smiled sadly, and, though his voice was strong, his shoulders slumped a little, and Harry could see the loss he was feeling in every motion the Headmaster made.

Turning to the casket laying behind him, Dumbledore set his hand upon it and whispered a few words. Facing the audience, the sad smile remained on his face as he raised his hands. "The floor is open for anyone else who would like to say a few words."

Arthur stood and walked to stand beside Dumbledore. He spoke of his constant wariness of the aged Auror, and admitted to being the one to create the "Mad-Eye" moniker for him. His short speech brought smiles to the faces of the congregation, and Harry was thankful for the man's truly optimistic nature.

Tonks came next, and she spoke briefly of the man who had been her mentor before she completely broke into tears and was led back to her seat by Dumbledore.

More and more people spoke, most Harry had never met, but almost all spoke of a time when Alastor Moody had saved their lives, or had given them hope in their hour of need.

When no one else stood, Dumbledore resumed his previous position. "If anyone else would like to speak, the floor is still…" Dumbledore trailed off and his eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the doors.

Harry turned to see what had caught the Headmaster's attention. His own eyes widened in shock at the man standing there in a crisp, black muggle suit.

He was barely cognizant of the elder man asking, "Can I help you?"

The raven haired-boy's mouth set in an angry line as the newcomer walked confidently down the aisle, his bodyguard one step behind him. He stopped before the assembly and looked over the crowd, his eyes locking momentarily with the girl seated to Harry's right.

After a moment of composing himself, Draco Malfoy spoke.

"I have something to say."

Draco looked over those in attendance and saw many familiar faces. Many of those seated before him were Aurors, and many had been through his home over the years in raids, looking for Dark Art artifacts.

He could see anger and outrage on the faces of many, shock and confusion on the faces of others.

Then his eyes met hers. His mind flashed of the night they had spent together, the night he had let down all of his shields and just let himself be.

He remembered how she was the driving thought that had led him to fight for his survival against the man they were here to honor.

The man he had killed.

He broke eye contact and cleared his throat. "I have something to say."

Draco paused for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would contest him. He saw Potter begin to stand, but she clamped down on his arm, giving him a look that made him return to his seat.

After a moment of silence, he continued.

"I know many of you are wondering what I am doing here, I myself have wondered that. But yesterday, I received an invitation to this memorial," he began, holding up the piece of parchment as proof.

He saw several people trade confused looks at this, but he forged ahead. "At first, I didn't understand why he would want me here. I thought maybe it was because his imposter turned me into a bouncing ferret in fourth year," he cracked a smile, and saw others do the same. "But I quickly dismissed that idea. He was a man with no regrets, no apologies, not even for a young delinquent.

"Then I thought about how he had spent so much time in the company of men like my father. Men he spent his life trying to put behind bars for their misdeeds, and this made more sense. I'm not here because I liked the man or because he liked me," a few people grew angry at the admission, as if they thought he was being disrespectful. "At times in my life, it seemed to me as if he was waging a single-handed war against my father and my family name, not that my name carries much clout anymore," he admitted, a self-deprecating smile creeping onto his face. "But yesterday, when I received the invitation, I realized he wasn't fighting against my father or my family. He was fighting against what they stood for.

"It's no secret to any of us gathered that my family has long been supporters of the Dark Arts. Malfoys of generations past can be tied in some way, shape or form to some of the greatest atrocities in wizarding and muggle history. But this one man fought for all he was worth against that. Not against the people who committed those acts, but against the chaos itself. Through his actions, he proved himself to be one of the most selfless men of our age.

"Though I never truly met him, I believe the one goal in Alastor Moody's life was to make the world a little better, a little safer, for those came after."

He paused for a moment, and looked at the reaction his words were having on the crowd. Many still looked suspicious of him, but he could tell his words had struck a cord in most of those assembled.

Turning to the casket that lay behind him, he bowed his head. "Alastor Moody, I'm sorry it came so late, but you have my respect."

After another moment he faced the audience again, furiously wiping away the lone tear that had escaped. "Thank you."

His head down, he walked quickly back up the aisle, Goyle at his heels.

Before he reached the doors, the voice of the Headmaster reached him, causing him to pause.

"Lord Malfoy, thank you."

Not looking back, Draco nodded stiffly and continued on his way.

Hermione watched him walk by, and wanted so bad to reach out to him, to touch him. His words had touched her, and not because of the words themselves, but because he had spoken truly. He had dropped his masks, and spoken from his heart.

"Hermione."

Jumping a little, she turned to Harry, who was glaring at her. "Yes?" she asked, a little guilt creeping into her voice.

"Don't."

Shaking her head, she pulled him into a hug, trying to convey all her sorrow, all her uncertainty to her friend. "I'm sorry," she whispered before standing and quickly leaving to chase the blond down.

She heard a commotion behind her, and turned to see Ron trying to leave the pew and follow her, but Harry and Mr. Weasley were restraining him. Their eyes locked for a moment, and she could see all the pain, betrayal and anger that suffused his face. With a half-sob, she turned away and ran, her high heels clicking loudly as she did.

Reaching sunlight, she saw the two boys reach the bottom of the stairs and pull their wands out, preparing to apparate.

"Draco!"

At her yell, she saw the blond stop and look up at her, but her heel broke and she pitched forward, her eyes widening in surprise and fear as the steep steps of the building rushed toward her.

Just before her head connected with the unyielding stone, however, she stopped.

She heard condescending tone as she floated into an upright position. "That's twice I've saved you from falling, Granger."

Looking at him, she calmly reached down and removed her shoes as he levitated her down the remaining stairs. "Well, sorry to be such a burden on your limited capacity for good will, Malfoy," she shot back automatically. Setting down softly in front of him, she saw the hurt run through his eyes at her comment and her face fell. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it…" she apologized, her eyes welling up with tears.

"I know," he responded softly, nodding. "Natural response and all that."

There was a brief moment of awkward silence before Malfoy turned to his friend. "Gregory, could you excuse us for a few moments?"

The larger boy gave his friend a suspicious look before nodding and stepping a respectable distance away.

"How have you –"

"What are you –"

They both stopped and smiled as they began speaking at the same time. Draco gestured for her to go first and she obliged. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her head cocked to the side in curiosity.

"I was invited," he answered stiffly.

Hermione nodded, knowing there was more to the answer, but knowing he would be more likely to walk away than divulge if she pressed him for it.

"How have you been?" he asked, his voice showing concern, surprising her.

Shaking her head, she smiled sadly. "Not good. I've lost my friends, my family has gone into hiding, a man I always looked up to just died, and, through it all, I keep thinking about you," she said, her voice cracking with emotion at the end.

His eyes widened in surprise. He didn't bother to school his expression back to the mask of indifference. "Something's different," she said, cocking her head to the side again. "You're not hiding."

He nodded stiffly before walking away and gesturing for her to follow.

They were in north London, and Hermione looked around at the architecture of the buildings around her, wondering idly how many of them had been built after the blitz, and how many had survived that terrible time in world history.

As she looked at a building, she saw Goyle following them, still at the same respectable distance as before.

Hermione jumped slightly when the blond began speaking. "Recent events have led me to see things in a new light, Granger," he began. "Last week, after the raid on Lord Maines manor, several Death Eaters returned to my home, and they bragged about the success of their mission."

The witch's eyes widened in fear and shock as she stopped walking. "What?"

He continued speaking, but had stopped to face her. "One man was bragging about being the one to kill Lord Maines. He said that his daughter had been an added bonus. 'Killing two birds with one stone,' he said."

The blond raised his eyes to meet hers. "I killed him."

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth in shock.

He began walking again, and she following obediently, too stunned to do much else.

"I was so angry that a child had been killed, that I lost my head and killed him."

Hermione stopped again and grabbed his arm. "Draco, prove it to me."

His eyes narrowed in confusion at her request. "That I killed someone?"

Unable to voice her question, she shook her head harshly and started undoing his cufflink. Gone, she tried to push up his sleeve, but he yanked his arm out of her grasp before she could.

She stared at him, wide-eyed at his violent reaction. Her breath hitched as he removed his jacket and handed it to her.

Undoing his cufflink, he pushed up his sleeve and showed her his arm.

She breathed an unconscious sigh of relief as she saw it was bare.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Nodding angrily, he redid his cuff and snatched his jacket out of her grasp. "See you at school," he snapped before apparating with a 'crack.' Another crack sounded behind her a moment later, and she was left alone. Turning, she made her way back to the memorial.

As she reached it, she saw Harry and Ron standing there waiting for her, arguing quietly.

Just before she reached them she stopped in her tracks once more.

His arm was bare.

Completely.

Her hand flew to her mouth and she fell to the ground as her knees gave out under her and her friends ran to her in alarm.

Draco growled as he stormed through the manor to his rooms, Goyle still at his heels.

Reaching his rooms, he discarded his jacket and shirt onto the bed before grabbing his arm and peeling of the parchment he had placed there with a sticking charm.

It was a trick he had learned shortly after he began school. Take a simple piece of parchment, place a texture charm on it, matching it to the tone of his skin, then apply it with a sticking charm and voila, instant perfect skin.

"You alright, Draco?" the other boy asked timidly.

With a sigh, the blond fell into a sitting chair near the fire in his study. "No, Greg, I'm not. Because she's going to figure it out, and then my fate is in her hands," he sighed, his head falling back.

A thin smile spread across his face as he remembered their conversation. She thinks about me.

Author's Note

Wow. That took entirely too long to write. I suppose that's what I get for writing something that wasn't in my original plan. And, as a bonus, a short, semi-fluffy moment between our two lovebirds. I apologize profusely for the ridiculously long amount of time this took to post, and I can (almost) promise I will never take that long again.

Its amazing how many computer problems a single person can have when they are trying to get something done, you know?

Anyway, if all goes accordingly to (scary for me to say, considering nothing ever goes according to plan) the next chapter should be up sometime next week.