Once Malfoy spoke his need aloud, it seemed to pave the way for action. Three days later he asked Harry if he was free the next Saturday for the funerary ceremony. Harry agreed immediately to clear his schedule, which meant cancelling a weekend trip to London with Ron and Hermione. They of course wanted to know why.

He was reluctant to share Malfoy's personal business, but decided to tell his two best friends anyway. They responded with silence, then shrill protests.

"You're going to mourn them?" Ron squeaked, his eyes bugging out of his head. "Have you forgotten who they were? Lucius Malfoy! Lucius Malfoy!" He looked to Hermione for help.

"You can't seriously think they deserve to be at peace," Hermione shook her head disapprovingly.

"I think Draco Malfoy deserves to be at peace," Harry corrected her.

"That prat?" Ron was on his feet, standing before the common room fireplace, waving his arms for emphasis. The other students who were attempting to study or play chess excused themselves and departed. "Have you lost your mind? Have you lost your memory? Have you forgotten the last seven years?"

"It's obvious to anyone that you two have become friends," Hermione tried a rational tone. "And it's admirable to let bygones be bygones. But his family swore allegiance to the most dangerous dark wizard in history. If you stand at their graves and offer them peace," she shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand as though to stop her thought from being spoken aloud.

"Maybe you want to invite George to the funeral," Ron continued ranting. "Ask him if Fred would support that. Oh wait, he can't, Fred is dead," his eyes flashed furiously. "And Lucius Malfoy had a hand in his death. He may not have killed him himself, but it couldn't have happened without him."

"Draco Malfoy is my friend," Harry gritted his teeth angrily. "Not Lucius Malfoy."

"If you go," Ron pointed vehemently at him and stopped himself. He raked his hand through his ginger hair. He rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling as though praying for sanity.

"Not if," Harry said flatly. "I'm definitely going."

"If you go," Ron said again, shaking his head and still unable to finish the thought. "He's taking advantage of you," he said finally. "You obviously don't see it. He's made a charity case of himself and you're running to rescue him like you would anyone else."

"You don't know him," Harry said warningly. "Don't talk about him like you know him."

"And you do?" Ron paced the floor. "You've gone completely mad, Harry."

"You can forgive him so easily?" Hermione's eyes were wounded. She touched her forearm, and Harry remembered the word Bellatrix Lestrange had carved into the skin. The cuts had healed, and no scars remained, but the memory still hurt.

"Draco didn't do that," Harry reminded her. "He didn't do anything like that. His parents gave him to the Dark Lord. His own parents. The only thing he did was try to save them from Voldemort's power."

"He took the Dark Mark," Ron reminded him.

"He had no choice," Harry shot back. "And he's having it removed now."

"Dark Marks can't be removed," Hermione said gently, as though revealing Malfoy's deceit.

"They can. I was there, I've watched it done," Harry immediately wished he hadn't said that. His friends waited expectantly for him to explain. "It's a tattoo. He's having it removed by a muggle doctor with a laser."

"What's a laser?" Ron asked.

"How do you know?" Hermione didn't need to ask, she was smart enough to have figured it out

"I've been going with him."

"Just how much are you two hanging out?" Ron's tone now took on an edge of jealousy.

Harry didn't answer.

Ron cursed in disgust and stomped out of the common room. Hermione stared into the fireplace for a while, saying nothing. Finally she looked up at him, something penetratingly knowing in her eyes. She studied him, then nodded slightly to herself as though she finally understood. Then, without another word, she stood and left the room.

Harry didn't sleep well that night. He didn't sleep well for a few nights. At the quidditch match against Hufflepuff that week he nearly lost the snitch to their relatively inexperienced seeker. His teammates were as enthusiastic as ever over their victory, but Ron excused himself and took no part in the post-game revelry. Harry spent the evening sitting with Malfoy on the low stone wall outside of the main gates, talking about everything and nothing. He didn't get much sleep that night, either, but he went to bed in a better mood.

As the end of the week approached, Harry found himself looking forward to very few moments in his days: the ones where he knew he would see a certain blond Slytherin boy in his classes. But because of the way the eighth-years were all piled together in every class, he had a hard time enjoying himself. He could feel the heavy weight of Hermione's judgment on him when he and Malfoy's eyes met across the room. He could feel Ron's anger every time they paused to say hello after class.

He didn't know what Hermione thought for sure. She hadn't asked any questions and he hadn't confirmed or denied anything. He didn't know if she'd shared her private thoughts with Ron. Neither of them spoke of it, so he wasn't sure whether he should bring it up again.

There was no chance to broach the subject again before Saturday rolled around. After breakfast he showered and dressed in what he hoped was appropriate funerary attire. He had a pair of black wool dress slacks, a dark gray button down shirt and a neatly stitched black knit sweater. It wasn't as formal as a suit, but he didn't know if this was a suit affair or not. When the green spark beacon charm floated through his wall and flashed for attention, he decided to stop fretting about it and set off for the breezeway.

Hermione was sitting in the Gryffindor common room with a blanket around her legs and a textbook in her lap. She set down her quill as Harry passed through.

"You look nice," she said softly.

"Do I?" Harry smoothed down his sweater self-consciously. "Is it too casual?"

"I think it's perfect," she smiled sadly. She stood and crossed the room quickly, then stood on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. "You're a good friend, Harry." She released him and held his face in her hands. "Malfoy is lucky to have a friend like you."

"Thanks," Harry smiled gratefully. "I'm lucky to have a friend like you."

"I'll always love you," she said firmly. "No matter what you do or who you do it with."

Harry heard her meaning. His heart ached, and the back of his eyes felt prickly. "I love you too, Hermione."

"Ron will come around," she added, returning to the sofa and wrapping her legs in the blanket once again. "He just needs time."

Harry nodded and backed towards the door. Hermione picked up her quill as a way of letting him know that he didn't need to say any more. He exited through the Fat Lady portrait and made his way down the moving stairs to the ground floor. He dashed to the breezeway and caught sight of Draco Malfoy, a shadow in black against the bright dappled sunlight.

Malfoy was dressed in charcoal gray slacks, a fitted black turtleneck, and a black blazer. No tie, Harry noted with relief. He didn't think he was dressed too casually anymore. Malfoy extended his elbow and Apparated the instant he felt Harry's grip. They landed with just a bit of a stumble on the stone floor of a very large room. Harry's head swivelled around in surprise, having expected to land in the Malfoy family cemetery.

"Is this your house?" he wondered. It didn't look familiar. For one, there were no walls or furniture.

"Yes," Malfoy nodded grimly.

"What happened to it?" The space was enormous, stretching off in every direction with nothing to divide the space.

A look of recognition crossed Malfoy's face as he remembered that Harry had been here once before. "I've gutted it," he said simply. He took a few steps into the wide open space. "Malfoy Manor needs a change. I'm having it exorcised and then remodeled. It will be a whole new home when it's done."

"What did you do with all of your family's belongings?" Harry wondered, craning his head up at the second floor balcony. From where he stood the space above them appeared to be cleared out, too.

"Storage for the most important things," Malfoy dove his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet. "Sold anything that wasn't important." He looked up pointedly, "Donated anything dangerous to the Ministry or Hogwarts for study. It's how I spent my summer."

"I can't imagine," Harry murmured. Their voices echoed faintly through the space. All that remained of the home's original structure were exterior walls, floors and ceilings, windows and a smattering of structurally necessary columns.

Malfoy was still shuffling his feet, staring down at them and looking miserable. Harry took a few feeble steps towards him, wishing he knew how to take the pain away.

Malfoy looked up and nodded towards the front windows. "The carriage is here."

They exited through the front, stepping lightly down the front stairs to the curved driveway. An old fashioned horse-drawn carriage awaited them, and the door swung open at their approach. Malfoy alighted first, then Harry. The door swung closed and the horses set off at a walking pace.

Malfoy's face was drawn, brow furrowed, the vertical line between his eyes deeper than ever. His hand played pensively at his lower lip as he stared out through the carriage window at the passing countryside. He sighed shudderingly, involuntarily.

Harry didn't know what to do. He lifted his arm and carefully brought it around Malfoy's shoulders, slipping behind his head and curling around his arm. He drew Malfoy gently into the embrace and brought his head down to his shoulder. Harry leaned his own head over, resting his cheek on Malfoy's hair. The blond boy didn't resist. He leaned his weight into Harry and nuzzled his forehead into the space below Harry's ear.

They rode in companionable silence as the carriage's wheels creaked down the road. the horses were pulling them up a hill, and Harry could begin to make out the shape of monuments at the top. He reached over and grasped Malfoy's hands, disentangling his fingers from each other and lacing his own through instead. Malfoy returned the grip with equal pressure.

Finally the carriage drew to a stop and the door opened on its own. Harry stepped out, followed by Malfoy. The cemetery must have been hundreds of years old, given the number of grave markers and the age of some of the stones. A small gravel path climbed towards the crest of the hill, lined with small shrubs and flanked by cultivated fruit trees. Malfoy faltered, unable to make the ascent on his own.

Harry took his hand and held it firmly. Malfoy looked up, his gray eyes searching Harry's. Harry flashed him a brave smile and nodded his head in the direction of the path. Malfoy did not smile back, but stepped forward with him.

They walked hand in hand up the path, slowly but ever forward. The monument at the crest was made from recently quarried stone, shaped simply and elegantly in lines and floral patterns. The stones formed a small arch, with fluted columns to either side. A latticework had been added to the top, and recently sprouted vines climbed along and through the interwoven slats. Beneath the arch were two stone slabs. Lucius and Narcissa had been laid to rest beneath them. Malfoy retrieved his wand and flicked it twice, manifesting two long-stemmed white roses. He released Harry's hand and stepped forward, then crouched down and laid a flower on top of each slab.

His shoulders fell. Instead of rising to his feet he collapsed. He came down on hands and knees as a tide of grief overtook him, shaking his body with great, heaving sobs. Harry knelt beside him and held him as tight as he could as the pain poured out of his friend.

Malfoy spoke between shuddering sobs, one moment telling his parents he missed them, the next begging to know why they'd abandoned him, and the very next apologizing for failing them. He was angry with the choices they had made, and was devastated that they hadn't chosen him instead. He addressed most of his devastation at his mother, and most of his rage at his father. Harry held his friend as the storm of emotions tore through him, not speaking or offering any answers.

Finally the storm broke, and Malfoy was able to rise to his feet. He turned to face Harry, his eyes red and swollen, his face drawn with grief. Harry pulled him close and hugged him as tightly as he could, and Malfoy clutched at him as though he were a life preserver. Eventually Malfoy was able to raise his head and look Harry in the eye. He thanked Harry and screwed his face up, trying to stow away the emotion once again.

Harry brushed back a lock of his blond hair and smiled supportively. He drew Malfoy's forehead down to his lips and kissed it lightly, not knowing if it was the right thing to do but feeling like he should.

Malfoy said a few more words, some vaguely ceremonial phrases that seemed appropriate for a burial. He wished his parents peace and a safe transition into the next world. And then he was ready to go.

Departing was easier than approaching, naturally. Harry walked in silence beside his friend, not sure if it was okay to speak yet. He felt something brush against his hand and looked down in surprise. Malfoy was reaching out hesitantly, his fingertips hovering shyly above Harry's. Harry took his hand and smiled, and they walked together to the waiting carriage.

They rode back to the manor in quiet. Malfoy cast a quick recovery charm to clear his runny nose and unpuff his eyes. Looking better seemed to make him feel better. The carriage pulled up in front of the house and they stepped out, walking hand in hand up the steps and back inside.

Once they were inside they weren't sure what to do. They were in the middle of a vast open space, nowhere to sit and nothing to do, holding hands without any distraction. It had to be acknowledged.

Harry looked down at their interlaced fingers. Malfoy did, too. No, thought Harry. Draco. Draco did, too.

"So this is a change," Draco said dryly, squeezing Harry's hand once.

"Yeah," Harry was suddenly bashful.

"How long have we been dodging this?" Draco looked up into Harry's eyes, smiling weakly.

"Weeks. Months," Harry shrugged, his cheeks blushing pink. "Years?"

"Maybe," Draco nodded.

He tugged Harry's hand a little, like he was testing the other boy's agreeability. Harry stepped forward timidly, his stomach turning backflips. Draco kept tugging until they were touching, their foreheads, their chests, even their knees touched. Harry could feel Draco's breath on his skin and his heart raced in response. He looked up into his gray eyes and caught a sparkle there. He tilted his chin and brought his mouth up to Draco's and just like that, they kissed.

It was sweet, innocent and hesitant, just a whisper of contact. But it was enough. Goosebumps sprang to life up and down Harry's arms. Draco caught Harry's chin in his hands, his fingers playing lightly down the sides of Harry's face. He brushed his lips to Harry's again, and the goosebumps redoubled.

The two boys, blond and brunette, stood in the slanted morning sunlight that filtered through the towering dusty windows. Their lips touched ever so gently, as they explored each other's willingness. Their bodies were still, their hand moved in slight degrees. For a moment it was enough to know the other wanted to, too.

But soon their bodies caught up. Their hands wanted more, they wanted to press closer, to find and make contact with skin. Harry's fingers moved of their own accord, looking for a way beneath Draco's shirt. Draco sought his own contact, working his hands down Harry's neck and slipping beneath his collar. The kissing intensified and suddenly it seemed imperative that they find someplace to explore this thing fully.

Draco pulled back and grasped Harry's head in his hands. He bit his lip as his eyes ravaged Harry's face hungrily. His mouth was tense, the bulge in his pants explained why. "Not here," he said hoarsely. "Not in this house."

Harry understood. He clasped Draco's arms and closed his eyes as Draco Apparated them back to Hogwarts.