A/N: Let's continue, shall we?

Thank you's for Bibayb, Purple Raveness, LitCandle, Adele Sparks (Yes, actually this story was inspired by a host of U2 songs), StarryGazer, and CurleyGreen (Harry has growth to do in this story. Sometimes growth hurts. And Harry's not cold; he's just a bit bitter and tired.)

Harry briefly wonders what it is that makes rich wizards feel obliged to have funerals in their homes. Rose Hill is a grand home in the tradition of Malfoy Manor, only decidedly less frigid. Mrs. Hornby is a willowy blond woman, who looks awfully familiar. She recognizes Harry immediately. "Professor Scryer," she begins, grasping Harry's hand firmly. "I'm so grateful that you could make it."

"My sincere condolences for your loss, Mrs. Hornby." She smiles a watery, yet kind smile.

"The loss is not mine alone, Professor. Call me Anna." She takes the roses Harry broughtred ones for Nicholas. "Shall we?" Harry nods, offering her his arm.

"If I may ask, where is Mr. Hornby?" Anna sighs.

"My husband blames himself. Camilla was his sister. She wanted to see Nicholas so badly. He was always her favorite nephew." Harry is silent as he follows Nicholas' mother through her home. It is spacious and, at the same time, warm and inviting. She pauses at a staircase. She pats Harry's arm.

"Nicholas was very fond of you, Professor." He can hear the tears in her voice. His wishes he could console her somehow, but he is feeling beyond consolation.

"Jonathan. Please, call me Jonathan. I- I loved your son."

It is an offering, the only way he can think of to let her know that he also feels a cutting sense of loss. He feels somewhat liberated from the telling. It wasn't such a dark, terrible secret, was it—the love he felt for the boy? Anna lowers her eyes and for a moment Harry is afraid that he did something horribly wrong. She sighs heavily and looks up at Harry. "Would you like to see his room?" she asks. Harry can barely believe his ears, but he is nodding anyway

Anna leads up the staircase and down the right wing of the house. She pauses at the second door on the right. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the door handle. She pushes the door open swiftly and gestures Harry inside the room. She stays in the doorway, looking anywhere but inside.

Nicholas' room is like the rest of Rose Hill- large, but inviting. It isn't so much a room as it is a series of rooms. Harry stands in the middle of what must be the study. It contains a desk, several chairs, and an impressive collection of texts. Many of the books are about Divination. Apparently it had been a special interest of Nicholas' long before Harry met him. Harry runs his finger along the titles of the books, wondering if Nicholas had any idea how short his life would be.

A book without a title catches his eye. He pulls it off the shelf gently, looking down at the floor curiously when something falls at his feet. It is a box. A small black box. Suppressing a shudder at the memory of small black boxes, Harry opens it.

And gasps.

Inside the box is a card. It reads "To J.S.S. with love- N.H." Harry blinks back tears. Underneath the card is a ring. A silver ring set with stones the color of Nicholas' eyes. Harry recognizes it as the ring Nicholas used to wear before he came home from winter holidays without it. The ring Nicholas never took off. The ring Nicholas loved dearly. The ring that, when questioned about its disappearance, he had shrugged and said that it had been put to better use.

Harry cries for what feels like forever. It gives him a headache to cry this waythe way he always cries, as if the weight of the world has cracked open his ribcage and his soul is pouring out. He leans against the wall for the support, crying at first for Nicholas, for Nicholas' future, for Nicholas' family, and, finally, for himself.

Hermione and Ron meet Harry at the entrance to the chapel. The three exchange glances. Harry nods and goes in alone. He can see the coffin from the entryway and suddenly he has the overwhelming urge to turn around, but Anna has taken his arm again and she is leading him up the aisle. He panics, wants to dig his heels in and not get any closer because he doesn't think he's ready for this. No, fuck that. He knows he's not ready for this and while inside he's struggling wildly, outside his face is pale but composed and he makes no efforts to stop Anna.

They reach the coffin. Anna starts to cry. It occurs to Harry that this is Anna's first time seeing her son since he died. A blond young man, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Nicholas, takes her away from Harry, enfolding her in his arms. Harry has no one to hold his hand.

But he is not alone.

Also at the coffin is another blonde. Harry kneels beside him. The rustle of garments catches the blonde's attention and he turns to look at Harry.

Harry stifles a gasp.

The blonde at the coffin is Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius eyes narrow. "Have we met?" he asks. His voice is low, worn, but still commanding. It makes Harry shiver.

"No, we haven't. I'm Jonathan Scryer. I was Nicholas' teacher," Harry says, reluctantly offering Lucius his hand.

"Lucius Malfoy. Nicholas was my nephew." Lucius takes Harry's hand. As he does, Harry feels a tingling sensation in his fingers. Lucius eyes light up. Harry frees his hand with as much grace as he can muster.

"Were you related to Camilla, then?" Harry asks politely.

"Anna is my wife's sister."

Harry blinks. He should have seen that coming somehow. It doesn't take long for him to work his way around the family tree. Nicholas was Draco's first cousin. "Well, that makes things nice and twisted. Let's keep it in the family, shall we?" Harry thinks to himself, wondering if he is forever doomed to fall for Malfoys and their relatives. He pushes it out of his mind, bends over the coffin, and places a kiss on Nicholas' lips. Lucius raises an eyebrow. "Teacher?" he echoes. Harry smiles sadly, kisses Nicholas again.

"And then some, " Harry admits. Lucius smiles back.

Harry has to admit that stripped of the big bad dark wizard vibes, and cloaked instead in quiet sadness, Lucius is beautiful. Perhaps he was always beautiful and that's why he has always been so terrifying. Most people are inclined to find beauty comforting, but when you remove the comfort and replace it with something hard and remorseless, they are reminded of the harshness of the universe. Where is everything that makes the universe good if it cannot be found in beauty? Where is the hope and where is the faith and the love? Not in Lucius' face. He had a beauty that was terrifying because it let slip the secret of the universe's utter indifference.

"You are staring at me," Lucius says, not taking his eyes off the form of his nephew. Harry knows that as Lucius looks upon Nicholas, he is thinking of Draco. He wishes he could tell Lucius that he was thinking of Draco as well, but that would be a giveaway and Harry still has 14 months to evade Lucius until he is free. Harry blinks. He looks around for a moment before realizing that Lucius was addressing him.

"You are very striking," Harry replies honestly, knowing that he would never admit it if he thought there was even a chance of Lucius recognizing him. He is counting on his altered appearance and Lucius' grief to hide him. "I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable." His apology is sincere, gracious.

"I am at the funeral of my last heir. I assure you I am already uncomfortable," Lucius replies. Harry almost smiles, but the tone of Lucius' voice stops him. It has a dreamlike quality, as if he cannot believe this is happening to him again. Harry knows the feeling.

"Nicholas doesn't have any siblings?"

"Oh, he has severalthree brothers, two sisters."

"Oh dear God," Harry remarks, suddenly feeling light-headed.

"But none of them were so much like my son and myself." Silence as Lucius thought of Draco.

"I can see why Nicholas chose you," he says at length, turning his head a little to inspect Harry. Harry is once again caught off guard.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nicholas, if nothing else, had excellent taste. That he even went in pursuit of you is a great compliment. We settle for nothing less than the best." The strangeness of this situation hits Harry full force. He laughs quietly, hoping Lucius won't be angry, but the older wizard looks only bemused.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "It is just that you are Lucius Malfoythe stuff of nightmares. Yet, here you are being perfectly civil to a complete stranger. Why are you being so nice to me?" It then occurs to Harry that what he just said must sound completely stupid. He buries his face in his hands. "I can't believe I just said that, " he mutters. There is a hand on his arm and the tingles are starting up again. With much dread, Harry raises his eyes to meet Lucius. Lucius laughs. Harry's jaw hits the floor. By the time he picks it up, Lucius has stopped laughing and is eyeing him curiously.

"I think the time of nightmares is over," he says. "Besides, I like the look of you. You remind me of someone I might have known once."

"Might have? You're not sure?" Harry teases. Lucius smiles a little.

"That's the funny thing about potentials and possibilities: you're never quite sure."

Harry is reminded of Draco and for a moment he misses the Slytherin boy intensely. It surprises him, the depth of that feeling. Harry supposes that it would be impossible for two people to work and train together at the levels he and Draco did if they hadn't bonded in some sense. Up until the very end, they called each other by their last names, though to their credit it may be said that there was much less hostility in the pronunciation.

"Nicholas' brother Sebastian is about to go on the Tour," Lucius begins, gesturing to the young man who had taken Anna from Harry. Harry nods, recollecting "the Tour" from the time Draco had tried in vain to impress upper crust wizarding culture on Harry. Lucius lowers his voice. "He is a very nice young man- very upstanding, very trusting, very delicate.He is in need of a chaperone, but not a stuffy, imposing one who will take the joy out of the trip."

"In other words, not you?" Harry replies wryly. He receives a very chilling glare.

"You are the age my son would have been. Don't think I won't discipline you." The severity of the glare is mitigated by the smile playing at the corner of Lucius' mouth.

"You promise?" Harry says, using the "bedroomy" voice before it occurs to him that it is very bad form to flirt with someone at a funeral. And what the hell was he doing flirting with Lucius Malfoy anyway? Lucius raises an eyebrow.

"Anyway, to stop using subtlety on those lacking the capacity to understand it-" Lucius continues, choosing to ignore Harry's comment.

"Hey!"

"I would feel much better about sending Sebastian out into the world if someone like yourself would accompany him."

"You'd feel better entrusting your nephew to a teacher who was having an affair with said nephew's younger brother?" Harry asks incredulously. That isn't exactly what he would call a glowing recommendation.

"Mr. Scryer, I'm in mourning. Don't make me break it by looking imposing."

More humor from a man Harry used to think was incapable of laughing at something that didn't cause someone pain. It must be grief. Harry knows that grief does strange things to people. He has firsthand experinece. He is flirting with the man when, at any other time, he would have vanished by now.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, but I cannot leave my position at Hogwarts."

"Of course. What was I thinking?" Lucius says with a smirk. Harry suppresses a cringe. He hates that smirk. Draco used to do it all the time. It usually took the place of a "I told you so", a "take that", or an "oh, you think so?"

"Well Sebastian won't be leaving for several months. In the event that you change your mind, here is my card. Toss it into the fire and it will floo you to my office." Harry takes the card- white linen with the Malfoy crest emblazoned in silver.

"Any time restrictions?"

"No."

"So I can just floo into your office at two in the morning?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Certainly," Lucius says pleasantly. "But you might have to wait a few hours."

Harry rises to his feet. He is bewildered when everyone starts to move. "What happened?" he asks, furrowing his brow. Lucius rises as well.

"Nothing. We just talked through the period of respectful silence held in tearful memory of the dead. Nicholas used to do it all the time. Have you never been to a wizard funeral?" Harry shudders.

"Too many. I'm never in any shape to remember the format afterward," he replies. Lucius nods once in understanding.

"Next there is the funereal feast, to which you will be my escort. Yes, I realize that I am an awful man to be picking you up while you are vulnerable and hurting, but you are smiling and I am smiling, and so I feel that my horrible misconduct is justified."

Harry just doesn't know how to reply to that, so he does the only thing he can do. He takes the arm Lucius offers him and lets himself be led out of the room.

It appears that Harry cannot escape Lucius that easily... or can he? Comments, criticisms, and suggestions eaten with a spoon. Review!

Love,

J. Silver