"Where is he?"

Pansy bit her lip uncertainly. "I don't know if he..."

Impulsively, Harry reached out for her hands. "Pansy, please. Please, where is he?"

She sighed. "Upstairs. He's supposed to leave for Malfoy Manor in the morning so he can be there with his mother when they bring the body from Azkaban. Blaise is with him now, but he hasn't said anything since he got his mother's letter."

Harry gave her hands a grateful squeeze before he headed up the stairs to the dorms.

Blaise looked up as Harry knocked quietly and pushed open the door of their room. He was sitting at the foot of Draco's bed. He stared at Harry standing in the door, then nodded and got up. He squeezed Harry's elbow once as he went past him and closed the door quietly behind himself.

Harry came closer to the bed and for a moment just stood looking down at Draco curled up on his side, facing away, towards the wall. He debated for a minute, then toed off his shoes before climbing in with him. Draco stiffened as he lay down next to him on the same pillow, but otherwise remained still.

Harry turned towards him a little and rested one hand on Draco's arm, just below his shoulder, caressing softly with his thumb. He kept his voice soft in the silence of the room. "Draco? Draco, I'm so sorry."

When Draco didn't say anything, Harry sighed and started to move away. Draco turned around with a choked sound then and buried his face in Harry's neck even as his arms went around him, clinging like he might never let go. Harry returned the embrace at once, winding his arms around Draco, one hand clenched in the back of his shirt, the other softly carding through his hair.

Draco started shaking as Harry held on to him tightly. Soon, Harry could feel his shirt becoming damp though Draco never made a sound.

Harry lost track of time as he lay there, holding on to Draco, soothing with caresses and soft murmurs when he could. The shaking had stopped first, before the warm body in his arms had slowly become pliant as Draco fell into exhausted sleep. He had pulled the covers up over the both of them then, doused the light in the room and spelled the bed hangings closed around them.

He hadn't slept though, continuing to slowly run his hands through Draco's hair, keeping watch in case he woke up again.

Much later, once the shadows had started softening in the daylight, he heard the door open quietly. Someone tiptoed across the stone floor, and Pansy's head appeared around the bed curtains. She looked like she hadn't had much sleep either, her eyes red rimmed and puffy.

They stared at each other as Harry continued to softly stroke through Draco's hair as he had been doing all night. Pansy blinked once, then nodded.

"It's time," she murmured softly before going back out the way she had come in.

Harry sighed under his breath before stilling the motion of his hand. Draco stirred.

Harry watched from his seat on the side of the bed as Draco spelled his hair into place. He still hadn't spoken a single word.

Not when Harry had softly kissed his cheek to wake him up and told him it was time to go. Not while he had been rummaging in his closet, looking for something appropriate to wear. Not when Harry had gently pushed away his unsteady hands and helped him dress. And not now as he walked about picking up and putting things down at random, trying to decide what he needed to take with him. Finally, he seemed to just give up, picked up his bag and headed towards the door.

He stopped abruptly just as he was reaching for the doorknob.

Harry got up from the bed and walked up behind him, giving him a hug, just holding him against him for a minute before gently turning him around by the shoulders. Harry reached up with both hands to cradle Draco's face in his palms, and Draco's eyes snapped up to finally meet his. Harry didn't say anything. He didn't think he needed to. He just leaned in and softly kissed Draco's lips, caressed his cheeks with his thumbs once, and then slid his hands away.

"Go; your mum needs you."

Draco reached up and traced Harry's cheek with one finger, from the corner of his eye down to his chin. Then he nodded and turned to head out once again. This time when he reached for the door, he didn't hesitate.

"Mr. Potter, I'm not sure how appropriate-"

"Is Pansy going? Are Blaise and Greg?"

McGonagall nodded. "I believe arrangements have been made for the Slytherin Eighth Years to attend."

"Then why can't I go? How is this any different? A classmate of mine just lost his father, and I would like to do him the courtesy of attending the funeral. If other students are going then I'll just go with them."

"We will." McGonagall looked at Hermione where she was standing behind Harry in the Headmistress's office, holding Ron's hand. "Ron and I would like to go as well."

McGonagall hesitated and Harry could guess what her objection might be.

"Please, professor. It's not what you think. Draco and I haven't been enemies for a long time. In many ways, I think we never were."

As Harry sat in one of the carriages that had been arranged to carry all of the students who had wanted to attend, staring out of the window at the greenery as it slipped quietly by, he mused that McGonagall had probably acquiesced at his use of Draco's first name. It would not have tripped so easy over his tongue if there had been any lingering hostilities between them. She was also probably remembering the slew of Daily Prophet articles from not so long ago. The scene in the Great Hall ten days before notwithstanding, the picture of the two of them in the Prophet had spoken of a comfortable companionship at the very least, and gave credence to the article because of the ease that the photograph had projected.

In the end, it mattered very little why she had agreed. Harry would have come even without her permission, but it was better this way.

"He's here."

Draco blinked and turned his head to look at Pansy where she was tucked under his arm.

"Short, dark and broody. He's here." She gestured with her chin.

Draco turned the other way to look at where his mother was receiving well-wishers. Potter was holding both her hands in both of his as he spoke to her. He watched as his mother's posture softened.

All day she had been wearing the Malfoy mask like an icy mantle around her as she quietly went about making the arrangements to have his father's body moved to the family cemetery, dealing with the grave diggers, making arrangements for the reception, dealing with house elves and salespersons alike. Not once had her mask broken. Not when she had been met with embarrassed sympathy from those who understood the plight of being a Death Eater's widow in the current climate, and not when she was met by open hostility at having the temerity to want to arrange a proper funeral for a man who much of the Wizarding world still loathed. And yet as he watched now, she blinked rapidly as her hands clenched around Potter's.

He had that effect on people, with his absurd earnestness and open acceptance. He offered his heart to others, and in doing so touched something in them, breaching walls that no force gentler than his honest sincerity could have moved.

Draco gave a soft sigh as something in his chest clenched. He tore his eyes away and went back to staring at the mound of earth that hid his father's body. He had been a flawed man. An ambitious man, and powerful at the height of his ambition, but in the end, merely a man. He would be sorely missed.

"Why-" Draco cleared his throat to get rid of the hoarseness and tried again. "Why are you here, Potter?"

"What do you mean?"

"You hated him."

Potter sighed, then Draco felt a hand slip into his as Harry came to stand next to him with their shoulders pressed together. "I hated Voldemort. Your father just wasn't one of my favorite people. But in the end it doesn't really matter what I thought of him. He was your father, and you loved him. Where else would I be?"

Draco blinked at the stinging in his eyes and looked away. Now was not the time. Their friends were waiting. Granger and Weasley to escort Potter back to Hogwarts, and Blaise and Pansy to accompany him to the Manor for the reception. His mother had gone ahead to ensure that everything was in order and that she would be there before the first guest arrived. He should be there with her.

He finally turned away to walk towards where their friends were waiting next to the carriages, and he looked back only once.

Goodbye, father.

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