Healing

Prologue - The Funerals

The first funeral was the worst. Draco had never experienced grief before. Death may have been meted out by those around him, yes, he'd seen death, he'd seen lives taken, but he'd never experienced grief. The first time he'd really experienced death was Dumbledore's. Sure, he'd been on the outskirts before when people had died but those were experiences that happened to others around him, mainly to Potter, when he thought about it. But even with Dumbledore it was different, he'd been so numb with fear he couldn't feel any other emotion. After he witnessed Professor Burbage being killed at the manor, he had tried to switch off any thoughts about it being another human dying, another person with feelings; with emotions; with, Merlin forbid, loved ones. It was Burbage's face, more than anyone else's, who haunted his nightmares. It was Burbage's face which finally taught him that he wasn't cut out for this dark magic fanaticism that his father had pulled them into, willingly or otherwise.

During the first funeral, he stood under the giant yew tree on the edge of the area of the graveyard especially dedicated to the Fallen Fifty and saw so much grief it hurt, it felt like the pain would never go away. Commingled with the pain was guilt: guilt for believing his father's words; guilt for propounding pureblood superiority, guilt for taking the Dark Mark, guilt for his part in the war. He watched from under the shade of the evergreen as the bodies of Professor Remus Lupin and his cousin Nymphadora Tonks were lowered into the ground side-by-side. It started to drizzle with a light ghost-like rain. The greyness of the day was reflected in his Aunt Andromeda's face: her skin drawn and pale, spent by the emotions of losing her daughter and son-in-law. She carried a baby in her arms, their baby, his second-cousin, a child who would grow up never knowing his parents. Much like Potter, he realised with a start and with a new pang of guilt. Potter was there too, his green eyes red-rimmed behind his glasses as tears fell unchecked. There were other familiar faces as well as those he didn't know, people who had come to pay their respects: the Weasleys, Granger, Hagrid and McGonagall were among teachers from the school, members from the Order of the Phoenix, Aurors, even the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He felt their grief and it fell on his shoulders.

Two more from the Fallen Fifty were buried on that first day, including Millicent Bulstrode, one of the three students who had been killed battling the invading Deatheaters on the seventh floor of Hogwarts. Millie, Draco's fellow Housemate, a quiet girl, teased for her weight, had defied the Slytherin stereotype and left the dungeons to protect those that she loved, the school that she loved. Draco knew he'd never given her the time of day apart from through his snide comments and his superior attitude. Draco wasn't sure he would sleep that night.

If the first funeral was the worst, then Fred Weasley's funeral was the most harrowing. Fred, one of five to be buried the next day. The pallbearers were the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, including George and Potter. That alone brought a lump to Draco's throat but he stood unwavering in his spot under the tree, the drips of rain falling heavily through the dark narrow leaves above him. He could feel water trickling from his hair and under his collar. He didn't move. He remained there, enduring the cold rain like a self-punishment. He saw George make a fleeting eye-contact with him before he leant into Angelina Johnson's arm. He watched Molly Weasley sob, her shoulders wracked with distress as the tears coursed down her face, her husband's hand placed on the small of her back. He saw Arthur Weasley quietly wipe his tears away with a green-checked handkerchief. He watched Ron, stood numbly, shrugging off Granger's comforting touch to his arm and rejecting her attempt to hold his hand. Percy, rigid with the pain that filled him, stood close on the other side of Ron, their arms against each other's, hands unobtrusively gripping the other's, the whiteness of their knuckles indicating the intensity of the loss they felt. He saw Bill and Fleur huddled together; arms clasped around each other, Fleur's head on Bill's shoulder. He saw Charlie Weasley supporting Ginny as she cried into his shoulder unable to watch her brother's coffin lowering into the ground. He saw Potter, stood slightly apart, the same unchecked tears, and he envied him, Draco wished he could cry. He swallowed deeply, so deeply it hurt his throat. He heard George's anguished howl and saw him turn away as Molly threw in the first handful of dirt onto the coffin lid.