Chapter 2
Harry doesn't really remember what happened after Dobby admitted to cursing the bludger. He heard a lot of yelling, even from Professor Dumbledore. He only really remembers standing out near the staircase with Auror Nymphadora, who looks at him with sad eyes.
"What happens now?" Harry asks and Nymphadora tips her head in thought.
"Dobby will probably be tried for the cursing, and for Mr Malfoys death," she looks towards the door, where the yelling is loud enough to pierce through, "probably for attempted murder as well."
"He wasn't trying to kill me," Harry tells her, "he just wanted me to leave Hogwarts for the year. I don't think he intended to actually seriously hurt anyone."
"We'll find out," Nymphadora says, and there's that sort of soft pity in her eyes that Harry gets sometimes from Mrs Weasley. "Back to class now, we'll let you know if we need to speak with you again."
He doesn't have to go back to class, because it's already the start of lunch. He makes his way back down to the great hall, where Ron and Hermione are waiting outside.
“How did it go?” Hermione asks, “We heard all sorts of rumours about it.”
“They weren’t trying to blame you right, mate?” Ron asks.
Harry shakes his head, “they just wanted to ask me questions about the cursed bludger,” he tells them, “I think they found who did it.”
“They caught the bastard?” Ron asks, “Was it Snape again?”
“No,” Harry tells them, “actually, he and the Malfoys were there, they seemed really upset.”
“Oh it must be horrible for them,” Hermione says, “to lose a child.”
“I’m surprised Lucius showed up, the prick,” Ron mutters.
“They were really upset, Ron,” Harry chides gently, “I think Mrs Malfoy was crying. Imagine how your mum would be if the bludger hit one of the twins instead.”
Ron looks away, and folds his arms across his chest. “Right, well, do you want some lunch?”
“Yeah, I would,” Harry replies, and he follows his friends into the hall. He can’t help but glance at the Slytherin table. It’s only scattered with students, most of the first years are missing. Harry hasn’t noticed how small their house is, but the table looks almost empty, and he can’t hear much conversation. He thinks he sees the Slytherin quidditch captain sitting by himself, looking down at a plate of food but not eating.
He forces himself to look away before he starts staring, but finds he doesn’t have much of an appetite after all.
—
The school week passes by almost normally, strangely so. Harry can barely stand it. He goes to class, eats, and then sleeps. Over and over. Even Snape has returned to teaching, but he doesn’t snap as much as used to.
So one day, Harry breaks a little. He needs to do something, anything, that isn’t just the same old routine. So he grabs his broom, and heads to the quidditch pitch.
The night is cool, a brisk wind that brushes Harry’s cheeks. He mounts his broom and kicks off, intending to just do a few laps, but once he’s in the air he finds himself weaving and ducking around, just enjoying being in the air. He can almost forget about everything else.
But then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees another figure dash past in the air, and he stops. When he turns there’s no one there, and even scanning across the field reveals nothing. He makes a lazy circle, taking him closer to the stands, and when he passes the green and silver banners he sees it again.
There’s a blue flash, someone else is on the field with him.
“Hello?” Harry calls out, “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were flying too.”
He gets no reply, and frowns, taking his broom closer to the middle of the pitch. He can’t see anyone else, but he’s sure he did. He decides to do a full circle, low to the ground, scanning in case anyone is playing a trick on him.
(He’s terrified it’s happened again, someone was out flying and is now lying on the ground, hurt.)
In his second pass over, slightly higher this time, he sees it. Or rather, him. The glowing figure of Draco Malfoy in his quidditch robes leaning against one of the goalposts. His broom is leaning next to him, and he seems to be looking up, directly at Harry.
The world stops as they stare at each other, both in shock. Malfoy’s eyes are still grey, his hair still platinum, but it’s unmistakable the blue glow that ghosts have.
“Malfoy?” Harry calls out, causing the figure to jump, as if surprised, before Malfoy grabs his broom and disappears behind the pole. Harry zooms after him, making circles around the pole to find him again, convince himself it’s real.
He doesn’t catch another glimpse of him.
—-
“Hey, Hermione,” Harry starts nervously over one of their study sessions, “have you read a lot about the Hogwarts ghosts?”
“Yeah,” Hermione answers easily, flicking another page, “why? It’s not on the defence curriculum until fourth year.”
“Oh, just, wondering I guess,” Harry says quickly, “about how ghosts are formed. Like did Peeves die and then see his body as a ghost right away or...?”
Hermione stops, holding a page between two fingers as she thinks, “Ghosts usually form quickly after the body's death, though often in erratic ways, and don’t hold a solid form like any of our ghosts for years. Usually, they only stick around if there’s unfinished business or a traumatic event.”
“Like Nearly-Headless Nick,” Ron offers, thankful to have a distraction from his essay.
“Exactly,” Hermione tells them both.
Harry fidgets with his quill, “like Malfoy?”
“What?” Ron asks, almost knocking over an ink bottle in surprise.
Hermione lets the page drop and turns to face him fully, “Oh, Harry, you shouldn’t think about things like that, Malfoy is gone.”
“I saw him,” Harry admits, “at the quidditch pitch the other night.”
“Your mind might be playing tricks, I know it was hard because of the curse and everything,” Hermione says, resting her hand on his shoulder.
Harry shrugs her off, “No, I saw him. I saw him standing right at the bottom of the ring, looking right at me. I called his name and he vanished.”
“Bloody hell,” Ron mutters, “the snake is hanging around you think?”
“Wouldn’t you if you dropped dead tomorrow?” Harry shoots back, “I know we didn’t get along but it’s my fault he was hit by that bludger in the first place, I just want to make sure he’s …moving on, I guess.”
“Don’t want him messing up the quidditch games,” Ron says, only to get not-so-gently shoved by Hermione.
“We’ll help,” Hermione offers, “we’ll at least ask Nick. Ghosts can see each other easier, especially new ghosts.”
Nick, does help, by passing the job along to the Bloody Baron. Even though he freaks Harry out, Nick promises that the Baron is very nice to the Slytherins.
“He scares them in first year, but that’s just a little joke,” Nick offers with a smile. The baron does not smile, only looks at the golden trio darkly.
“I will look into it,” he tells them, his voice deep and guttural, “I will let Professor Snape know if a new ghost has appeared.”
“Thank you,” Harry tells him, and he hopes the Baron knows he means it.
—
Malfoys funeral is held at Malfoy Manor. Mrs Malfoy welcomes everyone at the door with hushed words. No one hugs her, but they shake hands or gently touch each other’s shoulders, but no one hugs her.
Harry is with Hermione, Ron had declined to come, and he’s standing with the other Hogwarts students. It’s mostly Slytherins, in fact, Harry thinks he and Hermione are the only ones not in Slytherin who are there. Snape leads the gaggle of students, gently ushering them in the door. Mrs Malfoy greets them all politely and graciously ignores the tears on the children’s faces as they hold onto their decorum.
Harry gets to the front, and Mrs Malfoy looks at him with an almost blank face.
“Welcome to Malfoy Manor,” Mrs Malfoy says, her voice soft and practised, “the funeral will be at one in the afternoon, feel free to have some refreshments while you wait.”
“Thank you,” Hermione says quickly, holding Harry’s hand, “we’re sorry about what happened to Malfoy.”
“Thank you,” Mrs Malfoy echoes, she sounds both sincere and hollow, as if the words once held meaning but don’t anymore.
Harry looks up at her, his voice is stuck in his throat in a ball. He swallows nervously, and Mrs Malfoy looks down at him. She reaches out to pat his shoulder gently, “Draco would be happy you were here,” she tells him, “he always wrote about you, even though you fought.”
“I miss him,” Harry admits to her softly, “I’m sure you do too, but, I miss seeing him every day.”
“We all do,” Hermione says, cutting in, “C’mon Harry, let’s not hold up the line.”
“Sorry, of course,” Harry apologises quickly, “we’ll see you inside.”
They hurry in, and stand awkwardly around the little snacks before the funeral starts. Harry is surprised by how many people are there, and then the surprise leaves in a rush when he realises most of the people here are Mr Malfoy’s friends, and not Draco’s. He’s with a group of finely dressed men, who seem to be talking about something not at all related to Draco, and Mr Malfoy is joining in. He hears words like ‘ministry’ and ‘funding’, and silently fumes that Draco’s own dad can’t be bothered to focus on Draco at his own funeral.
It’s odd though, as he listens to the speeches and songs, and watches the coffin be carried down the aisle, Harry can’t help but think about how this could all be for naught if Draco actually comes back as a ghost. What does it mean to mourn him if he’s flying around the quidditch pitch? Forever 12. He’ll probably still be there when Harry is put in the ground.
Or maybe Harry really just made it all up and this is it, he’s watching Draco get carried to the Malfoy Manor Garden to be buried in a private cemetery. No more petty fights in the corridor, playing quidditch with each other, nothing.
He doesn’t know which one could be worse.