Malfoy? Again?
Harry was sitting in his 1999 Volvo S70 with a styrofoam box balancing precariously in one hand while his other hand grasped at a sandwich firmly, trying to keep all of its contents put together while he raised it to his mouth.
Malfoy had not answered him every single time that he came knocking on the door, which was at least every few days. Harry figured it was pretty safe to assume that he hasn’t left his flat at all since the news of Astoria was broken to him, especially because every time he came knocking, There was always some sound or other, clattering plates, a running vacuum, etc, that indicated he was home and simply ignoring Harry.
Harry tried to ignore how much that bothered him. He also tried to ignore how long Malfoy might be planning to go all cooped up. His flat didn’t exactly look like the most homely place, last Harry saw. But he couldn’t judge him, either. At least Malfoy doesn’t have a leaning tower of paperwork and empty takeout boxes on a desk like Harry did. At least, Harry hadn’t seen one.
Harry had gotten into the habit of leaving the building and just sitting outside the complex in his car to watch the front door once he heard sounds that indicated Malfoy was alive and in there. If Harry didn’t hear anything on the other side of the door, he wouldn’t go to sit in his car. Luckily, though, that was happening less and less, so Harry could sit with his music and his sandwich comfortably most days.
Harry and Ron had both gotten the invitation from Daphne to attend Astoria’s funeral. “As a thank you for finding and attending to her.” Ron was not shy in voicing his opinion about it.
“How could she be thanking us? We had to get the news over to French Aurors who could find her and tell her that her younger sister was murdered.”
“Most Aurors wouldn’t have bothered to contact the French Aurors, though. They would have just left it to the nearest person they knew around here,” I countered. Mordecai shook his head.
“Thank God I took a sick day when you two went to that scene, I don’t think I’d be able to go to a funeral where I found the body. At the same time, how do you decline something like that?”
Ron bowed his head. “Dunno.”
“I’m going.”
They both looked up at Harry when he’d said it, some parts confused and some parts unsurprised.
“Let me guess,” began Ron. “You want to check on Malfoy.”
Harry scoffed. “For all I know, the git isn’t even going. He’s been locked up in his flat every day anyways-”. Harry stopped abruptly, realizing he’d just revealed to Ron and Mordecai his not-so-ethical afternoon activities. Ron looked up at him, his face slowly falling from an expression of confusion to incredulity.
“Oh… Oh, no. Harry, mate.” Ron huffed, pursing his lips and changing his position from standing to sitting on top of the desk behind him, turning away and murmuring something along the lines of “if Hermione heard this…”
“What?” Harry couldn’t help but defend himself. It was life or death, for Merlin’s sake! Malfoy needed some sort of protection. Supervision, at the very least. Harry would give anything to stop from having to see another body.
“You’re stalking Malfoy? Again?”
“What? No! I’m not- stalking him,” But Harry stumbled over his statement. If he wasn’t stalking Malfoy, what was he doing? Visiting him almost every day and not leaving until hours later even after Malfoy didn’t answer the door? Harry knew how bad it sounded. Ron huffed again, slapping his lap and shaking his head disapprovingly.
“Kingsley would have your head if he knew.”
“You aren’t going to tell him, right?”
“No, are you mad?” Harry glanced at Mordecai, who simply raised his hands in surrender and shook his head.
“I’m not getting involved. I don’t know what you’re looking at me for.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mordecai insisted.
“Right,” said Harry. “Anyways, it’s not about Malfoy. It’s… I want to pay my respects.” The excuse was valid, but Ron gave Harry a look saying he knew that Harry was hoping to be able to properly check on Malfoy, too. And he couldn’t blame Ron. That was what he was hoping to do at this funeral, anyway. He hoped he would see that Malfoy actually left his flat, for once.
The funeral was held at the cemetery by St. Jerome’s church in Godric’s Hollow.
There were not many people in attendance. There was an older man and woman who, Harry figured, were Astoria’s parents, and another man that Harry did not recognize, but who stood unusually close to Daphne, so Harry assumed he was a lover. There was another man who looked about the same age as her, but the family resemblance was uncanny. A brother, a cousin? With his wife? Harry didn’t know. He’d never remembered seeing them at Hogwarts, at least.
Sitting front and center was Malfoy, who, from behind, didn’t look any different than Harry remembered. His white-blond hair, trimmed and styled to perfection as always, stood in sharp contrast to not only his black suit but to the dark brown hair of the rest of the Greengrass family. Something settled in Harry’s stomach, seeing Malfoy out and about. Harry decided to sit towards the back, as far away from Malfoy as possible. Today was not the day to upset the man.
The service was quite lovely, considering everything. Several people cried and were open with it. Daphne spoke, and so did whom Harry learned was Gareth Greengrass, Astoria and Daphne’s cousin. The priest said some kind words and some uplifting ones, and everybody took turns placing flowers over her casket before she was lowered into the ground. Through it all, Harry took extra care to not be seen by Malfoy. At least, not yet. As soon as the service ended and most of those in attendance had cleared out, Daphne went up to Harry and gave him a hug, which was the last thing Harry had been expecting.
“Thank you for getting the news to me, truly. And thank you for making sure she was properly taken care of.”
Harry returned the hug, feeling beyond awkward. Peering behind Daphne’s shoulder, he could see that Malfoy had still not left. He was now standing at Astoria’s grave. Harry was beginning to get frustrated that he couldn’t see Malfoy’s face. Everything Harry could currently see about him from behind looked too robotic. Too cold.
“Er, I was just doing my job…”
Daphne let go, wiping her eyes with a napkin she’d been holding throughout the entire ceremony. “We both know you take more care than the rest of the Aurors, Potter. So I am going to thank you again, and you will accept it.”
Harry was stunned, unsure how else to respond besides “You’re welcome. I don’t take these things lightly.” Because he truly doesn’t, and the bastard that has been killing people needs to be stopped, and Harry feels like he’s losing it just a little bit more after each body-
Daphne left after a curt nod and a goodbye. Soon, Harry found he was left with only one other person, standing far in front of him, head bowed in front of Astoria’s grave. When Harry squinted, he thought he could see Malfoy’s shoulders shake.
Harry took tentative steps towards Malfoy. The man in front of him was stifling cries, Harry noticed when he got close enough. He paused, taking in the scene.
How cruel was it that, on a day like this, there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky?
The priest that spoke at the service could be seen approaching Malfoy from the side. Harry took a few steps backward, not wanting to be seen. Lest the priest tells Malfoy that another man was staring at them from behind. The priest’s hand came to rest on Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy flinched, before turning to face the man. Harry took one step forward.
The priest was saying something, now. Harry took another step forward, trying to listen. The two looked familiar with each other. Harry wondered if Draco regularly came to this church, or if, perhaps, the priest knew of the entire Malfoy family.
Though Lucius definitely didn’t strike Harry as a churchman.
“Why would God allow this?”
Malfoy’s voice came out small, broken. He gave Harry the impression of a young child who didn’t understand what was going on, who had just been told what death is. However, Harry knew that was far from the truth. They had both lived through a war. They couldn’t get much more familiar with the concept. Harry watched as Malfoy’s face turned up into a snarl. “I know people who deserve it far more.” Then his face dropped dejectedly and just as quick.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Remember, Draco. Her flesh and her heart may fail, but God is the strength of her heart and her portion forever. She may no longer remain with us here, but rest easy knowing she has made it to paradise. Astoria’s spirit now rests with God.”
Something within Harry’s gut sank low. He suddenly felt as though he was intruding on something rather personal. He took several steps back, almost turning to leave. He watched as Malfoy gave the priest a short nod, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of himself. Harry continued to step back until he was outside the cemetery, watching from a far distance, feeling guilty and terrible. Malfoy wiped his face, and when he turned to face Harry’s direction, Harry jumped behind the nearest tree. From there, he watched Malfoy make his leave, stepping into a hidden alcove before apparating away.