It Only Took a Tragedy

Blood. That's all he remembered seeing. Blood everywhere. A crimson pool of pure blood had stained the white, ornate marble flooring. His father had been sacrificed to be used as paints, and the artwork was displayed all over the walls of the Malfoy Manor.

The numerous skulls and crossbones that had collaged the walls had been scrubbed off a few days ago, but Draco's mind still flashed back to his father's death by the faint images of the sign of the Dark Lord that had permanently seeped into the paint. Blood. Blood everywhere.

He walked up the winding staircase one steep, small step at a time, something he only did when he had a lot to think about. Golden handrails, oriental rugs - oh how lovely his mother had said when she first tasted life as a rich and powerful woman. Draco had been raised basked in wealth, so he didn't understand what the big deal was.

With each step he took his mother's crying became louder and louder until the horrid sound rang in his ears. Draco gritted his teeth - she disgusted him. She was not mourning for her husband's death, but rather, his will. Lucius had secretly known of her many affairs, so he punished her by leaving all of the huge family fortune to his only child.

Draco walked down the long hallway, completely ignoring the expensive statues and paintings of the many Malfoy men and women that had come before him. By the door to his room was an elaborate, beautifully painted portrait of himself when he was eight, and he didn't even bother to smile and nod at it like he usually did.

He pointed his swishy, dragon heartstring wand at the golden chandelier located above his bed. With a simple spell, the twenty or so candles were instantly lit. Draco realized for the first time the eerie glow they cast over the room as they flickered on his mahogany furniture.

He stood in front of the mirror as he slipped into his black satin pajamas that had been laid out for him by one of the house elves. The coolness of the material against his skin made him shiver.

His passion to not let Potter outshine him had motivated Draco to intensely train for the upcoming Quidditch season, and he stared wide-eyed at his reflection. He noticed every shocking improvement that his sixteen-year-old body had undergone. Draco's skinniness could now be taken as an athlete's toned leanness, and his countless hours of being burnt by the sun's rays had tanned his pale skin. As seeker and captain of the Slytherin team, he would lead his team to victory to top off his last year at Hogwarts.

He left his clothes on the floor (the house elves will pick them up anyway) as he proceeded to his vast collection of books. The bookshelf, which rose to the ceiling, was home to a numerous array of books. Some fiction novels, some history textbooks, some spell books, the majority on wizarding politics, but all of them had been given to Draco by his father.

He scanned the alphabetized books for a good read before bed, but he had already read each book in the collection twice or more. When Draco was younger, Lucius used to force him to read books every day - books that his young mind frustratingly couldn't comprehend. When he became a teenager, a little older and a little wiser, he enjoyed reading, and he found the things he learned fascinating. The habit was so ingrained in his system that he couldn't stand going through one day without reading something.

He decided that doing some homework would be a better use of his time than reading a book he already had memorized. He opened up his trunk that was filled to the brim with previous and current textbooks as well as school supplies. With a snicker, he pulled out his Muggle Studies book. He needed a good laugh to cheer him up. Why on earth did the Ministry of Magic have to pass a law requiring the useless class to graduate?

He skimmed through the book, not impressed at all with the history of Muggle inventions and accomplishments until he arrived at the chapter on space travel. He refused to admit it to himself, but the Muggle advancements in science and technology, an area the wizarding world was severely lacking in, intrigued him. He decided to write his 5000-word essay on the first moon landing, but by that time he was too exhausted to have his brain transfer his thoughts into sentences. He set the book down, along with his parchment and quill, on his nightstand and decided to call it a night. Tomorrow would be a long, painful day for the young Malfoy.

***

"Master! Master! It is time to wake up!" an annoying, panicky shrill buzzed in Draco's left ear. Rosy, his personal elf, was shaking his shoulders gently. Draco groaned, wishing for the peaceful nights he used to have. Nights were he could get a decent amount of sleep. Nights that weren't interrupted by him waking up to his own fearful screams as he realized he was just having a nightmare. He didn't want to face reality, and that made him regret hearing the elf's wake up call even more than usual.

He squinted as the morning light came through his window. Even though he was clearly awake, Rosy persisted in shaking him. He blindly shoved the elf off of him, except he did it much harder than he wanted to, and caused her to come crashing to the ground. "Don't touch me! Can't you see I'm awake?" he yelled to her as he slowly got out of bed. He felt a little guilty for pushing her so hard, but his pride got in the way of an apology.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy! I am so very, very, very sorry! I'll go punish myself now!" she said with eyes full of guilt.

"You may know proper English, which is a rarity among your kind, but you're still as dumb as the rest of them. There's no need to go slamming your head into the wall or something like that. Just don't do it again." He sighed and waved his hand to dismiss her. "You may go now," he muttered.

The elf clumsily got up off the cold, stone floor. "But - but- but master! I still need to lay out your clothes for you!"

"I'm almost seventeen years old! Don't you think I'm capable of picking out my own clothes?" Draco yelled.

"Why of course, Master! You are smart, Master! So very, very, very, very, very - "

Draco clenched his fists, trying desperately to keep his temper under control. "I get the point! Just leave before I throw you out!" he scowled, pointing to the door.

"Smart," he heard her whisper as she raced out of his room. Draco rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath.

He chose to wear his black suit for special occasions and the nicest robe he could find to wear over it. He dressed himself as quickly as possible to prevent his skin from feeling the cool, morning air for too long. After getting dressed, Draco went into his private bathroom and washed the sleepiness from his eyes. No matter how much he washed, his eyes were bloodshot and were framed with dark circles.

"I look absolutely wretched," he admitted out loud. He quit gawking at himself the moment he heard the breakfast bell ring. At first he hesitated about going. He wasn't hungry nor did he want to look at his mother's tear stained face, but he decided that it would be best if he made a short appearance. He didn't want Narcissa personally coming up to fetch him. Scratch that. He didn't want Narcissa personally sending up a house elf to fetch him.

So Draco went down one steep, small step at a time, the family dog following him at his heels. "What is the matter with you, Cobra? This must be the first time you haven't growled at me or tried to bite me!" Cobra was a chestnut and white English Toy Spaniel that oddly reminded Draco of Pansy Parkinson. She followed him into the dining room.

"Oh, my baby! Come to Mummy!" Of course, Narcissa was talking about the dog. Cobra hopped up onto her lap while Draco took a seat at the opposite end of the table.

There was a long moment of silence. Draco was nibbling on his toast and jam.

"Are you not hungry, dear?" his mother asked with a look of concern on her overly made-up face.

"Not really, Narcissa."

She sighed. "Draco, how many times have I told you not to call me by my first name. I'm your mother and you will address me as so."

Draco glared at her. "Yes, mother."

"I'm not about to listen that smart arse mouth of yours. All that I'm going through and this is how you're treating me? What would your father think?" she asked in a stern voice.

At the mention of his father, Draco blew up. "Like it matters now!" he yelled. "He's dead, Mum! You can't go tattling on my bad behavior to him anymore. You have no one to beat me for the things I say to you, and that irks the hell out of you, doesn't it? Almost as much as it irks you that you don't get any of his money!"

Narcissa's jaw dropped. "I almost died giving birth to you! Three days and nights of nothing but horrible, wretched agony that I had never felt in all - " she screamed at him. Cobra was scared and had run out of the room by now.

"Goodbye," Draco said as got up from the table. He muttered under his breath, "Narcissa."

He spent the remainder of the morning lying on his bed with his pillow over his face. He didn't feel like doing anything else. Every once in a while he would check his watch. "Only one hour until the funeral."

***

"We have for a while lost one who is dear to us, and we fear that loss," he heard the priestess say.

Draco looked at the sea of people who had shown up to the funeral. He presumed that they were all there merely for status.

"But it is only for a time, and we will lose our sorrow."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air felt heavy, and he thought that a storm was probably on the way.

"There is a reason for being here, and a reason for going."

He was right. With a great clash of thunder the rain started to pour. He heard many people groan for having to get wet.

"We must all journey beyond to pause, to rest, and to wait for those who are loved - in a place from the cares of the world - with happiness and strength renewed."

But he liked the rain. The drops on his face made his tears unnoticeable.

"For dying is only a mode of forgetting, a way of rest, a way of returning to the Eternal Source, however we may see it."

He finally opened his eyes. Everyone was huddled under umbrellas, trying desperately to shield themselves from the downpour. Almost everyone. There was one person, like him, who didn't seem to mind. She was too far away for him to make out a face.

"What is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides - that it may rise, and expand, and seek its Gods unencumbered?"

After the funeral was over, he made his way towards the girl.

"Draco," she whispered.

"Ginny Weasley? What on earth are you doing here?"

"I came here to forgive your father," she said as she looked up at him with her chocolate colored eyes.

He didn't have to ask what she was talking about. Lucius had bragged for months for slipping Ginny that enchanted diary.

He snarled. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think? What's the real reason you came here? Wanted to see your dear Harry Potter's enemy cry for once?"

Ginny tried her best not to get angry with him. "Look, I know what you're going through. My brother Percy was killed by You-Know-Who two months ago." Tears started to well up in her eyes just thinking about it. Draco didn't know what to say, so they just stood there in awkward silence.

"Umm, Draco?"

"Yes."

"I, uh, have this poem," she said as she pulled a scrap of parchment from her pocket. "It sort of comforts me when I think of Percy's death. Would you like to have it?"

He held out his hand. "The rain's made ink smudged. I can't read it."

"Well, a simple Reparo spell can fix that."

Draco rolled his eyes. "And you don't think I know that? I don't have my wand with me."

He was making it really difficult for her to be nice to him. "And you don't think I know that you know that? Err, nevermind. I have a better idea. I'll just recite it to you since I have it memorized."

"I suppose I'll let you."

She brushed that remark off.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle Autumn's rain.
When you wake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die."

"Not bad."

Not bad? That's it? Ginny couldn't believe there was no emotion, no response from him whatsoever.

He turned around to see his mother walking towards him. He didn't want her to see who he was talking to. "Goodbye, Ginny," he quickly said.

Oh, well. At least he hadn't called her by her last name. That must have been a first. "Goodbye, Draco."

***

When Draco got home he ran up to his room, two steps at a time. Grabbing his wand, he muttered "Reparo." He lied down on his bed and read the poem silently to himself, over and over again.

Except this time he cried.