A Father's Loss

No father, whatever the cause, should have to sacrifice his only son.

Lucius Malfoy stood in the Haven, the cemetery where only the oldest of wizarding families are buried. He stood guard over the coffin in front of him. His son's coffin.

Draco Malfoy had not died a hero's death, at least according to most. Lucius, with his Ministry connections, had usually managed to be privy to where the Aurors were going to strike, to make sure Draco wasn't there at the time. But he'd failed this time. A group of Aurors had surrounded the young Death Eaters, and it was over in minutes.

Had the attackers been Death Eaters, and the victims, Aurors, it would have been dubbed a massacre. Instead, it was an 'incident.' As such, the Malfoy name commanded enough respect that at least Draco would have a decent burial.

Lucius gazed out over the rows of elaborate marble statues and headstones to the poorer half of the cemetery. There, he saw at least a dozen bowed, flaming red heads. Arthur Weasley's youngest son, Ron, had been there. Weasley had tried, in the rash Gryffindor tradition, to save Draco. Now he too was being laid to rest. No matter, they had so many children, what was the loss of one? It was a pitiful day when Malfoys and Weasleys shared the same dirt.

The service was over. People filed by, offering their condolences.

"He was one of my most brilliant pupils," Severus Snape said, shaking his head regretfully.

Many others filed past, offering equally touching remarks, saying it was a shame.

Crabbe and Goyle said nothing, merely shook his and Narcissa's hands and walked quickly on. Of course, that was likely due to stupidity and not choked up emotions. They were probably glad it was Draco and not one of their sons. Lucius didn't know how many false sympathies he could tolerate before he lashed out and struck somebody's simpering face.

He looked to Narcissa. She had not taken the loss well. Her usually elegant blond hair was now limp and messy beneath her black hood. Lucius watched as she sank to her knees, and put her arms around the coffin. He saw her lips move as she stroked the rich cherry wood. He hadn't seen Narcissa weep yet, but she seemed close to tears. A sudden lump in his throat caught Lucius by surprise, and he fought to control it.

The sight of Arthur Weasley walking over quickly turned Lucius' face to stone. He was coming over to gloat over his son's Order of Merlin, First Class, no doubt.

Weasley's words, however, were, "I'm sorry it ever had to come to this, Lucius."

"Thank you...Arthur." The man turned away, having obviously completed what he came to do. That's right, Weasley, twist the dagger in deeper. Are you proud of yourself?

Weasley's words seemed to have the same effect on Narcissa, and she looked ready to tumble into the grave. Lucius knew she wouldn't be able to watch as the casket was lowered into the cold earth.

"Wormtail," he called, searching the "mourners" for the short man with the silver arm.

"Y-yes, Mr. M-Malfoy, sir?" Honestly, the creature acted like a damn house elf.

"Apparate my wife back to our manor. I don't want her splinching herself."

"Y-yes, sir."

"And you do understand that no advantage is to be taken of her state?"

"N-no, sir. I mean--yes--I, er--" the man stuttered, obviously caught off-guard.

"I know what you mean. Leave."

As Lucius watched the coffin lower, he wished he'd gone back to the house with his wife.

***

When it was over, he went back to his large, empty house. Narcissa was sitting at the company dining room table, head in her hands. As Lucius came closer, he noticed her shoulders shaking.

"Elf!" he called.

One of the house elves came running. "Yes, sir, good master?"

"Fetch some tea for us."

"Yes, sir." The elf was off in a flash.

Lucius walked over to Narcissa, and tentatively put a hand on her shoulder. She let out a sob, and stood up, only to collapse in his arms.

"It's not right," she whispered, lifting her blotchy, tear-streaked face to him. "Why, Lucius? Why our son?"

"I-I don't know." Lucius was used to having all the answers, and control over the happenings of his life. It was his first verbal admission to anything less, and it was a frightening experience.

"Your tea, sir and misses." The elf was back, with a tray held proudly over its head.

"Leave!" Lucius was startled as Narcissa wrested the tray from the elf and flung it against the opposite wall. "Now go clean that up, Elf. And give yourself a good beating."

Exhausted by her outburst, she leaned against Lucius for support. As her tears began anew, he felt something inside him explode, and the full impact of their son's death hit him.