Memento Mori

Draco sat alone in the dark room. His suit was ruffled; the fabric folded over his slim frame. He was parched, but he didn't want to drink. He was lonely, but he wanted no company. He was tired, but he could get no sleep. He felt a very soft hand on his shoulder. He looked up.

"How are you doing?" Narcissa asked. Draco smiled feebly at his mother. "Can I sit here?" she asked. Draco nodded. So they sat together in the dark. Neither of them cried, but they wanted to. The Malfoys were strong, no matter what life threw at them. They had the best poker faces around.

Draco sat for as long as he could stand it. Not wanting to break himself, wanting to be strong, he sadly got up. The room was too thick with pride. He left silently.

The study was bright, and Draco watched as stoic people mulled around. He knew that beneath the stone they wanted to reach out to Draco; to add their condolences. They couldn't, and Draco knew that. They were just like him.

He didn't know how many of them really would miss his father, but he didn't care. He wanted to get this day over with. But he couldn't show that either. He couldn't get away.

He searched the room for a familiar face- they were all familiar, of course, but a truly kind familiar face- and he saw just one. He stiffly walked over to Professor Snape. The room turned to watch him walk, for the first time, without elegance.

"I am so sorry for your loss," Snape said. Draco smiled.

"Thank you," he muttered. Snape titled his head.

"Is...there...something..." he trailed off. Snape was a genius when it came to making potions, but he never could grasp how to make someone feel better. He could read a recipe and follow it without mistake, but he could not read Draco. This boy, Snape thought. No, he wasn't a boy. He was a man. This man, Snape continued, was so elegant and articulate, but so guarded and hard to read. He thought that Draco was like himself, but he could not be further from the truth. When Snape was upset, everyone in the castle knew it. The air would be pungent with sharpness. Draco could muster all his strength into keeping his emotions locked. Even at his most vulnerable, no one could tell if he was handling it well.

"Thanks for coming," Draco said. Snape was in awe of his pupil even then.

"Have you seen him yet?" Snape asked, then immediately regretted it. Of course the boy had seen him. No, not boy- man. Surprisingly, Draco shook his head. "Would you like to?" Snape asked. Draco blinked.

"It's hard to tell," he said. Snape waited for Draco to give him a committal response. "Yes, I would," he said after a long pause, staring at the walls lined with old spell books. Snape nodded, and together they walked into the banquet hall.

Draco's shoes clicked on the marble. Snape felt more anxious with every click, as if the world would end by the time they reached the casket. Draco nodded at several attendees of the funeral. Macnair raised his glass to Draco as he passed by. Sod off, Draco thought. He wanted desperately to turn around and leave, but his feet keep marching him forward. They keep clicking.

Several paces from the casket, Fudge clapped a hand on Draco's padded shoulder. "It's a sad day," Fudge said. No shit, Sherlock, Draco thought. "A sad, sad day for the ministry." He looked Draco in the eyes, and a shiver went down his spine. He quickly stood up. He then shook his head. "I think I need a shot of whiskey," he said. "Draco," he avoided looking directly into his eyes. "Do you know where it is?" Draco pointed absentmindedly into the study. Fudged nodded his gratitude, but Draco did not see. He put his hands on the rim of the casket. Snape stood silently behind him. He liked to think he was Draco's guard. Draco thought he was hovering too close for comfort. Draco stood staring into his father's blank expression.

"Hard to believe he's dead," Snape sighed. Draco wished that everyone would stop talking to him. He didn't need a wimpy show of false love. He knew that he didn't love his father, so no one else in this room could have faired any better than he could have. Draco blinked. "It's okay...to erm, cry," Snape muttered, a little softly. He knew what showing emotions meant to the people in this room. He knew that Death Eaters were not people who appreciated crying. Draco shook his head.

"No, it's bloody well not," Draco drawled. Snape was taken aback.

"I didn't mean offense."

"Right, I'm not a pansy, okay?" he said, turning around. Snape shook his head.

"Could have fooled me," Snape muttered, quick to retort. Draco narrowed his eyes. Snape gave in, and backed away. He reminded himself not to let his guard down around the Malfoys.

Draco put his hands behind his back. He was reminded of walking into Flourish and Blotts as a little boy, and being told by his father to do the same thing. Draco didn't put his hands behind his back, but instead fiddled with the ink holders, and broke several. His father punished him by using Draco to practice his jinxes.

"Bet you would have liked this, you old fucker," Draco muttered to himself. He remembered when his father had last held a dinner party, and all of his friends were over. He paraded around (like he always did in public) that his dad was the best in the world. He was haughty and shrill- it pleased Lucius greatly. Draco was turning into the cold-blooded man he needed to be. He would survive, Lucius was sure of that. If it weren't for the damn grace with which Draco moved, he would have sworn that he was a duplicate of himself. Draco shook his head. He didn't need the stereotypical reel of memories flashing through his head as he looked into his father's dead face. He wouldn't show a damn thing.

Slowly, one by one, people began to file out of his home. They would give him a pat on the shoulder, or a small smile. Draco detested the custom, but he had to endure it. He had to endure it. Snape came to say goodbye.

"Don't be afraid of your father," Snape whispered in Draco's ear. "He's not going to hurt you if you cry."

"I don't want to," Draco snarled. "He was scum, and I'm glad that he's dead." Snape stood back gravely.

"Then you should cry," he said. "For more than your father has died." Snape nodded, and walked out the door.

Draco stared at the wall. How the hell could Snape be so profound? Did it so happen that any potions teacher could come up with 'Words to Live By'?

"It's a tragic-," someone blindly stated at Draco.

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupted, shooing them on. The old man hurriedly walked away.

Draco bolted. He ran through the banquet hall, and down the corridor. He passed the study, and pushed his way out the door. He flew, regaining his natural dance, towards the black head glittering as it bobbed down the slope of Draco's front yard. He slowed to a cantor, and glided to a stop in front of Snape.

"What did you mean by that?" Draco demanded. Snape looked at the tall young man standing in front of him. Draco angrily pulled his platinum hair behind his ear. He tugged at the lock while he waited for Snape's response. Snape looked deep into Draco's eyes. He sensed that this alarmed Draco, but he took no heed. Draco's eyes were feared to be like those of Medusa. In reality, they showed such beauty, and pain, through the ice. They showed such truth. They were oceans of icebergs floating on murderous waters. Draco seemed to have an icy halo around him as Snape took a breath to speak.

"You've seemed to have lost your ability to love," Snape said, astutely. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"When did I ever have that ability to begin with?" Snape pushed forward, walking briskly. Draco loped along sideways. "How can I get it back?"

Snape stopped. He stared at Draco.

"How the hell should I know? I just had a feeling, okay? When have I ever loved somebody? I'm not an expert." Snape snarled. "Now, go back to your mansion," he said. "And manipulate the rest of the world."

Draco was left standing at the gate to his house. He shielded his eyes from the cruel sun. He was lonely, and he didn't want to be alone.

Hermione watched the Great Hall entrance way. She nodded as Harry and Ron chattered about Anna Kournikova and her giant knockers. She didn't particularly care about what bra size Anna wore, or how they bounced when she played the muggle sport tennis, but Hermione was being agreeable nonetheless.

She observed as Draco walked into the castle all alone. She quickly looked back at Harry and Ron to see if they were watching her. They weren't, of course. Hermione turned down the corners of her mouth. They were never watching her.

Draco quietly walked to the Slytherin table. Hermione sat up to watch him eat. He didn't eat at all, but sat by himself. It was most unlike Draco to be alone. He was a social creature- albeit a mean social creature- but a social creature nonetheless. Hermione noticed for the first time that Draco had very silvery-fine white skin. It seemed to form a halo around him.

Hermione prepared an excuse for her thoughts to Harry. She laughed at herself. How could Harry know what she was thinking? She hunkered down in her chair, and bit into her bread. She flung it around like a rabid dog. Harry and Ron looked over at her.

"Hermione?" Harry asked. Ron stared. Hermione continued to rip her bread.

When lunch was over, all of the students spilled out of the Hall. Hermione walked forward steadily, and her eyes were drawn to Draco. Had anyone ever noticed that he was graceful? She shook her head. She had to stop thinking about Draco that way. He had called her a mudblood, and hated her. What contempt could he muster if he knew that she was thinking such positive thoughts about him? Hermione dredged up a thought of anger towards Draco- his father had helped kill Sirius the previous year. Hermione pouted. That wasn't about Draco, she scolded herself. That was about Lucius.

Hermione sat down in the library. She positioned herself in front of a large stack of books. She worked like she usually did, and put thoughts of Draco out of her mind. Harry and Ron sat next to her, flinging paper balls at each other. She tried to silence them, and nagged them to study, but it was no use. She buried her head in another book.

She was pulled out of her work when she heard a large noise in the back of the library. Harry stood up, wand out. He was sprinting towards the back. Hermione sighed. He was playing the hero again. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and slowly gathered their books. They were going to have to pull Harry together again.

Ever since Sirius' death, Harry had flung himself into battle at every chance. He wanted all of the attention, and self-redemption, that saving the world could bring him. Unfortunately, he was rather bad at saving people from mundane afflictions, and often got himself in a worse patch than the people he was saving. Ron and Hermione were Harry's clean up crew.

They made their way to the back of the library. Madame Pince was standing over Harry, who had blasted himself backwards into a row of sharp looking books. Harry had a befuddled expression on his face. "Idiot," Hermione muttered. Harry shook his head.

"I don't need medical attention," he said, blood running down the cut on his arm onto his robes.

"For God's sake, Harry!" Hermione impatiently cried. "When will you stop being a hero?"

"A HERO? A HERO?" he screamed. Hermione sighed.

"Not this fight again," Ron muttered. Madame Pince pulled Harry to his feet.

"What were you trying to do, mate?" Ron asked. Harry, eyes still narrowed at Hermione, turned to Ron.

"Draco and Crabbe were having a fight," Harry said. Hermione sharply turned her head.

"What about?" she asked, a little breathless. No one noticed.

"Crabbe was saying that Draco was acting all quiet and that he didn't like it. So he punched him. I thought I would help by stunning both of them at the same time," Harry grinned. Then his face fell. "Who knew Draco was so good at a countercurse?"

Hermione spied Draco trudging away towards the exit of the library. She tore her eyes away from him, and focused them back on Harry.

"Right," she muttered. "Let's get you to the Infirmary."

"No," Harry said sharply like a tired toddler. Hermione adapted quickly into the role of Mommy.

"C'mon Harry, do it for me." Harry smiled sheepishly.

"Okay," he said finally, a note of playfulness in his voice. "For you."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You need to get your head checked, Harry. We're all starting to sound like some very dysfunctional family." Hermione tutted at him.

Harry slumped onto Hermione's shoulder, and together with Ron she dragged him to the Infirmary. It was Harry's seventh trip to the wing that month. "I suppose we'll be back here in June," Hermione said. "That's always when the heroic act with You-Know-Who that could possibly end the world occurs." Ron nodded sadly.

"Yup. And I suppose we'll be along for the ride again. Just like last year." He and Hermione walked along the corridor.

"Fancy that Lucius Malfoy died doing some death eater stuff?" Hermione ventured. She wanted as much information as possible.

"Nope," said Ron. "I know exactly how he died." Hermione turned to look at him.

"How?" she asked.

"He killed himself. You know, right before Fudge said he was going to arrest him. He got all dressed up, and just killed himself." Ron sighed. "Suppose he was trying to save the Malfoy honor."

"Oh God," Hermione cried. Ron stared at her.

"Hermione?" he said. "Is something wrong? We're talking about Lucius Malfoy, here."

"Yes, I know," Hermione said, gaining her wits again. "Dirty bastard." Ron smiled, pleased with Hermione's loyalty.

Hermione went through the motions of her day. She counted the minutes until dinner, when she would be able to see Draco again. Now that she knew what was wrong, she could search his mannerisms for something. What it was, she could not know. She needed an obsession. She needed to get outside herself.

Finally, class let out, and Hermione rushed to the Great Hall. Ron lagged behind. At dinner, she spied the Slytherin table, and waited for Draco to arrive. He didn't. She sighed, and turned her attention back to Ron.

"So, how's Charlie?" she asked. Ron shrugged his shoulders. "How's the Chudley Cannons?" Hermione ventured again. Ron gave the same response. Hermione gave up. It was useless. Ron and Harry cared nothing about her.

She was tired of the Great Hall. She picked up her bag, and walked out.

The corridor was empty as Hermione searched for any room to duck into. She needed a place to be on her own. She realized, after walking for quite a while, that she was standing in front of the Room of Requirement. She walked past the door three times, and wished for a place to be on her own. A door appeared, and she entered.

The room was dark, but not so dark that Hermione could not see. She sat down on the ground, and cried. She buried her head in her hands. She thought about Draco, and the loss of his father. She cried because of her betrayal of Harry for having sympathy for Draco. She cried because Harry had lost Sirius, the only person who meant something to him, then cried because she knew she meant nothing to him. She cried at how Harry and Ron hurt her through silence. From nowhere, Coldplay music began to play. She laughed through her tears. The room knew she needed depressing music at the moment. She cried in time with the beat.

There was a creak, and the door opened. Hermione spun around, and blindly yelled.

"Hello?" Draco drawled. Hermione sniffed.

"It's Hermione," she said. "You can leave now." Draco walked in further.

"You're crying?" he said. Hermione nodded.

"Please, I know you hate me... just, can we save the insults for tomorrow? You can make a really hurtful one up." Draco sat down a few feet away from Hermione.

"No, that's okay," he said. "I can handle a mudblood for a little while." Hermione nodded a thanks. Draco looked around. "Funny how a loser like you could need such a nice place to cry," he said. "Why don't you go join Moaning Myrtle on the third floor?"

"Please, not tonight," Hermione reminded. Draco nodded.

"I heard about your father," Hermione said after a while.

"You going to rub salt in my wounds, then? Tell me he's a horrible person?" Hermione shook her head.

"No," she said. "I was going to actually say I was sorry." Draco looked up.

"You care?" he asked. "After the fact that we are enemies?" Hermione looked at him.

"You and Harry are enemies," she corrected. Draco snorted.

"Aren't you two joined at the hip, anyways?" he asked.

"No," Hermione boldly defied. Draco stared. "Unlike Harry, I think there's a lot more to evil than it may seem." Draco smiled.

"So I'm evil," he said. Hermione looked up. She met Draco's gaze for a very long time. Then she looked down.

"No," she muttered. "You're not evil." She began to cry.

"Jesus," Draco muttered. The Coldplay song ceased playing. Hermione stopped crying.

"I think I'm done crying," she said, happy at the silence. Draco grinned.

"If you haven't slit your wrists yet," he said. "God, that's depressing." Hermione smiled.

"Yeah, it is." Draco shook his head. He and Hermione looked at each other for a little longer.

"Best be off," he muttered. He closed the door.

And with that, Hermione was left more confused than she had been the previous morning.