Not Quite a Love Song, in Ten Scenes

Part 10: Epilogue (or: You Get What You Deserve)

The aftermath of Potter's unspectacular disappearance and the spectacular re-appearance of his mangled body in front of the castle gates - the Dark Lord wasn't able to resist the temptation to confront Dumbledore with the fulfilment of his Prophecy - found Draco meekly and quietly going about his business.

No, he had not been out of bed that night, he told Professor Snape when it was his turn to be interviewed about the night of Potter's disappearance.

No, he had no idea what Potter might have been up to - they weren't exactly friends.

No, he had nothing to do with the act of vandalism against a valuable portrait of Pwyll The Pretentious Perched Upon His Pegasus.

That double wand-strength Scouring Charm had been an unpleasant necessity. After all, the painting might have blabbed about Draco Malfoy making out under an Invisibility Cloak in its nook, and no amount of gratitude was worth snogging a Dementor in Azkaban.

He hung on to his most serious expression as he answered Snape's questions on matters Potter, while looking for traces of emotion on his godfather's face.

He knew Snape had hated Potter's guts. Deep down in his sinister heart, Severus had to feel satisfaction at the git's untimely demise. Then again, there had been all those heated glares, snarls and invectives flying during Potions classes, and Draco was sure he'd see him sizing up Potter's arse a few times when the Gryffindor had been storming off in a huff. Which just didn't bear thinking about, thank you very much, and would you hand me a Scouring Charm for the mind as well, please?

The rumour mill nearly boiled over several times, ranging from Potter cracking and committing suicide by darklord to Professors Snape and Generica having been surprised by Potter during a nightly tryst in the Astronomy Tower and shipping him off to You-Know-Who to protect their reputations. Draco's name, however, never cropped up once in connection with the question of why Potter would have been so abysmally stupid as to activate an illegal Portkey right into You-Know-Who's lair, or whom that late lamented portrait might have seen sneaking about the castle that night.

Potter's circle seemed inconsolable, Dumbledore looked as if he'd aged another few centuries overnight, and only the most hardened of Slytherins dared crack morbid jokes about Potter's downfall. Draco made a point of telling them off occasionally, at least in public and if there was a Gryffindor lurking on the sidelines to hear.

About a week after Potter's funeral - a lavish affair which Draco just knew the boy would have hated - he was once again waylaid by Potter's shadows. They looked far less impressive without the light of the Boy Who Died shining on them. Draco's hand flew to his collar, and he curled his mouth at the memory of Potter's fingers on his split lip.

This time, however, it was the Mudblood who stepped forward. And put a hand on his sleeve. Draco froze. She cleared her throat.

"Look, Mal- Draco, we wanted to tell you we're... sorry."

What? Draco stared, his mind spinning dizzily.

"Harry told us that you, and he..." She blushed. "Well, that you had... resolved your differences. And that you perhaps would have, well, started seeing each other."

So Potter had not told them outright about their planned meeting at the Astronomy Tower. Draco's heart started to beat again. Erratically, though, since Granger had latched onto his arm and was patting his hand. The Weasel scowled darkly at the sight.

"We heard that you've been defending him, and realised that you're mourning him, too. We... just wanted to make sure you're all right," Granger finished, while the Weasel hrumped, only to be treated to a Mudbloody glare.

"I'm fine," Draco croaked. "Just fine."

"Bet you are," the Weasel growled. "Since it was probably you who-"

"Ronald Weasley!" Granger shrieked. "How can you say such a horrible thing! Harry loved him, and you-" She broke into tears, and the Weasel, obviously torn between rage and helplessness, took the easy way out and stalked off.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," Granger sniffled, and Draco wondered with alarm whether she was contemplating abusing his sleeve as a handkerchief, she was clinging to it so tightly. You never knew, with Muggle habits and all...

"Look, Mu-, ah, 'Mione, calm down, will you?" He patted her shoulder, very gingerly and more than halfway prepared for another slap for modifying his habitual insult into such a ridiculous nickname. Granger unleashed was a dangerous thing.

Miraculously, however, she gave him a watery smile and released his sleeve at last.

"I'm glad that you're on our side now," she said, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "Harry told me, the day he-" *hiccup* "-that you had broken with your family. "And now that we've lost Harry..." Another hiccup, but a quieter one. The smile turned more brilliant. "I'm just glad we still have you." A pregnant pause. "That I still have you."

She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek, and then, very quickly, pecked him on the mouth.

Draco stood as if petrified as she blushed, smiled again, and dashed off down the corridor.

Then he purposefully walked up to the next wall, groaned from the very depth of his heart, and began to bang his head against the stone.

Hard.

Just what had he done to deserve this?

~ finis ~
(all right, you can kill me now...)