An Ideal Death-Eater

The day outside was clear and bright. Tiny shoots poked through the snow, gently unfurling their leaves to bask in the warmth of the sun. Life was beginning again after the long, dark winter.

Perhaps that's why Harry felt that this day was highly inappropriate to bury the dead.

Harry looked out over the grounds Hagrid had loved and cared for so earnestly, and squeezed Hermione's hand gently in his own. She was beautiful. Even with her puffy eyes, face blotched red, and her nose running, she was gorgeous. Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on top of her head.

He had to appreciate her beauty and strength because she could be gone any moment. Harry had assumed that once Voldemort was dead that the worst was over, and life would thrive and grow.

Apparently he was dead wrong.

There was something at work here that went beyond Voldemort; he felt it in his very bones. Hagrid's death seemed to be perfectly explainable, but something still nagged at him about it.

Hagrid had taken on forest trolls before and come out on top. Even in a drunken daze he should have been able to best it. But he hadn't won this time.

His body had been torn almost past recognition. He was battered, bruised, and long dead when they'd found him under the receding snow two days before. The only reason that anyone knew it was a troll that killed him was the hank of coarse, purplish hair in his hand.

Then there was Fang.

The great boarhound had gone missing with Hagrid and everyone assumed that they were together somewhere, but the dog's body wasn't found anywhere nearby. Harry was determined to find the dog and take care of it if he was still alive. After all, that had been Hagrid's last request to him almost two months ago.

Hagrid knew he was going to die. Looking back, Harry realised that he should have questioned the man more closely. There was something very odd going on and Harry was going to find out what it was if it killed him.

It wasn't as if he'd expected to live past seventeen anyway.

Hagrid had been the first magical person Harry ever met. He had saved him from the Dursley's, shown him the world in which he belonged, and was the very first friend Harry ever made. Even though he hadn't really spent much time with the man for years.

The half-giant certainly wasn't accused of being the brightest star in the heavens, but he had a simple wisdom that managed to penetrate most situations. Harry would miss that along with everything else.

He would even miss those hideous rock cakes.

Dumbledore was done with the eulogy now. Harry watched as he waved his wand in the air and directed the earth to part and accept Hagrid's remains, wrapped tightly in a winding sheet that could likely have covered the entire floor of the Gryffindor common room.

Harry was thankful that wizards didn't bury their dead in coffins. Hagrid deserved to rest inside the earth, close to the nature he had loved so much without being contained by stone or wood.

The student mass broke and a few tossed flowers from the greenhouses or cards they had made on top of the grave. A simple plaque stating Hagrid's name, date of death, and the inscription marked it.

When he was among us we were strong.

We are poorer for the lack of his company.

Rest in peace, faithful servant.

Hermione nudged him and Harry started forward, carrying a small basket of rock cakes and some tea to set on Hagrid's grave. Perhaps he didn't need to eat wherever he was now, but Harry was sure that the gesture would be appreciated.

Harry looked up to see that Ron was the only other one who had remained behind. Everyone else was gone.

"Hullo, Harry," Ron whispered, staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands were buried deep into the pockets of his trousers.

"Hello, Ron," Harry said, glancing at Hermione. She sniffed away a few tears and closed the gap between the two boys. They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, much like they once had and seemingly united in their grief.

"Ron," she stated clearly, acknowledging the other boy's presence.

He nodded at her, glancing up briefly before turning his attention back to Hagrid's grave. "Hermione."

No one spoke for a moment until Ron pulled a petrified slug from his pocket and awkwardly set it on the ground beside Harry's basket and the other offerings there.

"I never imagined that he would die. I mean, I knew that he would one day, but-- not this soon. Not like this."

Harry acknowledged Ron with a grunt and turned around, pulling Hermione with him as he walked away. He wished that Ron hadn't broken the silence; it reminded him of too many things he wanted so much to forget.

"Harry," Ron called out from behind them.

Hermione stopped, so Harry turned around, waiting for him to speak again.

"Can't we--" Ron stopped to lick his pale lips. "Can't we put this behind us, Harry? We've known each other since first year and it's bloody ridiculous to go on like we have. I'm sorry, right? I'm sorry for overreacting last week, and I'm sorry for lying to Hermione about you--"

Harry raised a hand to cut him off. "Ron, I miss you, too. I miss being friends with you and having adventures. I miss laughing over stupid pranks. But what you did was completely unforgivable and just because I'm speaking to you off the Quidditch pitch doesn't make us friends again. As for Hermione, I don't know how she feels so you'll have to ask her."

Hermione, for her part, looked confused more than anything else. Finally, she spoke to Ron. "If Harry can find it in him to forgive you than so can I. But it's too fresh now, Ron. Maybe some other time we can all sit down and puzzle this out like rational individuals, but not now. Not today."

Ron's face distorted and coloured deeply. "It's always logic with you, isn't it, Hermione?" he whispered bitterly. "Can't you, for once in your life, think with your bloody heart?" He pounded his chest. "I'm fecking dying here!" Ron screamed, his arms and face raised, fingers digging at the sky. "And you don't care." His eyes flicked between the two before coming to rest on Harry. Ron's arms dropped and his hands twisted inward. "Neither of you care about me at all," he finished softly.

Hermione's back straightened as she walked forward to peer into Ron's face. "We do care about you. But you destroyed our friendship, Ron. You lied to us! You lied to me, to Harry, and to your family. We are all broken now." Hermione poked him hard in the chest with one finger before finishing softly. "And you only have yourself to blame."

Harry felt that she was being too harsh and was about to step forward, but Hermione whirled around and grabbed his arm, propelling him back toward the castle.

"We're done here, Harry," she gritted out, her strides so long that he actually didn't have to pace himself for once.

Harry was about to turn back when he heard a deep, wracking sob from behind him and the thud of someone falling to their knees in the soft earth.

Hermione pulled up short and tightened her grip on his arm. Her shallow breaths puffed white in the cool air and she lifted wide, brown eyes to his face. Should they go back?

Ron's sobbing was muffled, as if he had buried his face in the ground. Harry clasped Hermione's hand and a moment of understanding passed between the two. Ron had lost too much this day, he shouldn't't lose his pride as well. He'd only be angry about it later and it wouldn't't do anyone any good. It was better if they just walked away.

For now.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ginny walked down to Draco's bedroom by way of the secret passage. She was especially cautious to make sure that no other Slytherins were hanging about the corridor. Now that they weren't afraid of Draco anymore, bad things could happen.

She considered knocking first, but quickly dismissed the thought. All seventh year Slytherins were accounted for in the Great Hall and Draco was most likely sleeping.

He hated it when she woke him up.

Draco had been terribly rude to her the other day, but she supposed that he had a right to be vexed considering his state when she'd arrived. Then again, when was he not an utter arse?

The door to Draco's dormitory swung open easily and Ginny crept inside, being careful not to make any noise. When she reached his bed and peeped through the curtains, she could see that he was indeed asleep.

It didn't seem to be a very pleasant sleep, and Draco moaned, tossing his arms and hitting the pillows under his head as he struggled to remain unconscious. There were deep circles under his eyes and he appeared rather . . . delicate. Even though all of his injuries had healed, it looked like one good hex would finish him off.

Of course she would never tell him that.

Ginny slipped off her cloak and shoes and slid into bed beside him. His body was almost feverish, as it always was, and he started to relax when she petted his hair. She smiled slightly and looked at his face, made guileless in sleep.

It was just that easy.

"Ginny?" Draco asked rather fuzzily, waking a little. He sounded lost and somewhat sweet.

She shushed him with a kiss and continued to stroke his hair. If only he would stay asleep so she could pretend for a little while that he was a nice person, someone that lo--

"What the devil are you doing here? I thought that they were having ceremonies for that great oaf today," Draco muttered, shifting onto his back and brushing her hand away.

Ginny sighed. He insisted on spoiling her every fantasy. Then again, she reckoned that Draco wouldn't be half so interesting if he was snuggles and kneazles all the time. Or even part of the time.

"The funeral is over. They're having a feast for him in the Great Hall now."

"Ah," Draco said, coming more awake. "Did you--"

"Yes. I brought you a sandwich and some fruit." She answered his question before he had finished asking.

It wasn't as if she didn't know what he was going to ask for. Draco was fairly predictable and usually satisfied with a nibble, a shag, or a kip. Occasionally he wanted something to drink, too. Which she had forgotten. Damn.

"What about something to--" he started.

"I forgot." Ginny replied, handing him a small bundle containing three pears and a ham sandwich wrapped in linen.

"Mmmn," Draco grunted, taking a bite from one of the pears. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye before he resumed munching. "How was the funeral?"

"Awful. I cried through the entire thing and had to fight tears coming up here. It reminded me too much of Percy's funeral."

Ginny shivered and pulled the silken, green and black duvet over her legs, leaning closer to Draco to absorb some of his naked heat.

"Yes, well, funerals aren't exactly my cup of tea either. Then again, I wasn't fond of the yob like you Gryffs were so it doesn't really matter much."

Draco ate his sandwich with uncharacteristic haste, less than three bites and it was gone. She'd never seen him do that before. Usually he took his time, eating every bite slowly and thoroughly before moving on to the next. Draco had always said that to do otherwise was uncultured and boorish.

God knew that no one could possibly consider Draco Malfoy to be boorish, could they?

"Are you anxious for something, Draco?" she asked him.

Draco shrugged and set the two remaining pears on his night table. "I'm tired still."

Ginny lifted an eyebrow. "You haven't done anything but eat, sleep, and attend classes since the Slytherin game against Ravenclaw and that was well over a month ago. Maybe you should think about finding something to occupy your time besides sleep. You'll feel better."

Draco matched her eyebrow with one of his and smiled lazily. "You forgot shagging, Ginny. I eat. I sleep. I shag."

Ginny rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I came, I saw, I conquered . . ." She poked him in the bottom with a teasing finger. "I got fat from lounging around on my arse sleeping all day."

"I'm no where near fat," he countered.

Ginny agreed, if anything he had grown thin over the past month or two. She hated to admit that she worried about him.

"I suppose," she conceded. Ginny sighed and stretched, her fingers stiff and splayed above her head while she yawned. "It's like a bloody disease, this sleep thing."

Draco shrugged and lay on his back again, closing his eyes. "I'm afraid that I've no cure for it."

Ginny smirked and threw a leg over his hip, pulling herself up to sit on his waist. Draco opened his eyes with a start.

"What in God's name are you doing, woman?" he asked her, quite puzzled it seemed.

She shrugged and started to pluck at the buttons on her white oxford. What was she doing? Granted, Ginny had been aggressive with him in the past and often started their shagging sessions, but she always allowed him to dominate her in the end.

Today was going to be different.

"I'm looking for the cure," Ginny whispered, pinching the nipples on his chest just a little too hard. Draco groaned and she could almost hear Lord Hardwick stand to attention and salute. Brilliant. She'd never done it this way before, but there was a first time for everything.

Ginny pulled off her blouse and bra, tossing them in a corner. She knew that he slept without a stitch, so there would be no problems there.

Draco reached up to cup her breasts with a sigh. "Ah, I'm afraid I haven't seen you birds for a while. Have I missed anything terribly exciting?"

"Nothing at all," Ginny answered for her body parts. "But they've been lonely. Why I heard them lamenting for you just the other day: oh where, oh where, has our little Dray-co gone? They're an impossible bunch, really." Ginny slid her hands over Draco's and encouraged him to squeeze just a bit. "Horribly demanding girls, always wanting something."

"Mmmn," Draco agreed, warming up to the unusual verbal game. "They must be punished."

He slid his hands down to her waist and pulled her forward so he could taste one nipple. Ginny sighed and arched into his exquisite kiss, the scent of amber rising from his hair with the movement.

Draco released the first with a gentle smacking noise. "Lesson number one," he mumbled, turning Ginny so he could suckle the other breast for a moment with his warm mouth. "And lesson number two," he finished.

Ginny scooted back so she could rub herself over Draco's erection. His eyes widened slightly and a wolfish grin lit his face.

"You're not wearing any knickers."

She smirked and kept rocking her hips against his, creating some friction. Ginny had fainted once, and the same icy-hot shivers she felt immediately before doing so were coursing through her again.

"I needed something to keep me occupied this afternoon and I knew just the bloke to help."

Draco lifted an eyebrow and folded his arms behind his head, shifting his hips just a little. "And who, pray tell, might that be?"

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes closing as she continued to grind down on his pelvis. "You know, Draco Malfoy. He's this Slytherin fellow I'm acquainted with."

Suddenly Draco's hands were on her hips, bunching in the fabric of her skirt and adjusting her position so that she hovered above his erection. Draco pushed her hips down just as his rose to meet her, sheathing himself inside of her with a slam.

Ginny was almost certain that she saw stars.

He pulled her upper body toward him and kissed her on the mouth while encouraging her pelvis to move up and down at the same time. Eventually Draco broke away from her mouth and trailed a path down her chest with his tongue until it curled around one nipple. The light sucking sounds came from far away, as if she'd plugged her ears with cotton.

"Do be quiet now," Draco murmured around the intrusion. "I'm enjoying this immensely."

Ginny didn't care; she closed her eyes and reached up to dig her fingers in his hair, bringing him as close as possible to her chest. She had forgotten to move her hips until Draco reminded her by jolting his up a few times.

Every time she came back down it was like a spark inside of her belly. He was hitting just the right places with each slide in and out.

Ginny became more frantic and was soon pushing against him as hard as she could, as fast as she could, building, building . . .

Draco's hands came around to grasp her bottom, his long, hot fingers digging into the soft flesh as he attempted to penetrate her more deeply, control her movements.

Ginny threw her head back and bucked against him, moving her hips in a circle and squeezing her muscles. It was all stars now; flashes of light behind her eyes, but she kept going until she could feel her legs turn to jelly.

Another jolt as Draco reared beneath her did the trick and she was melting, sliding down until she was lying flush over him; chest to chest, his shaft still buried within her.

It seemed a perfectly natural place to be, perched on top of Draco Malfoy, his body within her own as if had never been anywhere else.

He grunted and pressed the soft flesh of her hips with his fingers, grinding into her. Ginny squeezed her muscles half-heartedly, content to lay there and do nothing until he pinched her bottom sharply. Ginny's eyes flew open and she gasped as he lit a spark within her again. She strained against him, nipples abraded by his moderately furred chest.

Draco groaned, hot breath tickling her ear, and she felt his body slump with his release. His chest was heaving under her cheek and she ran her fingers through the soft hair around his nipple.

It was comfortable to lie on someone afterward. Ginny sighed shakily and smiled. Perhaps a nap was in order.

Draco didn't attempt to dislodge her, and his arms came up to hold her closer as he caught his breath. Ginny's eyes started to drift shut. She was so relaxed. So alive.

"Mmmn, that was lovely, Draco. Lovely, love, love, Draco," Ginny whispered nonsensically as she slipped further toward sleep.

She didn't notice Draco tense beneath her at the words; she was already too far-gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry was walking along the paths surrounding the Forbidden Forest late that evening. Thankfully, he had managed to convince Hermione that they should make amends with Ron. But there was time for that later. Right now, Harry had a promise to keep.

He sighed and scuffed a rock out of the way with his feet. A glance at Hagrid's hut chilled him; it was empty and all of the lights were out. It seemed unnatural that a place which had once been so warm was now so cold and void.

Harry picked a branch up from the ground and started to swing it in lazy arcs, whistling the special call for Fang that Hagrid had taught him years ago. If the dog was anywhere nearby, he would respond.

Sure enough, after roughly two minutes of whistling, the great boarhound came running from the Forest to greet Harry with a whine. Fang was much thinner than the last time he had seen him and covered in cobwebs. Harry knelt down to stroke the beast and offered him a few bangers he had saved from supper.

Fang wolfed them down sloppily before sitting down on his haunches to scratch at a particularly annoying flea. It was then that Harry noticed there seemed to be a scroll tied to Fang's collar.

Curious, Harry gently peeled the strings back and slipped the parchment out. It was difficult going because the dog was muddy and the dirt had crusted the strings almost entirely over, but he somehow managed to free it.

The parchment crackled as the crust of mud fell away when he unrolled it and began to read. It was difficult to make anything out in the darkness, so Harry lit his wand. The words were scrawled sloppily and the ink had faded a bit, but he could just make it out.

I knew you would find this. You always did keep your promises to me. Take care of Fang for me. He's a good dog even if he is a cowardly beast. And I left something for you where you dig for Hermione. I'm sorry that I'm not there for you, my boy. But you'll see why soon enough, I imagine.

Hagrid

Harry felt tears prick his eyes and he swallowed the lump in his throat painfully. He missed Hagrid so much!

Fang was whining again and Harry wiped a hand over his eyes quickly before trudging toward Hagrid's hut to settle the dog onto a warm pallet for the night. As they passed the back ditch though, Harry paused. This is where Hagrid had talked about in the note. He always dug for Flobberworms here, Flobberworms for Hermione.

Harry fell to his knees and started to pull clogs of mud from the ground with his hands. Fang, seeing that Harry seemed to be having some fun in the dirt, decided to follow suit and was soon digging holes into the ground eagerly. Harry threw clumps of mud and worms over his shoulder and kept going. He moved to a new section every so often, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

After a while, Harry became tired and rested back on his heels. He was covered in dirt and rapidly melting snow. The ground was still hard from winter and his fingers were frozen. Fang suddenly let out a low cry and Harry darted forward just in time to save a small box from the dog's appetite.

"What's this then, Fang?" Harry asked the boarhound. The dog didn't reply, of course, but he whined softly and nuzzled his head into Harry's muddy palm.

Harry opened the box and discovered a letter addressed to himself inside.

Harry

What I'm about to tell you is going to upset you. But you're a strong man, not a boy anymore. Now don't read this out to yourself! Be quiet.

I found out some bad things about a few professors of yours, and I suspect I was made to do some bad things meself, but I don't know. I don't know anything anymore, it seems. Now you can't go talking about anything important on Hogwarts grounds, they'll hear you anywhere you go. There are some mighty powerful spells on this place, so watch your back and your mouth. I reckon you'll have to go into Hogsmeade to make any plans. I don't rightly know what's happening, but it's bad. Some people want me to be quiet and are afraid that I might say something to someone about it, but I don't even know what it is I'm supposed to know.

Now, there's a box in old Snape's office. It's made of metal and it has something in it he don't want nobody to find. I don't know what's in it, but I suspect it's bad. Dumbledore had me bring it back from London, you see. It was buried under some old Muggle house there. Then he handed it over to Professor Snape for safekeeping, but I reckon I saw too much or something and I suppose I'll be gone soon. Dumbledore always did trust that man too much for my liking. There's one last thing, but I don't know if it's important or not. Professor Snape's been going out into the Forest an awful lot lately. I'm not sure what he's up to out there, but I saw him take a ruddy huge cauldron in there some time ago, so I suspect it's some sort of potion he's working on. Hermione's a clever girl, and she'll help you figure this all out. But don't trust no one else! I'm not sure I even trust Dumbledore anymore.

You have to find the box, Harry. I don't rightly know how much time I have left before someone finishes me off, and I don't know who's in on it and who's not. Just don't trust nobody, Harry, and you'll be all right. I know you can do this. Now be a good lad and look after Hermione. And make up with Ron, he's always been a good friend to you, even if you do have your differences. You kids are smart, but you'll need all the help you can get for this one and you've always worked better as a team than you have alone. Remember that.

Hagrid

Harry blinked for a moment before slowly folding up the letter and placing it in the pocket of his cloak. Hagrid knew he was going to die. He left a note on Fang and a letter in the back trench where he knew Harry dug for Flobberworms once a week.

And what was this about Snape? A box in his office? Why didn't Hagrid trust Dumbledore? He used to worship the man and suddenly he didn't trust him?

Harry felt his head spinning as he walked around the corner and opened the door to Hagrid's hut. It was cold and empty inside, and it made Harry shiver. He flicked his wand toward the hearth and lit a fire while Fang snuffled about for his pallet.

Harry paced the floor for a moment before he decided to sit down in a chair in front of the fire and warm his hands. He sat on something hard and smooth, so he extracted it from beneath him to examine it.

It was a half-empty bottle of Dragonwood Bourbon.

He remembered the first time he tasted it. Hagrid had invited him over for tea, and let him have a jigger of bourbon to calm his nerves after a particularly bad nightmare about Sirius. Harry had more than just a jigger that night, and morning found him sleeping outside of the hut in wet grass, sprawled next to Hagrid and clutching bottles to their sides. The sky had been a dome of pure blue with wisps of white cloud spun round the top. It was the first time Harry remembered being completely numb, but happy, and he'd struggled since to find the sensation again. Drinking was even better than flying.

Harry felt the chill of temptation. It would be so easy to have a few sips and forget all about this new mystery, but Hermione's sorrowful face kept swimming in front of him and he couldn't do it.

Why couldn't Hagrid trust Dumbledore with this? Surely if Snape were trying to kill him, he could have gone to Dumbledore. Was it that Dumbledore didn't believe him when he tried? Harry rolled the bottle of bourbon between his hands and tapped it nervously with his fingernails.

He pondered on all this for some time, the possibilities running through his head seemed to be all wrong and yet . . . they clicked somewhere deep inside of him. It was the beginning of the mystery he'd felt in his bones. Harry had known that Voldemort's death wouldn't make everything sunshine and daisies again, and he'd been right.

Defeated, he lifted the bottle of bourbon to his lips; the burn slipping down his throat evaporated Hermione's voice from his mind.

*~*~*~*~*~*

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