Secrets

1998

It had been raining for days. Endless streams of water, thrashing against the ground. Draco had never seen anything like it, but considered it a quite ironic sign. Typical of the Heaven's opening right at that moment in time. Many people tutted, blaming the typical English weather, although Draco was sure it was some sort of sign. Not one he was willing to think about to much, but a sign at the very least.

Everyone was crying. Tears mixing with the rain so that neither was distinguishable from the other. Draco couldn't cry. He'd tried. He'd sat there in his room earlier that morning on his crisply made bed in his freshly starched clothes, looked round at his immaculately tidy room, closed his eyes, and tried to cry, but there was nothing there. He didn't feel anything, and without feeling emotion, it was hard to show it. Now they all were all crying, all but him. He didn't want them to cry, he wanted them to do anything but. Even laughter would do. At a time like this, he guessed people needed laughter more than anything. That's what he'd done after trying to cry. Laugh. He'd laughed and laughed until his sides hurt. Until his mother had come rushing upstairs, taking him into her arms worriedly, mistaking the tears of laughter for ones of pain. At least then there had been some sort of grief. Now there was nothing.

Draco inhaled deeply, feeling the cold air rush right down to the bottom of his lungs. Exhaling, his breath danced infront of him, leaving traces of ghostly mist long after it had faded into the rain. He repeated the pattern, slowly counting how long his breath stayed there for. Three. Four. Three.

Suddenly, someone's hand on his shoulder startled him. Holding his breath and blinking, Draco watched the last air-ghost fade away before losing the pattern. Narcissa looked down at him, her face tear and rain streaked. Draco wondered why she was crying, wondered how she could. She bit her lip, nodding her head slightly. Draco nodded back, and her hand slipped from his right shoulder as she turned back to face forwards.

Draco didn't know which part of the service they were on. He wasn't sure how they went, anyway. He'd lost concentration on whatever the man was saying a long time ago and didn't bother trying to regain it. What was the point? He already knew all the man was going to say. He'd heard it all before.

Draco looked back at his mother, wondering slightly what she was thinking. She was stood tall and proud, head held high and hardly even blinking. Malfoy Pride, that's what it was all about, wasn't it? Can't show the pain. Malfoy's don't hurt. Can't show the grief. Malfoy's don't cry. Can't even show a sad smile, Malfoy's don't even have emotion. Was this why it was so hard to cry? Had he been so well trained? Was that all he was, some sort of robot? Even Narcissa had managed to break the barricade and cry, and all the while he couldn't even get his mouth to do anything but stay in a straight line.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a funeral. He didn't think he had ever been to one before. It was hard to remember. They never saw anyone from either side of the family. Lucius was an only child, like Draco himself, so he had no brother or sisters and his mother and father had long since died. Narcissa's family all immigrated to America a long time ago. Not that they'd want any contact with her, they never had since they found out about Lucius.

Draco lifted a hand to his forehead, pushing back his hair. The rain was messing it all up, although he couldn't bring himself to care. It fell in long, silver tendrils around his head, annoying him slightly. He sighed, concentrating on his hair, or that fact that his new shoes were hurting so much that he knew he'd have aching feet the next day. That way, he didn't have to think about the coffin being lowered into the ground. Or that his father's body was inside it.

* * * * * * *

Narcissa had been stood for a long time. Stood still, staring at the pile of fresh earth as if it would suddenly move and she'd have a husband again. Watching it, even though most of her didn't care. Didn't care that she didn't have a husband. After all, if your husband was Lucius Malfoy, would you really want him back?

There had been a lot of people there that day. All offering their condolences and sympathy, as if they also really cared. Fake tears all around. Who knows? Maybe some people were really crying for the loss of Lucius, but no names sprang immediately to Narcissa's mind.

Narcissa thought back to when she'd first met Lucius, way back when they still attended Hogwarts. He'd made her feel special, as if she truly belonged somewhere. They'd gotten married in a hurry, everyone smiling and happy. It was when they got back to their new Manor that the smiling stopped. He'd changed. She'd noticed he was changing for a while, it was very gradual. He was often out at meetings; ones that she knew were to do with the Dark Lord. They had a good front, though, people suspected, but never pointed the finger. He continued like that, never at home, until one day she's had enough and broke down infront of him, crying and screaming. Lucius had just stood there, watching her. He didn't speak until she'd finished, just stood looking down at her as she cried on the floor, an apprehensive look on his face. Once she could cry no more, he'd taken her in his arms, making physical contact for the first time in months, and told her everything would be okay. They could start a family.

Everything was okay then, for a few weeks. Well, she thought it was and was so happy when she discovered she was pregnant. Now they could finally have the big family she'd always wanted. Then Draco was born. Narcissa smiled fondly, remembering when she'd first laid eyes on her perfect little baby. He'd been such a happy little boy, smiling up at her. After a while, Narcissa decided they needed another child, a playmate for little Draco. Lucius had other ideas. No, he'd said, they didn't need another child; the Dark Lord says we have more than enough. Narcissa had cried, again. How could the Dark Lord decide if they should have more children? Lucius just stared at her, and she knew what the answer was. No, the Dark Lord only needs one child. No, we can only have one child.

"Mother?"

Narcissa knew Draco was behind her, she'd known for some time. He'd been stood watching her as all the other guests filed out; wondering when the best time was to approach.

Narcissa turned. "Yes, Draco?" She looked at his concerned gaze, and wondered if he was missing his father. There was a time earlier that morning when she had thought that he was, but now she realised he was just like her, finding that there was nothing there, like both their hearts were empty.

"Are you ready to leave?"

Narcissa nodded and walked away from the grave and away from her husband, towards her son.

* * * * * * *

He was there. Draco had known rat the start of the service. He'd stood at the church, listening to the vicar drone on about what a great person Lucius Malfoy had been, and then he was at the cemetery, as if he really cared. Draco tutted to himself. Typical Harry Potter.

Harry was stood leaning by the gate, ignoring the glares he was gaining from every other guest. Draco wanted to smile, how pissed would Lucius be to know Harry Potter attended his funeral?

Harry looked smart, his robes almost as nice and new as Draco's own. He was staring straight at Draco, his eyes not leaving him. His gaze made Draco feel edgy, it often did. When Draco reluctantly gave in and finally made eye contact, Harry stood up straight, waiting.

Draco looked at Narcissa, who was walking proudly by his side. "Mother, I won't be a minute. Why don't you go back without me?"

Narcissa didn't speak, but switched glances from her son to Harry Potter. Giving Draco a slight nod, she hurried her pace while Draco hung back, allowing Harry to approach.

"Malfoy," Harry said, still staring at him. His head was cocked slightly, in a way which annoyed Draco. He didn't need Harry's sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"No. You're not," replied Draco. It was a statement, but an even, cool one at that.

Harry, head still cocked, showed the tinniest of frowns, but nodded. "I'm sorry you've lost your father. I'm not sorry it was Lucius Malfoy."

Draco looked up, locking eyes with Harry. "Me too, Potter," he said, but looked down almost automatically, hurrying with what he said next. "I didn't think you'd come."

"I didn't think I would either."

"I don't suppose . . ." Draco trailed off, cursing himself for almost asking a stupid question.

Harry shook his head knowingly. "Ron was never considering. Hermione . . . well, you know how she feels."

Draco nodded, not wanting to say anything. He would speak to Hermione later.

There was a silence between the two of them. Draco knew Harry was still watching him, he could feel his eyes on him at all times. Draco glanced around, looked anywhere but at Harry. There was something about eye contact that freaked him out slightly. It made him feel as if he was stripped bare, and that everyone could see everything about him. He focused on the last few leaving guests instead. They looked at the two boys, then turned away quickly like they didn't want to be caught staring at Harry Potter. Draco rolled his eyes. Now they were off to his bloody house for a party!

"Hey, Potter," said Draco, turning back to Harry. "You want to go to a party?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "A party? Malfoy, I wouldn't exactly call it a party . . ."

"Well," Draco replied, starting for the exit and leaving Harry no choice but to follow. "Trust me; this is going to be a bloody party, even if I have to spike the coffee first."

* * * * * *

Draco didn't have to spike the coffee after all, as it seemed that all the guests were quite content with getting themselves drunk. Harry considered joining in, but then thought better of it, as surely they were all meant to be reflecting on and celebrating Lucius' life. Not that there was much to celebrate, or that Harry would bother celebrating it, but it just felt wrong to be knocking back the vodka straight after a service. He wondered if people would get drunk at his funeral, but then dismissed the thought as it was all starting to feel too morbid. Thinking about death always made him think of his parents . . .

Harry coughed, distracting himself by looking around. He'd never been in the Malfoy's house before, and he could see why it was nicknamed Malfoy Manor. Harry wasn't sure what the house was really called, it was some fancy sounding name. Latin, probably. He'd have to find out before he left, which would hopefully be sometime in the not so distant future.

Malfoy Manor was an impressive sight, although Harry felt very out of place. Having lost Draco almost immediately, he'd taken to wandering from room to room, gazing in awe at most of what he saw. He couldn't even begin to contemplate what living there must be like, as it all seemed so surreal, as if it wasn't lived in and was just a museum or something. Harry smiled slightly, thinking back to the Dursley's modest house back in Surrey. Dudley would love it - he'd be able to have a whole wing to himself.

The Manor reminded Harry vaguely of Hogwarts. Sloping roofs and sweeping staircases everywhere, leading to God knows where. Hogwarts had that feel of 300 excited teenagers running through it every day, though, while the Malfoy's house didn't even feel like anyone lived in it, like no one had ever touched anything or ran through across it's floor, much less be excited. Infact, just the five or so people that were in the same room as Harry looked so out of place that it was quite strange.

"Mr Potter. Didn't expect to see you here."

Harry turned at the sound of his name, though he already knew who had spoken. "Hello, Professor Snape."

He didn't know why he was quite surprised at seeing his Potions teacher there, because thinking about it, Snape would have to make an appearance. No doubt the other Death Eaters would think it very strange if the newly reverted Severus Snape didn't turn up at one of his oldest acquaintances funeral.

"Keeping young Mr Malfoy company, I presume?" Snape said, frowning slightly. He still showed certain distaste to Harry, no spying would ever change that.

Harry nodded. "Kind of. You haven't seen him, have you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. He was sat outside on the balcony."

Not wanting to stand in Snape's presence any longer, Harry gave a quick nod before heading over in the direction he'd been set.

"Oh, Potter," called Snape, turning to watch him. "I expect to see you tomorrow morning bright and early with all good notes from today's lesson that you've missed to come gallivanting over here."

Harry was sure he saw the Professor smile slightly, but didn't stop to think about it as he quickly left the room.

* * * * * *

Draco lifted the glass slowly to his lips and held it there momentarily, enjoying the coolness of it on his skin. Tipping up the glass, he let the remainder of the liquid slide down his throat, feeling the drink settle warmly in his stomach. Raising his arm, he threw the glass over the top of the balcony, listening for the satisfying smash as it hit the ground below. He reached over for another drink from the line of full glasses he had next to him and began to sip at that one.

He was determined to get drunk. What was the point in not being? He didn't want to be there as much as anyone else did, but they could all go home. This was his home, there was no escaping it. He had to stay and endure it all, however much he didn't want to.

"Now, what if that had hit someone?"

Draco looked up to see Harry walking over to him. He sighed, downing the rest of the drink before throwing that one over the wall to join the other one. "Then it'd hurt."

"Possibly kill," Harry mused. "Imagine the headline; man killed by falling glass, thrown by pathetic drunk."

Draco looked up from his sitting position on the floor, raising his eyebrows. "Is there a reason you're here annoying me, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, taking a seat further along the step from him. "Well, I was directed to this balcony. Took me long enough to find it though. How many do you have?"

"Balconies?" Draco asked, picking up another drink. "Six on this side of the house."

"Six?!" Harry exclaimed. "Ever heard the phrase 'money can't buy happiness', Malfoy?"

"What's that? Weasley family motto?" he smirked. "You want a drink? I have enough for both of us," Draco grinned, motioning to his collection.

Harry looked at him bemusedly. "Enough for eight of us more like. I think I'll pass."

Draco laughed slightly, downing his current drink. "Oh yeah, I forgot that famous Harry Potter can't be seen breaking rules or having fun."

"Or throwing up," Harry replied.

"You a lightweight, Potter?"

Harry felt himself blush. "No! I just don't think that this is the time to be drinking myself into a stupor," he said, matter of factly.

Draco laughed, watching the glass he'd just thrown arc as it sailed over the balcony. "If there is any time to be drinking yourself into a stupor, Potter, then this is it," He looked over at him. "Why are you here anyway?"

Harry sighed, looking straight ahead into the distant lights of London. From all the way up there, they were just dizzy orange blurs, but the sounds of the normal rush hour traffic in the city could be heard. "Y'know, I don't really know. I guess I just felt like I had to."

"You felt like you had to come to the funeral of someone that almost killed you?" Draco snorted. "One with the forgiving, aren't we, Potter?"

"I haven't forgiven anybody," said Harry.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. Now that the rain had died off, it had started to dry. He hoped it wouldn't start getting curly. "It must be really easy to be you, Potter. The little hero."

Harry glanced at him. "Not everyone asks to be a hero; it just sometimes turns out that way."

Draco scoffed. "Well it sure turned out your way."

"Never knew you cared so much, Malfoy," Harry replied.

Draco ran his finger around the rim of the newest glass to grace his hands. "Just one of my many hidden attributes. Not everyone's this evil without being a little bit nice deep-down inside."

Harry laughed slightly. "Oceans deep."

"Nah, only rivers deep," Draco sighed, stretching out his legs. "Look, all I mean is that people trust you."

"What are you saying?" Harry asked. "You want to be like me? I hardly want to be like me."

"I'm saying it must be good," Draco replied. "Having everybody on your side."

Harry looked round at the large balcony they were sat on, inhaling the cool air deeply. "I wouldn't really know how it felt on the other side."

"Then you're lucky," Draco said.

They were both silent for a few minutes, each looking straight out at the sights of suburban London. All of a sudden, one of them spoke, startling the other.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"What's your house called?"