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The Funeral	By : cpetnm Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 7733 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A.N. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the story! On to Chapter 2…

@General Crow: I first got the idea for this story after discovering Victorian memento mori photos. (And can I tell you that since I’ve discovered them, every old photo has me wondering if I’m looking at a dead person!) The wizarding world is reminiscent of the Victorian era, I started to think of how death might be tended to in the HP universe. I don’t want the story to be too macabre, but there is an element of darkness with the subject matter of preparing people for burial. You take care, too, and thank you for the review!

@Trelweny: I don’t want the story to be too gross, or excessively depressing, but I remember the scene from the last HP movie where Voldemort’s forces were storming Hogwarts and there are hundreds, if not thousands, of people ready to fight. I like the idea of the Malfoys getting their reputation as dark wizards because of their work with the dead. Anyway, we’ll see where this story goes! Thank you for the review!

@ChaosLady: Thank you!

@starr: Well, thank you! I very much like the idea of this story, but I have to figure out a way to write it so that it’s not too strange or morbid. Thanks for the enthusiasm and the review!

@dracohermione: Thank you!

@Dracosgirl007: Oh, thank you! I think sometimes dealing with the worst of a situation, namely deaths from the final battle, can be the most constructive action for D & H. It might make it less scary for H if she helps the dead move on and D is repaying a debt to society. Thank you for the review!

Ron sat on the twin bed and watched Hermione plait her long hair into a French braid.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Hermione looked at her handsome friend and felt an incredible surge of affection.

“I want Fred and Remus and Tonks to get the burial they deserve. I can handle a few weeks of Malfoy if that’s what it takes.”

“Do you know about wizarding death rites?” he asked carefully. He didn’t know how Muggles prepared their dead, but due to their magic, wizards and witches’ bodies were carefully treated to ensure they didn’t get stuck in the Veil or come back to haunt the living.

“No, not really,” she admitted.

“I really hate to say this, but listen to Malfoy. He’ll know what spells to use for the dead and how to help them move on. Just be careful, okay?”

Hermione sat next to Ron and rested her head on his shoulder. She didn’t believe in an afterlife and felt that funerals were for the living, not the deceased. She supposed magical folk felt the same and needed the closure of a funeral after losing a loved one.

“It’ll be fine, Ron,” she said gently and patted his shoulder as she stood and smoothed her simple, black dress.

Draco knew Hermione was standing just inside the door, but she had yet to make herself known. Finally, he heard her light footfalls making their way to his position. This brash witch wasn’t exactly known for her timidity, but Malfoy could admit the warehouse of the dead was a daunting place.

“Good morning,” Hermione said quietly. There was something sacrilegious about raising her voice in this room.

“The Malfoys,” Draco explained, “have performed the death rites for wizards and witches for centuries. After third year, my father began teaching me everything he knew about preparing our people for their final presentation. Unfortunately, I’ve had ample opportunities to practice the trade over the last two years.”

Hermione blanched at his matter-of-fact words, but kept her composure.

“I don’t know what Muggles believe, but a wizard’s magic can linger for a time after death. Stronger wizards, or those who die a violent death, can continue to be tied to this plane of existence until they get pushed through to their Valhalla, if you will.”

Hermione looked at him skeptically, but continued to listen. Draco felt a surge of annoyance at her obvious dismissal of his explanation. He’d seen what happened when a body when it was left to rot, the witch’s magic urging her spirit to find a connection to her former life.

“Whatever you believe, Granger, this is the ritual our world observes and it keeps us all safe. If you can’t respect that, you should go now.”

“No, I want to help. Show me what to do,” she said softly, hoping to pacify him.

A brief memory of his face when she’d been dragged into Malfoy Manor flashed in her mind. Draco’s eyes had quickly betrayed his shock, before he schooled his features into his regular countenance. He’d been thin with dark circles under his grey orbs, and unlike his unkempt father, his hair had been neat and his face shaved.

“Are you squeamish?” he asked, walking towards a row of body bags. She followed him, trying to keep up with his long gait.

“No, not really. But I haven’t been around corpses before.”

He stopped and turned to her. “We don’t refer to them as corpses,” he snapped.

Hermione returned his gaze for a moment before looking away. Perhaps it would be better to keep quiet. Ugh, why do I always feel so stupid when he corrects me?

“The last thing I do before we can return the bodies is fix their hair, clothing, and make them look presentable. Most families have provided us with clothes for the funeral.”

“Do we have to return the bodies, as well?”

“No. The Aurors return the dead. Some of the families react violently to the death of their loved ones.”

“Of course,” Hermione murmured.

Draco used his wand to unzip a bag and expose a man in, what Hermione estimated, his early thirties. She didn’t know the man, but when she looked at the front of the bag, she noticed a small tag with his information.

“Change Mr. Weatherby’s clothing, and note his Charm’s Master medallions, which you will pin to the front of his suit. Shave him and comb his hair, make sure his fingernails are clean and trimmed. A few spells will suffice for doing most of the work. I won’t insult your intelligence. I’m sure you can figure out this part.”

Draco took a moment to study Hermione’s face as she examined the body. She took even, measured breaths, clearly trying to keep calm. Her fists were clenched, but even with all her discomfort, her eyes still reflected her inquisitiveness.

“I can do this,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“Try to get through this row by noon,” he said as he made his way to the back of the warehouse.

It was ten minutes until noon and Hermione had worked through half the row of the deceased. She wasn’t going to lie to herself, this work was really depressing, required grooming charms she’d never cared to learn, and was somewhat repellent to her. She was ashamed to admit that Malfoy was behaving in a more mature manner than she was. How had he done this work for so long and now with so, so many dead?

“Malfoy, do you stop to eat?”

He looked up from the ledger he was writing in. “If I remember, but there’s so much work to be done…”

“Can we leave this place for a few minutes? I brought a lunch we could share.”

When Father had first begun teaching him the trade, he remembered how exhausted he was by the spellcasting. He’d been younger and less skilled than Granger was now, but he’d had his whole life to watch his father, and sometimes his mother, prepare people for their funerals. It was possible Albus Dumbledore’s memorial was the first she’d ever attended. Thinking of Dumbledore made Draco feel sick.

“No, thank you. But you should eat. This work can be taxing.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Draco nodded without making eye contact with her and went back to his work.

The hall outside the Department of Magical Games and Sports was empty. She found a niche with a small bench and took out her sandwich. Truth be told, Hermione wasn’t feeling hungry, but after her year on the run, she knew how important it was to eat to keep up her energy and concentration.

She ate the ham and cheese sandwich, not really noting the taste or texture as she slowly chewed. Gods…Malfoy. Draco. He’d first come to her after the winter holidays sixth year. He’d fallen behind in Transfiguration and had asked to borrow her notes. Hermione had scoffed and stalked away from him, but surprisingly he had come to her a few days later, and quietly told her why he needed to borrow her notes. She’d been aghast at what he’d confessed and had made him a copy of her notes, silently pressing them into his hands. He’d thanked her with a bob of his head and made his way out of the library.

Not two days later, he found her in an empty classroom where she sometimes studied. Draco didn’t say a word, just sat down and began working through an Arithmancy assignment. This odd pattern continued for a few weeks, with Draco searching her out, sometimes asking her a question or for her notes.

She’d immediately gone to Professor MacGonagall after he’d first spoken to her, and to her utter horror, she was told The Order knew of Draco’s task. They’d expected him to confide in Professor Snape, but now that Draco had shared his secret with Hermione, she could relay information instead. She half suspected Malfoy had sought her out so she would give him away. He was too smart and too Slytherin for anything less.

With one last bite, Hermione vanished the paper her sandwich had been wrapped in and made her way back to the warehouse. Back to the young man she’d spent so many nights missing, with a sorrow that staggered her, after the way sixth year had ended.

At five, Draco told Hermione to go. She didn’t object. Her heart was heavy from the work she’d done. Draco looked tired to her, but since sixth year, he hadn’t looked like the robust Quidditch player she remembered. He was taller, but very thin, and his hands shook slightly as he murmured incantations over the bodies.

When Draco was alone, he examined Hermione’s work. She’d done what he’d asked, but every person she’d worked on looked, well, dead. He needed to remind her to add a bit of color to the men’s faces and put the women in full make-up, as might be appropriate for a conservative dinner party. It had taken her the entire day to complete the full row he’d assigned to her in the morning, but he knew she’d be faster in the future. He used his wand to make the witches and wizards look their best, even going so far as to adjust their facial expressions, making them look at peace.

Draco jumped when a cold hand poked at his shoulder.

“What are you doing to my husband?” a hazy specter asked. The witch appeared to be in her fifties and didn’t seem to notice her whereabouts.

“Pleased to meet you, Misses...?” he asked politely.

“Mrs. Biolaski, young man,” the ghost said in a way that told Draco she’d raised a child or two. “And you are?”

“I’m Draco. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Benedict and I were shopping in Diagon Alley when two men stopped us. I…I don’t know what happened after that,” she admitted, a confused expression on her face.

“Mrs. Biolaski, you and your husband are on your way through the Veil and to your beyond. I’m preparing you for your passage. Your husband looks very handsome, does he not?”

Death is a journey. Best to act the role as a guide with the dead.

The thin woman peered at her husband, seeming to tear up at his formal robes and neatly combed hair.

“He looks perfect,” she whispered. “When can we leave?”

“We will prepare you tomorrow. You’ll love the dress robes your daughter brought. Do you like your hair loose or up?” he asked conversationally.

“Up, I think.”

“Very good. You need to rest, to be ready. Cras egrediemini nocte quiescere.”

Rest tonight for tomorrow you go.

Mrs. Biolaski nodded. “Okay, dear. I am rather tired, now that you mention it. Take good care of my Benedict.”

“I will. Good night.”

The ghost floated back to her body and lay down, merging with her earthly form. Draco would have to move her up in the ledger. He didn’t want her spirit getting lost and missing her opportunity to find peace in the ever after.

Though the bedding at The Leaky Cauldron was itchy and the room was cool and clammy, Draco was relieved to get into bed. He actually never thought he’d have an opportunity to be near Hermione Granger again. She behaved as though they didn’t know each other aside from their well-known mutual dislike, but she was something to him.

Finally he dropped off, exhaustion pulling him into slumber.

“Are you nervous?”

His nose nuzzled her hair, right near her ear. Her lithe body fairly thrummed with nerves.

“I’ve…no one has touched me before,” she whispered.

He already knew that. It was obvious, from the first time he’d caressed her hand and she’d startled as if he had burned her, that she wasn’t in the least experienced. Lips feathered over her smooth jaw and cheek. She turned her head and he caught her lips. Gods, she tasted like cherries and black tea.

His hands gently cradled the back of her head, bringing her closer to him. She responded by fingering the bit of skin at his collar, delicately feeling his sensitive neck. When Hermione moaned, he took the opportunity to stroke his tongue against hers. She kissed with tentativeness at first, but as she got comfortable with the sensation of Draco’s mouth on hers, she began to return his passion. It was heady, the way she responded to him.

Unbuttoning her shirt, he revealed her simple, cotton bra. Ever so carefully, he cupped her breasts, letting her get used to his hands on her body. When he grazed her tight, little nipples with his thumbs, she edged closer to him, tightening her hold on his neck. Good fucking Salazar! Fondling her tits and having her sweet tongue in his mouth was giving him the worst erection.

He let one hand drift between her thighs, gingerly pushing a finger to the hot, damp fabric of her knickers. She broke the kiss, panting with lust. Draco lightly traced her quim through the material as she caught her breath.

“We should stop.”

He nodded his acceptance and bussed her forehead. “Okay, little lioness. You should get back to the tower.”

She was wobbly as she stood and fixed her uniform.

“Goodnight,” she said shyly.

He woke when the moon had ceded the sky to the sun. His room was dim, but he knew it was morning.

Fuck. He was haunted by the memories of Hermione showing him her trust and sharing her body with him. His recollection of their first kiss was the worst, when she was still so bloody innocent. Since he’d fled Hogwarts with Severus, he’d dreamed of their time together when he wanted a reminder of those short months when they’d gotten to know each other.

“Wake up, Hermione!” Ginny shook her friend, who was sobbing into her pillow.

Hermione curled in on herself as Ginny gently rubbed her shoulder and whispered soothing words.

“I’m sorry, Gin,” the older girl said into the pillow with a shudder.

“Don’t apologize. Do you want some Dreamless Sleep?”

“No, I think I’ll get up.” Hermione gave Ginny a shaky smile and hugged her friend. The redhead nodded and got into her bed, attempting to get another hour of sleep.

Thankfully, at this early hour, the Burrow was still quiet and Hermione was able to get into the bathroom for a shower. As she stood under the hot water, she let the adrenaline run through her system. A few shuddered sobs made their way out of her body before she began to calm.

She’d thought she had dealt with the previous day without depleting her emotional reserves, but her subconscious mind must have had other ideas. The nightmare that had finally woken her was not entirely clear, but it involved her parents being brought into the warehouse, their bodies mangled. The idea of them dying without Hermione making amends was unbearable.

Her thoughts drifted to Draco and his horrible task. He did his work with such dignity and was incredibly knowledgeable for a man of just eighteen. She figured the Malfoys must have bargained for their son, as both Lucius and Narcissa were in Azkaban until their trials. If this was the case, they had finally done the right thing for Draco. She wasn’t sure if she was willing to befriend Draco Malfoy again, but at least he was doing something positive and necessary for their world. It was a step in the right direction.
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The Funeral