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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.

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Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing and rating the story! You guys are always so lovely and write the most thoughtful reviews.

@ Victoria: Ooh, you’ve given me an idea with wizarding portraits and my fascination with memento mori photos. I will have to percolate how I can add that into the story. Thank you for the lovely review!

@ magneto_acolyte: The idea that energy doesn’t die, but changes forms, has always been something that rang true to me. I don’t know if magic is energy, but I think of it that way, and if that’s the case, magical people would have to deal with their dead in a way that accounts for this. Thank you for the review.

@ General Crow: Gosh, The Crow! I saw that movie when it first came out when I was in high school, lol! There’s a bit of discussion about the dead avenging themselves and their families in this chapter, but since D&H are so controversial, some ghosts are bound to object to them, leading to problems. As for their relationship, I did consider having them start from scratch, but as I wrote, I found myself writing them as having a previous relationship. Thank you for the thoughtful review, my friend!

@ starr: Their previous relationship will unfold a bit more in this chapter. Thank you for the review!

@ ChaosLady: Thank you! A little macabre, a little sexy…what could be more fun to write? ;)

@ Severus1snape: I’m still feeling out how intense their relationship was in the past, but there’s another memory dream in this chapter. Thank you for the sweet review!

Shoring up her house courage, she stepped into the warehouse. It was very early, not even six a.m. The nightmare she’d had before waking had left her exhausted. How would she be able to spend a whole day fixing up these…people…and in such close quarters to Malfoy? It was her own fault since she’d offered to help him.

As she edged into the room and torches magically lit the dark space, she wondered why Malfoy hadn’t objected to her assistance? The delicate truce they’d made over the second part of sixth year had fallen apart the night before Draco had opened the school to the bloody Death Eaters. She knew he had been trying to keep her out of harm’s way, but his “help” was, Jesus Christ, so fucking insulting and demeaning.

Finding where she’d left off the day before, she opened a bag to find a young woman. Malfoy had worked on this woman for over an hour, casting spells to repair her broken body and mutilated skin. Now she looked whole and lovely, as if she had fallen asleep, never to wake. The information on her bag said she would be remitted to her parents. It was a small mercy that she would go back to them looking like the girl they had known.

As Hermione exposed the girl to cast glamours on the body, a transparent image of the young woman sat up.

“Who are you?” the confused ghost asked.

She’d seen ghosts before, but this was different. The girl’s body was right there, lying dead on the ground. Oh, Merlin.

“Well? A young, blond Healer was working on me last night. Are you a mediwitch? I’d like to speak to the Healer,” the young woman demanded.

“I’m Hermione Granger. Do you know what happened?”

“I work at The Ministry, in the Office of Transportation. My boss sent me to check on an illegally opened Floo at an abandoned home in Essex. Must have fallen, because I can’t remember what happened after that,” she trailed off.

“I have some bad news for you. You have, um, passed on.” She gave the shocked ghost a sympathetic nod.

“What!? I can’t be dead! Where’s my husband? And my little Seamus?” she wailed. “Oh Merlin, my baby! Was he killed, too?”

“I…I don’t know, miss. Let me find the ledger and we’ll check, okay?”

The ghost’s cries filled the cavernous room, bouncing off the walls. Her voice wasn’t quite human anymore and frankly, sounded like something out of a horror movie. Bloody hell, where was that stupid ledger Malfoy was always checking? It was so early, it was unlikely Malfoy would be here soon.

“Help me find my family. Take me to my home, you Dark witch!” the angry specter pleaded as she followed Hermione around the room, exhaling her icy breath on Hermione’s neck.

When Hermione turned to speak to the witch, the ghost screamed in her face and then she felt cold fists attacking her. Hermione fell to the ground, curling into a ball to protect herself from the frigid assault. She fished her wand out of a hidden pocket.

“Protego!”

An invisible bubble encased Hermione as the furious ghost continued her onslaught. Why, oh why, had she been so skeptical when Draco had explained the importance of the death rites? The bubble of protection grew thin as the volatile woman continuously hit her with an unholy anger. She concentrated on keeping up the strength of the spell as she stood, her back against a wall. Gods, what was I thinking to come here?

Draco ate an apple as he made his way to the Ministry. He hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after that reoccurring dream about Hermione. Those dreams had been the best thing about his days on too many occasions over the past year. Thank Merlin his Occulmency skills were quite good or someone would have used that information against him.

The Ministry halls were quiet and as he turned the corner to the warehouse, a wave of magic hit him. Oh, fuck. No, no, no!

He took off at a run, pulling out his Hawthorn wand. Throwing open the door, he found Hermione with a very worn protection bubble as a furious phantom screamed profane epithets at her.

Holding his wand in the air, Draco shouted, “Tuo te memini! Sin autem resistis me ad Veil evanescent!”

I recall you to your body! If you resist me, I shall Vanish you to the Veil!

All of a sudden, the ghost stilled. Hermione sagged, but held her protection spell as Draco dealt with the ghost.

The ghost looked torn, but made her way back to her body, her misty form dissolving into air. Draco ran to Hermione as she finally let her spell end. He sank to his knees, checking her body for damage. She was conscious, but shaken.

“What the fuck were you doing here without me?” he growled, shaking her shoulders.

At that admonishment, she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears. Gathering her into his arms, he sat on the floor and pulled her into his lap, rocking her slight form back and forth.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you,” she cried. “I thought the death rites were more pure-blood rubbish. Even Ron told me to careful!” That last statement seemed to make her cry even harder.

“You put yourself in danger, Hermione. I know you don’t trust me, but you have to be careful with the dead.”

“Okay,” she whispered, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He rubbed her back, amazed that she was voluntarily touching him. Back in sixth year, she seemed to always be the one offering him comfort. They stayed in each other’s arms for a few minutes, while she tried to remain calm.

“Would you have really Vanished the woman’s body?” Hermione asked quietly. Gods, now she was worried about offending them.

“I would have. If she had continued her attack, she would have tried to take over your body when you became too tired to fight her off.”

“They can do that?”

“They can. It’s called a possession.”

“I thought that was Muggle religious superstition.”

“I don’t know how it works with Muggles, but witches and wizards who die violently sometimes try to avenge themselves by taking over a body and finding the people who killed them. It’s unusual, but with so many who died a horrible death, well, it seems we’ll have to do a better job of protecting ourselves.”

“The woman was upset because I didn’t know what had happened to her husband or her baby. Do you know?”

“Listen to me and take what I’m saying to heart. You are going to see and hear bloody awful things about the end of these witches and wizards’ lives, and you can’t help them with that. You didn’t cause their deaths. But you can help guide them into their afterlife.” He looked at her expectantly and she nodded tightly. “The woman who attacked you was raped and killed by Death Eaters. They went to her home and set it on fire and her husband and child were killed in the blaze. Her name was Velma Goldsmith and her husband, John, was a Muggle.”

Thank the Gods his failures caused him to be ignored by most Death Eaters the last six months. He’d gotten away with cleaning up kills and secretly performing death rites.

A sob bubbled from Hermione’s throat. She hid her face in Draco’s neck while he gently shushed her. It was the most human contact he’d had since they’d parted ways. His mother had patted his shoulder in commiseration, as had his father, but otherwise he was an uninhabited desert island.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I understand.”

She cried for the tragedy of Velma Goldsmith’s life, but she cried for herself, too, and for Draco. She’d intended to avoid the blond man for the rest of her life, ignoring the connection they’d established months ago. Hermione had known what Draco was planning since he’d confessed his task to her, but she’d honestly thought he would change his plans and switch sides. It had been the worst deceit she could have imagined when he went through with his plans and let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. She knew he cared for her in the way he knew how, but it hadn’t been enough for her then and she doubted it would be enough for her now.

Sobered by her memories of the year before, she untangled her body from his and stood on shaky legs. He stood, too, watching her for signs of physical distress. It had been a couple of years since he’d been attacked by a phantom, but he remembered how exhausted he’d been after the episode.

“No, I can do this. I’ll do better.”

He nodded. “Fine. Go eat something to get your energy up and then you can resume your work.”

She didn’t meet his eyes before turning and walking out of the warehouse.

Instead of having her work on making the dead presentable, Draco had Hermione work alongside him for the remainder of the day. He knew she was shaken, but he also wanted her to learn the spells he used to repair the broken bodies of some of the dead. The spells weren’t merely topical, but actually changed the bodies into the form they’d inhabit in the other plane. It was tedious work, but Hermione was actually very good at it, with her eye for detail and her unwavering concentration. They worked in companionable quiet, with him voicing directions or her asking questions infrequently.

At five, he told her to leave for the day.

“How long do you stay?”

“Until ten, usually.”

He could see her thinking, as she bit her lip in contemplation. “I’ll stay, too, then.”

“No, Granger. You’ll make yourself ill if you don’t take care of yourself. After this morning, I should have sent you home.”

“What about you?”

“What about me? I’ve been doing this for years, so I’m used to it.”

“You don’t stop to eat, you don’t take any breaks. You may be used to it, but I’d reckon you haven’t done this quantity of people before now.”

“Right, as usual,” he said without much fight. “I’ll eat dinner when I get home, alright?”

“Come eat dinner with me. We can come back and work until eleven, if you want.”

“I don’t know, Granger.”

“I’m not going to take you to The Burrow, for Godric’s sake, Malfoy! We can even Apparate into Muggle London, if you’re worried about being seen with me.”

The look he gave her was surprisingly chilly. “I’m not worried about being seen with you, but you should be concerned about what I might do to your reputation.”

“My reputation doesn’t matter. I plan on leaving England when I’m done helping you.”

What? Why?

“Eat or don’t eat. I suppose it’s your choice. Good night.” She grabbed her bag and began to walk away.

“I could use a break,” he said, catching up to her. “Wherever you want to go is fine with me.”

The bar she took them to was dark, smoky, and moderately noisy, but the food was excellent. She’d been there with her parents when they’d occasionally made their way into London for a show or to shop.

Hermione didn’t have much money, so they shared a hamburger and chips. Luckily the portions were generous and the work they’d done all day didn’t encourage a huge appetite.

“Where are you going, when you’re done with all this?” he asked. The question had been plaguing him the entire meal.

“To Australia.” She offered him the remainder of her chips, which he took from her.

“What’s in Australia?”

She sighed. “My parents.”

Oh. Oh, fuck. The Death Eaters had looked for her parents, but had been unable to find them. They hadn’t even been able to find their house. Draco had guessed Hermione had made their house Unplottable.

“We should get back,” he suggested.

They made their way to the street.

“Are you still at the Manor?”

“No. It’s considered the scene of many crimes, so the Ministry won’t relinquish it back to me until they’ve gone over the property with a fine-tooth comb. Anything I considered important, I had in my school trunk, so I don’t much care.”

“Where are you staying then?”

“The Leaky.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’ve been at the Weasley’s, but I think I may open up my parents’ house, to get it ready for them.”

“Is that a good idea? Some sympathizers are still out there.”

She shrugged, ignoring his question. Damn it, he was allowed to worry about her if he wanted!

They finally found an alley and Apparated back to the Ministry.

“When will Fred, Tonks, and Remus be ready?”

Draco looked at the ledger he was holding. “I’ll work on them tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Come on, Granger. It’s almost midnight. Even I’m fading here.”

Draco opened the door to the warehouse and held it open for her so they could leave for a few hours of desperately needed sleep.

When Hermione got back to The Burrow, Harry was outside. He took a long drag of a cigarette before he offered it to Hermione. She sat next to him and took a puff before handing it back to him.

“How was it?” he asked.

“Bloody depressing. A ghost attacked me, but Malfoy knew how to get it to return to its body.”

Harry shook his head. “And Malfoy?”

“Apparently he’s been training as an undertaker for years. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

She grabbed her own cigarette from the pack next to him and lit it with the Muggle lighter.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Harry said pointedly.

He’d been watching Malfoy all of sixth year and though he knew Hermione was conveying intelligence Malfoy told her, he’d figured out she and Malfoy were involved in some kind of entanglement. Harry hadn’t confronted her until he found an unsent letter from her to Malfoy in her copy of Hogwarts, A History. He’d only read the first sentence, but it told him all he needed to know about the depth of their connection.

She blew a perfect series of smoke rings. “He made his choice and I made mine. I don’t think I could trust him to be a permanent part of my life.”

“You know, he didn’t really have a choice, Hermione. Voldemort would have killed his parents if he hadn’t let the Death Eaters into the school.”

“Why are you defending him?” she asked angrily.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “He didn’t torture you. And it was his summons that got Dobby into Malfoy Manor.”

“He stalled for all of two minutes before giving me up and he watched as his aunt tortured the piss out of me,” she hissed.

“I’m not defending him, Hermione, but his situation isn’t as black and white as you’re making it out to be.”

“If you were me, what would you do?”

Merlin’s beard, she knew smoking was a filthy habit, but there was something so calming about inhaling the fragrant tobacco smoke. And when she’d been freezing, hungry, and unendingly anxious, nothing had calmed her like a fag.

“I wouldn’t continue my personal torture by punishing someone I loved.”

She stubbed out the burning cherry and sighed. “I’ll think about what you’ve said,” she conceded.

He didn’t tell Hermione that when he’d “seen” through Voldemort’s eyes, he’d witnessed the horror on Malfoy’s face and the pure disgust the young man had for the serpent-faced wizard. Tom Riddle had delighted in forcing Draco Malfoy to clean up the remains of the Death Eater revels using a rag and a bucket of water.

“Good night,” Harry said, pressing a kiss into Hermione’s frizzy hair.

“Night, Harry,” she murmured as she looked at the stars in the endless black sky.

“Does it hurt?”

Draco let her examine his Dark Mark.

“Yes. The Dark Lord is constantly calling his followers and it burns every time he summons us.”

Her little fingers traced the blackened skull and snake. Getting the Dark Mark had been the most painful thing he’d ever experienced, and the skin around the Morsmordre was still tender all these months later.

“What do you do to distract yourself from the discomfort?” she asked, her eyes sincere and compassionate.

“Nothing, really. I try to ignore it. Being with you seems to help.”

She looked up at him and for the first time initiated a kiss. He let her lead the way as she leaned over him, her soft lips massaging his. After a few moments, she placed a knee over his legs and straddled his lap, her knee-length skirt covering where they were connected. Her hands went to the back of his neck as she slipped her tongue against his. His hands, previously held behind him, went to her waist. Her warm center was directly over his groin and her every little move made his cock twitch. But he wanted her to be relaxed, so he prevented himself from bucking against her.

Hermione began kissing and sucking on his neck. Nipping at his ear, she whispered, “Are you distracted?”

He chuckled and finally let himself untuck her shirt so he could feel the smooth skin of her torso.

“Does this hurt?” she asked, rocking slightly over his hardness. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright.

He slowly unbuttoned her shirt, kissing her shoulder. “It feels amazing.”

She pulled off her shirt and let him unhook her bra. It slid off her arms and joined her discarded shirt next to them. His mouth traveled to her rosy nipple and sucked it into his mouth.

“Oh my God,” she breathed as she threw her head back to push her modest breast against his filthy tongue. Her undulations became more fervent when he began playing with her other nipple, lightly pinching the delicate bud between his thumb and pointer finger.

She ground her knicker-covered pussy over him as he laved at her nipples. He could tell she was close, but girls’ bodies were more complicated than blokes’ bodies. Draco knew he could come right this second if he didn’t control himself, but she needed a bit more.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, pressing his hand lightly to the area where their bodies were joined.

She took a deep breath and nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.

“I want you to come for me,” he said, snaking a hand under her skirt. Damn. Her knickers were soaked.

“Keep moving, okay?”

Hermione began to rock as Draco gently rubbed her clit over the fabric of her underthings. He wanted to touch skin against skin, but this was so much more than she’d allowed before. And it felt bloody good to have her body against his. He felt the little bud stiffen under his fingers as he stroked her and her undulations became faster and firmer. She grabbed his face and kissed him, her tongue as passionate as her furious hips. Knowing she was at the tipping point, Draco increased the pressure on her nub and surged against her.

“Ohhh! Oh yes, Draco, yes,” she moaned and her hands bit into his shoulders and her thighs tightened around him.

He felt her knickers get soaked through with her release. Letting go, he came, his warm emission filling the inside of his trousers. Gods, what a mess, but it was absolutely worth it. His arms held her to him as they came down from their high. She was, at least in these moments, so vulnerable and he wanted to protect her.

He woke to his hand on his cock and sticky, warm cum all over his hand, and cock, and stomach. After having Hermione on his lap the day before, it was no shock that he’d dreamed of her.

She’s not yours, you piece of shit. She’ll never forgive you for turning on her, his mind sneered at him.

He sighed as he used his wand to clean himself up. And though it was the middle of the night, he had only one idea to shut up the voice in his head.

I need a fucking drink.
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The Funeral