Animal I Have Become

All right folks, I'm back in the computer chair, with an empty Microsoft Word document in front of me, and a story idea swirling around in my head. And since I haven't a Pensieve to place it in, I've no choice other than to write it down, enter it into whatever competition Portkey is running for this novel. So I hope you enjoy, my writing has really evolved in the past two years, and I'm hoping I'll get your votes.

Title: Animal I Have Become

Rating: Pg-13 to light R. Nothing heavy, just maybe a little dark at times

Summary: After Voldemort's death, there is a new world, one without the fear of Dark Witches and Wizards. Hogwarts is safe, Harry, Hermione and Ron can all have the normal lives that they've dreamed of. However, there are two questions left unanswered. What becomes of those who had served Voldemort? And is there anyone dark enough to take Voldemort's place?

Disclaimer: All the characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm just playing with them. The lyrics used within this story belong to Three Days Grace. I'm just borrowing them.

*******

"Animal I Have Become"

I can't escape this hell

So many times i've tried

But i'm still caged inside

Somebody get me through this nightmare

I can't control myself

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?

No one will ever change this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me

Somebody help me tame this animal

I can't escape myself

So many times i've lied

But there's still rage inside

Somebody get me through this nightmare

I can't control myself

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?

No one will ever change this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me

Somebody help me tame this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me

Somebody help me tame this animal

Somebody help me through this nightmare

I can't control myself

Somebody wake me from this nightmare

I can't escape this hell

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?

No one will ever change this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me

Somebody help me tame this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me

Somebody help me tame this animal

It was over. That was the thought on everyone's mind, be they members of the Order, Death Eaters or innocent bystanders unwillingly dragged into the fray of the largest battle between good and evil that the world had ever seen. While the next thought was oftentimes that of future plans, of what could now be done, on the minds of several were heavier thoughts. Is this really the end? Is he really gone? What will happen to me now? Where do I go? What do I do? Many questions only the asker could answer. Though the answers were unknown to the askers. A vicious circle.

Harry James Potter was again a hero. Had withstood the Killing Curse twice, a feat never dreamed of by any witch or wizard. He hadn't intended to survive, had made his peace, and had decided that he would die. And he hadn't. He had survived. And he had become victorious, killing Lord Voldemort in the greatest battle ever recorded. Casualties had been high, the deaths of Fred, Remus and Tonks weighing heavily on his heart and mind, those of Mad Eye Moody, Dobby and Hedwig a little more removed, but nonetheless he still felt the painful pang of loss when they crossed his mind.

His eyes cascaded over the Great Hall, searching the faces, seeing many familiar, and just as many unfamiliar. Professors, students, members of the Order, loyal Aurors who had also arrived to fight, other supporters who had remained silent in their opinion until the battle had been raging. There were bodies in several chambers off of the Great Hall, those of Death Eaters tossed carelessly and with spite and anger while the others had been laid carefully, wrapped in cloths to cover injuries, placed reverently in their temporary resting place.

“Did you see them?”

The voice of Ronald Weasley snapped Harry out of his trance, and he turned to his friend, noticing the singed hair and the blood crusted on one of his cheeks. “See who?”

“The Malfoys. Lucius, Narcissa and Draco are all still here.”

Harry followed Ron's gaze to the blonde trio seated at one of the tables, looking uneasy, unsure as to if they were going to be cared for or cursed. Draco was being flanked by his parents, and as he had a year earlier, Harry noticed how gaunt and sickly the man looked. His face was drawn, his body nearly skeletal, his eyes haunted. Harry tried to muster up the normal hatred he had for Draco, found that the only emotion he could find was sorrow. He didn't understand it, wasn't sure that he wanted to, but it was there, hovering just below the surface nonetheless and would demand examination at a later time.

“Narcissa saved my life.” Harry rubbed his eyes, a headache forming behind them. “Voldemort wanted to make sure I was dead. She checked my pulse, and knew I was alive, asked me about Draco, but she told him I was dead. Without her, I would be dead, Voldemort would have won, and we would be ruled by Death Eaters.”

“Shouldn't that have been what she wanted?” The question came from Hermione, who was standing on the other side of Ron. “For the Death Eaters to win that is?”

“She wanted her son.”

“Don't tell me you think the Malfoy family is capable of love now, Harry. Herms, tell him he's bonkers!”

Harry shrugged. “I didn't think so either, Ron, but I know what they did for me, I know that Draco looks like he could drop dead any moment. I think they feel more than we thought.”

“Think what you want.” Ron's voice was full of spite, a testament to the seven years of torment he had suffered at the hand of Draco Malfoy, and to the generations of torture his family had suffered at the hand of the Malfoys.

“ I don't know for sure, but I do know one thing. I owe Narcissa a thank you. She's as responsible for what happened tonight as anyone else. Whether she wanted it or not, she helped us.”

****

Draco looked between his parents, his clear blue eyes darting around the Great Hall, unsure of how to act. “I really think that we should leave.”

Lucius turned his head slightly to look at his son. “If we do anything but what they want us to do, they will arrest us all and put us in Azkaban.”

“They're going to do that anyway! At least if we leave we'll have a fighting chance!” Draco was panicked, a fear he had never known gnawing at his gut, making him feel ill and dizzy.

He hadn't really wanted any of it. He'd grown up with it, had been raised around it, to worship the Dark Lord and pray fervently for his return. He had chosen to go to Slytherin consciously and with no regret. It was where he had wanted to be. He had waited for his moment to be inducted into the Death Eaters for his entire life. And when it had come time to do so, to take his rightful place among the ranks, to serve the very man he had been taught to worship, he had realized he would rather play Quidditch and kiss pretty girls. He didn't want to hunt, torture, maim and kill innocent people, people who were simply trying to protect themselves. He wanted a normal life.

But he had bitten the proverbial Muggle bullet and taken the Mark, the pain of it still a haunting memory. He had followed orders given to him, though when it had counted the most, he had neglected to kill Dumbledore. He had spent the previous year being Voldemort's puppet, trying to revive his family name, being sent on missions that Death Eaters far older than him were scared to take on. It had occurred to him many months earlier that Voldemort was trying to kill him without being the one to cast the curse. With that realization, Draco had found himself praying that someone would put a stop to it. Whether that was by killing him or defeating Voldemort, he hadn't cared, so long as the pain, the regret, the constant fear and self loathing stopped.

Voldemort had been defeated, the battle was over. And Draco was now faced with a new set of questions, a new set of problems. What to do with himself, who to be, where to go? He feared that he was evil, that he would continue to be. The things he had done, had been a party to were unforgivable, and he feared what Voldemort had turned him in to.

Draco could feel the dark inside of himself, the small writhing part of his soul that had relished the pain and sorrow of others. And he feared it. The much larger part of his soul that rejoiced at the new beginning he hoped that he could have cowered in fear of that small piece, so great was its evil. He knew that should that small part of his soul grow larger, it would not be long before it would overcome him, and he would become something like Lord Voldemort had been. What he had been taught to hope for, to pray for each morning and each night- to be like Voldemort - was now his greatest fear.

Narcissa's hand shook Draco from his thoughts, and his blue eyes snapped back into focus, settling on the pretty, ragged features of his mother. “What?”

His voice was short, and Draco instantly regretted the tone in which he had said that one tiny word. Narcissa lifted her hand and studied her son thoughtfully for several long seconds. “Draco, we're all scared. None of us know what comes now. After all those years of serving the Dark Lord faithfully, doing whatever was asked of us, trudging on with what we believed was right even after we thought that he was dead, we now find ourselves in a position where it has become completely obvious that Voldemort wanted nothing but power and each of us were only a means to that end. The only thing left to do is hope the Ministry and the Order are more merciful than Voldemort would have been and try to pick up the pieces of our lives. Move on.”

It was eerie how his mother seemed to read his mind sometimes. Draco didn't know whether to nod in mute agreement or to speak, to somehow add to the conversation. That question, however, was thankfully answered when Professor McGonagall's voice rang out into the Great Hall, silencing every conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, Madam Pomfrey would like to see all those needing medical care in the nurses office. Assistance from St. Mungo's has arrived, and less serious injuries can now be treated.” She waited several seconds for all the hurt to hobble, walk and limp from the room, then continued. “Furthermore, I would like to say unequivocally that Hogwarts will be reopening in one week's time. We are going to complete the school year and as Deputy Headmistress, I will be serving as Headmistress until such time that the Ministry of Magic has reconvened, dealt with those matters much more pressing as of present, and can appoint a new Headmaster or Headmistress. In the fall, things will resume as normal. We will be fully staffed, fully operational, and opening our doors to a new class of wonderfully talented witches and wizards.”

McGonagall paused to take a drink from a chipped goblet on the table, and her eyes softened as she scanned the sea of faces upon which she looked. When she began to speak again, her voice was softer, and all who were listening knew the speech was turning more serious.

“We've suffered a great loss here today. Many lives have been needlessly ended, the rest of our lives immeasurably affected. It will take centuries for the rifts to be fully repaired, and I fear as witches and wizards were marked by their parentage in the past, so will they be marked by the loyalty of their family now and in the future. I want to make it clear that Hogwarts will never give precedence to one person over another because of where the family stood in the battle today. In a time of war, lines are blurred, and I know Harry Potter, who has been a champion against Death Eaters for seven years, saved the lives of two of them last night. On the other side of the story, it has been brought to my attention that without the assistance of Narcissa Malfoy, Harry Potter would not have remained alive long enough to kill Lord Voldemort. At Hogwarts, and I hope the world over, there is a blank slate. I pray that loyalties are forgotten, the wounds are healed and that we can proceed forward together. We've lost enough here tonight, and I cannot see a reason for one more drop of blood to be shed.”

With that, McGonagall sat down, tears shining in her old eyes. The Hall remained silent for several seconds, her words sinking in, no one quite sure how to respond. Harry turned to his two best friends, placed a hand on each shoulder. “She's right, you know. We can't hold grudges or we're no better than they were. We'll turn into Death Eaters of a different breed.”

Hermione nodded. “I can't forget what they did, Harry. But I'll grant you this; if I am treated civilly, then no one will hear a word of complaint from me. I can forgive bad decisions and mistakes. If that's what they really want.”

After a long pause, Ron nodded tersely. “You'll get no better from me, mate. But I'll match what Hermione just said.”

Harry didn't respond for a moment, and when he did, his voice was solemn. “I just hope that's enough.”

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Sorry about the delay on this chapter everyone, but some unavoidable stuff came up and I've been away from my computer for a while. But here is chapter 2 and I hope to have you all vote for me in the Elder Wand competition. And please review, I thrive off of your opinions. The only thing I ask is that you first think about my ideas in the context of Deathly Hallows. I received one review concerned about McGonagall knowing about what Narcissa had done. There were many people on the hill when Voldemort tried to kill Harry that could have put two and two together to figure out what had happened. But please, praise, constructive criticism, I want it all.

**

Harry stood in the window of the Astronomy tower, looking out on the Hogwarts grounds. It still seemed almost ethereal. There was a thick fog in the almost morning gray, lingering over the smoldered ground. If he listened closely, he could still almost hear the noise from the battle the night before. The screams, grunts of pain, but also of victory. There were holes, where curses gone awry had struck the ground, digging burrows in the soft dirt. There was now dew, dampening the grass that was left, somehow managing to give everything a new look, despite the vast damage that the battle had caused. It looked like a new world, fresh, bright, hopeful.

But Harry didn't think of it that way for long. He was too absorbed in his guilt to fully understand what he had accomplished by defeating Voldemort. Instead, he chose to dwell on the losses, and all he could think of was that if only Dumbledore had told him at eleven that the only way Voldemort could be defeated was to willingly walk to his death, he could have spared so many lives. Tonks, Remus, Sirius, Fred, Dumbledore. Those were only the ones that he had been close to, that he would miss terribly. Mad Eye Moody, Hedwig, those too brought pangs in his stomach as he thought about the solid white owl and the wizened old Auror who had both died for him.

If only he had known seven years ago what it would take to kill Voldemort. If he had known, he could have saved them. The thought filled Harry's eyes with hot tears, blurred his view of the grounds, of the new world that he had created.

But even as he wished desperately that he had known, he doubted that he would have been able to do what would have been needed of him at age eleven. The world of magic, of Hogwarts was so new, so bright and shiny, with so many things to learn and explore, that he logically knew that he would have wanted to stay there. As a boy, Harry hadn't been selfish, but he had been greedy, wanting to soak up as much as he could before it was over and he was jerked back to the cupboard under the stairs as he had constantly feared he would be. And in his greed, he doubted he had the capacity to square his shoulders, wave goodbye and willingly walk to his death, having decided not to defend himself, but to allow the Killing Curse to strike him, to kill him.

No, Harry thought, he couldn't have done that then, as much as he now wished he could have. He had needed the years at Hogwarts to experience life, to know what Voldemort was capable of, to become so desperate in his quest to destroy the dark wizard that even death seemed a small price to pay. It was only then, in desperation, fury and selflessness that he could do what was required of him and walk to his death.

He shouldn't blame himself for being young and naïve, for wanting to experience and absorb rather that fight at the young age of eleven. Then, he had viewed it more as an adventure than anything else. It hadn't been until fourteen, when Voldemort had really come back, had taken on a human form, distorted as it was, that it really became real, and he had really come to the realization that he couldn't just let it go during the summer and go back to Privet Drive, the return to Hogwarts in the fall for yet another adventure. That fighting Voldemort was going to become his life, and school, Privet Drive, they were just breaks in the fight, not the other way around.

“Harry?”

Ron's voice had Harry turning from the window. “Hey. I thought you went home with your parents and the rest of the family.”

Ron shrugged. “I did, last night after things settled down. But it didn't feel right, being there with everyone crying and mourning, especially without you and Hermione.”

“Hermione had to go get her parents, replace their memories and everything.”

“I know, but she promised to be back tomorrow to help with plans for the funeral and everything. Remus and Tonks have their funerals the day after Fred, so there's a lot to do. Harry, we want you to come.”

Harry shook his head. “How can you want that? When I caused all this? When I'm responsible for their deaths?”

“Harry, mate, if you hadn't done what you did last night, we'd all be dead. Remus, Tonks, Fred, they all died doing what they thought was right. With or without you, Voldemort would have found a way to come back. And if you hadn't been around, there wouldn't have been anyone to stop him.” Ron stalked to the window, leaned heavily on the sill. “I miss my brother, Harry. He was my brother but he knew what he was doing, and he wanted to do it. We all understand that. No one is mad at you, everyone thinks you're a hero. You are a hero.”

Harry shook his head, running one hand through hair he hadn't yet washed, dislodging dust that still resided there from the battle. “No, the heroes are the ones who died for what they believed in. You, Hermione, Ginny, everyone who fought, you're the heroes. I'm the Boy Who Had Seven Years to Kill Voldemort and Couldn't Do It.”

Ron slugged Harry in the shoulder, hard enough to make his friend wince. “Stop it. Now I know Hermione's normally the one to pull you out of your depressions when you get like this, but I'm the only one who's here right now, so I'm going to have to do. I don't like doing things like we did last night. I left you and Hermione high and dry because I got sick of searching and figured we wouldn't ever find what we were looking for. But I know one thing for sure, Harry. If we hadn't been there with you last night, you would have fought by yourself. Every single person who was here made their own decision to stand for what they thought was right, and we were all willing to die for that. You didn't force anyone to do it. And no one else may have been the Boy Who Lived, but we had just as much at stake as you. So you can stop feeling guilty and get on with your life anytime now.”

Harry stood gaping at Ron, completely unused to tirades of that sort coming from him. After a long moment, he shook his head, fighting a smile for the first time in days. “You've been taking notes. Hermione would be proud.”

Ron grinned back, surprising them both. “Did it work?”

Harry lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I need a shower, some food and a nap, but after that I'll go back to the Burrow with you, so I guess it did.”

**

Draco Malfoy paced. It was the only thing he could think to do, so it was what he did. Well, that wasn't exactly true. He did pace, but he had a cigarette - nasty Muggle invention - in one hand, and a snifter of Ogden's Firewhiskey in the other. So he paced, he smoked and he drank.

He'd returned to Malfoy manner with his parents, taken a long, hot shower for the first time in weeks, charmed himself a hair cut and a shave, dressed in expensively tailored black slacks and a matching black turtleneck. He'd thought that doing normal things would make him feel better. The shower had done it's job, making him feel slightly more alive, but the clothes, and the hot meal he'd choked down hadn't. The only thing he'd been able to think about was how all the people who died would never have another hot meal, hot shower, or wear good clothes again.

On a basic level, he knew he really wasn't to blame. Voldemort would have done what he did with or without Draco Malfoy. And he had hated what he'd been assigned to do anyway. Torture, maim, kill. He'd been looking forward to taking the Dark Mark since he'd first learned about it a decade earlier, but once he had taken it, once he had been ingratiated into what it really was that Death Eaters did, he had hated it. He would have preferred what his father had done. The political side of things, quietly bullying and threatening until he got his way, not cursing helpless Muggles into oblivion.

But he still felt the guilt, still wondered about what was lurking inside of him that made him capable of doing what he had done. He wanted to forget, he wanted to drown it all out and forget everything that he had done, everything he had witnessed. The screams, the whimpers of agony he had caused and seen.

Draco angrily stubbed out the cigarette, only mildly disappointed that tobacco hadn't done anything to ease the tension in his muscles. He hadn't ever given much stock to Muggle things, and the cigarette had just solidified his previous notions. The Firewhiskey, however, that was another story all together. With every drink he took it eased his muscles, it fuddled his mind, relieving him of the memories, if only for a little while.

He didn't want to get drunk, just wanted to be able to clear his mind enough to ponder what would come next. There was a good chance that when the Ministry reformed all the Death Eaters would become fugitives, those who were caught would be tried and sent to Azkaban. A part of Draco thought that he would deserve that fate. He had done horrible things, had witnessed things even worse. But a larger part of him craved freedom, to be able to have a normal life. He was of age, could practice magic. He could have a career, a life. Things that had always seemed trivial to him - he'd always thought he would just live off of the Malfoy fortune and travel, do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to do it - they were the things that he most wanted now that the battle was over. The most surprising thing, however, was that he was glad they had lost. Glad that Voldemort was dead.

Draco laughed bitterly, took another deep swallow of alcohol. If only Potter could see him now. If only Harry Potter could see what Draco Malfoy had turned into. He'd thought of himself as the next right hand man to Voldemort, sitting at the place of honor, doing whatever the Dark Lord needed done. Instead, he'd thrown up the first time he'd had to torture information out of someone, he had wanted to run away the entire time he'd been a Death Eater, and now he was trying to make himself forget with Firewhiskey. He was pathetic, disappointed in himself at his inability to be as evil as he'd fancied himself, yet glad that Voldemort had died and he might now have a chance to be what he had always hated. Normal.

Disgusted with himself, Draco threw the snifter into the wall, alcohol spattering, glass shards flying everywhere. He was confused, he didn't know what to do, where to turn, who to be. Everything he had known was gone, what he thought he wanted, he wasn't sure he could get, who he'd wanted to be all his life, he wasn't. And yet, he could still feel the battle waging inside of him, between the animal that had relished the horrid things he had done and seen, and the larger part that abhorred it. And yet he knew, if that small dark part ever got loose, he would be as bad as Voldemort had been. And he knew that if he didn't pull out of the depression he was in, if he didn't figure out a way to pull his life together and deal with everything that had happened, that would be exactly what would happen to him. And that was one thing that he knew he didn't want.

**

Hope you enjoyed this. Next chapter up soon, don't forget to review and to vote.

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Okay, here's chapter 3. The hits on my user page tell me that people are reading this, but no one is reviewing. When I was writing Keep your Enemies Close, I got upwards of twenty reviews per chapter, and I haven't even broken 20 yet. Look people, reviews really keep me writing, and it's hard to get motivated to write a story when no one is giving me any feedback. So if you're reading this, please give me a review. I would also appreciate if you guys would give me your opinions on where you think this story should go. I have my ideas, but I want my readers to get what they want too, so let me know what you're thinking. Enjoy, and don't forget to vote and review!

**

“So, Harry, have you talked to Andromeda about what's going to happen with Teddy now that Remus and Tonks are gone? I mean, you are his godfather.”

Harry turned to face Hermione, slight annoyance quite evident in his face. “Herms, you've been back for two hours, we've got a funeral to help plan, and all you want to do is bug me about what I'm going to do next. All I hear is do I know where I'm going to live, do I know if I'm going to work or what I want to do, or what's going to happen with the baby. And I keep telling you that I don't know!”

Hermione, completely used to the behavior of the two main men in her life, was completely undaunted by the mini temper tantrum and settled back in the couch, getting comfortable for a long talk. “Harry, you need to think about these things now. I mean, Andromeda just lost her husband and her daughter, I doubt she's in any shape to take on a newborn. And I know your parents left you a lot of money, but you cannot live off of that forever, and you can't stay with the Weasleys, either.”

Harry knew that his friend was right, but he was in a mood to fight. “And why can't I? They would let me stay here as long as I want. And as far as that goes, I'm in no shape to raise a newborn. I don't even know how to change a diaper.” He stood as he finished speaking, looked down at his friend. “Herms, I appreciate that you're trying to help, but you have to realize that I don't want your help. I want time to figure out my life and what to do. I don't want to jump into things. Especially raising a baby.”

Mrs. Weasley, who had been passing through the living room on her way to the kitchen, paused when she heard Harry talk. For a moment, all thoughts of funerals and cooking left her, and she focused on Harry and Hermione. They both looked too thin and sickly, and she decided she'd have to start making sure they ate more. She'd lost one son, she wasn't about to lose two more of her children.

“Harry, you know you're welcome here as long as you would like to stay. And should you need to take Teddy, I would be more than happy to help you learn how to be a parent.”

Harry jumped when Mrs. Weasley spoke, whirled around in the direction of the voice. “Molly, I didn't know you were there.” He blushed, mind racing. “And I should be getting a place of my own, I've put you through enough.”

“Nonsense. Saved the world is what you've done, Harry. Now, the two of you go get dressed. The funeral starts in an hour, and you need to be ready for it. Afterward, Kingsley Shacklebolt has asked to speak to you, Harry. Hermione, he's requested you as well. I've already told Ron. You'll be meeting in Arthur's office in the basement. It's the most privacy I can give you.”

Harry and Hermione were both helpless to do anything other than what Mrs. Weasley had told them to do. Hermione did have to get in the last word, though. Her personality wouldn't let her do anything other than that. She did, however, wait until she was at the door of the room she was sharing with Ginny.

“Harry, whether the Weasleys want you here or not, you and I, we're not part of their family, and they need to be left alone. You need to get your own place and you need to start your own life. I know what happened is tearing you up, it is me too, but you've got to move on and let it go.”

**

Draco would have thrown up had he known he had been getting the same advice from his mother as Harry had been getting from Hermione. Move on and let it go. Begin your new life in the world we have left. Narcissa had been telling her son that for two days, but it really had yet to sink in. Draco was wallowing in a sea of alcohol, self hatred and loathing in general. It wasn't a bad existence, he'd decided. You lounged around in your pajamas, avoided mirrors at all costs, and drank like a fish. Ate occasionally if the thought occurred to you, but didn't worry about anything other than necessary bodily functions.

Unfortunately for his master plan of drinking himself into oblivion every day, his mother intervened. He hadn't taken into consideration parental concern, or the fact that the whole ordeal, which was how he was currently referring to Voldemort, the battle, and the aftermath, had brought his family quite a bit closer. His parents were actually behaving how he assumed normal parents behaved, and were, in fact, driving his slightly crazy with their concern over his rate of alcohol ingestion.

Three days after his period of drunkenness had begun, Narcissa cold heartedly jerked him out of it with a spray of ice cold water from the tip of her wand when Draco's only response to her attempts to wake him was to groan, crack open one eye, groan again and roll over.

“Bloody hell, what in Merlin's name to you think you're doing?!” Draco leapt from the bed, howling in anger and confusion, his stomach roiling from his daily period of almost sobriety after four hours of sleep.

“I told you, Draco, that today there are funerals to attend.”

“I'm not going to any bloody funeral.” Not the slightest bit shy, Draco stripped off his shirt and yanked another one from the floor, not even checking it for cleanliness before donning it. “You go, but I'm staying here.”

Narcissa's grin was sharp and dangerous, and for a moment Draco wondered who really ran his parents' marriage, Lucius who was overtly dangerous, or Narcissa who hid her true personality behind a façade of nonchalant obedience and chilly beauty? “Oh yes, you are. Despite the terms we were on, and despite the circumstances, Andromeda is my sister, and she has lost her husband, her only child and her son-in-law in one fell swoop. You haven't any siblings, so you don't know what it's like, but we are going to those funerals, whether you or your father like it or not. Now go shower, shave, and get dressed in something appropriate. Don't forget your mourning robes and your wand. Be downstairs in one hour.”

“Mother-“

“No, Draco. I mean it. Get ready.”

Draco sighed and dropped onto his bed once his mother had left the room. He hadn't ever met his aunt or uncle, knew Tonks only as an Auror who had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix. He vaguely remembered that the Daily Prophet had announced the dates of funerals of those who had been killed in the battle, those on the side they deemed the right one anyway, and he thought he remembered seeing that Fred Weasley, Remus and Nymphadora Lupin and Theodore Tonks were going to be held at the Burrow together.

Groaning, Draco forced himself to his feet and stumbled toward the bathroom. If he was going to have to face the dream team, he was going to damn well look his best. There was, after all, no good reason for Harry, Hermione and Ron to see the state that he'd been in. No good reason at all, and he'd be damned if they got to see it.

**

“Ron!” Harry hissed at his friend as Ron passed through the hallway. He stopped and turned, raised his eyebrows at Harry.

“What are you doing, mate? Things are getting ready to start soon.”

“I thought you said it was just Fred's today? I see four coffins in the back yard.”

“Mum didn't tell you? Andromeda owled and asked if we could do it together. I guess with the baby, she just didn't have the time or the energy to host three funerals, so Mum offered to do it together. The article came out in the Daily Prophet yesterday.”

“Do you really think I've been reading the Prophet lately? I'm not ready to face Andromeda, or Teddy.”

“Harry, Teddy is less than a month old, I seriously doubt he blames you for anything.” Ron shook his head, nervously adjusted his robes. “Now get dressed and get downstairs. We've got ten minutes before it's due to start.”

Harry grabbed his robe from the foot of the bed, jerked it over his head and followed Ron down the stairs. “Where's Hermione?”

“You got me. I imagine down in the backyard already. I saw Ginny down there a few minutes ago, and they're normally always together.”

The mention of Ginny had Harry stumbling down the last three stairs. It was a shock for him to realize that he hadn't thought of or spoken to Ginny since the night of the battle. Wanting to stop and analyze that, but knowing he didn't have the time at present, Harry stalked into the back yard, set on finding Hermione.

But, as was normally the case in the life of Harry Potter, that didn't happen. He spotted Hermione, and in his single-mindedness, didn't pay attention to anything else. He crashed into a woman, and they both ended up sprawled on the grass.

“Sorry, I didn't-“ Harry stopped mid-sentence when he realized who he had run into. “Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa hesitantly tucked her hair behind her ear, managed to gracefully climb to her feet. “Mr. Potter, in a hurry I presume?”

She still managed to sound regal when she spoke. Not at all like the woman several days earlier who had been so desperate to find her son. “Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to crash into you.” He paused, gathered his thoughts. “What are you doing here?”

“Supporting my sister. Andromeda needs all the support that she can get right now.”

Slightly confused, Harry couldn't keep himself from speaking. “But I thought you two didn't talk to each other?”

“We haven't in years. However, I felt that what she's going through warrants a truce, at least for the moment. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find my husband and my son.”

“How is Draco?”

Both were surprised at the question, and it was unsure who was more surprised, Harry or Narcissa. However, Narcissa softened for a moment, and offered a smile. “Doing as well as he can. It's a lot to deal with, what he went through. I'll regret all my life that my son took the Dark Mark.”

“Mother.”

Narcissa turned, motioned for Draco to join them, which he did with a great deal of reluctance. He'd dressed in the best clothes he owned, black slacks and a fluid silver button down shirt, his mourning robes tossed carelessly over his shoulder, a sheet of black silk, his shoes shiny enough to see his reflection in, his hair impeccably styled, looking as good as Harry had ever seen him look, even if he was a little paler than usual, and slimmer than he'd ever been before.

“Harry was just asking about you, Draco.”

Draco arched one pale blonde eyebrow, gave Harry a look of cool indifference, one that he'd had eighteen years to perfect. “Is that so? Still jealous are we, Potter?”

“Actually Harry was making sure that you were doing okay, Draco.”

“Since when do you have any interest in the welfare of my family?”

Harry didn't even try to stop the normal verbal repartee he and Draco were so prone to. “Well, it seems I always have to save your bum, so it shouldn't surprise you that I ask about the state of it. I'm sick of coming to the rescue.”

“No need to worry about that. Your services are no longer needed.”

“Good, then next time I'll leave you to be burned alive.”

Shock registered on Narcissa's face a split second before anger registered on Draco's. “Shut your mouth, Potter.”

“Burned alive? You were almost burned alive? Draco, what happened?”

“Nothing, mother, don't worry about it.” He sighed in relief as he spotted Andromeda with an infant in her arms. “There's Aunt Andromeda, don't you think you should go say hello?”

Momentarily distracted, Narcissa glided toward her estranged sister, laying a hand on the shorter woman's shoulder. Harry and Draco watched in silence as Andromeda's eyes filled with tears and she collapsed into her sister's arms, years of fights and divided loyalties forgotten in one moment of intense grief. They may have spent years pretending to hate each other, but in the end, each was all the family the other had left.

Forgetting who he was standing next to, Harry spoke softly. “If only everything could be fixed that easily. It would make the next few years a hell of a lot easier.”

Draco chuckled, as caught up in the scene as Harry. “That's for damn sure, Potter. Too bad it won't be that way.”

Willing to go with his instincts, Harry continued. “Your Mum saved my life, Draco. I owe her a lot for that. Without her, things would have ended completely differently.”

Draco shrugged. “She has her moments of insanity. I'd have let you die.” He stopped, changed his mind. “Well, maybe not. In the grand scheme of things, I guess you're better than Voldemort.”

That was one of the highest compliments Draco could have ever given Harry given their history as enemies. He was still reeling from it when Hermione and Ron ushered him to his seat for the funerals.

“Is it my imagination, or are the Malfoys here?”

Hermione nodded at Ron's question. “They most certainly are. Andromeda's been leaning on Narcissa since they got here. It's amazing what a death can do to a family.”

“Draco wasn't a complete jerk either. I think it's really starting to hit him, everything that would have been different if Voldemort would have won.”

Ron scoffed. “Never. That I will never believe.”

Hermione shushed them at that point, turning to the front to pay attention to Arthur, who was starting the funeral. For the moment at least, members of the Order, Death Eaters and everyone in between were existing in peace. And yet, Harry couldn't help but wonder how long the armistice would last.

**

Please review, folks. I've worked my butt off on this, and I want to know what you think. Next chapter up soon. I promise.

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