The End of the Innocence

Chapter 2: Eulogy

"We have suffered a grave loss," Dumbledore began, hollowly. "Ten Phoenix wizards and witches were cruelly murdered, along with their five children. An entire family of exceptionally talented individuals devoted to the working of good were taken from us by, sadly, one of their own. Tonight, we honor their memory and grieve their passing."

Dumbledore waxed eloquently on each member of the Weasley clan in turn. His words barely reached Ginny, in the front row of this motley congregation. People came from all over the world to sit in the Great Hall and listen to Dumbledore praise her family...praise her. And he even said a few words about Ron...Those words seemed to part the veil that hung around her. She listened as he called Ron, "An adventurous, intelligent, lonely young man." Those were the first kind words she had heard about her brother since his death. It was good to know that there were people who remembered the way Ron was. Before Voldemort.

Draco sat beside her in his extremely tasteful black robes. He had them specially made for all the funerals he was certain he would be attending. Strange...morbid boy. He listened politely to Dumbledore, but his attention was on Ginny. Her hand was clammy in his and he felt certain that she was back at the Burrow, under the old tree, with cold steel in her hands and her elder brother bleeding at her feet.

Ginny hadn't shed a tear since the moment she shot Ron. That one moment...when time passed like molasses through a sieve...and then everything flew by so quickly. Dizzying, maddening throngs of guests running through her small flat, pushing Tupperware and Corningware and pots full of small grievances into her shaking hands. Her flat was full of flowers in the middle of autumn, and it all felt so surreal. Draco was worried about her. He should be. She was slowly being driven crazy by every pitying stare, every cluster of whispering gossips, and (especially) every pat on the back. Inside...she felt as dead as the old, scorched tree that cracked like lightning at her brother's command.

Draco slid a comforting arm around Ginny's waist as Dumbledore spoke about Hermione. Ginny shivered a bit at his touch, but soon relaxed into him. Hermione was her best friend, despite their brief spat over Harry. Hermione was going to be her Matron of Honor when Ginny and Draco got married next year. But. But.

And Harry was going to be Draco's best man. Now, there's an unlikely friendship. Draco literally had no place to go after his parents...died. Somehow, he ended up at the Burrow, gore spattered and weeping. Harry answered the door that night and caught Draco as he fainted. (Something Draco vehemently denies.) When he woke up, he apparently told Harry everything, and they were bosom buddies from that point on. It struck Ginny as odd, but she didn't pry. She never pried. She never asked Draco about his parents. She never asked Ron where he was disappearing to. Maybe she could have prevented this somehow. Maybe.

Dumbledore saved Harry for last, of course. The Boy Who Lived...how sickeningly ironic. How trite. He died in a house fire. He died of smoke inhalation. His body was burned and twisted by the heat. Flames licked his flesh as readily as anyone else's. In the end, Harry Potter was mortal...

Hagrid let out a loud sob as Dumbledore spoke of Harry's amazing Quidditch skill, but otherwise the hall was quiet. Ginny pulled herself out of her memories and despair long enough to look around. She and Draco were seated among the professors. Professor McGonagall was weeping quietly into her handkerchief, while Professor Flitwick just stared at his shoes with a crushed look about him. Professor Sprout sniffled a bit every now and again. Professor Snape was simply very quiet.

Ginny rose mechanically when her name was called. She walked to the podium on numb legs and allowed Dumbledore to place the medal around her neck. Order of Merlin, First Class, for saving the Pandora project at all costs. Ginny stared out at the crowd with dead, lusterless eyes. She returned to her seat without a speech. It seemed frivolous of her to make a speech. Draco got a medal, too. He had tried to joke with Ginny about it earlier.

"They're giving me a medal for sitting in a cage for half an hour and nearly pissing myself when I heard gunshots!" The joke fell flat, but the gesture was still there.

Ginny grabbed Draco's arm when he returned. She felt like an overgrown child clutching a security blanket, but nothing could have made her let him go. Draco stroked her cheek with his free hand.

"Do you want to stay for the feast?" he whispered.

"Not really. I...just want to get away from everybody..." Ginny dug her fingers deep into the plush velvet of Draco's robes. "I don't know what I'll do if one more person congratulates me for murdering Ron."

Draco bowed his head down until his forehead touched hers. "It's easier...with time..." he whispered, his words tight and drawn with past sorrows. "You remember how they were...after Mum and Dad..."

Ginny nodded and buried her face into Draco's shoulder. "I just want them all to go away."

Draco smoothed her hair, half-listening as Dumbledore closed his speech. He seated himself very gently, as if his age caught up to him when the news of the slaughter reached his ears.

"I'm going to tell Dumbledore that we can't stay." Draco pulled his robes from Ginny's fingers. He kissed her forehead gently. "I'll be right back."

Professor Snape caught his arm on the way to see Dumbledore. "Wait," he said quietly.

"Yes, sir?" Draco asked.

"For her...you, too, if you need it." Snape slipped a small glass bottle in Draco's hand.

Draco put the bottle in his pocket. "Asphodel and wormwood?" he guessed.

"Not that strong."

Draco nodded, grateful for Professor Snape's small gesture. Ginny so needed sleep without dreams of her brother's bleeding carcass. He continued to Dumbledore, so he could finally take her home.

Dumbledore bent over his plate of food and offered a few brief words to an ancient deity. His head bowed humbly, he whispered private remembrances and prayed for a swift journey for the departed. Draco felt odd, listening to something so personal.

Dumbledore lifted his head and turned his peace-filled eyes on the black-robed boy before him. "How is she?" he preempted Draco.

"Not good, sir."

"I don't expect you'll be staying, then."

"No sir."

"It's for the best. And how are you doing, Draco?"

Draco hadn't been asked that yet. He didn't really know how to respond. "I--"

"Violence is like a symphony, Draco," Dumbledore said softly. "When the orchestra packs up and leaves, the symphony still exists. It exists in the hearts of those who heard it. And it exists in the quills of future composers, the instruments of future orchestras; whose work will echo the original symphony. Eventually, we will all hear it, my boy. And the first notes of a new piece will always remind us of the one that came before."

"I didn't want Ginny...to know how...how it feels to..."

"To kill, Draco." Dumbledore's hand rested easily on Draco's shoulder. "Take her home and rest, Mr. Malfoy. It is easier with time." There was still no benign glitter in his blue eyes, only a very deep calm that radiated from the old man.

Draco nodded curtly and turned back toward Ginny. She was sitting as rigidly as Professor McGonagall ever had. Her eyes were focused on something in the distance, making Draco wonder if her nightmares had followed her into the waking world somehow. He draped his cape around her and guided her out of her chair.

"Let's go home, Gin," he whispered quietly.

Ginny nodded and walked with him to the fireplace in the Great Hall. It was hooked up to the Floo Network for just that evening.

"Magendy Place," Draco shouted as they stepped into the flames.