There hadn't been many people at the funeral. There weren't a lot of people left to attend these things anymore. But when the services were over, it didn't take very long at all for the pair of them to be the last two left.
Harry walked forward, looking at her open casket. His lips were pressed together so that they were whiter than is skin, and his hands kept twitching as if they didn't know what to do with themselves.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "She um... She had very short fingers, didn't she?"
Draco stepped forward to inspect her hands, a few white roses laying there. Draco looked and expected her to tighten her grip, but she didn't. She was gone, so she couldn't really do that now, could she?
"She does actually," Draco agreed. "I never noticed."
Harry sniffled but tried to pass it off as if his nose was itching. "Neither did I."
He sounded so guilty about not knowing this that even Draco felt as if he should be helpful. "It's not the sort of thing many people would notice, Potter."
"I should have noticed!" he snapped, grabbing hold of the coffin as if wanting to break and rend it apart. "She was my... my girlfriend, I should have--"
"Potter, if you'd spent the length of your relationships staring at her hands, there would be something wrong with you," Draco informed him plainly. "No one expects you to know everything about her."
Harry sighed, bending his head so that his glasses slid to the tip of his nose. He didn't bother to fix them. "I should have. I should have stayed with her. If I'd have been there--"
"You'd both be dead," Draco said coldly.
"Maybe it should have been that way!" Harry yelled. "Maybe I should have just died with her, and--"
"Oh, don't be such a martyr," Draco groaned. "Do you have any idea how tiresome this nonsense is? You don't have any reason to have regrets, Potter. You're righteous and honorable and good."
Harry whirled, looking frighteningly ridiculous with his glasses falling off his face. "How do you know?! How do you know what I am or if I can have regrets!"
Draco sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Because I'm an evil bastard, Potter."
Harry stopped, blinking. He had the grace to look embarrassed, righting his glasses. "Oh." His voice was very small.
"Oh," Draco repeated dourly. "Keep that in mind, would you? And if I hear you going on about blaming yourself for her death, I will break your nose again."
Harry looked away. He glanced back at the coffin and the beautiful girl inside of it, hearing his rival's voice in his head and remembering what happened the night Dumbledore...
"I... I'm sor--"
"Forget it," Draco interrupted. "Please. Can't have Weaselby thinking I have humanity. He's worked so hard to demonize me, and I'd hate to disappoint him."
"Right," Harry said quietly.
Draco turned, looking over his shoulder. "Let's go, Harry."
He could do nothing but follow him out.