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The box was plain, brown paper, a little bigger than a shoe box. There was no highly decorated urn, no overstated verses, no crowd of mourners, no profusion of lilies, no solemn hymns. Only a brown paper box that should have been for storing goods. To say that Lucius would have hated it would be an understatement of epic proportions. It was an insult, but an honest one, the first honest thing Draco had done in years.

He stood by a large tree overlooking the formal garden. In the distance, the workers from the Ministry marched in and out of the Manor like ants, removing boxes full of Lucius' books. The noise of hammering floated faintly over the garden, Lucius' only funeral dirge.

Sev looked at him and nodded, firmly. Draco lifted the lid and stopped, uncertain of what he should do. Should he touch the ashes with his bare hands? Dump them onto the ground in a heap and grind them in with his heel? For all the people he had killed, this was something that he'd never done. But fate, for once, was with him. The breeze picked up and the ashes began dancing away on their own. Draco tilted the box to provide the best angle until there was only a little left at the corners. He tipped the box over and tapped the corner three times to empty it completely.

He thought of saying a few words. Be free. Be gone. Be forgotten. But no words were adequate. He set the box on the ground, pulled out his wand, cast Incendio. By the time the box was gone, the grass around it had caught fire and Sev had to stomp it out with his worn black boots.

They walked back to the house in silence.