The next time Draco had found himself in one of the nearby villages, it was to his shock during a funeral procession. The whole village was out, all dressed in gently flowing black garments. Before Draco could be seen by anyone he hid in a small alcove and changed his attire to match that of the muggles. The village as one traveled through the town, many people carrying flowers woven into delicate wreaths, or platters of food, some even had armfuls of candles, or jars of honey. Prayers were said, songs were sung, and stories of the deceased were shared with vigor. Draco bled into the background, just another village out to pay his respects. Once the final prayers were said and the casket was laid within the ground, the villagers converged in the center of the town where tables and chairs had been scattered haphazardly about, all circling the small fountain that was now draped in flowing black cloth. Draco watched on as food was passed around and as the gentle buzz of conversation filled the square. 