Entry tags:

fanfiction, fic: far away as moonshine

FIC: Far Away as Moonshine 19/28
Title: Far Away as Moonshine, Part III: Seven Years Later
Author: zephre
Rating: PG (R for whole fic)
Prompt: 100quills table 50.2: Refusal
Word Count: 1,576
Summary: For Draco Malfoy, the war was one endless nightmare. Until Luna Lovegood gave him a reason to hope. Can he find his courage, make his luck, and become more than a pawn to those in power?
Warnings: (for whole fic, highlight to view) *mature themes, imprisonment, mention of rape, abuse, battlefield violence, various canon and other character deaths, sexual situations*
Concrit Wanted? Sure! Please alert me to typos or errors of continuity. It may, in fact, make no sense whatsoever.

Chapter Index:
Part I:   1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 ||
Part II:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 ||
Part III: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 ||
Epilogue

Chapter 1: In which Draco faces his future.


May 2005

Draco dipped his quill in the gilded inkwell and considered the half-finished letter before him. He had re-arranged the Library while his father was in Azkaban, shifting shelves and furniture to create a sunlit studio and office in front of the widest windows. He had spent much of his time over the last seven years at the wide maple desk.

It was not as if he were lacking occupation during his house arrest. There were the Malfoy properties and investments to manage, and in the first few years there had been Severus's estate to settle. The Prince Foundation, which Draco had co-founded with Potter according to Severus's will, took up a good chunk of his time each quarter, especially in the summer when the final decisions must be made for scholarships in the coming school year. There were books of Transfigurations, Potions theory, Advanced Charms, and even household magic organized in neat piles across his work space. He had gone as far as he could alone in those subjects, which was farther, perhaps, than the average student. Professor McGonagall had praised his successful animagus transformation as proof of his new discipline and self-control. Draco was proud of himself for his success, but frustrated by the total lack of opportunity to use his skill.

He kept up a wide and varied correspondence throughout the Wizarding World. Pinned to the doors of one of the bookcases were sketches sent by tailors and broom designers, architects and security specialists. Photographs added to the chaos: himself and his mother, a beautiful shot clipped from a vile and venomous article in the Prophet; Pansy and Blaise atop the Eiffel Tower, in a gondola in Venice, and attending the opera in Vienna on their Grand Tour; his parents' wedding photo; Draco playing Quidditch in a charity match organized by Ginny Weasley for war orphans, one of the few times he had been allowed off the grounds; Wizarding postcards from dozens of cities across the globe; and seventeen Muggle-style still photos of exotic flowering plants or creatures more fantastic than any he had ever studied at Hogwarts.

Draco gazed past the photos, out the window at the cloudless blue sky, and sighed. He let the quill rest on the ledge beside the ink well without touching the paper. Running his finger lightly along the embossed Malfoy crest at the top of the page, he tried not to think of the four previous drafts whose ashes filled the bin.

The room's energy changed just slightly when his father crossed the threshold. Draco quietly pulled a shorter, finished letter over the unfinished draft. The Library was a large space; it was possible that Lucius would not venture into Draco's territory. Possible, but unlikely. Both of his parents knew where to find him, and this was the likeliest place after the roof garden.

Draco said nothing as his father came up beside his chair.

"Your usual letter to Miss Lovegood?" Lucius inquired, resting one hand on Draco's shoulder. Was it terrible that Draco's habits were so, well, habitual? Was it a sign of apathy or insanity that every Friday evening new letters to the same correspondents appeared on the hall table for the Saturday morning owl? He had many small rituals to pass the time of his sentence, and letter-writing was the least damaging of them.

Draco could feel the very slight tremors in his father's hand, although the grip was firm enough. It had taken Lucius four months of intensive therapy to use a wand again after his years in Azkaban. He would never be the duellist he had been, but the world was probably happier for that.

"Another invitation for Pansy," Draco corrected, leaning back. So long as his father did not pick up the note for Pansy and see the other, Draco could relax. He could handle his father's reading of his inept attempts to bring Pansy back into his life; he could not handle the same for the intimate details that cluttered his epic letters to Luna.

"She has not been by for tea in some time," his father remarked.

"She has a life," Draco said bitterly, "and can't keep interrupting it for me."

Lucius squeezed Draco's shoulder, hard. "You know better than that." When he released his grip, Lucius wandered to the other side of the desk, reading the spines of the books there. "You should be cultivating all of your contacts now, Draco. In a few weeks you will be free to go."

The end of his house arrest was something Draco both relished and dreaded. He imagined his father knew the feeling very well, the strange emptiness that follows years of proscribed activities. Now that Draco had a vast sea of options before him, he had no desire to pursue anything but the same familiar tasks.

"You should consider formalizing your Potions studies, or Transfigurations. Any Master would be happy to have an apprentice so advanced, and you would quickly be promoted." Lucius's words gave Draco no cheer, nor any hope.

When his mother had suggested that he study his favorite subjects on his own, he had viewed it as his ticket out into the world when his house arrest ended. It had been easy to imagine it then, when everyone was still in shock from the war and eager to make a fresh start.

Now he knew what waited for him outside these walls: ignorance and fear, random hexes and potential assassination attempts. People had thrown things at him the one time he had appeared in Diagon Alley with his Auror escorts three years ago. Draco did not imagine that public opinion had changed much since.

The opening of the Longbottom wing at St. Mungo's had done much to improve the Malfoys' reputation among certain groups, including the former members of Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix. If only those people had more influence on the general populace. There was no chance that they would ever be able to live a normal life in England.

"Have you thought about pursuing a degree abroad?" Lucius asked, interrupting Draco's morbid thoughts. Lucius never seemed to mind that he was the only person contributing to the conversation. Draco wondered if his father still mentally filled Draco's silences with the answers he wanted to hear.    

Draco's eyes shifted to the postcards and Muggle photos on the bookcase doors. Lucius followed his gaze.

"Have you discussed the possibility with Miss Lovegood? I read her latest article in Wizarding Naturalist with great interest. She is obviously well-connected on the Continent."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots. Of course his father had to mention her again. "I think Luna is happiest with several thousand miles and a few bodies of water between her and anyone named Malfoy, Father. Why would she help me find a place outside England?"

Lucius shook his head, one of his most annoying smirks playing on his lips. "Really, Draco. You are not her only correspondent in this house. Don't borrow trouble where there is none. Don't you want to see her again now that you can go to her?"

Draco thought of the years' worth of letters he had, bubbling over with discovery and excitement, but all with the underlying current of despair as Luna's attempts to cure her wartime curse wounds - wounds inflicted in this house - failed over and over again. He thought of the way her letters carefully never mentioned the consequences of those failures. He had to infer them from the way she simply stopped talking about some new, experimental charm or course of treatment. 

He knew her better now than he knew anyone else, through their letters. He hoped that she knew him as well. Yet the letters alone would never make him happy. He though perhaps he had given away too much in his latest draft. He would burn it and start again, as soon as Lucius left.

"I don't think she wants to see me," Draco told his father. "But I will ask her about her contacts." And with that, a letter of introduction and time spent with another person who knew her, he would have to be content.

Lucius spent another fifteen minutes poking through the bookcases and trying to make neutral conversation. When he gave up at last and left the Library, Draco sealed the invitation to Pansy and set it to the side, then considered the unfinished letter to Luna.

"No," he sighed, and let his wand fall into his hand to incinerate it.

He set a clean sheet on the blotter, then opened the lap drawer.  Just inside the right corner was another Muggle-style photograph. Luna had spent two years experimenting with Wizarding cameras and film before inventing the charm that let her combine Muggle techniques and Wizarding hardware to get motionless captures of the organisms she studied. The patent on the charm had paid off the last of her father's debts from rebuilding their house in Devon.

In this photo, Luna herself looked at him, caught laughing on a beach with sunlight on her hair. Draco ran a fingertip along the curve of her cheek, and since this was a still photo the figure did not run away from his touch, but continued to laugh, carefree.

Cheered by that illusory contact, Draco took up his quill and began to write.

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