Chapter 2

With the issuance of Book 7, this story is officially and irredeemably non-canon past Book 6 of Ms. Rowlings' wonderful world.  This author respectfully begs the indulgence of imagining a different future  than the one presented in Book 7, and does so purely for enjoyment.

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“You did what?” Once again, Snape was glaring, but Draco continued to calmly refill Lupin’s wine glass with a quietly murmured wandless spell. “Why in Merlin’s name would you want to have any association with that...that....”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Draco tapped his finger lightly on his crystal goblet, causing it to emit a pleasing tone as he simultaneously refilled the glass of his former head of house with another display of wandless magic. This was even more impressive as it was unspoken as well, his former DADA professor noted, who found himself appreciating the stemware as much as the feats of magic. Nothing like fine French lead crystal for its tone, in all senses of the word, Remus thought. He sipped the wine slowly and watched the other two men, amused as always by the interaction between the Slytherins. Conjured stemware just could not compare to the real thing, and a Malfoy could be relied upon to have the finest, even if it did mean utilizing certain items, such as table settings, from the Muggle world. But then, a Malfoy would never think of simply picking up the wine bottle and pouring the wine into the crystal glass...for such a task, only the finest magic would do for one’s guests. Draco might be the last surviving Malfoy and living in a London apartment as opposed to the grand Manor in Wiltshire, but he held to the old standards taught to him by his parents when it came to entertaining his guests.

Draco smiled sweetly as he addressed his godfather’s scowling visage. “I found that I really did not want to be bothered dealing with all the bureaucracy that owning The Daily Prophet would entail, what with its almost incestuous relationship with the Ministry, when a far more intriguing journalistic challenge presented itself....”

Snape’s snort interrupted the younger man.

“The Quibbler has nothing to do with journalism. It is Lovegood’s sensationalistic rag, useful only for lining the bottom of owl cages. How in the world could you voluntarily associate yourself with such nonsense?”

“I have an enquiring mind?” Draco continued to smile innocently as Snape spluttered with indignation and Lupin attempted to placate him with reminders of the many times The Quibbler printed controversial and politically charged stories against the prior Ministry when The Prophet wouldn’t dare. Part of Draco’s agile mind was taking note of how the two men interacted with each other, while another part thought back over his interesting encounter with Luna Lovegood. His former classmate had appeared uninvited on his doorstep that morning.

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The wards alerted him to the presence of someone being held upside down in the hallway outside his penthouse apartment. Draco was proud of his wards. Not only were they capable of distinguishing between wizard and muggle, but within those two categories, they responded according to the type of individual who dared to visit him uninvited. Certain specific persons triggered special reactions, as a particular Savior of the Wizarding World learned, on the few times he had tried to visit. On two of those occasions, Potter had found himself magically transported to such useful places as Giorgio Armani’s showroom...in Rome...for a new wardrobe, or to the Tres Semme’ Salon...in Manhattan...for a new hairstyle.

Hermione reported that following the first couple of unplanned trips, the green-eyed Boy Who Lived to Bother Draco apparated back to England immediately without taking advantage of his unplanned ports of call and sulked for a few months before again trying to storm the citadel of Draco’s privacy. By the fourth attempt, however, that nauseatingly feisty Gryffindor spirit raised its perky head and Harry actually started enjoying the challenge...and the trips. He lingered in Italy, and caused a stir at the Ministry of Magic when he reported to a public relations function wearing the latest in Dolce and Gabbana menswear. His sixth trip... to a Wizarding area of San Francisco... produced a vast improvement in his hair, which was now tame enough to be worn in the longer style of an adult male wizard. Seeing how much better Harry looked in his latest press photos, Draco made sure his next little trip took him to a Wizard trained in ocular correction spells. He told himself that he was no more pleased than any wizard with taste would be when the next picture of The Pest Who Persisted that peered at him from his morning paper did so without those ugly plastic framed glasses. Draco found himself staring a little too long at the photograph, which assumed a hurt expression as it looked back at Draco, as though to ask, “What more do I have to do?”

“J’ai mis tes moccasins,” Draco whispered to the fetching image, then folded the paper closed over photo Potter’s confused expression. It was truly a pity that Hogwarts did not offer more traditional subjects, such as foreign languages and classical studies. While there were many things Draco regretted about his upbringing, he was grateful that he had been tutored at home prior to entering the Wizard school, and that his parents had continued his extracurricular education during school breaks. His genuine interest in philosophy and literature was keeping him sane now, when his life was so circumscribed. It was shortly after this disturbing encounter with Potter’s photo that the wards alerted him to the presence of an unexpected visitor.

Draco invoked the ward spell that provided him with the image and identity of the young witch who was calmly observing his door from an upside down angle, as though such a perspective was merely an interesting opportunity for a fresh outlook on the woodwork and ceiling. Her long ash blonde hair fell down below her heart shaped face, brushing the plush carpet that lined the hallway. Draco recognized her...she was the strange Lovegood witch, the one he’d treated badly fifth year. He still winced at the memory. He reversed the spell, righting her carefully. She straightened her robes matter of factly, seeming unperturbed by the disturbance to her personal gravity. Draco hated visitors, but he considered himself to owe a debt of honor to Lovegood, one that had never been repaid. He might be a misanthropic bastard these days, but he prided himself on being an honorable one. He recognized a debt of honor, and his sense of what was due the Malfoy name demanded that he pay that debt, even if he was the only one who still believed that his name held any honor.

Draco opened the door with a flick of his wand.

“Miss Lovegood, please accept my apologies for the wards and come in. Excuse me for not standing,” Draco began stiffly and gestured at the chair. It was self explanatory.

“Why should you stand?” the blonde witch answered as she stepped inside his home, looking around with an inquisitive gaze. “I imagine we’re just going to sit anyway, that is generally what people do...oh, you are in a moving chair. That is certainly convenient if you cannot get up I imagine. That is very much like the gestational practice of the Doublehinked Snorback, a magical predecessor to the Hornback Dragon. Its mate would devise a rolling conveyance for it to rest upon when it became too heavy with young for its small wings to sustain flight and...”

“Miss Lovegood,” Draco interrupted, desperate to stop her before she completed her comparison of his condition to that of a pregnant, flightless dragon and he was forced to kill her, debt of honor or no. Actually, under the circumstances, he rather thought honor would demand the murder. Better not to test it. “How may I be of service?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Oh. I came to be of service to you, Draco Malfoy. Although when you wish to be, you can be very helpful, I know. You aren’t really anywhere near as nasty as you used to be. By the way, Harry is looking much better these days, although he would like it if you would let him show you in person. I wondered whether I would get sent to New York as well. I was hoping to meet Tim Gunn.” She smiled warmly at him as he looked at her in total confusion. “Oh it is quite all right, being upside down was interesting also. It gave me a completely different perspective on my thoughts so you mustn’t think I was too disappointed. But I wanted to talk to you about The Quibbler.”

“The Quibbler?”

“Yes. My father’s newspaper.”

Draco knew it. A sensationalistic rag that his father forbade him to read, so of course he never missed an issue when in school. It was filled with all the most ridiculous stories, yet it dared to print the truth at times when The Prophet was still hiding its head in the sand. The Lovegoods had been considered blood traitors, but like so many of the beliefs of his youth, Draco had learned that the Lovegood family, while a bit...odd...had its own brand of integrity and courage. He truly regretted ever tormenting the fey witch sitting in front of him, but he suspected it would only add to the harm to insist on forcing an apology on her now for the damage done by his younger self. Instead, he just tried to keep up with her darting conversation. He had a better understanding himself these days that sometimes one just wanted to be treated as though one were, for want of a better world, normal.

“What does your father’s newspaper have to do with me?”

“Why, you should buy into it, of course.” Luna looked surprised that she had to explain such an apparent point to a wizard as smart as Draco.

Draco’s sense of humor was piqued. “Of course. I’m sorry. Would you like some tea? I was so busy thinking about the newspaper, manners just flew right out of my head.”

She beamed at him. “It’s understandable. It isn’t every day that one takes a step like this and joins an institution such as The Quibbler. Tea would be lovely, thank you. As long as the tea does not contain any leaves from the anteberry plant...they’ve been proven to be quite toxic in months following a frost.”

Draco spent all of a second trying to figure out that warning, then summoned the house elf and ordered that tea be brought without any of the circumscribed tea leaves, not that he’d ever heard of it before. Better safe than sorry. The elf didn’t question the order so it must have made some kind of sense. He waited until Luna had accepted a cup of anteberry free tea and a slice of lemon cake that had been made using one of his mother’s favorite recipes, before he returned to the subject.

“Please excuse my dullness today, but would you mind explaining exactly why should I buy into The Quibbler, Miss Lovegood? Not that I’m questioning the wisdom of the act, but it is always good to have something specific to put down...for the trustees and goblins at Gringotts, you know.”

“I understand, but please, call me Luna. If we are going to be working together, it seems silly to be so formal with each other. If you don’t mind, that is. I don’t really like your prior name for me.” For the first time, Luna showed a crack in the self possession she’d exhibited since arriving.

Loony. He used to call her Loony Lovegood, Draco remembered with a pang. He felt a flare of pain through his legs. He called to mind an image of the heart shaped face before him on a much younger girl, as she looked fearfully up from the floor before Potter came to her rescue. He forced himself to meet her gaze. Draco had been a cruel bastard and often thought he deserved every moment of pain and loss that life had dealt him. He told Severus as much once years later. The Potion Master hadn’t been impressed with his godson’s agonies of guilt about his actions up to and including sixth year. Snape had looked down his long nose at Draco and sneered, “How Gryffindor of you. Had I known such selfless sentiments resided in your remorseful breast, I’m sure I would have arranged for the Sorting Hat to reassign you out of Slytherin. No doubt Gryffindor can always use another brave fool.”

“Cauldron...kettle,” Draco had replied with a smirk. If anyone had been a closet Gryffindor, it was the heroic but unlauded Severus Snape. Even now, with his long overdue Order of Merlin, First Class, Snape was still mistrusted by most of the Wizarding World, although admittedly, the creme de la creme of what constituted post war society, sought him out. This was due to the fact that this group consisted mainly of the surviving members of the Order, and the new Ministry officials, people who knew his worth and had learned to look past his irascible temper. To some degree, on occasion, he even tolerated theirs, even Potter’s. This was due, in large part, to what he called “the wolf’s lamentable influence. They are pack animals, you know.” So, in a strange quirk of fate, Severus Snape had enough notoriety to keep the masses away, and enough friends to keep him in company when he wished it. Were it in his nature, one could even say he was happy.

Which left Draco as one of the few misfits in the new world order. Due in no small part to what he considered to be small unforgivable acts such as he committed against people like Luna Lovegood for six years. He was sensible to realize that saving Potter’s life pretty much made up for what came before; his avoidance of Potter was personal to him. Since he couldn’t meet him on the same equal level that they always met before, he simply avoided the man. To the wizarding world, he would always be a Malfoy, but to Draco, that debt too was squared. His betrayal of his family evened out his family’s betrayal of the wizarding world and he continued with his efforts at using the Malfoy money to repair the damage done by his father. He’d fought long and hard for the side of the light and he’d made a difference. He knew that and he was nothing if not pragmatic. Lucius’ side lost and his side won.

But, to people like Luna, he could never do enough to even his debt of honor. That thought had been uppermost in his mind as he looked at the deceptively fragile looking young woman, and inwardly swore to do anything she asked to repay the many indignities his younger, blinder self visited upon her. Even, and his deeply in-bred pride shuddered at the thought, buy the most mocked newspaper in the Wizarding world.

“I would be honored ... Luna. Please ... call me Draco as well.” He paused and when the curses of his ancestors did not strike him dead he assumed it was safe to proceed. Of course, his most recent ancestors were no doubt writhing in the deepest pits of hell with their “Lord” at present, and the Lovegoods were, for all their eccentricity, from good pureblood stock. Just goes to show what in-breeding will do, he mused. Bellatrix Black and Xenophilius Lovegood., poster children for the superiority of half-bloods and the muggle-born if ever there were any.

“Now, if you would explain how it is that you are looking for new, shall we say, investors or partners, for The Quibbler?”

Luna smiled, relieved that he seemed to be picking up the point finally. “That is it. My father is not well, you see, and finds that he isn’t able to do as much as he used to, with editorials and investigative reporting, what with his memoirs taking up so much of his time. I am busy with the business end of things, as well as some of the research aspects of the work. We have a fine staff of reporters and writers, but we’re in need of an editor, a chief editor really. Someone to oversee everything, but more than that, someone with vision, much like Father. We gave it a great deal of thought and we consulted a few of the usual sources, centaurs, hunklacks, and the like, and it was unanimous that you should be the new editorial head of The Quibbler.”

For the briefest of moments Draco considered whether this was merely a scheme to get him to invest a bit of Malfoy money in a dying newspaper, but his instincts told him that wasn’t the case. Indeed, before the next cup of tea was poured, the seemingly airheaded blonde was pulling out financial statements that demonstrated that The Quibbler was actually in sound shape, although it could use improvement. He found himself excited at the prospect of what he could do with the opportunity.

By the end of the visit, it was agreed that Draco would arrange to have his solicitors finalize his investment in The Quibbler, making him a full partner. In exchange, he would take over the position of Editor in Chief, and staff writer, but he insisted on using a pseudonym and keeping his involvement unknown to all but his closest advisors, Mr. Lovegood, and the centaurs. Since he counted Severus among his advisors, he thought it was safe to tell him. Glancing at an old issue, Draco noticed an advice column, “Lovegood’s Letters to the Lovelorn.”

“Does your father do that or do you?” he asked casually, hiding an impish grin at the idea that was occurring to him.

“That was one of Father’s tasks, but it is yet another one of the chores he’s had to abandon...I don’t suppose...” Luna looked at Draco hopefully.

“Oh, I would hate to see a tradition end. But given that I’m not a Lovegood, would you mind it if I changed the name? Perhaps something similar to that wench in The Prophet who writes such garbage...what is she, Addy or something? Maybe I could be...oh I don’t know, I’ll think of something.”

A flash of clarity had come into Luna’s eyes as she said dryly, ”I’ve no doubt you will.” Then she added in more her usual, dreamy tone, “It’s the oddest coincidence, but I think we get more letters from former classmates of ours than The Prophet does. It would be a great gift to be able to help them to find true love, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I do, I do,” Draco assured her.

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Draco dragged his mind back to his dinner guests. Severus’ rich baritone waxed eloquently against the waste of Draco’s time, intelligence and finances, which an expenditure of any or all of the three on The Quibbler would represent, while Lupin’s calm tenor voice made a soothing counterpoint of reason. They actually harmonized quite nicely together, Draco realized, with some surprise. If one didn’t listen to the words, that is.

“Luna is a perfectly fine young witch for him to associate with. She was a Ravenclaw, after all,” Lupin pointed out, after an especially scathing comment about the Lovegood mentality.

“So was that Chang bint, and she mooned around after Potter for a year, despite his being as queer as a three headed knut,” Snape sneered. “So much for the intelligence of the average Ravenclaw.”

“Well, they were all young then, Severus. You can’t blame either of them for being confused; we all were when we were young. Some of us stay bi-sexual.”

Was the werewolf leering at Severus and was his irascible godfather actually blushing? It was so difficult to tell with that sallow complexion. But indeed, it did seem that there was a slightly red tinge over the yellow, which gave him a rather orange look if one looked too closely, Draco thought, quickly drinking more wine to dispel the image. This situation clearly bore more scrutiny. For now, however, he had a stack of owls from lovelorn wizards and witches to peruse...Luna’s father having let the correspondence get badly backlogged in recent months. Luna had forwarded it to Draco upon his reassuring her that he wanted to get started right away on his new duties and not wait for the paperwork to be finalized.

In actuality, Draco couldn’t wait to find out which of his former classmates were looking for love in such a wrong place.

“Gentlemen, I find I’m rather fatigued...would it be terribly rude if I excused myself early? Severus, you know where everything is, would you please entertain Professor Lupin....”

“Remus...”

“Remus.” Draco flashed his charming smile, his genuine one that resembled his mother’s and not the cold one that looked like his father’s, “and please, call me Draco. Also, I forgot to mention, gentlemen, but I will be keeping my involvement with The Quibbler quiet and using a nom de plume, so I do appreciate your keeping my confidence in this.” Both wizards nodded their agreement. Draco cut off his godfather before he could launch into more reasons why Draco wouldn’t want anyone ever to associate his name with the Lovegood paper. Amusing as Severus’ insults always were, he had work to do.

“Severus, I hope you will continue to enjoy the wine with Remus, but I really must retire now. I deplore that my condition makes me fatigue so easily and I would feel much better if the two of you would stay a little longer, please? I’ve enjoyed tonight, and I hope we can do this again soon.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Draco, thank you for inviting me,” Remus began, but he was interrupted by Snape.

“Yes, yes, Lupin, you had a nice time, we now know your den mother raised you to have lovely manners...Draco, are you alright? Is the potion working? Do you need...”

Draco cut short the Potion Master’s testy inquiries as peremptorily as he’d cut short Lupin’s thanks. He knew they were prompted by affection but it made them no easier to bear.

“I’m fine, Severus, just tired. Don’t fuss, you sound like Pomfrey, or God forbid, the Weasley woman. And before I ruffle Gryffindor feathers, or whatever it is that gets ruffled on a Gryffindor, I need Miss Lovegood here to tell me, I assure you, Remus, I do not mean the comment about Mrs. Weasley at all in a derogatory way...although I am sure that Severus enjoys taking it as such.” Draco gave the Slytherin a mischievous look.

There was just enough real fatigue in his face, however, that to Draco's surprise, Severus merely nodded at his claims of being fine and waved him off to his room before picking up the wine bottle to pour Lupin and himself each another glass. With another nod goodnight, Draco glided away on his magical chair.

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Draco waited until he heard the wards closing around his departing guests before opening the first of the letters sent by Luna. While he knew Severus respected his wish for privacy, he also knew the man was protective of him and wouldn’t hesitate to come barging in with some excuse if he thought Draco had been more than ordinarily fatigued. They both knew that there was a potential for the curse to become even more debilitating the longer Draco lived with it. It was the reason Severus refused to stop looking for a cure. The ebony eyes watched the young man like a hawk for signs that the curse was advancing.

Draco already knew that it was, and while he hadn’t told Severus as much, he accepted that without a miracle breakthrough by his Godfather and his research team, eventually the movement he presently enjoyed would become impossible. And after that, breathing. Draco had no intention of letting it go that far. It was one of the reasons he was looking forward to some harmless amusement with the lovelorn column. If he were going to spend a hundred plus years in this condition, then he would continue to suffer in silence, nobly atoning for his misdeeds. But, if the rest of his life were to be measured in a mere handful of years, rather than a century, then he thought he could not spend his brief time in any better way than in, how did Luna express it, using his gifts to help his former classmates find true love. Slytherin style, of course.

For the first time since before the war, Draco’s carefree smirk appeared.

The letters were supposed to be anonymous, of course, and no doubt Xeno Lovegood honored that expectation...or didn’t know a way around such signatures as “Confused, Confunded and Counter-spelled.” But, old Xeno hadn’t been raised by Lucius Malfoy nor sorted into Slytherin nor taught by Severus Snape. Draco knew at least five ways to identify the writer of a letter and more if he used dark arts. The first letter was boring and he quickly composed a terse, sensible reply. The same was true of the second. Both were from witches whose names meant nothing to him. He almost quit for the night but decided to do one more before going to bed. His claims of fatigue had not been completely feigned, after all.

Ahh. His face brightened. The third letter was warded against anyone attempting to detect the sender. Double warded, in fact. It took him three of his first five spell options to determine that the sender was...delight broke out over his face such as hadn’t been seen since Pansy told him that Harry Potter made Cho Chang cry when he kissed her.

The third letter was written by Ronald Bilius Weasley. The Weasel.

Draco felt like he’d finally caught the snitch. For a moment, he held the letter in his hands unread and seriously considered whether he should read it. It wasn’t that he liked Ron Weasley any better than he ever did, but the git had been a member of the Order. He did his part...more or less. Rather less than more, if anyone were to ask Draco for his candid opinion but no one ever did so he kept it to himself. The rest of the Weasleys were brave and some of them were rather clever, hot even. If you liked ginger hair. It was a shame that the brother who returned to the fold, Percy, died in the final battle saving one of the twins. Draco felt a kinship with black sheep, but as far as he was concerned, the gene pool had been getting diluted when it got to Potter’s best buddy. Even the weaselette was tougher, although he was glad Potter finally realized she wasn’t the woman for him. For his cousin Tonks, maybe, but not for Potter. And no, Draco told himself firmly, he wasn’t examining that feeling any further tonight. He had Weasley’s love life to consider. Not Potter’s. Or his own.

As much as Draco didn’t like Ron Weasley, he did like Granger, and that was what decided him. She was one of the few people he truly did like in this post War world, surprising as it was to both of them. She didn’t give him false sympathy; she didn’t give him sympathy at all. When they did speak, it was often in the same insulting manner they did before, without the edge, perhaps, but in a similar enough manner that he found the familiarity of it... comforting. He found her intelligence, now that it wasn’t a matter of being second to her first... challenging. He found the fact that she was engaged to one of the dumbest wizards he knew... unfathomable.

He read the letter.

“Dear Mr. Lovegood,

You don’t know me [ Draco snorted to himself. If anything would convince him that he personally knew a writer, even without resorting to any revealing spells, it would be an immediate disclaimer of any personal acquaintance; trust a Gryffindor to be as subtle as a bludger to the balls.] But me and my friends have always trusted your paper over that rag that’s in the Ministry’s pocket. [Great, this screams Potter’s crowd, Draco grimaced, and noted that the editor might need to edit this letter, if for no other reason than to make the grammar less of an embarrassment.] Anyway, my problem is that my girlfriend and me have been going together ever since Hogwarts, and everyone has pretty much expected that we’ll marry, settle down, and have a big family. [Why not say “of lots of red haired Gryffindors while you’re being secretive?” Draco snickered, wondering why the idiot bothered casting the wards...and how long it took Hermione or Potter to teach them to him.]

The thing is, I don’t know that I’m ready to settle down. There are a lot of witches in the world and a bloke should be experienced, don’t you think? The other thing is, we fight. A lot. I know she is supposed to be the smartest witch of her generation and all [Draco simply stared, aghast, why didn’t the idiot just come right out and say her name? Thank Merlin this letter didn’t go to Lovegood, who would never have put two and two together and come up with anything short of an Arithmancy equation to perplex the ages] but a bloke should be the boss of his own home, don’t you think? And if he wants to have a few pints and watch Quidditch with his mates....

Draco skimmed through the rest. He had no desire to read the Weasel’s sexual complaints. He really had no desire to read those and was appalled that the idiot would put quill to parchment about such topics and actually mail it off. Did he really think a few wards would protect his...and more importantly...Hermione’s identity? The question was, how to strategically edit the letter so that it removed all identifying information, yet gave the advice so badly needed, which was that this mismatched couple needed to find new mates? Of course! The answer came to Draco like a bolt of...well, like a bolt of lightning straight to the forehead.

Draco spelled a picture of a smiling, elderly witch genteelly sipping tea to serve as the image of Abby DeCourse, for the new “Asking Abby” Advice to the Lovelorn column. He spent a good bit of time composing his answer...as well as a new, edited, truly anonymous version of the Weasel’s letter and then owled all three letters and responses to Luna in time to make the morning edition of The Quibbler.

Severus had been right was Draco’s final thought as he drifted off to sleep, anticipating the morning for the first time in a very long while. He had needed new interests.
 

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