The Way a Fool Would Do

Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. I'm just having fun.

Chapter Eight

The Way a Fool Would Do

At home on Saturday the 3rd of November to celebrate their engagement

7pm

Black tie

RSVP, 9 Mill Street, Clapham, London

The bed and floor were covered in designer clothing—blouses, trousers, flowing skirts, casual dresses, formal gowns. All had been the height of fashion during the 70s. Luna’s mother had dressed very well indeed prior to her marriage, and she had taken it all with her when she had left her family home to marry Xenophilius Lovegood. Luna’s father had been unable to part with a single article of clothing, which was why Luna was currently in her father’s bedroom, head-deep inside her mother’s wardrobe.

After receiving Neville’s invitation, Luna had decided that perhaps she could find something of her mother’s to wear rather than spend the money on a formal gown she would only wear once. Besides, the vintage look was the current rage in the wizarding fashion world, according to her new friend, Pansy Parkinson, soon-to-be Weasley.

That had been an interesting turn of events. After Draco had taken off to Malfoy Manor, Pansy had stopped by Luna’s office and invited her to lunch, saying that Draco was being “a bit of a bitch,” and that “he needs to remove his head from his arse.” The black-haired witch had bluntly stated that she had never seen Draco happier than when he had been with Luna, and that she was certain he would realise very soon that he should be with her. Pansy had informed her that, of course, he would never apologise, but that she would come home one day to find him playing the piano in the drawing room and acting as if he had never left. Luna had smiled gratefully, asked about how things were with Ronald Weasley, and a friendship had been born.

Luna smiled as she dived head first back into her mother’s magically enlarged wardrobe. Pansy’s friendship had been exactly what she needed, especially since Hermione had been too worried about her—and too angry with Draco—to be of much support. As the days and weeks had turned into a month then two, Hermione had become more and more concerned by what she considered Luna’s “delusional behaviour” when it came to Draco Malfoy. She simply could not understand why Luna was still hoping that he would return after the way he had abandoned her.

“He left a note,” Luna had assured her.

“Which said absolutely nothing!” Hermione had retorted hotly.

In truth, the note hadn’t said much. It had been short and succinct, saying that they “were never meant to be” and that he was leaving to return to Malfoy Manor.

Luna had been ecstatic. Obviously, her sleepy declaration of love had caused him to realise that his feelings for her went well beyond those of mere friendship. Maybe she should have waited until a better, more proper time, but her heart had been so full of love for him that night that she hadn’t been able to keep the words inside a moment longer. He had been so wonderful that day, and his reaction to the mere thought that she had been harmed had left her brimming over with hope that perhaps he had realised that he loved her. It was that hope, coupled with her fatigue, which had allowed the words that she had harboured in her heart for so many years to finally break free.

She hadn’t been surprised to awaken the following morning to find him gone, but she had been certain that he would return to her at any moment, ready to begin their lives together.

Hermione, on the other hand, had thought her insane.

Hermione had become even more convinced of Luna’s delusional state when pictures of Draco with Astoria Greengrass began appearing in the Daily Prophet.

“You see? He’s moved on. Luna, I love you. It hurts me to see you so hurt. Please, you have to let him go,” Hermione had pleaded. “Dozens of wizards are asking you out. Why don’t you go on one date and see how it goes? Please?”

Luna had refused. She didn’t want any other wizard. She wanted Draco.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand Hermione’s concerns. She did. And she appreciated that her friend was looking out for her well-being. But Luna wasn’t as naïve as she appeared; she knew exactly what was happening: Draco was still struggling with the desire to be his own wizard whilst simultaneously clinging to what he felt was the final remnant of his identity as a Malfoy. Luna had always known that Draco would have to make a choice, but thanks to the prophecy, she knew that no matter how dim the prospects appeared at the moment, in the end, he would choose her.

Seeing the photos of Draco with Astoria had hurt, but Luna had looked very carefully and noted that his smile never reached his eyes. She inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, her mouth curving into a small smile.

He would choose her.

“What about this one?” she heard Hermione ask.

Luna pulled her head from inside the wardrobe to take a look at the dress Hermione was holding. The pale blue silk was demure, with a high neckline, fluttered sleeves, floor-length skirt, and a tie about the waist. It was beautiful but not quite right—it wasn’t her.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? It’s very pretty, and the colour matches your eyes,” Hermione replied, running her hand along the luxurious fabric.

“Yes, but I’m certain Draco will be attending, and I want to look smashing.”

Hermione dropped the gown and frowned in disapproval. “Luna. It’s been over two months—longer than you were together—and he’s seeing someone else.”

“Yes, I know,” Luna replied distractedly as she pulled out another armful of clothes and dumped them onto the bed.

Hermione must have known better than to argue—after all, it wouldn’t have gone anywhere—and dropped the topic.

“Oh,” Luna breathed as she pulled a dress from the pile. “This is lovely.”

She held it front of her and moved to stand in front of the mirror.

“Hmm. It’s very unique. Let’s see,” Hermione murmured, and with a wave of her wand, Luna’s tee-shirt and jeans were replaced with the dress. “Oh, my.”

Luna smiled as she turned to the left and then the right before spinning around to see the back. She bit her lower lip. It was far more daring than she was accustomed to, but it suited her. “I like it. Yes. I think this is it.”

“That’s gorgeous!” exclaimed a familiar voice from the doorway.

Luna grinned and looked at Pansy’s reflection in the mirror. “I like it.”

Pansy set her bag in a chair—only after casting a surreptitious cleaning charm—and approached Luna. She turned her to the left, then the right, pulling and tugging at the dress until she was satisfied with the fit. “Hmm. Yes. It’s definitely vintage, custom made, and you look amazing in it. It’s you but sexy. Perfect.”

“Hermione?” Luna asked, despite knowing her friend’s reservations. “What do you think?”

Hermione sighed, and her expression softened. “You’re beautiful, and the dress is perfect. And look,” she said, picking up a knitted turquoise cardigan from the pile. “I think this goes with it.”

“Oh, yes!” Pansy cried snatching the cardigan from Hermione’s hand. She held it up for Luna to see.

“But if I wear that, it will cover up—”

Pansy shook her head. “It will be fabulous. Imagine it. Once he’s seen you, you’ll peel off the outer wrapping … like a present … and reveal that! Draco won’t know what hit him.”

Luna smiled. “I like that.”

“Thank you,” Pansy replied smugly. Then her eyes turned serious, and she hazarded a glance at Hermione. “Did you tell her?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Tell her what?”

“That’s a no, then,” Pansy muttered. She grabbed her bag from the chair and pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet. “This is today’s edition. You might want to take a look.”

Unconcerned, Luna took the paper, knowing that inside would be a photo of Draco at some high society soiree with a witch on his arm. She prepared herself for the sight and scanned the pages until she found it—yet another picture of Draco and Astoria. It stung—part of her had hoped to see him with a new witch rather than Astoria. The fact that he was seeing her exclusively pained Luna more than the years of one-offs she had witnessed.

“It’s Draco and Astoria,” she said calmly, rolling the parchment and extending it towards Pansy.

“Read the caption.”

A thousand fairies suddenly took residence in Luna’s stomach. She swallowed, her grey eyes wide with trepidation, and reopened the Prophet. Pain lanced her heart as she read the caption under the picture.

“No. That’s not true.” Remember the prophecy, remember the prophecy. Luna didn’t realise how desperately she had been clinging to the parchment until Pansy eased it from her hands before passing it to Hermione. Luna sank to the floor, surrounded by mounds of taffeta and silk, her mind whirling.

“Luna,” Pansy said firmly as she knelt beside her friend. “I wanted you to see that so that you know what you’re up against this evening. Draco is all but certain to bring her to Neville’s party. He’s making a huge mistake. He loves you. I know he does. But he’s stubborn, and he’s going to ruin any hope of happiness—his and yours—unless you do something.”

Hermione soon joined them on the floor, wrapped her arms around Luna, and glared at Pansy. “What are you talking about? He’s already hurt her enough. She needs to face reality, allow her heart to heal, and move on.”

Luna sniffed once and shook her head. “No, Pansy’s right. I’ve let this go on long enough.”

“But Luna—”

“She needs to go after the man she loves,” Pansy interrupted. She sneered at Hermione. “I thought a Gryffindor would agree. Where is that vaunted bravery now, Granger?”

“It’s Snape, thank you very much, and you’d do well to shut up, Parkinson. You’ve only been her friend for a few months, but Luna and I are family. She may hide it well, but she’s hurting, and I refuse to allow that pitiful excuse for a man to cause her additional pain!”

Pansy was about to retort when Luna shook herself from Hermione’s grasp and scrambled to her feet. “It’s not up to either of you. It’s my life, my decision.” She looked down at Hermione. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but honestly, I don’t need it. What I do need is your support. Please.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a brief moment and then nodded. “All right. What do you want to do?”

Luna had a plan in mind, but she wasn’t certain that either woman would think it was a good idea. There was no other option, however. If she knew Draco, and she did, then he would rush Astoria to the altar before he could change his mind. She had to act now.

“Pansy,” Luna began, “do you still keep in touch with Adrian Pucey?”

“Yes, of course, but what—oh, no. Luna. What are you thinking?”

Hermione looked between the two women as they stared at each other. “What? What does Adrian Pucey have to do with—” Her own realisation dawned. “Do you think it will work?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t know what else do to,” Luna murmured.

“You could just talk to him.”

Pansy snorted. “Oh, Hermione, please. You’re married to a Slytherin. How does the direct approach work for you?”

Hermione raised her chin, her eyes flashing with both irritation and sadness. “Better than keeping things from him,” she stated firmly before turning to Luna. “Are you sure this is the only way?”

Luna nodded, pushing aside the smidgeon of doubt that had entered her mind with Hermione’s words. Severus had forgiven Hermione, but Luna knew that her friend still struggled with the guilt she felt for not sharing all of herself with her husband. But the situations were entirely different. In this case, Luna was out of options. If she didn’t do something, and soon, Draco would be lost to her forever.

“I’m sure.”

Pansy, surprisingly, remained uncertain. “I don’t know. Draco has always been the sort to make a decision and stick with it, no matter what. If what the Prophet says is true, then I foresee two possible outcomes to your little plan: One, he realises that’s he’s being an idiot, confesses how much he loves and misses you, and you leave the party together and walk off together into the proverbial sunset.”

Luna smiled dreamily at the mental image.

“Or two, he does the exact opposite, determines that he did the right thing by letting you go, and you push him even further into Astoria’s arms.”

Luna frowned. “And if I do nothing …”

“He’ll marry her anyway.”

Luna moved to the window, looking out to the garden below. It was a risk—the biggest she’d ever taken. But she was tired. Tired of waiting for fate, tired of playing games, tired of sitting back whilst everyone around her found love and moved forwards into the next phase of their lives. She’d had no qualms at all about helping Hermione and Severus. Now it was time she helped herself … and Draco.

And she still had an extra wand up her sleeve: the prophecy.

She turned around and faced her friends. “It will work. I know it will.”

Draco lay on the bed in the room that had been his since the day of his birth and stared at the ceiling. A gold Snitch zoomed above him, flying at top speed throughout the room and zig-zagging amongst the furniture, as if trying to tempt the blond wizard to play.

If that was the Snitch’s intent—if a Snitch could have intent—then it wasn’t working. Draco didn’t feel like playing. He didn’t feel like doing much of anything at all.

He sighed. He supposed that he ought to get ready for Neville’s party—not that he wanted to do that, either. Reaching out a hand, he plucked the Snitch from the air as it flew over the bed. The corner of his mouth twitched in a facsimile of a smile as he felt the familiar beating of the fluttering wings against his palm. He hoisted himself from the bed and, after returning the Snitch to its home, walked into the adjacent bathroom.

His ablutions were performed mechanically but thoroughly. He showered. He dried himself. He brushed his teeth. He shaved. He slapped on a touch of cologne. He dressed in his finest robes. He returned to the mirror and slicked back his hair as he had done during his days at Hogwarts. He sneered at his reflection.

It was as if he had put on a costume—and an ill-fitting one, at that.

Squaring his shoulders, Draco returned to his wardrobe and pulled out his dress shoes. As he was putting them on, he considered his return to what he had dubbed “the Malfoy persona.” He had thought it would be simple, especially as he was now surrounded by all the trappings that he associated with being a Malfoy, but it had been more difficult than he had expected. The problem was that Draco no longer felt at home at Malfoy Manor, no longer at ease wearing the Malfoy mask. It was all very familiar and filled with memories, but it was like a boot that no longer fit; he’d outgrown its confines, and it was no longer comfortable.

He stood and ran a weary hand across his face. It was draining, acting like the pretentious pure-blood prat he had once been. For the thousandth time since leaving Grimmauld Place—and her, his mind supplied—Draco wondered why he was doing this. He’d given up his chance at love, at happiness. He looked about the ostentatious room and wondered: Was all this truly worth it?

And for the thousandth time, Draco pushed the questions and doubts away.

A house-elf winked in, bowed, and handed him a copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Thank you, Mina. That will be all.”

The elf bowed again and then disappeared.

“Might as well see what the vultures have to say today,” Draco muttered under his breath.

He skimmed through the pages until he found what he was looking for—the photo from the opening of the symphony. He smiled grimly as read the caption. Astoria hadn’t wasted any time in staking her claim. They made quite a striking pair, with their matching hair and supercilious expressions.

He looked up at the small framed picture he had saved from another Prophet … one from three months prior. Luna was gazing at him dreamily as he grinned widely, their fingers intertwined as they walked into Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour.

As he studied the photo, he considered the witch he had chosen to be his wife. She reminded him very much of his mother. Her hair was silvery blonde and fell in straight sheets to the middle of her back. Her eyes were a vivid ice blue, cold and unflinching. Perhaps most reminiscent of Narcissa was the way Astoria’s nose wrinkled, as if she were perpetually smelling something sour.

If he had wanted a wife who fit the Malfoy mould, Astoria Greengrass was a perfect fit; he couldn’t have chosen better.

It was too bad, then, that Draco wasn’t fitting nearly as well.

He tossed the Prophet onto a small table and flung himself haphazardly into a chair. He had been so sure that this was what he wanted, but now that he had it …. Damn it all. He’d thought he had been so clever, using Luna to repair his reputation in order to find a suitable wife. If he were honest, however, he had to admit his stupid Plan had been riddled with holes from its conception—or rather one fairly large Luna-shaped hole. His attraction to her had obviously been more of an issue than he’d anticipated. The loony witch had worked her way under his skin—or maybe she had been there all along, and he’d been too blind to see it.

Whilst his heart ached with the knowledge that he had chosen his family duty over Luna, it nearly killed him to know that he had hurt her. At night, his dreams haunted him, displaying vivid images of Luna pining for him at Grimmauld Place, waiting for him to return ….

He shook his head. He still found it difficult to believe that she loved him, but then, did she really? He’d been putting on an act the entire time; she’d merely fallen for the man he had pretended to be. Meanwhile, he had fallen head over heels for the eccentric witch. The entire thing had been an unmitigated disaster, doomed from the outset. Luna Lovegood had been more trouble than she was worth.

And he missed her terribly.

He glanced at the clock and hauled himself to his feet. It was time to pick up Astoria and head to Neville’s party—and the torturous hours that he would have to spend in the presence of the witch he loved but would never have.

The party had already begun when Draco arrived—fashionably late, of course—with Astoria on his arm. He had debated about whether or not to bring her. After all, he was well aware that although he counted these people amongst his closest friends, their first loyalty would be to Luna.

And rightfully so.

He was going to marry Astoria, however, so they would need to become accustomed to her presence at some point, regardless of their loyalties. Having destroyed his only chance at true happiness in order to carry on the Malfoy legacy, Draco refused to relinquish his friends, as well—even if they would rather he did.

Astoria’s fingers gripped his arm almost painfully as he guided her further into the large sitting room. His fiancée was a few years younger than he, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix were in all likelihood beneath her social strata, despite their hero status, so he doubted she knew anyone in the room beyond having seen their pictures in the Prophet. Draco was well aware that Astoria was used to much more spectacular events and was uncomfortable in such an intimate setting with people with whom she was unfamiliar.

Was it awful of him to admit that he couldn’t care less?

He glanced about the room. Neville had outdone himself—or perhaps his fiancée had wielded some influence. The room was warm and inviting, with golden ivory damask wallpaper and plush furnishings in gold, red, and black—a rather obvious nod to both of their Houses. Classical music softly played in the background, loud enough to hear but not so much that it interfered with conversation. Most of the furniture had pushed against the walls to provide an area for dancing, leaving only a small drinks table, a large curved sofa … and the piano.

The piano.

Not the one Draco had purchased for the house at Grimmauld Place after Neville had moved out, but the actual piano that had started it all.

He stared impassively at the instrument of his downfall.

That proved to be a mistake, for his mind soon turned traitorous—again—and he recalled that morning with vivid clarity.

“Oh, won’t you play something for me, Draco? Please?”

“No. However, I will teach you something to play.”

His jaw clenched as his eyes refused to leave the ebony tool of his destruction.

”Have you ever been kissed?”

She shook her head no, and he swallowed reflexively.

“Would you like to be?”

“Oh, yes. Please.”

“Darling?”

Astoria’s snide tone freed him from his memories, and Draco tore his gaze from the piano, glancing at her in feigned interest.

“Must we stay long?” she asked, looking about the rather posh flat with thinly veiled disdain.

Draco ignored her question and was rather proud that he was able to refrain from rolling his eyes at the snobbish witch. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked, not waiting for a response before herding Astoria to the drinks table. He would need Firewhisky, and lots of it, if he wanted to get through the evening with his sanity intact.

He poured two glasses, not bothering to ask Astoria for her preference. She sighed dramatically and took the glass, sipping at the drink as if it were bloody tea. Draco took a large swallow, relishing the burn as the fiery liquid coursed down his throat. Soon, the alcohol had warmed his blood, and after a second glass, he was quite content. He was about to pour yet another when he saw her … his Luna.

Luna.

Try as he might, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. He could see nothing else but her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, the familiar, dreamy smile curving her lips …

The man entering the room behind her, his hand possessively placed at the small of her back.

Draco blinked, yet the man was still there. Scowling, Draco wanted to know only one thing:

What the bloody hell was going on?

A/N: My eternal gratitude, as always, to my fabulous beta readers, Deanna and Subversa, and my wonderful Brit picker, LettyBird.

Erm ... I know I said last time there would be two more chapters, but would you object to an extra one? There will be two more chapters after this one.