Disclaimer: The characters of Harry Potter remain in the rightful hands of Miss J K Rowling. And all other words which you can't find in the English dictionary, like 'Floo'.

A/N: Written for terrayn's prompt of "...life, the universe, and everything." for Round 3 of hp_emofest. It's not the most emo of fics, but I hope you enjoy it anyway (:

Special thanks to starduchess for being a wonderful beta!

He tightened his tie, stiffening his collar. He put on the flowing robes, trembling fingers easing out the creases of cloth.

He took a deep breath.

For everyone, it was a day to remember. For him, it was a day to forget.

He had to attend, regardless of what he wanted or felt or thought. It had always been the case. He was the young Master Malfoy, yet he never got his way with anything. Bitter irony was forever screwing up his life. Traditions, rules, regulations, laws – they could all go to hell, because they set things in stone, and as far as he was concerned, all of that sickened him to the core.

Which was why today, having been labelled a 'tradition to be carried on for generations to come', was one of those days he either wished he had Saint Potter's Invisibility Cloak or that he was dead. He would rather be there in the form of a body waiting to be cremated than a stone statue waiting to be mocked at, or worse still, pitied.

He gazed at the mirror, his grey eyes raking down the platinum blond hair that no longer shone, down the sharp jawline, tracing a visibly thinner face than to what he was accustomed. He rarely looked at his own reflection of late, and the man staring back at him in the mirror was the obvious reason. He tried to smirk, but it seemed rather unbecoming on the stranger's face. There was a dull ache in him as he turned away, mechanically brushing down his robes once more.

"Draco?"

Narcissa appeared in his doorway, her eyes swiftly taking in his appearance. A thin smile hung on the edge of her lips as she nodded slightly. "Ready to leave?"

No, he thought, but he followed her to the fireplace anyway. As the blue-and-green Floo flames burst upwards to engulf his body, for a second, he wished it really consumed his life.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

There was no fanfare of sorts, thankfully, though Peeves still went around singing, "Potter is our hero! Brought Voldy down to zero!" Other than that, there was a relatively peaceful atmosphere as people took their seats with a solemn air. A buzz of murmur rose as the Hogwarts staff took their places in front. Draco could feel some of the murmur being directed at him, so he slunk further into the shadows. His mother was gripping her purse a tad too tightly, as though there was a mini-Boggart ready to leap out of it.

When Professor McGonagall began her speech, he barely heard her words. Preaching about the values of courage and all kinds of morality again, no doubt. Saint Potter, Wimpy Weasel, and Mudblood Granger were the shining epitome of everything good and brave. He was probably invited to stick out like a sore thumb, a morbid reminder that in every good circumstance lay something bad brewing in the depths. The more he thought about it, the harder it was for him to breathe. He had to look elsewhere. Not at the Golden Trio, not at McGonagall, not at his mother.

He ended up being strangely preoccupied with the only other person who seemed to have her attention wandering elsewhere. Right beside Longbottom, who was staring like a constipated bullfrog at McGonagall, was Loony Lovegood. Her head was tilted slightly upwards; it took a while for him to realise she was staring at the windows. There was nothing fascinating there, but she looked almost enthralled, wondrous – an expression of an innocent child, untainted. All of a sudden, she stood up in the middle of McGonagall's speech and made her way out of her row. Longbottom gave her a rather surprised glance, but his attention soon meandered back to the speaker. Draco's eyes inadvertently followed the golden-haired girl as she seemed to float out of the hall gracefully, unnoticed.

The envy in him was bursting at the seams; he felt perspiration trickle down his temples. There was a rousing applause, and Professor Flitwick would now speak. He wished he had the courage to stand up and leave, but at that moment, he felt something cool and silky press against the side of his head. He turned to see his mother dabbing his forehead with her handkerchief. He wanted to speak, but she slid her hand over his clenched fist, easing out the strained nerves and all the words that he wanted to say.

Helpless, once again. Weak, cowardly, helpless. Even with the Dark Lord dead, he could not break out of the shadows that had long consumed him. And while he hid in the cold depths of darkness, shrouded in shame and sin, Luna Lovegood could run out into the open with that ridiculously calm smile of hers, soaking in the sunlight to transform into an ethereal angel.

How he hated her for that.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Just when he was once again made to abandon the sanctuary of the Manor, he had to meet with a torrential downpour that drenched his mood with dreariness. Rain battered against his face as he whirled into material existence. Swearing under his breath, Draco pulled out his wand to cast an Impervious Charm on himself, almost falling headlong into a huge mud puddle in the process. He stumbled back, brushed his robes down, then trudged through the muddy field. There was a blurry image in the distance which always prompted a very strange lurching sensation within him – almost like a pleasant buzz, yet a little queasy at the same time. He pictured a mug of hot cocoa and that made it a little better.

When he reached the little cottage, he rapped on the door as loudly as he possibly could to drown out the pouring rain. The door cracked open slightly, and when the owner's bright green eyes met his grey ones, the door was swung open further to welcome him in. Thankful for the warmth of the house, Draco settled himself in the familiar chair by the windowsill.

"Cocoa, my dear?" croaked a voice. For a moment, Draco was disoriented from the sudden lack of thunderous sound, muffled by the sturdy oak of the house. He blinked, and the old lady smiled at him, her front teeth conspicuously missing. Her eyes were disconcertingly bright for a dull, wrinkled face framed by straggled, dull-white strands.

"Oh – uhh, yes, please," he said, trying not to sound like he had been thirsting for it. The house-elves at the Manor were always preparing him some strange tea that his mother had ordered from abroad, claiming it soothed frazzled nerves. He never found any drink more effective than Mrs. Foster's homebrewed cocoa. When the desired mug ended up in his palms, it spread a comfortable warmth through his entire body. He was quite tempted to just sit there the whole day, snugly fitted into the wooden chair and kept toasty by the cocoa.

But no, that would have been completely defeating his purpose of being here.

"So uhh..." He tried to sound perky. "Is there anything in particular you'd like me to do, Mrs. Foster?"

The old lady stopped stirring her own cocoa and shot him an amused look. "Why, young Malfoy, you're really becoming another person altogether. I remember when you first came here–"

"Hey!" Draco warned. He didn't like being reminded of what a foolish git he had been on his first day.

Mrs. Foster chuckled. "Well then, I don't really have any manual labour for you to do today, seeing that it is a pretty terrible day out. I actually have a guest who has been very supportive of my little charity, and I'd like the two of you to help me deliver some of the cupcakes I've made to the little Caldwell and Megson children as well as the Hollands and Smiths at the Wocker Village."

Draco tried to picture himself (and the other guest) delivering cupcakes to little children. An involuntary haughty expression appeared on his face.

"Now then, Malfoy, I won't have you turning your arrogant little nose up on my children. They are very sweet young things, but they've been going hungry for a while."

"I don't have an arrogant–"

"It's an unfortunate Malfoy inheritance, I know."

"Who's your guest?" Draco asked, slightly affronted.

"Mrs. Foster!" A lilting voice called out from the kitchen, surprisingly loud amidst a crash of thunder. "I'm not too sure how much of the vanilla essence I should add!"

"Coming, dear!" Mrs. Foster got up from her own chair and beckoned Draco to follow her. He was quite reluctant to get out of his comfort zone, but that wicked twinkle in the old woman's eyes made him scowl and get up all the same.

He wasn't sure whether he was really all that surprised when he saw that it was her, but the sight of Luna Lovegood in an apron and a silly, frilly paper hat made him stare at her with his jaw hanging open.

Did I once think she looked like an angel?

"Oh!" Luna's voice was full of pleasant surprise. Strangely enough, she sounded like a happy little drizzle despite the stormy roar outside the house. "Hello, Malfoy."

Draco had to swallow the urge to throw her a cutting comeback. "Uhh – hello." What? Was that all he could say?

"You two know each other?" Mrs. Foster beamed. "That's brilliant! Well then, Malfoy, Luna here has been helping me with my cupcakes. We're almost done – yes, that would be enough essence, my pet – and you can be on your way to send them. No tricks, Malfoy. My children are very precious young things!"

"You are such a nag," muttered Draco, only to have his shoulder bruised by a pan. "Ow!"

"No tricks!" said Mrs. Foster, a cross expression wrinkling up her features. "Or I'll have you up for bullying an old lady."

"Alright, alright!" Draco glared at her. Mrs. Foster shook her head in mock resignation. Worst still, Luna was beaming from the kitchen counter as she spoke, "Fifteen minutes, and the cupcakes will be ready!"

When he flopped back into the chair, he gulped down the rest of the cocoa, almost burning his oesophagus in the process. Even though the cocoa was sweet, it left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

Luna Lovegood. Of all people he had to meet more than once after the war, he had to meet the one with the least emotional baggage of sadness and regret, the one who seemed to think that the world was full of goodness and happiness and – what was that – those Nargly creatures? How could such people exist? Why was the world so unfair that people like her could exist in such wretched, ignorant bliss?

What was the bloody use of having all the money in the world if he couldn't even buy a little bubble of ignorance?

"Gah!" He slammed the mug down on the sill as the wind's howl reverberated around the house. "Stupid little humbug!"

"What's that you said?" asked Mrs. Foster, coming into view with a basket covered with a floral cloth.

Draco summoned as much patience as he could possibly muster and shut his mouth tight.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"What were you doing at Mrs. Foster's house anyway?"

Draco wasn't very keen on expounding on his life stories, not least to a loonyhead like Lovegood. Thankfully, she had abandoned that ridiculous little headgear and apron, though her puffy orange dress was less than flattering. Not to mention those absurd radish earrings being displayed in full glory. It was such wonderful luck that he had to be stuck with her for quite a while. After they had Apparated into the midst of another field, he realised that there was a very long and winding lane to the village area where Mrs. Foster's "children" were. Unfortunately, Luna had very patiently explained that they were actually Muggles, and it wouldn't do for them to Apparate directly into that village.

"You go there very often, don't you?" said Luna, as they walked along, stacked baskets in tow. Draco had rolled his eyes and attempted to charm one basket into holding more than its real size could handle, but that was before he knew it was for Muggles. He hadn't really liked the idea very much, but if he tried to shirk this responsibility, goodness knows what dire consequence would befall him.

He clamped his lips tightly together, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Any thought of Lovegood being 'ethereal' and 'angelic' had been completely replaced by 'irritating' and 'loony'. At least the rain had stopped, but the path was now muddy and slippery. Even though they had cast charms to repel mud and water, it was still unbearably disgusting to listen to the squelching beneath his boots.

"Mrs. Foster seems to like you a lot. That's something different."

The way she said it struck something raw within him. He stopped short. "What do you mean – different?"

Luna stopped walking too, her bright blue eyes staring piercingly at him. "Well. Not many people liked you back in Hogwarts."

He could have pulled out his wand to hex her there and then, but the horribly honest way in which she had said that made him cringe in disgust and rage. He wasn't sure whether those emotions were directed at her or himself, but at any rate, if she were to carry on spouting off such aggravatingly frank statements, he'd blast all those cupcakes into her face.

"Thanks a lot, Lovegood," he snarled, and stalked off ahead of her. He really didn't want to continue talking to her nor did he want to listen to her. Strangely enough, for all her absurdity, she caught onto his hints and fell silent. The only sounds left in the air were the light whistling of the wind and the squelching beneath their boots.

When they reached the village border, Luna pulled up her hair into a lopsided bun and began to mutter some spells. Draco watched in utter disbelief as she added a few mud splotches to herself.

"There was a reason why we cast those repelling charms," he said slowly. "Lovegood, don't tell me – oh shit!"

There were now at least five splotches of mud and water around his pants and robes.

"What did you do that for?"

"It doesn't make sense for us to walk through a muddy field and come out spick and span," said Luna in that infuriatingly light voice. "I don't really like walking in the mud, but this will do. Are you alright, or shall I add another –"

"That's enough!" Draco said roughly. He saw Luna staring at him in a very thoughtful manner that made him squirm. "And stop staring at me, you –"

"These are the Caldwells," said Luna, oblivious to his irritation. She pointed to the nearest home – which wasn't really a home in Draco's opinion, given that the walls were crumbly with plaster and the roof chipped at every corner. The windows were also dusty and cracked, while the door was slightly ajar because the knob was tilted to one side. "They've got two lovely children – Deanna and Shawn. Deanna especially loves Mrs. Foster's vanilla cupcakes."

Draco had never been good at remembering information about people, so he scowled in hope to convey that point to Luna. She didn't seem to notice, however, and proceeded to knock lightly on the door.

"The door's open," he muttered, but Luna waited patiently till a little red-faced boy came peeping through the crack. Luna smiled brilliantly as the boy flung open the door and jumped into her arms.

"Looona!"

Yeah, Looona, thought Draco.

The boy stopped hugging Luna and stared at him rather strangely. "Whossat? He syaw fren?"

"Yes, he's my friend," said Luna, still smiling. "Look, Shawn, I've brought all of you Mrs. Foster's cupcakes!"

"Ooh!" The boy's slightly wary curiosity towards Draco was diverted by the fresh cupcakes. "Ooh looky, Deanna! Cupcakeys!" He tugged Luna into the house and Draco grudgingly followed.

She brought them cupcakes? Only she brought them the cupcakes? Did she think he was invisible or something? Mrs. Foster had specifically said both of them were to go. She hadn't even bothered to introduce him by name to the boy, but he was most certainly not her friend. What was she up to?

This was not the first time something like that had happened. When Cherie Dupont, a beautiful French girl, came to help Mrs. Foster deliver homemade crepes four months ago, she had insisted that all he did was sneak a couple of crepes away for himself despite the fact that he was actually attempting to coax a fussy old lady into accepting the food. Needless to say, the consequences were more than enough for him to get paranoid once again, even though he had to admit that four months ago he was possibly looking for trouble rather than avoiding it. And Luna Lovegood was certainly no Cherie Dupont, but if she tried to report him for shirking responsibility, then…

But Luna had no idea what he had been doing at Mrs. Foster's. Cherie Dupont had made fun of him when she found out by asking the old lady. The war hadn't personally affected her; of course, she could find it funny. Luna, on the other hand, had chosen to ask him personally, and even when she did not get an answer, she was content. Did she enjoy things left hanging in mid-air? He certainly didn't. It made him feel on edge, like a little rat scrabbling away frantically at –

Nothing.

Not that he wasn't used to it. Everyone always thought him unworthy of their answers.

Feeling viciously bitter, Draco refused to put on a smile even though Mrs. Caldwell – a mousy little woman with frizzy brown hair – came forward and grasped his hand fervently in thanks, her eyes illuminated by gratitude and happiness. He refused to betray himself with any positive expression when little Deanna Caldwell sank her teeth into a vanilla cupcake and beamed with such genuine pleasure that lent her pockmarked face a beautiful glow. He refused to play with Shawn when the boy eagerly brought out a muddy-looking toy aeroplane, a souvenir from irresponsible tourists who had walked through the village. While Mr. Caldwell – a fragile-looking man with a grey toupee – spoke of them as kind visitors, Draco could imagine the mocking laughter or self-righteous pity of the tourists as they walked away from the village, never knowing what really went on here and never caring to know thereafter.

Because he knew he could easily have been one of them.

To make up for how unworthy he was in his parents' eyes, the Dark Lord's eyes, he found it liberating to be condescending to others. Having Crabbe and Goyle as his mindless minions – that had been cheap thrill on his part. Having Pansy lavish attention on him – that had been an ego-booster. Being able to taunt the Golden Trio at every possible opportunity - that had been his single goal in school, at least until sixth-year. Even now, he had a tempting urge to mock Luna Lovegood's saintly expression as she listened to the Caldwells.

Saintly! He had to repress a snort. Just a humbug!

"Draco?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Mrs. Caldwell is talking to you," said Luna. She had that irritating smile on her face again, like nothing could ever ruffle her.

"Oh." He turned to gaze at Mrs. Caldwell and arched an eyebrow.

"Are you Luna's classmate?" asked Mrs. Caldwell softly. She looked so earnest that it was almost impossible not to answer her politely. But when Draco stole a glance at Luna, who was looking at him expectantly, somehow he didn't find himself in the mood to be cordial.

He shrugged his shoulders in response.

Mrs. Caldwell looked slightly puzzled, but Luna added, "In certain classes. Why, Shawn, take your time to eat. It's bad for your digestion system if you eat too fast."

The boy responded with a grin that only served to infuriate Draco further. Feeling quite unable to look at the beaming faces of the Caldwells any longer, he got up from his seat to explore the house. It was rather rude of him to do so without asking for permission, but he really couldn't be bothered with manners when Lovegood could give them all the prim and proper they wanted.

Really – he hadn't been that vindictive till she came along. She wasn't anything like Cherie Dupont, but maybe, just maybe, her very presence made him terribly ashamed.

He didn't want to think any further into that and diverted his attention to a dusty-looking picture that was tacked onto the crumbly wall. It was a static picture of the four Caldwells when Shawn was still a little baby. Despite the shabby bench they were all seated on and the poor quality of the camera that blurred their faces slightly, it was obvious that the four of them were very happy. Even the baby was smiling so joyfully that it made Draco ache to look at him.

Such an expression never manifested in the Malfoy family. It was almost a foreign concept to smile at home, to smile because one was filled with pure happiness or elation.

He looked back at the Caldwells, eating their cupcakes with contented smiles, and at Lovegood, who was beaming at them. The side of his mouth twitched, but that was all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"The Hollands are very sweet people," said Luna earnestly. She took off her pointed shoes gently, and Draco eyed the garish green of her footwear in disdain. "Mr. Holland is bedridden, however, so I would like to remind you that tact is a very important component of the visit to this household."

"You're one to talk," muttered Draco. I don't remember you being very tactful about people not liking me!

Luna placed a finger gently on her lips and knocked lightly on the door.

"Mrs. Holland? Mr. Holland?"

Two seconds passed, and Draco arched an eyebrow. "They're not in, let's move."

"No," said Luna, pressing her ear against the door. "Something's not right."

"How do you know that?" asked Draco, annoyed that Luna seemed to have an in-built Extendable Ear, for he sure as hell couldn't hear a thing even though he was next to the window. He couldn't even see through the glass for it had been marred by thick scratches.

Luna pressed her hands on the door.

"Are you crazy?" hissed Draco. "You can't just–"

Luna was already inside the house. He was momentarily stunned by her boldness, only to dash in when he heard her let out a huge gasp.

"What hap–"

Draco stared. He looked back at Luna, whose serene expression betrayed the slightest hint of fear and sadness.

A man was lying still on a moth-eaten mattress, while a woman was kneeling beside him, her forehead touching his arm and her hands locked in prayer. Draco opened his mouth, but a cool hand slipped over his wrist. He jerked involuntarily, but Luna's hand remained firm.

Draco's eyes travelled around. The house was gloomily dark, smelt musty and slightly nauseating, and it was hot and stuffy. How could anyone live in a place like this? How could–

"This is–"

Luna's grip on his wrist – instead of tightening – slackened, to his surprise. The woman's head had also jerked upwards, which had shocked (no, not frightened) him quite a bit. It was when her head lifted up that he realised, to his utmost horror, that the man's arm was locked in midair.

Locked by rigor mortis.

"No..." he whimpered. "No..."

The hall was so brightly lit his eyes hurt. He had to sit so still that his entire body ached. But it was not even because of those reasons that he wanted to run away. It was because he didn't want to see what was about to unfold before his very eyes. Hanging from the ceiling above was a figure he had seen from time to time in school. He had found her lessons treacherous and disgusting, but to actually witness her end – he wasn't prepared for this at all. Voldemort spun her round and round, finally stopping to show her to Severus Snape. He wished he could be as impassive as Snape; he must look so pathetic and weak, the way he was perspiring so profusely, holding onto the sides of his chair as though he might fall over any moment. He wished he was brave enough to run out of the room and never look back.

Instead, he had to sit there and watch in horror as Nagini reared her head over the helpless figure...

The woman didn't even look around. She kept her hands locked, but her head was now bent over.

The wind was chilly, biting his eyes and nose. Worst of all, his hand was already trembling from the terror emanating from within; the cold just made things worse. He had to do this. He couldn't fail the Dark Lord, he couldn't fail his father. But with every step he took, with every word he uttered, and with every word Dumbledore spoke back, he could feel his resolve ebbing away from him. He wanted to make his move; instead, he found himself rooted to the ground, trembling. When Aunt Bellatrix appeared before him, there was relief gushing through his veins like never before. It was soon flooded with horror as he watched Albus Dumbledore, one of the most feared wizards of all time, fall off the edge, arms widespread... for a second, he almost wished that the man would fly up again and throw a hex at all of them. But when he leaned over the edge to catch a fleeting glimpse, the image he saw ended up being stamped into his memory for the rest of his life.

He hadn't even realised that he was darting across the room away from Luna's hand, pushing the woman aside roughly and grabbing the man by the shoulders. He barely heard the woman cry out in rage, barely felt her clawing at him, till he felt the same cool touch on his cheeks. Instead of the dead man's colourless face, he saw Lovegood's brilliant blue eyes looking at him so tenderly that it made him feel ashamed.

"Draco," she whispered. "It's no use."

Draco tilted his head to look at the man again. He could feel tremors running under his own skin.

"Can't – can't we..."

"How dare you...!" The woman was now sobbing by the side, her whole body shaking badly. "He's already gone and you – how could you even..." She choked and coughed.

Draco turned his head past Luna and saw that the basket of cupcakes had been flung against the wall; cake crumbs were plastered against the bricks and the basket was overturned. He focused back on those bright blue orbs before him. Somehow, he retreated away from the man, from Luna's touch, and out of the house. The rain had started back up again, and the skies turned a miserable shade of grey. That did not stop him from walking back down the path they had come from, walking on as if he had no aim except to follow the path wherever it led him. He was hardly aware that somebody was trailing behind him; all he cared was that he wanted to walk and walk and be soaked to the skin, to the bone, till somehow, somehow he could forget how it was like to watch someone die and not be able to do anything because he was too cowardly and weak. He was a spineless, helpless creature. Even if he wanted to try to do something, it would be too late. It would always be too late.

He spun around, his robes whirling around him. "Stop. Following. ME!"

Luna stood before him, those blue eyes now disconcertingly piercing. "We haven't finished going to all the homes."

"There are no more of those stupid cupcakes anymore. Who gives a damn about finishing–"

"At least to tell them Mrs. Foster wanted to do so, but because of an unfortunate incident, we can't bring them today."

"What does it matter," Draco sneered, "that she had the intention when she can't do it? To those kids, they'll just think she's going back on her word!"

"They know Mrs. Foster isn't such a person."

"But they do know Draco Malfoy is, don't they?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Oh yes you do, Lovegood, for all the eccentricity that you possess, I'm sure you understand that. Everybody in the wizarding world knows that I had the intention to kill Dumbledore, but even when I didn't do it, I'm being condemned for it. They know I was all ready to wrap Potter into a gift box and send him to Voldemort with a big bow on top, but when I didn't do it, they still treat me like the plague of the century. You know what? I'm dead sick of being labelled as somebody who was 'reformed' or somebody who had 'defected' – always that subtle reminder that I was on the other side. But nobody ever understood what I was going through at that time – even if I had the intention, it was because – oh, why the hell am I telling you this?" His voice had risen into a scream. "I don't give a damn about any of you and what you think, I don't give a damn about all of you hypocrites! All of you who are prospering and succeeding in everything you do, while I have to go perform some stupid community service because I need to bloody atone for my sins – my sins! I didn't do the right things back then, what makes them think all this is going to put everything right now, huh? How's that ever going to make up for what I did or influence how I'm going to do things in the future? Mr. Holland was dead right before my eyes and I couldn't do a bloody thing to save him!"

He was on his knees; every nerve in him was firing up his body, blanketing him with fiery heat that numbed the cold of the rain. Everything before him was blurry, and the knot in his stomach was so tight that he could barely breathe.

"Draco."

Luna's ethereal voice floated through the pain and rage boiling within. "Mr. Holland was suffering from leukaemia and heart problems. You couldn't have done anything."

He gripped his robes, pulling them tighter around him. "Go away, Lovegood."

"My name is Luna."

Draco's head snapped up; he stared at her incredulously. Her long flowy tresses were now matted against her skin and robes. It suddenly occurred to him that she was no longer using the Repelling Charm.

She knelt down before him, the mud staining her robes. His eyes traced her heart-shaped face, inexplicably drawn to the trails of rainwater on her smooth cheeks.

She held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you. You are?"

"What stupid game are you playing, Lovegood?" He glared at her.

"Getting to know who you are now," said Luna simply. "This man I see before me is not the boy I used to know at school. I think that boy was a casualty of the war."

Luna's voice, despite being wispy, actually felt very powerful to him in spite of the deafening rain. Suddenly, Draco found himself amazed at how the honesty in her voice could mean so much to him. He was lost for words, lost in the image of the pristine and pure Luna Lovegood now soaked in rainwater and mud, yet with her eyes sparkling like clear riverwater. The next thing he knew, he was grabbing her hands and pressing it against his chest, desperately hoping that she could feel his pain and hoping that somehow the serenity within her could dull the ache in him. He wasn't even sure when she eventually got up and whisked him away. All he could remember was a dull ache in his middle, a dizzying feeling as he spun into nothingness, and when he finally sobered, he was in a satisfyingly warm chair with little flames crackling merrily in the fireplace before him.

Draco sat up and turned around, only to see Luna pouring tea into two little china cups.

"Erm, where are–"

His eyes swiftly took in his surroundings while he asked, only to realise he knew the answer. The crazily large horn in the middle of the sitting room, along with a dozen other strange ornaments and animal parts... there was no doubt that he was in the Lovegood residence. There was still a lingering smell of rain, but it was probably his mind playing tricks on him, given the warm evening glow that lit up the small home. Even though the place resembled Luna in all her oddity, there was a strange sense of homeliness in this abode that made Draco feel like an intruder.

"I'd better be–"

"Sitting down to have tea!" said Luna, beaming as she set the teapot down. "Freshly brewed with chamomile and Whitspick."

"Whitspick?" Draco got out of his chair and made his way to the table to examine the tea.

Luna nodded. "The Wrackspurts sometimes nestle in those plants during winter. The juice they secrete mixes with the fluid of the plant – that combination is Whitspick."

Draco cringed as he sat down and picked up the cup. "Fascinating."

"I told you you were different."

He froze. That word would never set him at ease, and Lovegood just had to keep repeating it.

"It's okay to be different," said Luna as she sat down. Her finger traced the handle of the cup. "I know what it's like."

Draco blinked. Then, he smiled wryly. "I suppose."

"It's being different that makes the world what it is." Luna's finger stopped tracing the cup. "Being different is what makes life, the universe and everything. It makes us appreciate ourselves for who we are because we are unique. It makes us appreciate others because they can do things we can't and vice-versa. It's something worth celebrating, not to be ashamed of."

"That's not what you meant." Draco's eyes narrowed.

"No, that's not what you thought I meant," said Luna, smiling. "I did say earlier that you're different from who you used to be. But the real difference doesn't lie there. What I really meant is that you now know what it is like to see the other side of things. You have been to Muggle residences to see how the Muggles live without magic, been to impoverished villages to see how the disadvantaged support themselves. Most of all, you've seen how even though you have lived with riches and fame your whole life, you have never really derived the same satisfaction of life as the Caldwells have or even I have."

Draco felt something stab at him. How could she have known that?

"I see how pathetic they are," he said, curtly. "How they can't live life without magic and money and fame."

"But at the same time, the person you are now also sees how they still try their best to live life with love."

Luna took a sip of her tea. Draco looked away from his cup.

"And," Luna continued, "others start to see you differently, too, but it's not a bad thing. Mrs. Foster told me you have changed so much over a span of a few months."

"She talks about me to you?"

Luna's smile brightened. "Oh, yes. She says you are a very helpful young man."

Draco's eyebrows nearly popped out of his head. "What?"

"Do you not think so?"

It had been one of those days when he imagined Narcissa would have gone out to the perfectly-shaped rosebushes to caress the red petals or conjured up a few more pink gerberas. Watching his mother work her charms in the garden was therapeutic. Now, instead, he had to spend his afternoon watching some old hag pull out a pair of rusty shears and snip away roughly at her overgrown hedges. That was certainly no form of therapy to him, and he sneered to think that the Ministry thought it was going to be some form of rehabilitation.

Rehabilitation. Some process that made him feel like he was an object. A bloody non-living thing. If that was what they wanted him to be, then that was what he would be.

"Young man, haven't you any manners?" Mrs. Foster tutted at him as he sauntered into the cramp little sitting area. "Your shoes! Outside!"

"I wear my shoes in my house," he said, curtly. "That's the way I live."

"Oho," said Mrs. Foster, her eyebrows raised far beyond her temples. "Well, that's not how I live, so I don't care. As long as you are in my house, you follow by my rules. I won't have immature brats making a mess out of my life."

"I am not an – oh woman, you don't scare me with that big wand of yours. I know you can't do magic."

"Draco Malfoy, I may be a Squib, but I am a fairly intimidating woman without magic."

As it turned out, he was a victim of that seemingly harmless stick, which thwacked him so hard on the thigh the second day he came that his knees had buckled. He wanted to hex that woman there and then, but that would have just landed him an additional ten years with her. It was not until one day, when he noticed the picture frames on her mantelpiece. There she was, smiling so warmly and kindly as she held her grandchildren on her lap, surrounded by her children. He asked what happened to them, and the corners of her lips had drooped. For some odd reason, he found himself wanting to see her smile that way once again. His life had been so void of smiles that it made his stomach flip a little when he saw the genuinely beautiful one on Mrs. Foster's face.

He had hated her for the first month, for she made him do things that not only filled him with utter disgust and contempt, but also made him terribly guilty and angry with himself. He had been so tempted to walk away every time he was faced with such a situation, but when he had gone back to the cottage and thrown everything into a mess with massive wand movements, she had only stood by the mantelpiece staring at the pictures. In the heat of anger, he had thrown those to the ground and shattered the glass as well.

To his utter horror, instead of crying out in rage, she knelt down and began to pick up the glass pieces. The way her fingers were trembling it was no wonder that she cut herself. His wand immediately reacted; the blood hardly had a chance to spill out beyond her palm. As it was, she remained kneeling there, her eyes fixed on the pictures.

It was only when he had restored the sitting area to its former tidiness and they were settled in armchairs (him not too comfortably, since he had only just overturned that particular furniture half an hour ago), that she began to tell him her story. Her children and grandchildren were Muggles, and they had been captured by the Snatchers when out on a camping trip. It turned out that she had told the stories of the wizarding world to her children when they were young, and they in turn told the stories during the trip, forgetting that they could not mention Voldemort's name during those times. Mrs. Foster never spoke of her children and grandchildren again.

The next day, she fell very ill. Somehow, he couldn't watch her toss and turn in bed, crying out every family member's name in her delirium. He managed to placate her with a Cooling Charm that made her more relaxed.

The next time she walked past the mantelpiece and stopped to take a second look, he couldn't help feeling a stab of guilt.

He never wielded his wand out of rage in her house again.

Do you not think so? Luna's face came into focus once again, and the interior of her house suddenly looked a lot brighter.

"Not really," he mumbled.

"I suppose it's a bit hard when one is conditioned his whole life to help only himself."

His fists clenched. She was always pulling the strings within him taut, filling him with brimming tension. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Mrs. Foster told me about your first home visit."

Draco snorted. "No wonder you knew about seeing how Muggles live without magic! Can't that old bat keep her trap shut?"

"She's proud of you," said Luna, matter-of-factly. "The family found you cordial and respectful."

"I nearly burnt down their kitchen."

"I suppose it's a great enough achievement that you were willing to cook for them."

"I was starving. Not them."

"You repaired their leaking pipes and broken television."

"That's not hard with a wand."

"Is it so hard to accept that you see things differently now?"

Luna was looking at him so quizzically that he squirmed in his seat. He gulped down the tea in no time, and there was a rather odd fragrance in it that actually made him take a second look at the cup. "This actually tastes good," he said, lamely.

"Of course," said Luna, her lips tugging upwards again. "I brewed it yesterday. I'm taking some to Mrs. Foster's later. So, what shall we say when we go back?"

"We've given away all the cupcakes."

"I don't suppose that would be wise. Mrs. Foster may be a Squib, but she certainly has a powerful and keen sense of observation."

"After spending half a year with her, you'd think I'd know that."

"What's it like?"

Draco hesitated. He wasn't sure that he wanted to tell Lovegood about his experiences any more than she already knew from Mrs. Foster. Part of him was flattered she was asking, but part of him was just itching to ask her to shut all her questions up.

"Well, it's okay if you don't want to tell me," said Luna, "but for all you know, Mrs. Foster asked me to evaluate you."

Draco scowled. Trust her to best him with such a threat! St. Lovegood, his foot! He couldn't believe he was sitting at the Lovegoods' home, having tea and something that resembled conversation with the resident loon of Hogwarts.

"If you're talking about an evaluation, you know there's nothing more I can say than oh, I feel so much for these families; I feel so sorry for them; and I feel ashamed that I was once somebody who acted like an arrogant little piece of shit but actually was a puppet for the most dangerous wizard of all time; and they thought I was so stupid that even when I decided to be a good little boy, they insisted on sending me to perform community service; but I've learnt so much from it all, that I'll really be a good boy from now on. There, Lovegood, didn't you like that?"

He was breathless by the end of the little speech for the pain and fury started to snowball within him once again. He hadn't even realised that Luna's right hand was smoothing out the popped veins on the back of his hand till her left hand touched his cheek.

Instantly, the coolness of her hand made him stiffen, but in a very strange way her right hand was calming him down. He didn't know why, but the way she rubbed her thumbs against his cheek and hand was so soothing that he couldn't move an inch.

"Draco," – even her voice had a very sedating effect – "you don't have to be ashamed."

He was trembling. Bloody hell, he was trembling against those soft hands, and that was when he really, really felt ashamed.

"It's only because you grew up with people who had already mapped out your life, and you thought you had no say in anything you did. The only way you could be happy was to maximise what you already had. Being an arrogant bully - that was all you had to show others."

His hand was instinctively nearing his robe pocket from out where his wand was now visibly sticking. Luna remained unflinching, for he could sense those bright blue eyes still focused on him.

"When Mrs. Foster made you go to those Muggle families, what did you feel? What did you feel was missing in your life that theirs was so full of, despite them lacking the riches that you have?"

All these past few months, he had known it, but he hadn't wanted to know it. All he wanted to tell himself was that he was a victim of circumstances, that he had ended up on this path because this was his fate, despite his thinking that Divination was utter rubbish. Now Lovegood was exposing him in such a wondrous and innocent tone that made his insides twist with guilt.

He managed a bitter smirk. "How did you manage to gain so much common sense, Lovegood, after burying your head in clouds all this while?"

Luna's blue eyes suddenly became a little too piercing for his liking. Her eyelashes fluttered a little as she pulled away from him. The action made him panic ever so slightly, and his hand shot out to grab hers – not harshly, but firmly. She didn't look down; she continued to stare straight at him. Her hand didn't even struggle in his grip.

"Why do you visit Mrs. Foster then?" Draco whispered, his eyes narrowed into slits.

"For you." The answer was out in an instant, startling him.

"Me? "

"I knew you were helping Mrs. Foster," said Luna, her voice still the soft tinkling of little chimes. "She makes lovely cupcakes and cocoa, too, after all."

Draco stared at her in disbelief, his hand gripping hers tighter. "What do you mean – you went to her house on the pretext of looking for me?"

Luna shook her head, her strangely bright smile appearing. "Not looking for you. Being there for you."

"I don't need–"

"Draco, I saw you." She slipped her hand out of his then covered both his hands with hers. "Back at the Manor when you were asked to take Griphook to your father and Bellatrix Lestrange. Then again, at the Great Hall last year. Then finally, this year."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Draco demanded.

Luna's eyes trailed over to a set of lopsided drawers at the far end of the sitting room. On top of the drawers was a quirky-shaped picture frame, encasing a young blonde girl in the arms of a smiling blonde woman. The woman took the girl's pudgy little fist and waved it.

Draco squinted then hesitated. "Erm... your mother?"

"She was killed in a magical accident when I was nine."

Draco muttered the softest apology he could manage.

"It's okay. I miss her, but that's how life is."

She had to stop with all that life and universe philosophy. It was driving him insane. Get to the point in reality, Lun – Lovegood!

"My mother told me once that there are two ways in which we can see the world," said Luna. "Happy and bitter. It's easy to be bitter because we blame things on others, on gods. On a rare occasion, I strongly believe that the Gragglywogs in the grass are responsible for my long toenails."

Draco had to repress a snort.

"As it is, you've been bitter about your life so far and how things have turned out. You were frightened at the Manor; you did what you were told because you thought it was the only way out. You were hateful at the Great Hall last year; everybody else was there for a reason different from yours, and they wouldn't care. This year it was almost the same, except that I saw something new."

"What?" Draco couldn't help asking. The way she knew him inside out he almost believed that she could see his future.

He hadn't even realised that his hands were now very willingly encased in her soft ones and only noticed it when her thumbs pressed down on his knuckles. "You want freedom, Draco. You don't want to live in the shadows of the war anymore."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "And that's what intrigues me. How someone so embedded in the dark can come out to the light. I look at you now." Her eyes searched his. "I see that you're slowly making your way out of there. You're starting to see the other side. So, don't look back, Draco. Don't live in the nightmares and the regrets."

A flash of memory made his face spasm a little, but he quickly repressed it.

"I lived my life differently from everyone else, and they think I'm a lunatic." He cringed when she said that, for he suddenly felt that Lovegood was more sagely than anyone else could have ever imagined. "But I'm happy, and that's all that matters. Don't be afraid to be somebody different from the boy back then, and your life will be so much better."

To his utter surprise, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. It was the gentlest kiss he had ever received, yet it sent sharp tingles all through his body. How she could have that effect over him even when he barely knew her beyond the last hour or so? He didn't know. All he knew was that he found himself holding his breath even as she sat down, released his hands, and stirred her tea. Then, she raised her wand, and a basket half-filled with cupcakes appeared in front of them.

Draco stared at it in incredulity.

"So," Luna looked at him with a cheerful smile, "shall we go back to Mrs. Foster's?"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"–to help Mrs. Holland with her late husband's funeral. Would you like to help, Malfoy?"

How kind of you, Mrs. Foster. It's not like I have a choice.

"I see that glint in your eye. I know very well what happened to those cupcakes."

Damn it, didn't–

"What's that you're muttering? No, no. It wasn't Luna. That girl's too good to tell me about your sins."

I wonder who's the one who's been spouting tales about me to Lovegood. Urgh. Sometimes that smile of hers makes me feel surprisingly good, sometimes – like now – it makes me want to pull out my wand and hex her. Stop smiling!

"Now, can't you count one hundred flowers, Malfoy? Any less, and it'll be very unlucky for Mr. Holland!"

Yeah, yeah. The man's already dead. There wasn't luck when he was almost dying, and there won't be. I don't believe you. How the hell did you know about the cupcakes if Luna – no – Lovegood didn't tell you?

"They didn't send you to me for nothing. I've got my eyes on you, son!"

And you've got Luna's eyes, too. You sneaky old woman.

"I heard that. Getting liberal with your insults, young Malfoy. The girl's scrubbed you clean of your guilt, hasn't she?"

What? No. She's the most ridiculous person I've ever known and says the most absurd things. All that shit about differences and all, it's too complex for my pea brain. That's what you always say – that I have a pea brain. That's why so many things bother me. I don't have the brain Lovegood has to process it in a different way and see it in a different light. She's just – weird. I mean, haven't you seen those earrings?

"No, I'm wrong – it's not gone yet; it's still there. You're just avoiding it."

I'm not avoiding anything. At least, I'm not going to anymore.

"Look at you. I can just see it."

You're seeing nothing. I'm not having a philosophical conversation with you, woman.

"You'd rather talk to Luna about it than to me, wouldn't you?"

You know, that's quite enough from–

"Oh, stop glaring at me and count those flowers properly, will you? And where are you keeping that bunch? Who're you giving them to, eh?"

FINE.