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The Raven's Song	By : Quills Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 6265 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Nine Years Later
Lyra gazed at the man seated opposite her. No longer the arrogant and immature boy she remembered from his early years at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy now displayed the weight of each one of the nine years that had passed since the end of the war.
“Mrs Black –“
“Lyra, please.”
He nodded. “Lyra, then. What can I do for you? I confess I was surprised to receive your owl.”
She took a long sip from her coffee before answering him, wondering still how best to phrase what she wanted despite how very long she had been planning this day for. Nothing mattered as much as this, and she had to tread with care. “I hear you have a son now, Draco,” she said instead. “My congratulations.”
“Thank you, Lyra. Scorpius is nearly a year old.” Draco threaded his long fingers together on top of the table. “However proud I am of him, though, I suspect that such small talk is not the reason we are here today.”
“No. I was sorry to hear of your mother’s death last year,” she said frankly. “I hope she did not suffer.”
“Thankfully, her death was a swift one. We grieved her passing nonetheless, of course, but we take comfort in the fact that the pox was not a lingering death for her.”
We. There it was, that simple word that gave her a way into the conversation to voice the words she needed to say. Her heart picking up its pace, she swallowed hard and warily met the younger man’s intent stare. “And...and what of your father now?”
An odd, rueful smile twisted his face. “And now we come to it, Lyra. He is no longer in England.”
That much didn’t surprise her. Though the Malfoys were pardoned after the war, their fall from grace had been spectacular. A man like Lucius would not withstand it, and it seemed only natural that he had taken himself abroad once the dust had settled. Her tongue darting out across her lips, Lyra found herself leaning forward as she spoke. “Where is he now, Draco?”
“Italy,” he eventually said. “He lives in a small village on the Mediterranean coast; far removed for the country manor you knew him in, but it is a life that suits him.”
“Is he happy?”
The anxious words fell from her lips before she even realised she had spoken them, but the answer to them mattered so very much that she didn’t even care. She flushed, but she didn’t take the words back.
Draco tilted his head to the side, the eyes that were so like Lucius’ fixed firmly upon her. “Happy, but I suspect a little lonely. I do not think he would decline a visitor, if that is what you want to know.”
It seemed the younger Malfoy was just as astute as his father. Lyra exhaled deeply, seeing there was no sense in skirting around her reasons for being here any longer. “It is, Draco. I won’t deny it. I don’t know how much you know,” she said awkwardly, but he held up a hand to silence her awkward explanation.
“Enough that I was only surprised it took you this long to contact me, Lyra. Am I to take it you want to go to where Father is, then?”
She nodded, her mouth suddenly too dry to speak.
“I thought as much when I received your owl, and so I decided to bring this with me.” He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a Galleon, laying it on the table between them. “This Portkey will take you to the edge of his village, Lyra. There is a small cafe there my father favours; Giardino Fresco. If you can endeavour to be there at midday tomorrow, I will Floo him tonight and ask him to meet you there.”
“Don’t tell him it’s me,” she said impulsively, her heart beating hard against her chest now as she realised how close she was to seeing Lucius again.
Draco’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”
Lyra shook her head, unsure how to best express the irrational fear that shot through her at the merest thought that Lucius would not want to see her. She had no reason to suppose it was so, but when she had spent the last nine years imagining this moment, the thought of his refusal was enough to tear her apart. That, though, was something she dared not confess to his watchful son. “I want to surprise him,” she finally said. “Your father isn’t a man used to being caught by surprise, after all.”
He smiled. “No, that much is true. Very well, then. I shall contact him tonight; I fully anticipate he will be far too intrigued by the mystery to decline the invitation. Good luck, Lyra.”
She only hoped she would not need it. Parting from Draco with her stammered thanks, she pocketed the Portkey and went back to her home that had seemed so empty since September 1^st, barely able to sleep when her body was aflame with anticipation for what tomorrow would bring.
The hours went by far too slowly, but finally it was time to take the Portkey to Italy. Just as Draco had told her, she found herself on the edge of a thick copse, hidden by the trees from the view of anyone who might be passing from the small village she saw before her. The sea stretched out in the distance, and she breathed in deeply to allow the salty balm of the air to soothe her as she took the path that led down to the village itself.
The path soon thickened into the main road through the heart of the village, and she walked less than a mile in the late summer sun before she saw the small garden cafe Draco had mentioned. Drawn to the verdant shades of green, she took a table with her back to the road and ordered two coffees from the smiling waitress before anxiously glancing down at her pocket watch.
Five minutes before midday. Any time now Lucius would arrive, and Lyra would discover if she had wasted the last nine years of her life waiting for him.
Too nauseous now to even contemplate the coffee before her, she ran her hands through her loose hair and briefly closed her eyes – only for them to fly open as a hand closed possessively around her shoulder and a voice she knew better than any other broke the peaceful silence around them.
“Well, well,” Lucius said softly, his incredulity plain to hear in his quiet words. “If it isn’t the woman I have thought of more than any other since leaving England. Lyra Black.”
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The Raven's Song