Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Part One: Brand New

I want to take you far from the cynics in this town
And kiss you on the mouth
We'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of this scene,
Start a brand new colony
Where everything will change,
We'll give ourselves new names, identities erased
The sun will heat the grounds
Under our bare feet in this brand new colony
Everything will change...

— Brand New Colony by The Postal Service

AN: The entire chapter was incredibly long! So I had to split it. And there you have it, my loves~ Parts One and Two. Enjoy!

~oOo~

Draco set down the copy of the Daily Prophet he had received that morning; a moue of regret on his face. No news again today, then. Draco mused to himself, sighing as he gazed out the magnificent french doors of his sitting room. The view of the Mediterranean beyond the overhanging balcony was even more breathtaking in the early morning sunlight.

The Malfoy Villa in the French region of Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur was nestled on the edge of a cliff, affording it stunning vistas of the Mediterranean Sea and the French Riviera. It was relatively secluded, providing the Malfoys their much needed privacy. The various Wards surrounding the estate easily kept Muggles away from wandering in too close. It was his mother's favorite property. And despite the fact that Narcissa was a prisoner in her own home, complete with regular visits from the French Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it was with great relief that Draco finally put his worries to rest as Narcissa steadily improved. The heavy cloud of trepidation and melancholy that had shrouded his mother for the past few years had finally begun to ease. The light in her eyes that had so long ago dimmed was slowly but surely sparking back to life.

Draco pulled his attention away from the stunning view outside and brought his steaming mug of tea to his lips, humming contentedly. He could never abide by the taste of coffee. It was just too plebeian, in Draco's most esteemed opinion. It was, therefore, a relief that they were still able to procure high quality tea leaves even all the way in the South of France. He once again eyed the discarded copy of the Prophet and smiled ruefully. It was yesterday's edition, which was understandable considering how far the poor owls had to fly just to deliver Draco his daily dose of Wizarding Britain's news. It wasn't that he cared about the rag that the Daily Prophet was wont to spout. The only reason he had asked his mother to keep her subscription to the distasteful publication was because it was the only connection he had to Harry. It was the only mail from Britain that was allowed past the Ministry Wards around the Villa, nothing else. Draco did try writing Harry, but he found out that their letters were indeed being monitored by the Ministry. It was then that Draco fully accepted the fact that he was truly, completely cut off from Harry.

So, Draco had to content himself with the Daily Prophet. Whatever news there was about the Boy Who Lived, no matter how outrageous or ridiculous, Draco devoured them all like a man starved. He had taken to keeping newspaper clippings of Harry, much like he used to do during his early days at Hogwarts, before the War.

Sighing, Draco pushed himself off the armchair and sauntered into his bedroom. His eyes fell upon an ornate, wooden box sitting atop his desk. With measured steps, Draco approached the table and lightly ran his fingers over the carved patterns on the box's lid. He carefully pried it open and gazed inside.

Newspaper clippings.

Seventh months worth of them. There wasn't much, but they had kept Draco going.