Thank-you for noticing this story.
This story is inspired by, "Blood, Tears and Gold" by Hurts.
If any changes need to be made, please let me know.
Scanned, read, and redefined.
Bury
Had Draco not met the feel of her silk, milky skin, he wouldn't have had to bury the towering tensions reaching for her familiarity. No warnings or caution labels had come to his wandering eyes, curious to her lunatic ideals. If there had lied a warning of any sort, he would have read the consequences that came with his building curiosity.
Hogwart's student body, regarding mainly the first year student body, became more resistant to Draco's snarls and sneers. They dared to mock him as the rumor that twisted into their minds as fact of Potter's prophecy reminded them that Draco would die during the final war. Nearing the end of the war, Draco dreaded his last year as a Hogwart's wizard. Filled with disrespectful first years and disgusted peers, they all but bowed to Draco's presence. No longer fearful of the once feared blonde, each student held hope for the boy with the blessed scar.
Life at home was no different. Silent dinners, mad bickering, and the constant ignorance from his father, Draco found himself picking up habits he would have had no time for if his life hadn't become a living underworld. One of those habits would be centered around Luna Lovegood. Staring at her began as a simple lingering question of why she wore two different pairs of shoes in one class, then took them off in the next only to never lace them up again.
Noticing her mismatched green, wrinkled head band propped another question in his mind. Dressing in purple on a gloomy day, wearing yellow when she drank grape juice, or skipping when she visibly had tears staining her cheeks—all of her appearances had made him raise questions; all of his encounters had made him stare. His staring was surely unhealthy and he almost blamed her wackiness for being contagious.
But he had caught no illness. For Luna Lovegood, in her unknown misery, had found herself doing the same. Catching the groans of Draco Malfoy when he trudged along the corridors with his talkative friends, she had stared on in the shadows. Finding him walking slowly through the gardens when she came to think over the war and the death it would bring, she looked on toward his sullen figure, knowing that they shared the same thoughts.
Nothing about Draco Malfoy reminded her of Draco Malfoy. People were told by others that everyone changes as they grow, but Luna expected no change from the Slytherin. Yet he became mellow and depressed. So did she. Not caring for her next unplanned decision's outcome, she skipped breakfast one morning to find the pure blood. Alone he sat with his hands gripping handfuls of his hair on a bench in the isolated garden.
Stress steamed from his pores and overfilled his orbs. Hot, burning tears fell after each sob, leaving him to hiccup his pain away. Luna had once recalled sitting this lonesome, but as she lightly stepped over, she hadn't recalled being so violent when offered comfort. Touching his shoulder made him jump, taking in a blink of her identity and lashing out at her with unoriginal names she heard everyday.
Draco swatted her lifting hands back down before she had a chance to begin their motives. Needing nothing but to be far away from anyone, he began to push past Luna in a rough collision to exit the garden. She must have floated to his side, for when he reached to twist the door knob, she was there beside him without making a sound as she arrived. Grabbing the material of his robe, she brought him to face her, paying no attention to his slurs.
Bringing a palm to land on his cheek, she silenced him in mid sentence. Her thumb graced the wet pathway on his pale skin, drying his cheeks in soft brushes. She did the same to his other cheek, shushing him with the comforting words her memory recalled. Draco's lip objected to his still frame, trying to shout out any hurtful labels that came to his mind. But in the view of her vanilla skin and connection of her delicate touch, there were no insults to voice.
Had he not been depressingly lonesome and in need of his own hope, he would have allowed only the touch of her hands. Had Luna not been terrified of her misery and reaching for a way to escape, she would have not allowed herself to kiss Draco Malfoy in an attempt to bring back all that the war had changed.
I do love writing for this pairing, so do expect more stories in the future. You, the reader, are the reason I strive to improve my writing just to know that someone wonderful out there is reading it.