Chapitre Un
Mont Saint-Michel

Draco thought little of what he would do or where he would go when he decided to take a year-long vacation for himself. The morning after he decided to push through with the brilliant idea, he immediately set about arranging the necessary scheme for his leave from work. It proceeded more smoothly than he expected. His father was surprisingly magnanimous, reasoning that his son could indulge luxuriously for a year as he had proved himself deserving of it in the last five. He also casually added that he would be retiring the following year, hinting he would have more responsibilities when he returned. Lucius Malfoy promised to take care of the rest, and Draco boarded a plane from Heathrow Airport that evening.

He found himself roaming around the Iberian Peninsula for the next couple of weeks, staying no longer than three days in each city he came across. Córdoba was particularly memorable—the city was beautiful, immensely rich in history and culture and grandeur. Alcazar de los Reyes Cristianos remained ripe in his memory; the lush gardens and fountains were so magnificently picturesque that it evoked the thought of buying land to build his own inspired villa when he returned to England.

He arrived at a city west of France two days ago, and decided to move north from there. He took the train to Pontorson and rode a bus to the renowned island commune of Mont Saint-Michel. His business trips around Europe had always been in the popular capital cities, and he had decided to try avoiding them altogether in favour of discovering quaint, unknown towns and far heritage sites and landscapes. Now, he was on a balcony restaurant that recently opened in the causeway park, overlooking the Romanesque castle as it was swept by a majestic sunset.

"It's lovely, isn't it?"

The voice that reached out to him spoke in clear and perfect English, slightly Irish in accent with a gentle, airy tone that sounded vaguely familiar. He turned his head to look at the speaker—a slim woman with straggly dirty blonde hair tied in a hopelessly messy ponytail. Recognition didn't strike until he noticed the memorably dotty pair of earrings she wore.

"Luna Lovegood," he greeted, nodding in acknowledgment. How... random.

"Hello, Draco," she smiled serenely. She motioned to the empty chair across his table. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." The other tables were fully occupied; at the farther side of the balcony gathered tourists taking photographs of the castle. He watched as she quietly moved to take the seat. It was a spontaneous decision to indulge her company. The last time he had seen her was in high school, holding back tears as she treaded the hallway barefoot again.

He didn't know how it started or why her, but by his senior year, it was practically school tradition to prank the younger girl by stealing her things and placing them in obscure spots around the school. Draco was not a saint despite his clear and impressive official track record, and he'd participated; he stole her chemistry materials and wittingly subjected her to the wrath of Professor Snape.

He reckoned she never found out about that, otherwise she wouldn't have approached him in the first place, or perhaps she did know and intended to confront him about it. All the same, he did not feel a hint of animosity from her—if anything, he was admittedly a little curious.

He raised a hand and a waiter swiftly came to their table. "Order anything you like," he offered. She smiled thankfully at him before turning to the waiter.

"Le thé rouge, s'il vous plaît," she said politely, her Irish accent practically nonexistent as she spoke. She glanced back at him questioningly. "Et peut-être nous pouvons partager une grande crêpe des fraises?"

He nodded to the waiter in approval, and the latter briskly dismissed himself afterward, leaving the two alone.

"Thank you for letting me join you," she told him sincerely, turning her gaze from him to the landscape across them with a delighted smile. "I truly do love sightseeing at twilight. Many things appear more magical during this time of the day."

"I suppose," he responded absent-mindedly, taking another glimpse at the castle before turning his attention to her.

He had never really looked at Luna Lovegood before, but he remembered eyes red and often rimming with tears and blemished pale skin—features that have faded away, it seemed, along with most of her old, gaudy wardrobe. She still wore those bizarre radish earrings, but otherwise she was dressed more acceptably. Her periwinkle dress hugged her slim waist and flared just above her knees. Sans the swollen eyes, blotchy cheeks, and kitsch fashion, Luna Lovegood was unexpectedly stunning.

A quick survey of the occupants of surrounding tables and the non-dining area affirmed that he wasn't the only one to think so.

"Lovegood," he called.

"Luna," she replied, turning to him. "Call me Luna."

He wasn't comfortable with the proposition (he rarely called anyone by their first name in casual conversation) but didn't press on it. He intended to proceed with his query but it was as if she had already read his mind before he could.

"You're wondering why I'm here," she stated.

"Naturally," he replied, quick and unfazed. "It's rather strange seeing you here of all places, after all these years."

"I could say the same for you," she mused delightedly. "Though, I suppose I tend to appreciate coincidences more than I care to make sense of them."

The waiter came back with the pot of red tea and poured her a cup. She doesn't notice the sideways glance the smug bastard throws at Draco, who returned it with a pointed glare (he was not tipping tonight) before staring back at her.

"Well?" he insisted. Not that he ever cared to pry into Luna Lovegood's life, but it seemed harmless to listen to stories from the girl who was infamous for her eccentricities in high school. He had never talked to her when they were still walking the same halls, and he doesn't recall hearing anything about her from the grapevine after graduation. She was a stranger to him in every way but name.

"I'm collecting," she told him simply. She didn't follow with further explanation and simply sipped her tea, looking content and pleased.

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you collecting?"

"Something very valuable," she smiled serenely, as if to politely hint that she would not be disclosing anything else.

The blonde momentarily frowned at that before his lips curled to a small smirk. Draco Malfoy never liked secrets, but he did have a penchant for challenges, no matter how petty or small they sometimes might seem. "Mind a wager if I'm able to guess?"

"Only if you're willing." Her eyes twinkled in genuine interest. "Losing is always a humbling experience," she added, hiding a smile as she took another sip of her tea.

"So it is," he replied, slightly riled up by her small provocation. "What do you say, Lovegood?"

"Luna," she corrected firmly. A different waiter brought over their strawberry crêpe, which he split evenly for them before leaving. Draco took the liberty of getting his partition while Luna solemnly contemplated on the idea.

He'd taken his third bite by the time she broke the silence.

"I will give you three guesses, and only three chances to ask for grand clues," she tells him, looking up at him slyly. "For every wrong guess, you'll allow me any request."

"And if I get it right?"

"You'll earn the privilege of asking me three requests," she grinned.

"You seem confident, Lovegood," he remarked, frowning a bit. Part of him felt slightly impressed that she rose to the game.

"Luna," she insisted seriously before curling her lips back into a complacent smile. "I have good reason to be."

She let him mull over the proposition as she took her portion of the crêpe, managing about four bites before he responded.

"First clue," he asked.

The giggle that came from her at that was more beguiling than he'd care to admit.

He could only gather from her earlier descriptions that whatever she was collecting was valuable and finite, and there were many—concrete objects or abstract concepts, whichever she meant—that could fit those characteristics. It was only strategic to narrow down his options first, and he could only hope that she would be generous with her clues.

"They are created in the same likeness, but with distinct differences. They are fragile despite possessing strong elements, and small though they are," she paused, smiling secretively, "they are highly valuable."

She took another bite of her crêpe, relishing the sweetness of the strawberries and the fiercely pensive face of the person across her.

Draco was appropriately befuddled.

"When you say 'valuable'..."

"I mean that it fetches quite a high price," she explained kindly. He seemed as clever as others have told her.

"Oh." He blinked, a bit relieved but more questions turned in his head. "You mean to sell these things after collecting them?"

"I believe loaning them would be a more profitable venture," she answered. "Care for a guess?"

He was out of free inquiries, and Draco took the time to regroup his thoughts and silently contemplate the answer as he continued to finish his plate.

A small band of orchestra players began to assemble on the small stage a few tables from them. Indigo and dark shades of blue blended in the skies as the sun finally set from the horizon. The castle lit up, providing for a magnificent sight, and the stars appeared just as music started to envelope the balcony restaurant. Luna turned to watch the band from her seat after she swiftly finished her food. She absolutely adored live music. One of her favourite things about Europe was its presence when she walked the streets. She loved singing along to songs she recognises—and sometimes she danced to them, whether it was familiar or not.

When the first song finished, she turned in her seat to check back on her companion, only to find silver eyes looking at her very seriously.

"Jewellery," he said finally. "You're collecting jewellery."

She beamed at his answer, and he groaned, immediately catching what that meant. She laughed and he looked back at her in disbelief. "Was I even close?"

"Quite," she replied simply, not divulging anything further. "You owe me one request."

"Unfortunately," he sighed. He still had two guesses. It wasn't a lost war yet. "The meal doesn't count, by the way. I intended to pay for it when I offered."

"I think you might find my request a bit more challenging, though no less gentlemanly," she remarked. He watched with raised eyebrows as she rose from her seat and walked to his side, extending a hand to him. Somehow, he understood what she wanted immediately.

Strange girl.

He rose from his seat and took her hand, leading her to the open, empty space a bit further away from their table but nearer to the balcony railings. The band started playing a well-loved French song the both of them knew. Draco put his hands on her hips as she carefully placed her arms on his chest, her fingertips brushing his shoulder blades.

"I do love dancing," she told him, grinning triumphantly as they began to sway to the music. Simple steps, soft humming (from her—he found it a bit amusing, but he'd deny the sentiment if anybody asked).

"Should I make my next two wrong guesses now to save you time?" he suggested with a smirk. If she wanted and managed to make him dance with her to La Vie En Rose on a balcony facing one of the most beautiful castles in the world, she might as well go all the way the same night. She smelled of honeysuckle and lavender and he doesn't think he'd mind one night with her if she wanted it.

Not that he could tell if she did.

"What would be the fun in that?" she replied jovially. Her lips curled to a smirk, battling his own. "Professor Snape gave me three Saturdays of detention, you know."

Shit. "You knew?"

She nodded. "You hid them pretty well. It took me ten days to find them."

"How did you know it was me?" She couldn't have seen him steal it. He threatened a freshman to take it out from her locker, and the accomplice discreetly handed him the materials before he hid them under the floors of a classroom. To the best of his knowledge, only he was aware about that broken wood tile.

"I overheard a friend of yours mentioning it," she answered quietly. He almost missed the flash in her eyes and the downturn of her lips; the sullen expression only lasted a second, and it made him question if he was simply imagining it. She glanced at the view to their side before returning her bright, protuberant blue eyes to meet his. She beamed.

"You don't seem very upset about it," he observed, eyes locked with hers. "Especially since I've just gotten you detention with the most cutthroat teacher in high school."

"Grudges are heavy burdens to carry," she said gently, smiling reassuringly at him. "I choose not to carry that weight."

Fleetingly he wonders if that was why she was a common target in high school. It said much of her character, he realised, when Luna Lovegood regarded him without malice or prejudice, and she imposed no pressure or expectation in their interaction. She worded the rewards for their wager as requests, not commands, for Merlin's sake, and a dance was relatively harmless compared to other things she might have asked.

Her genuine earnestness was slightly unnerving.

From the corner of her eye, Luna noticed that other couples began to join them. La Vie en Rose faded out, and the pianist started to play another well-loved, albeit more modern, piece.

"The French really are bloody romantics, aren't they?" Draco mumbled, recognising the song from the popular fairytale.

"I don't know," she smiled blithely, tilting her head slightly as a motion for him to notice the others dancing. "I believe they think that the English started it tonight."

"Whose fault do you think that is?" He smirked down at her, and she returned it with a smug smile.

"I didn't make the wrong guess," she reminded him.

"You expected me to," he reminded her. "You were confident about it."

She laughed. "Guilty as charged," she conceded. Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she looked up at him. She seemed to scrutinise his face, and Draco found himself fighting the urge to kiss her—

"Would you be my friend, Draco?"

—but maybe he was simply imagining the sexual tension he'd begun to feel since she got this close to him.

"I'd have thought that you wanted me to be something else," he confessed, puzzled. "Friends don't dance like this."

"The night is too lovely not to dance, and friends do dance," she answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She gazed at him very earnestly. "I don't wish to be a fling, and I think it would be terribly dangerous if either of us fall in love with each other, but I do like your company very much. So, won't you be my friend instead?"

He studied her carefully, trying to figure out what other thoughts might possibly be running in her mind at the moment. He remembers that Luna Lovegood had been known to build castles in the air, always mumbling random nothings at sporadic moments. Many called her Looney Lovegood before, and it was somehow fitting—only now it seemed even more spiteful and unsuitable. She was beaming like moonlight, her face betraying no sincerity.

"You are the strangest girl," he pronounced, eyeing her curiously.

"I hope I'll always be," she grinned at him. "My mother always said it's easier to remember the strangest people."

"Shall I go pay for our food and walk you back now?" The discussion of her other eccentricities could be saved for another day, he thinks.

She laughs cheerfully at that. "You are my favourite friend already," she tells him. She means it as a jest, but her expression shifts slightly and he thinks that she might possibly be starting to believe it.

A minuscule smile forms on his lips.


Translation:

(1) "Le thé rouge, s'il vous plaît." — Red tea, please.

(2) "Et peut-être nous pouvons partager une grande crêpe des fraises?" —And maybe we can share a big strawberry crêpe?