young

It occurs to Draco one day that Luna is a year behind him in school. He wonders, then, how they have classes together and such. Then again, Luna is strange, and that wouldn't be the weirdest thing. Besides that, she's in Ravenclaw and he's in Slytherin—an odd combination there, too. He has a schedule slightly different than a lot of his classmates, so that could be it. Or maybe it's something even beyond that. And those two houses can have classes together, so it's just the age that's all that weird, really.

Maybe the professors thought that having some classes with older students would help her socially, somewhat.

In any case, he's glad for History of Magic and Charms. But he makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

Their class schedule isn't the only thing on his mind with that realization. He was never really able to put a mental age on Luna, sometimes she seems four and sometimes she seems ninety-one. But she is younger, and a girl, and Luna, and he feels like that all should make him protective over her or something of the sort.

That seems so logical and yet ridiculous at the same time.

jubilant

Draco feels nothing but exhausted and achy after a Quidditch practice that runs late. Horribly late. He wants to kill Flint, but that's not really on the table right now. So he takes it, and instead heads inside, with some mud starting to dry against the bottom of his robes and his broomstick clutched in his hand. He's half bent-over and his feet are dragging against the ground. So he's in no mood to celebrate his winning in the mock game they played in half teams, oddly enough.

But Luna is, apparently. She appears somewhere in front of him with something strange in one hand, waving at him with the other. He smiles, although somewhere in his mind, he groans. That gets suppressed.

"Draco! You were excellent out there; if only it'd been a real match."

"You watched?"

"For a bit."

"Weren't you cold?"

She shrugs. "I went inside a bit early and got you this, to celebrate. The house elves in the kitchen had extras in the batch." She holds out a treacle tart on a small plate. "I had one, too, they're marvelous, and Harry likes them-"

"Potter," he snarls, instinctively.

"Oh, yes, they're his favorite." Luna seems unbothered by his tone. He remembers for too long of a second that Luna cheers for Gryffindor over Slytherin in every Quidditch match, and he's still not sure if that's an act. "Well, here you are." She holds the plate out to him more.

"Uh... thanks. But, my hands are still dirty-"

"No problem. Open up."

"What?" When he starts speaking, his mouth is suddenly full with the pastry, and he hastily chews and swallows and then waves her away. "A spoon would've worked, too," he says finally.

Luna just shrugs again.

ridiculous

Summer comes, with the unpredictable weather and all, and for Draco that means sitting in his room alone and being bored. There's no one for him to rule over here, really. It doesn't take him long to start thinking about the vague possibility of being able to visit Luna - best to have her over here, though, Merlin only knows where she lives and the Manor has to be better than it, anyway.

She's pure-blood enough, after all, so Father shouldn't protest adamantly. It's not completely ridiculous, is it? He asks.

"What ever happened to Pansy?" Lucius answers his son, not really saying no, but not saying yes, either. He seems reluctant.

"She's as dumb as her name," Draco says without skipping a beat, even though he doesn't completely think that. But he needs to make his case look whole-hearted, despite the complications.

"And 'Luna' isn't as dense?"

"No. Please, Father? She'd be good company to test the new elves with."

"Have you asked her about it?"

"Well, no. I thought I'd go to you first."

Lucius sighs. "Then send her an owl, and if she agrees to a time, we can talk."

"Thank you, Father." Draco tries to not skip back to his room to look for a parchment and quill.

letter

He's lying on his bed pretending to read one day when his owl pecks at the window. He gets up to let it in for just a second, and takes the letter from it harshly. He unrolls the parchment and first spots the flowers attached using spello-tape. Then he reads Luna's mostly-incoherent letter and tries to keep the stupidly wide grin off his face. He detaches the flowers and sends a house elf off to get a vase and water for them.

"Father!" he calls into the hall, impatient in his glee. "Father! Luna answered my owl, she says she can come at sunup on Wednesday!"

"Be quieter, Draco, you'll wake up your mother. What's this about 'sunup'?"

"Luna doesn't bother with time much."

"... Right. Sunup on Wednesday, she said?"

"Yes, Father." Draco tries to tame his smile into something a bit more cunning. "Is that all right?"

Lucius looks malcontent, but nods. "But I want to be there as soon as she shows up, if she does. Understood?"

"Yes, Father." As soon as he's dismissed, he leaves to send his owl back to Luna, urging it to fly as fast as it can.

kindly

They sit in the parlour, since Father won't let them go upstairs, which Draco supposes is reasonable. Luna barely touches any of the food he's set out, so Father lectures him on being a bad host. When they do manage to be alone, there's a lot of silence as they wonder what to talk about. He laughs nervously and just says, "So," a lot, and wonders if they should be sitting closer.

Finally Luna starts to open up, about some new creature she found in her garden a few days ago. He likes her clear passion about it, but doesn't really understand half of what she says, but smiles and nods, and then talks about some of the creatures in the gardens of the Manor, which she seems to like.

"Green and silver, you said? That sounds almost Slytherin-themed, doesn't it?" she asks about a snake he mentions.

"Almost," he shrugs.

She makes a comment on the décor of the room, very pure-blood themed. She likes it, but doesn't seem to understand it, just like how he feels about her garden talk. "It's all right, I guess," he says. "Father did it all himself. With some servant's help hanging things up."

"You kept the flowers," she answers, and nods at the vase. He moved them into here for today.

"I did."

"That's nice."

"I guess."

They both smile.