Chapitre Trois
Hallstatt
Crabbe was engaged.
The news was flabbergasting, to say the least. Among the four of them, Draco had always thought he'd be the last to marry, not the first... then again, he used to think that he would be first, just because he always was. He's learned that people are inescapably susceptible to change with time, and he'd outgrown the imprudent mindset that plans always follow through. There wasn't a race to marriage, and even if there was, his present self was perfectly fine not winning it. He was sincerely pleased for his friend; Crabbe won the heart of the head pâtissière of the growing cupcake company that first opened shop around the corner from his flat, and it was virtually written in the stars from the day he first bought a box of their cupcakes.
Draco was absolutely certain that the guests would be anticipating the wedding cake more than the wedding gown; he knew he did when the save-the-date invite arrived in his email.
Sighing, he turned his attention to the glittering rock formations around him. A Salzburg local suggested a visit to the Hallstatt Salt Mines before he left off for the next country in the continent, but it was lacklustre compared to the village itself, which stood vividly picturesque beside the mountains and the crystal clear lake. Uninterested in staying underground longer, he had just decided to head toward the exit and browse the old town when he felt a presence behind him and a pair of hands briskly covered his eyes.
Or at least, attempted to.
He took a half step forward and turned on his heel, eliciting a soft squeak from the blonde as he caught her by the waist right before her nose could have met the floor. His brain registered the familiarity of her physique and her voice, associating it with a friendly acquaintance more swiftly than he thought possible. (Had he been unconsciously thinking about her?)
"You're too short," he criticised, stepping closer as she wobbled on her toes. "Try it when I'm sitting down next time," he advised with a smirk. The petite woman raised her head to look up at him, cheeks a light pink and lips in a little grin.
"Hi," she breathed.
There's a pretty sight in here after all.
He loosened his hold on her waist as she settled her heels back on the ground, regaining her footage.
She smiled wryly at him. "I didn't expect to stumble into a dragon down here."
"Didn't expect to find the moon down here either," he riposted, arching a curious brow. "What are you doing here?"
Hallstatt was one of the less popular towns he's visited, and the last he had seen Lovegood was on a beautiful Italian port after an entertaining cruise along the Amalfi Coast weeks ago. Neither of them told the other where they were heading after that—he didn't plan his routes as he set to do, and she simply never mentioned hers.
"My collecting takes me places," she answered, vaguely as she always did when it came to discussing her work.
Part of him conspiratorially suspected her "work" involved espionage on him and his activities, but it was only their third coincidental meeting and she had not acted in any way that would support and seal that conclusion. Perhaps their meetings were merely that: coincidence.
Luna tilted her head, studying him curiously. "I was under the impression that the underground wouldn't be your cup of tea."
"It isn't," he agreed, "I was just about to leave."
"I'll walk you to the station?" she offered, beaming cheerily.
He dropped his hand from her waist entirely as she dropped hers from his chest, each meeting in between. He wordlessly squeezed her hand in response.
He'd never held hands before Luna. He would hold other girls by their waist or lay a hand on their shoulder when he felt the need to bother—close, but never intimate. It addled him that despite trying it with a few other girls he occasionally accosted in the places between Positano and Hallstatt, that coursing warmth he felt remained to happen only when it was with the silly girl wearing radish earrings.
He didn't know what that meant, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Thank you, by the way. My father loved the wine," Luna voiced out, stealing him away from his thoughts. "I hope Cho and Cedric did, too, though I haven't heard word from them yet. They must still be busy with their honeymoon."
"It still baffles me that they invited you to their wedding," he remarked, slightly impressed. Diggory was a celebrated actor, and his now-wife was a renowned model (frankly, however, he found her unattractively dull). Their wedding was a highly publicised event, reportedly costing about seventy million pounds in spite of a guest list that didn't exceed three hundred.
A flamboyant waste of money, in his opinion, but it was the kind of grandiose exclusivity many people he knew would like. None from his closer set of friends were invited; none from Potter's circle as well, understandably, considering the four-eyed schmuck tried to steal the bride away when she was still only the actor's girlfriend.
"That could have very well been the wedding of the year," Draco shook his head, "and you chose not to go."
"There are more important things I have to do, and I wouldn't have been missed," she reasoned calmly, lips curved to a self-assured smile. She mentioned to him before that she received an invite from the groom, but stressed that she was merely a business associate.
Draco suspected that she was either lying (which was highly unlikely, as he had come to know how terribly honest she was) or that, considering the narrow guest list for such a grandiose wedding, she played a minimal role in making it happen. She would neither deny nor confirm that, however; her work was to remain a mystery to him until the conclusion of their wager.
"It seemed awfully ostentatious," Luna remarked with a shrug, "I wouldn't have blended in."
"I heard they gave away purebred puppies," he pointed out dryly. You don't bait Luna Lovegood with jewellery or designer clothes—you bait her with cute animals (moving white balls of fluff were her favourite, she said) and sweets.
"It's quite alright," she said without the slightest hint of regret. "I would rather adopt from the shelter, anyway."
"Your moral pragmatism is astounding."
"I do my best," she laughed.
They arrived at the exit, the warmer atmosphere prompting them to remove the standard suits and boots everyone was required to don before entering the mines. Parting to their respective dressing areas, they agreed to meet outside by the bridge.
Summer was pleasantly warm in the Austrian countryside. Bordered by mountains and a freshwater lake inviting cooler winds, Hallstatt was charmingly idyllic. Draco pondered over suggesting a walk around the village, perhaps even a bite to eat, before he hopped on the next available bus. It would be a waste to leave the town so quickly, and he liked the dreamy girl's company. Past her eccentricities (her penchant for quirky accessories, absentminded humming and/or skipping, bizarre insouciance for physical boundaries, and others he probably hadn't discovered yet), she could hold a decent conversation… provided he does not steer it to a subject she loved so much that she could only speak sputtered adulations and reiterate how much she adored it.
He learned that much when he triggered a one-sided discussion on mermaids. She gushed on it for a good ten to fifteen minutes, and he would have been repulsed if her enthusiasm wasn't supplied by a soft voice and an endearing grin. Arguably frivolous, but he liked it as much as the non-gushing conversations anyway.
"There you are, Draco,"—a voice interrupted his thoughts as he reached the agreed meeting place—"I was wondering, have you seen the view from the Sky Deck? It's not far away from here and you might want to stop by before we head back."
Luna stood a few feet in front of him, two or three steps away from the bridge, dressed simply in a white shirt and jeans. She was smiling serenely, as always, except she looked especially odder because—
"Your shoes are missing," he observed, unsure if she noticed that herself. His concern was masked with a more unpleasant expression on his face as he neared her in two long strides. It was highly unlikely, but he thought it regardless: were they stolen again?
"They aren't," she told him simply, and he momentarily wondered if she'd gone insane until she continued, "I gave them away this time."
He eyed her carefully. "Why?"
"Someone else was missing theirs so I gave mine. We were the same size," she explained, not caring much for it. She smiled at him reassuringly. "I'm alright. I'm used to walking around barefoot."
"You shouldn't be," he groaned. Forgiven or not, he did not want to see a repeat of that. It made him feel immensely frustrated and somewhat furious at his past self for tolerating it.
He looked back at the doors they just exited from, thinking of a solution, and returned to face her. "I'll buy you a pair of their boots," he decided. "When we get back to the town, we can find you new shoes."
"Thank you, but that's unnecessary," she declined swiftly. "I have another pair of shoes in my luggage."
"Then I'll just buy you the boots," he offered. He glanced at her bare feet (her toenails were painted in rainbow colours) and the mere imagination of his own feet walking back in that state made him flinch. "You can't walk like that."
"I don't want to spend money," she reasoned feebly. "They'll over-charge those boots."
"Fairly speaking, they should have handed them over to you for free," he countered irritably. "I'll go argue with them properly," he informed her, "but if it will make it quicker, money's not a problem."
"It's not worth it, Draco," she argued.
"Lovegood—"
"Luna," she sighed. "I'll be alright, Draco. I've done—"
"Give me the second clue."
Luna stepped back and scrutinised him, taken aback by the way his silver eyes narrowed and glittered with determination.
"Draco—"
"The second clue," he repeated, almost severe.
She studied him for another minute, realising that he wasn't intending to falter and therefore wasn't going to. Their perspectives on the gravity of the problem differed and he acknowledged that as much as she did, only he was willing to compromise another possible loss from their long-standing wager as a way of deciding which course of action to take.
"They are children that never come, given by one father to another man's wife, passed to her child and the next," she recited in concession, watching as his expression shifted when he realised that she had nothing more to add.
"This is the same thing, isn't it?" he asked unsurely. She responded with a simple nod, her eyes showing nothing but sincerity and it was then he quietly became re-conscious of the reality that Luna Lovegood was not a person to underestimate. She was cleverer than appearances implied, and she didn't need to employ lies or deception to prove it.
It was nearly exciting—the first time he felt cerebrally challenged in years and it was over a pair of ugly boots. Brilliant.
He sighed and ran the clues in his head in another attempt to piece it all together.
Small, highly valuable... same but different... fragile but with strong elements... limited, finite, concrete... given by a father to another man's wife... a gift? But what kind of gift... she said I was close to jewellery before, so... did she mean a specific kind of jewellery, like earrings or necklaces, or a part of—a pendant? A stone? "Passed to her child and the next" depicts heritage... an heirloom? But why would you search and "collect" an heirloom—unless... unless it's been shattered and scattered before and she's trying to...
Bright blue eyes stared patiently at him, waiting for his answer.
"An heirloom," he said finally. He was only partially sure but it was the most logical answer he arrived at, although it was rather unconventional from the traditional practices he was raised with. Heirlooms normally shouldn't even leave the family home, let alone be scattered across the globe.
"You're very good at this," Luna complimented honestly. "Very close, even closer than before, but—"
"It's not?" He looked at her in disbelief.
She shook her head. "I wouldn't be collecting pieces of an heirloom to loan them for money, would I?"
Shit! I forgot about that.
"I'll be alright, really," she told him again, smiling more hopefully at him this time. "It's not a long walk, and the path isn't cobblestoned. It doesn't hurt as much as you think. Let's go?"
He glanced at her feet again, and this time his pristine white sneakers were in sight as he looked down, painting a more guilt-inducing picture. He did not want to be walking alongside her like this, and he could only imagine how passing strangers would think of them, especially him. He wouldn't think kindly of himself either.
"There's another way," he realised aloud, the idea popping in as he raised his eyes to meet hers again. He threw her a little smirk before he turned around and faced the doors again.
He managed to march only three purposeful steps forward before he felt the hand reach for his arm.
"Draco? What are you—!"
He grabbed her hand and yanked her entire body forward, making her collide with his back as he swiftly crouched down, took her other hand, and rested both on his shoulders. She was too surprised to make sense of what he was doing, much less to resist and retaliate, and he took the opportunity to hook his arms under her knees and slightly throw her forward to a more comfortable position. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, soon realizing what he did as he nonchalantly stood back to his full stature.
Her weight was more than manageable, and he internally applauded himself for maintaining his health and fitness well enough that this wasn't as difficult as he expected it to be.
He turned around, and, spotting the arrow sign pointing to the Sky Deck, wordlessly started walking in that direction.
"I think you've forgotten the deal. You guessed wrong," Luna chided softly, drawing a hand to delicately massage her nose. It ached from the collision. "I can ask you to put me down and walk with me wherever I want to go."
"You won't," he said with certainty. "I don't want you walking barefooted, and you don't want me to argue for or buy a pair of ugly boots. This," he tightened his hold for emphasis, "is compromise."
"I suppose it is," she yielded with a huff, "I'll let you go because I still won."
"Feel free to save it," he suggested nonchalantly, smirking. "You know this isn't worth the argument."
"I never thought you could be this stubborn," she commented lightly, a giggle escaping her lips. "It's kind of cute."
"Never call a man 'cute'," he retorted. He hoped the heat that suddenly rushed up to his neck would remain unnoticed. "And you're quite stubborn yourself," he muttered peevishly.
"Yes, I am," she agreed with a devilish grin, "but I'm not as cute as you."
"No, you aren't," he replied dryly. "You're irritating."
"That comes with the stubbornness," she quipped smartly. The scent of his shampoo tickled her nostrils, and she sighed, relaxing her hold on him. "You smell nice."
A smirk tugged back on his features as she nestled her head against his. "You're going to regret this," Luna mumbled quietly.
"Just enjoy the view, Lovegood," he told her. "This is already a new vantage for you."
"Luna," she corrected again. She sighed, mildly aggravated. "When will you ever call me by my first name?"
"When your surname changes to something impractical," he riposted, smirking.
"So stubborn."
"Yes, we've established that."
He could feel the smile returning to her face, but neither of them said another word and for a while the conversation lapsed into a warm, comfortable silence. Both of them elected to ignore the mild attention they were drawing: it was generally harmless, anyway, as most of the onlookers understood the general idea of the situation upon spotting the petite blonde's bare feet.
Of the people returning from the Sky Deck and glancing curiously at them, eyes glinting with awe at the way Draco strode confidently as if he were simply carrying a large backpack, Luna noticed an elderly couple holding on to an out-dated magazine. Her smile softened and she intuitively nuzzled further against his neck, prompting the lad to glance at her and follow her line of sight as he fell in line to the lift going up to the viewing deck.
"The Quibbler," he pronounced when he saw what caught her attention. She cited it numerous times back on the cruise he invited her to. It was her favourite publication, she told him, unabashedly proud that it was a product of her parents' passion for the natural world. She had every issue that was ever printed, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she had memorised every single word that was ever published in its fifteen-year run.
"Salt lakes and salt mines, sixth issue. Daddy says that was inspired from the time he accidentally poured a bag of salt into a quiche Mummy was making," she murmured fondly after the old couple had passed.
He personally thought salt as an uninteresting topic, but the innocent memory made him feel skittish. Luna tended to share intimate memories with the ease of a ball rolling down a slide, and it was unsettling: this was only their third encounter and he wondered if she truly had no qualms letting him know, baring her vulnerabilities piece by piece.
"Neither of them cooked very well, though," she added as an afterthought, pulling him back from his thoughts again. "The food would always either be inedible or bland. Balancing flavour was never their strong point."
He grimaced at the thought. His parents never cooked, but his family's personal chef never let him eat anything less than a healthy gourmet meal as he grew up. "Do you cook?"
"Fortunately," she grinned. "I'm the saving grace of the household. They put me in charge of meals since I was five."
"Skipping grades and expertly handling kitchen equipment at five," he muttered under his breath. "They must have spoiled you rotten."
"Only with love," she agreed, saying it precisely because she knew it would make him cringe (he did, very visibly) and because it was only the truth. She smiled and leaned against him affectionately, the action surprising him because he realised that he didn't mind it at all.
If anything, he only minded that she wasn't close enough.
"My family's not rich, you know," she murmured softly, her breath fanning the juncture between his neck and shoulder. "Nowhere near as wealthy as yours, anyway. I was on a full scholarship in Hogwarts."
"You said you owned a horse," he pointed out, regarding her sceptically. "That's worth at least ten years of high school in Hogwarts."
"I was on a merit scholarship," she clarified. (Bloody hell, how smart is she?) "Nargles was a gift. I got her for Christmas before my tenth birthday."
He arched a brow. "From who?"
"A kind friend of my parents, I suppose," she answered thoughtfully. "My father couldn't have afforded her at the time. He already stopped publishing The Quibbler by then."
He cast her a sideways glance. "An anonymous gift?" he asked incredulously. There weren't many people who could present a pony to a nine-year-old, and even less, he imagined, willing to do so.
But Luna nodded, and he could only conclude that she was a favourite child of the gods. A horse was hardly necessary in the twenty-first century, but he supposed that whoever went through the trouble of giving one to her must have thought it would ease the pain of losing her mother.
"Have you ever tried to find out who it was?" he asked curiously.
"I have," she nodded solemnly. "Whoever it was had been very good at erasing his tracks,"—her lips curled to a teasing grin—"much better than someone else I know."
"Don't make me drop you," he retorted, though he couldn't help the small smile that also crept up on his face as her soft laughter rang through his ears.
It caught the attention of the couple lined in front of them, both dark-haired and chinky-eyed and mildly dumbfounded upon seeing their situation.
The girl recovered first, her expression shifting to awe and bemusement. "You seem like you've got a keeper," she said, dark brown eyes meeting blue as she grinned, "Don't let him escape."
"He's carrying me so I won't escape," Luna pointed out evenly, her smile amused and friendly. "I lost my shoes at the mines, you see,"—she gently swung her feet—"he doesn't want me to walk barefoot, even though the weather's perfectly fair and I don't mind a little dirt."
"What a gentleman," the girl remarked approvingly, glancing at her partner with a merited respect.
The brunet accompanying her had somewhat recovered by this point. His flushed gaze had been locked on the golden-haired girl since she spoke; apart from appearing considerably friendlier than her companion, she was just so—
"—Pretty," he thought aloud, "You are really pretty."
His eyes shot a contrite look to the taller blonde as soon as he realised what he blurted out; he hoped he did not unintentionally trigger any offence.
His partner inwardly rolled her eyes at him. "Like an angel," she agreed fervently, grinning at Luna, who simply smiled warmly and thanked the both of them.
Draco kept his expression neutral, silently observing the exchange. It was fairly amusing how much attention the baggage on his back caught, especially when she was on his back. He fleetingly wondered if it would have been different were they back in London—what would the headlines say?
The aforementioned baggage relaxed, nudging his sides with her feet. He glanced at her with a small smile when her hair momentarily brushed against his cheek and her hand lightly touched his collarbone as she adjusted herself.
The dark-haired girl in front of them grinned again, catching the exchange. "How long have you two been together?" she asked jovially.
"Not very long," Luna answered, throwing them a vague smile. "How about you? Congratulations, by the way," she added, noticing the silver bands on their fingers.
It was not lost on Draco that she deflected further questions by smartly changing the focus to them. The girl began chattering about tying the knot after eight years and finally experiencing the honeymoon she had always dreamed of, touring Europe. Her husband muttered something about expenses and sent him a look, which Draco inwardly dismissed. Money was not a problem to him and he was not in any committed relationship—he had never been.
Luna, on the other hand...
The line moved forward and soon there were only eight people left in front of them. The couple in front of them were now talking among themselves, apparently having gotten into an argument at one point in the girl's prattling. Draco was beginning to feel some of his joints numbing slightly—Luna was light, but that didn't mean her weight wouldn't eventually develop pressure on his body. He shifted slightly to even out the weight he was carrying. It was enough to make her aware of his predicament, but she didn't say anything pertaining to their earlier argument and simply adjusted herself accordingly again.
She leaned in close to him as they were ushered in the next lift, his attention distractedly turning to the hyacinth fragrance clinging onto his back.
The view from up there had better be spectacular, he thought sharply, otherwise she would be consuming all the breath left in him for it to take.
"It kind of makes you wish you could fly, doesn't it?" Luna whispered dreamily beside him.
The summer breeze was much stronger in the Sky Deck, kissing their skin and infinitesimally relieving the stress on Draco's physique from carrying a ninety-something-pound lady with rainbow-coloured nails.
Hallstatt from its best vantage point was an idyllic picture of a peaceful village by a glassy lake, lush greens, and tall mountains. By all accounts, it was a spectacular, breathtaking view, and the experience of seeing it felt entirely surreal: it reminded him of the photo that stirred this adventure of his in the first place, and far from feeling accomplished, he felt a surge of inspiration to continue—because what else would he be missing if he chose to stop here?
Beside him, Luna is seated cross-legged atop the handkerchief he placed on the bench before sitting her down (he wasn't going to carry her back with dirty feet hanging precariously close to his shirt), humming happily to herself. She doesn't mind his silence, seemingly content to filling it on her own.
"If I could grow wings," she murmured thoughtfully, cheerily, "I'd never need shoes."
He overhears from his rumination, and he smiles despite himself.
That will definitely make you an angel, he thought, casting his eyes back on her as if to make sure that she was truly real and not some figment of his imagination. Luna Lovegood was a dream in almost every sense of the word.
"Lovegood—"
"Luna."
He ignored her correction, continuing, "That couple from earlier got me wondering..." He paused, reflecting on the question lingering in his head. A small part of him thought he didn't have to know, but his curiosity was beginning to eat him alive. Acting on impulse, he revised to a less direct approach.
"I'm pretty sure you have an idea of my civil status," (it was occasionally published in tabloids, if she cared to read them, and it hasn't changed in years) "but frankly, I'm clueless about yours."
"I'm single," she answered easily. He took the serene smile on her face as a sign that she was not troubled by what he had thought was an intimate topic, and he was welcome to probe a little further.
"Really?" he pressed. "There's no bloke waiting for you back home?"
"No one has ever expressed any romantic interest in me," she replied casually, "and I doubt anyone back in London would produce it in my absence."
"You're fucking with me," he said in disbelief, giving her another once-over and taking another quick survey of the people around them.
"I'm not," she insisted simply, to which he responded with a faintly offended glare.
"You're twenty-five," he stressed. He found it hard to believe that she hadn't been involved at least once.
"And you'll agree with me when I say that sex and romance are different things," she replied calmly. "No one's ever approached me feeling the latter."
"How about the other way around?" he questioned. "Haven't you ever wanted anyone romantically?"
She grinned playfully. "I'd like to keep that a secret."
"I'll take that as a no," he concluded; immediately taking on her challenge, he smirked and continued, "—unless you're secretly interested in me, at which point I'd understand the plea for secrecy."
She laughed, shooting back quick-wittedly: "I'll take your curiosity in my private affairs as an expression of your secret romantic interest in me."
"Sex and romance are different things," he rounded back. "Don't misread me, Lovegood."
"My apologies," she shrugged in feigned offence. "I'll be walking barefoot later then. I should've known the piggyback ride was just a ploy to feel my breasts."
"I felt nothing," he snapped back defiantly. The childishly smug look on her face was halfway through successfully making his smirk fall off. "You have nothing on there."
"You would know," she retorted, "you've already felt what you wanted to feel."
"I did not want to feel you up," he nearly exclaimed, staring her down with a mocking confidence, "or did you want me to, since you're secretly harbouring an interest for me?"
She easily rose to the challenge. "Are you saying that to hide your interest for me?"
"You want me to be interested in you," he reiterated as he scooted nearer, looming over her with the look that had gotten him laid with women who thought they could resist. "Give it up, Lovegood—"
"It's Luna."
Her angry look slipped to an embarrassed chortle that he found nothing short of endearing, even if seconds later he realised that it wasn't because she melted at his pheromones.
"I'm sorry," she said, shakily drawing her knees to her chest and partly covering her mouth with a hand, "I started imagining you as something else and I can't argue seriously anymore."
It was a testament to how well he had gotten to know her in two days, and by extension, how much interest and attention he paid to her, when he immediately caught on to exactly what she pictured.
"Tell me you did not." He looked indignant.
She broke out in laughter.
"You little loon," he muttered disbelievingly, shaking his head. He was beginning to fail keeping his own chuckles from escaping. "A dragon, seriously?"
"Your nostrils flared!" she justified with a giggle. "It was cute. Is that why you were named Draco?"
"No, it's been my mother's family tradition to name children after constellations," he explained wearily. Now that he thought about it, however, he wondered why his mother chose Draco—or perhaps it was his father's idea? Lucius Malfoy had a penchant for reptile creatures. He was particularly fond of snakes. The name seemed a good compromise.
"How lovely," Luna said adoringly, calming down from her fit of giggles. "It's such a shame that you prefer to be called Malfoy."
"Who said I did?"
The riposte escaped his mouth before he thought it through. Luna stopped laughing and smiling altogether, staring at him with evident surprise and apology for a full silent, horrendously awkward minute before her lips curled back up to a thoughtful smile.
"I like calling you Draco," she said simply.
He didn't harbour hatred for his father or his family, only that it was admittedly rather suffocating to have your identity and your choices constantly defined by and for an institution, no matter how noble or celebrated or relevant, that has not made you happy or genuinely purposeful in a long time.
He knew she understood that much—her expressive blue eyes hid nothing and Luna Lovegood caught on more quickly than others would have expected of her.
It calmed and perturbed him at the same time.
"I should go," he decided suddenly, dusting off the front of his pants as he stood up, "I have a bus to catch."
He frankly didn't know what time it was, let alone when he could reach the next available public vehicle heading to the nearest airport, but he had toured a salt mine and viewed a wonderful landscape with a "friend" whom he connected with quite more intimately than he ever had with anyone else, and it was starting to terrify him that he felt as if his heart was going to leap out of his chest instead of relaxing in relief.
He stepped in front of the golden-haired girl, blocking her view with the back he proffered as he squatted down a few inches before her. Luna took the hint and carefully hopped on.
"Dragon-riding," she beamed, gleefully wrapping her arms around his neck, "it's perfectly felicitous!"
He rolled his eyes, though his lips surrendered to a small smile.
"We're still several feet above ground," he reminded her as he straightened back to his full stature. "Don't make me drop you."
"I'm safe so long as my chest is pressed against your back," she declared cheerily.
"I still feel nothing." That was a lie. "Are you sure you're twenty-five?"
"Harassment of minors is a very serious felony, you know," she quipped. "You're lucky I am."
"Charming," he drawled shortly.
He made his way to the stairs, thinking he could handle going down with an ninety-something-pound girl on his back. Besides, he could spot the shuttle service not far along the end of it.
Luna heaved a breathy sigh as she slackened against him, closing her eyes. The stronger winds from their altitude weakened the intensity of her perfume, though her scent remained perfectly pleasant.
"You're a very sweet dragon, Draco," she murmured dreamily, "thank you for flying me out today."
"My pleasure." He doubted she caught the small smile betraying the sarcasm in his voice, but he was certain that she was beaming regardless, as always. The silly girl never failed to find something to smile about.
Silly girl probably never even bothered with the search, the happy fool.
He inwardly shook his head in amusement, steering his attention to the erratic thumping in his chest. His heart had started acting mad and would not cease, and it was increasingly worrying him as he was quite sure that it had nothing to do with the minimal physical stress from the extra weight he was carrying on his back. It was overwhelmingly strange and uncomfortably new, terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
He proceeds to ignore it, tuning in to the familiar song Luna began humming and redirecting his cogitations to identify it. It was still a long while before the day ended and he would rather spend the remaining hours seizing her company instead of his own thoughts. The present was perfect and he preferred to keep it that way as long as he could.
"What is that song?" he asked exasperatedly.
Luna laughed gaily next to his ear. "The jingle from the Quidditch commercial, of course!"
(But this—easy, unanticipated, distressing, heart-stopping—this was the fall.)