Word Count: 633
Draco is more than a little disappointed to realize someone is already atop the Astronomy Tower. "Sorry," he mutters. "I'll go."
"You don't have to leave."
The soft, dreamy voice makes him freeze in his tracks. His blood turns cold. He knows that voice all too well. Luna Lovegood had been a prisoner in his home for quite some time. On the worst days, they would send him to give the prisoners their food. She had always looked at him with those wide, silvery eyes, and she had smiled. No matter how terrible her life was, she managed to smile through it and tell him that it would be okay.
She looks up at him now, smiling that familiar smile and raising a hand in greeting. Her pale skin is covered in a thin layer of gold that sparkles in the sunlight. "You can sit with me," she tells him. "I don't mind the company."
He knows he should turn and walk away. The war is over and everyone is trying to pick up the pieces and move on. How will she be able to if he's around? How will he, knowing that she has suffered because of him?
And yet, he can't seem to say no. Mutely, he moves closer and sits beside her. She sits with her legs folded and tucked in a strange way that he could never hope to mimic. A sketch pad rests in her lap, and she holds a gold pastel in her hand.
"I didn't know you could draw." It's stupid, of course. They aren't friends; he doesn't know anything about her.
"Oh, yes. Well, I prefer to paint," Luna replies, "but I rather like drawing as well."
"I can't draw."
She laughs softly and tucks an emerald green pastel into his hand. "Anyone can draw," she says. "It's just that the world teaches us that drawing has to be good. I think we sometimes forget that we can do things for our own enjoyment, that we don't have to make fun activities into skills."
It's such a bizarre way to look at things. Draco has always been raised to believe that anything worth learning is a vital skill, and he must learn it and be the best at it. There is no room for mediocrity when you're a Malfoy.
He swallows dryly. "Hey, Luna?"
"Yes?"
The words seem to stick in his throat. Draco leans back, eyes closing. He sucks in a deep breath to steady his nerves. His eyes open again. He doesn't feel any stronger, but he has to speak before he goes insane. "I'm sorry about what happened to you," he says. "What my family did to you… What I did to you."
"You did what you thought was right."
He doesn't understand how she can be so calm. If anyone had held him hostage and subjected him to the hell they'd put Luna through, he would hex anyone who tried to apologize. But Luna just accepts it so easily, like there is nothing to forgive at all. It surprises him.
"You're a Slytherin," she continues. "That doesn't mean you're a bad person; it just means that you wanted to survive. It would be foolish for me to be upset over that."
Draco doesn't speak at first. Her words seem to lift a weight from his shoulders, and it feels like he can finally breathe again. "Do you think you could teach me how to draw?" he asks, lifting his pastel.
She offers him a smile and tears a page from her pad. "Of course. That's what friends do, isn't it?"
He can't help but smile at that. Under ordinary circumstances, he would never even dream of being friends with Luna Lovegood. Now, however, he realizes that he doesn't mind at all.