Chapter 2 ~ Luna
That had been my favorite quill. I supposed it wasn't the end of the world, but it had been a Christmas present from Father, and I had just broken it in so that it fit my hand in all the right places. The only reason I hadn't been using it this morning was that Hermione had given me a new quill at the start of term, and it seemed only polite to use it at least one day a week. Today was that day this week. Consequently, my usual quill was free to lend my desk mate when he had so clearly forgotten his. And Malfoy had promptly snapped it in half.
I sat at the long table, the poor quill dangling from my hand as I stared at it, admittedly forgetting the meal in front of me. Something had been decidedly wrong today. He had practically sprawled into class - Draco Malfoy, whose life seemed to depend on his ability to maintain his devil-may-care attitude. This morning, however, it seemed he had left said attitude in the same place as his quill. His clothes, too, had been decidedly odd. His tie was nearly falling off, and his hair and clothes looked as if he had just rolled out of bed after a restless night. I smiled faintly at that. If he hadn't been so obviously distressed, I would have felt a bit triumphant. I would never have thought that I would look more put together than Draco Malfoy.
The rushing to class and disheveled appearance weren't what was distracting me so, however. The moment when Draco had realized he had no quill, he had cracked. He was visibly attempting to compose himself when I turned to him with my spare quill in my hand. It was unnerving, to say the least. I had been in school with Draco for six years, and we had been friends for over a month now. During that month, nearly every conversation we'd had caused him visible discomfort. As the reason for this was obvious, I had never bothered to address it. Just because something is uncomfortable doesn't always mean it needs to be instantly resolved. In fact, that very attempt often adds stress to an already tense situation and makes it worse. However, the discomfort caused by my presence had never extended beyond a tensing of his shoulders, a head turned so I couldn't see his face or a lowered voice. This? Now this was something else altogether. In six years, I had never seen him visibly shaken like he had been this morning. Of course, I don't count his bouts of anger as a young boy. Those were different.
Yes, Draco had become my friend, I believed. He might not have intended it, but it had happened, and this morning he was clearly unsettled by something. I happen to have a great distaste for seeing my friends in distress. But Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Harry, Ron - they all showed distress. Fairly regularly. I could see it with only mild concern most of the time. But Draco? When someone with such a carefully constructed wall lets it fall - even briefly - in public, something must be dreadfully wrong. Perhaps I should find him. Not to force him to tell me what the matter is, I know he'll tell me if he wants to, but simply because it isn't pleasant to be alone and upset at the same time.
I hoped that my wrackspurts had distracted him, at the very least. It was a trick I had learned years ago - that a well-timed comment could shift the focus of an entire room. It very rarely did any good to dwell on unpleasant things, yet people often seemed very insistent on doing so. When humor was inappropriate, or comforting words would seem trite, a casual observation about the mating habits of Crumple-Horned Snorkaks or the presence of Nargles, and focuses shifted entirely - at least for a while. While I had absolutely no reason to doubt the existence of said creatures, I knew everyone else did. The majority of the time, my comments were based much more on the atmosphere of the room than on the actual presence of tiny invisible creatures. Draco, in particular, almost always followed the distraction, immediately challenging my sanity every time. It was quite funny, actually.
I sighed, giving my destroyed quill one last look before vanishing it. I could have mended it, but it wouldn't have been the same anymore. Once things have been broken they always bear scars, and while that fact only added to a person's complexity, it was rather undesirable in a writing implement. And after all, I still had Hermione's quill to use. Just as I was about to rise from the table, a body plopped down onto the bench next to me hard enough to rattle my teeth. People seemed to be rather fond of doing that today. This time, however, Hermione Granger had made herself my neighbor. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were bright, and without so much as a greeting, she launched into an in-depth explanation of a concept she had just learned in Arithmancy. For reasons that I have never understood, Hermione loves arithmancy, even though her distaste for all other forms of divination - which Arithmancy is a form of - extends into the realm of violence. Honestly, Arithmancy was no more reliable than Astronomy, and less reliable than a true prophecy, yet it was the only one she embraced. It puzzled me a bit.
"And when the two lines intersect in the third quadrant, it indicates the possible…" Hermione trailed off, most likely realizing that I had been silently nodding for the past three minutes. "Sorry, Luna," she smiled sheepishly, running a hand through her already wild hair, "I got a bit carried away."
I smiled at her but glanced at the door. I had a fair idea of where Draco might be, but he probably wouldn't stay there long. I was always happy to talk with Hermione, but her excitement over Arithmancy wasn't quite on the same level as the major life crisis which my other friend appeared to be having. "It's quite alright, Hermione," I said absently, still watching the door. He was going to miss lunch at this rate, and hunger would hardly help him cope with whatever was bothering him. "I enjoy hearing about your day."
"Her day?" another body, this time a girl with red hair, flanked me rather violently on my other side. Really, why did people keep doing that? Had sitting down quietly gone out of fashion overnight? "What about yours?"
"My day has been pleasant enough Ginny, why do you ask?" I was a bit confused by the incredulous tone of her voice, but I reached for a meat pie and wrapped it in a napkin anyway.
The girl put a hand on her hip, a difficult task when crammed between two people on a narrow bench. I believe she would have been distressed had she realized how strongly she resembled her mother when she did that. "Terry told me you were sitting with Malfoy in Charms. Again." her blue eyes narrowed and beside me, Hermione dropped her head into her hand tiredly, curls billowing about her head like she was underwater.
"Honestly Luna," Hermione sighed, "He's dangerous." I received the distinct impression that this was the tone she would use when trying to explain to Teddy Lupin why it was unwise to stick one's fingers into a boiling cauldron.
I looked at her calmly. Responding to condescension only heightened tensions, so I didn't. Besides, she was only trying to help me. "Well, of course you would say that. He bullied you for five years, and you were tortured in his home." Her hesitation to move past his behavior really was quite understandable.
"And you weren't?" Ginny's voice was hard as steel behind me, and I didn't turn to face her. For a brief second, I could feel the knife, stinging, cutting, burning into my skin. I could hear him chanting the words over and over again, and I could smell his foul breath, inescapable as he laughed into my ear. Then I blinked, and there was only Hermione's stony face, the gentle touch of my uniform against my skin, and the happy noises produced when teenagers are given large amounts of food. I pushed the memories away. Why did everyone seem intent on bringing that up? It did no good to think about it, it was far better to simply move on, yet everyone wanted me to relive it.
After a breath, I turned to face my fiery friend. She was angry. I smiled softly at her. "You were tortured in Hogwarts, Ginny Weasley," I said the words gently, as if apologizing for saying them even as they were said. "Do you then hate every person to have ever gone to school here?"
Her face crumpled again, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets clearly at odds with some other thought. "Of course not. That would be ridiculous," she said, shaking her head. "That's completely different, though."
I nodded slowly, considering. "Is it?"
"He's Malfoy!" it seemed to explode out of Hermione without her consent. I turned, and her face was an interesting sort of confused.
I nodded again. "Yes. He is a Malfoy, and as such, he grew up in that place, immersed in its lies, being force-fed those ideas from before he was old enough to think. And yet somehow, in the end, he recognized those lies for what they were, rejected every truth he had ever known, and emerged with his sanity intact." I cocked my head slightly, reconsidering. "Mostly, at least." he had been acting very oddly, after all.
Hermione and Ginny spluttered incoherently at me as I stood, slipping the meat pie into my pocket and lifting my bag onto my shoulder. Just as I was turning to leave, though, I felt a hand wrap around my wrist. Hermione's face peered up at me, her mouth a grim line, her eyes a war between hearing my words and clinging to the facts she had accepted long ago. She was very like Draco when I thought about it.
"I don't care if he did switch sides at the end, Luna," she said it so quietly I had to dip my head slightly to understand her. Her face was somber. "He was trouble before the war, he was dangerous during it, and he still isn't right. I don't think it's safe for you to be around him, and the fact that you even want to be is baffling."
I gently pried her fingers away from my wrist. "You, of all people, Hermione Granger, understand what it feels like to have people avoid you because they don't think you quite right. It is a feeling I am familiar with myself, and I see no reason for others to experience it as well."
I saw him before I got there. With his dark clothing, he could almost have been one of the Thestrals were it not for the startling paleness of his hair. Sitting as he was on the opposite side of the clearing from the herd, he almost looked like they had banished him. I smiled at the poetry of the picture - the dark creatures that he resembled but didn't quite belong with. His isolation, though he was so close to them. I knew better than to ever say anything of the sort aloud to him, but I found it beautiful nonetheless. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, and his head was lowered slightly as he stared at the elegant things. As I got closer, I could see a muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched and unclenched it. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, looking a bit like the too-long legs of a colt. Altogether it made a rather pathetic picture.
I made no effort to mask my approach, for I had learned the hard way that startling Draco was not an overly wise course of action. He didn't bother to look up before addressing me. "What do you want, Lovegood?" his voice was unreadable. That usually meant he was upset. As if I hadn't already pieced that much together.
I pulled out the meat pie I had taken from the Great Hall, dropping it unceremoniously into his lap. He stared at the thing as if it had just sprouted legs and danced the waltz. "Skipping meals won't help." I shrugged a little, looking him over to verify that he hadn't brought any food. He hadn't. "No matter the severity of your concerns, it seems a bit foolish to starve yourself."
He had allowed his hair to grow over the summer, so when he whipped his head up to send me a threatening glare, the effect was rather marred by the whitish locks falling into his eyes, almost hiding them from sight. Before he could tell me to stay out of his business - which I might point out I had yet to meddle in - I turned away from him and approached the lazing animals on the other side of the clearing. There were only half a dozen or so today - the rest must be off somewhere. Before I made it to the sleeping little ones, I heard the rustle of the napkin being unfolded. Good.
Silence reigned for several minutes as I watched over the sleeping babies and Draco ate. I was well aware of his frustration at being followed - it was practically rolling off of him in waves - but I knew he knew I wouldn't push about it. If anything, I would avoid the topic. If he wanted to discuss it, he would bring it up, not me.
"He escaped," He finally said. His voice sounded hollow, and I stilled. No.
I slowly rose and walked over to where he sat, quietly depositing myself near him and folding my legs underneath myself.
He had straightened his tie, I noticed, and he must have cast an ironing charm on his clothes because he once again looked like Draco Malfoy, the mighty Prince of Slytherin. All except for his hair. Every few seconds, he ran his hands through it, tossing the blond strands in every imaginable direction. He was self-soothing, I realized.
"I got the letter this morning." when he looked up at me his face was as blank as if he was reading lines from a script. As if the words didn't even affect him. It might have been believable if not for his hand, which was rolling a rock around on the dusty ground like he was kneading bread. The sight of the jagged grey edges made me crease my brows - he was putting quite a lot of pressure on his hand, and that rock was very sharp.
"You're going to hurt your hand, Draco Malfoy," I nodded towards the hand in question, where a thin line of red was beginning to trickle down the rock.
His brows slammed down and he stood up, bringing the thing with him as he walked away from me to the other side of the clearing. "Who cares," he muttered under his breath.
I laughed lightly. "Well, you should, for one. I rather do as well." I added the last bit almost as an afterthought, which it was.
He whirled on me, glaring at me from across the clearing. "See, a month of you following me around, and I still can't figure out why. Why do you care about me, Lovegood? You lived through hell in my house - for three bloody months. I heard you being tortured. Merlin, that bloody song." a shadow of emotion crossed his face then, and he ran his hands through his hair again, dropping my eyes. but then the look was gone, replaced by that mask of contempt. "For all I know, my father was the one who did it - Merlin knows the reason, but I know he had a bone to pick with you, and now he's loose and likely to come after us both. I'm a bully, a liar, all-around a right unpleasant person, yet you insist on following me places, chattering on about absolutely nothing. You're mad! That's the only explanation I can possibly think of, and it's getting bloody infuriating."
I knew why he said it. He was afraid, and when Draco Malfoy was afraid he lashed out. I had figured that out long before I'd ever spoken to him. He wasn't actually angry with me - at least, I didn't think so. I was just there. Yet still, I felt my chest tightening. 'You're mad,' he had said. I'd been called worse, many a time, I reminded myself. I never cared. It was a bit of a compliment to be called insane or crazy, but mad? He couldn't know.
You're mad.
He didn't know. That wasn't what he meant, and I was being ridiculous. Even if he somehow knew, there was no reason to be hurt by things said under the influence of high emotion, so I took a deep breath, shoved the memories and the hurt out of my mind, and rose to my feet. "I'm sorry about your father, Draco, whether you wish to hear it or not." I kept my tone gentle, kept any hurt or confrontation out of it. That would only make things worse, I knew. "I only wanted to make sure you didn't faint somewhere because you'd forgotten to eat. I'll leave you to stew now."
I turned without waiting for him to reply and moved swiftly back towards the castle. No matter how I tried to tune it out, every step I took sounded like a chant over and over in my head.
You're mad.
You're mad.
Mad.
Mad.
Mad.
So what did you think? Writing Luna makes me a bit nervous - she's such a unique character, and if the author doesn't get her right it usually ruins the fic for me. I'm happy to take any and all constructive criticism/suggestions! Also a huge thank you to the people who've reviewed and left kudos. Y'all are the best!
It's been a day y'all. Now off to continue my binge read of Debts of Honor by sareliz. It's a Vikmione fic, and it's delightful. Highly recommend :)
