Safe is only an illusion

There is always a crack,

A hole, a way in and out

Walk softly, and listen well.

Inside the loom,

weaving fore and back

The shuttle crisscrosses

And spins a textile spell.

Written in runes, and

etched in glass

All things fade to memory

And everything will pass.

Draco wrote the words, while nearby Luna was telling some sort of nonsense story that she was making sensible, tangible through the strength of her own tale. That was one thing that he'd come to like about Luna. She wasn't distracting - she had some sort of gift, in knowing when conversation was wanted - or needed. But she had that gift of stillness, one of those things that Draco had always thought was so quintessentially Slytherin. Others had patience, true, but to sit, and wait, and be undisturbed by the waiting - that was a very Slytherin thing.

Granger buried herself in books, and Luna wreathed herself in stories. Draco simply sat, and was still. He looked over his poem, again, his restless spirit seeming to wake.

"Luna," he asked softly, not wanting to disturb her if she was busy.

"Yes, Draco?" she asked, and Draco smirked. He liked that about her, the direct way her blue eyes met his. The poise that was untaught and untrained.

"Yesterday - it worked!" Draco was up and pacing nearly before he'd spread the sand over the still-wet ink.

"What worked?" Luna asked, though Draco would have continued on without her saying anything.

"Granger and I were arguing during Potions ... and you know, after that, she calmed down." Draco said enthusiastically. "It actually worked!"

"Or did it?" Luna said, in that quietly patient way she had. "I saw her this morning, and she looked just as tightly wound up as ever."

"I know- but if it worked once, it'll work again!" Draco said, mixing frustration with a sense of triumph.

"You can't do it all the time, Malfoy." Luna said, and that was how Draco knew she was dead serious - she never called him by his last name.

"You could help!" Draco said, thoughtlessly - and worse, guilelessly. It was a measure of how much Hermione Granger's tenseness was affecting him - and Luna knew it.

She sent him a long, considering look, and shook her head, "This is a spring," she said, pulling something out of ... her hair. It looked, Draco was surprised to see, like it was trying to hold her hair together, as when she took it out, her sungold hair went spilling down her shoulders, almost like liquid water.

She pulled on it, and said, "This is what you did yesterday. You pulled on her tenseness," Luna paused, looking at Draco - who, for his own part, was equal parts fascinated by the coil of metal, and by Luna's words.*

"Today, it sprung back." Luna said, releasing the spring. "You could do that again and again." she said, using the spring to illustrate her words, "and it would have the same effect."

"So what do I do?" Draco asked, entranced both by the words and the funny springy metal thing.

"Well, it turns out, if you pull on a spring hard enough," and Luna did, "It doesn't just spring back," Draco looked, saddened almost, at the spring that was suddenly... not springy. It was stretched out, and wouldn't spring back together like it used to.

"So... I have to... get her to loosen up... a lot." Draco Malfoy said. "Luna, you're a genius!" Draco Malfoy said, before rushing off.

"Bye, Dragon." Luna said, to his rapidly disappearing back. She got that a lot, however, so it didn't bother her none.

[a/n: What's Draco's idea? Suggestions and comments are welcome, so leave a review!]

*a spring is a muggle device, apparently. or at least not one that pompous pureblood prats are exposed to at early ages.