I still don't own HP.
Dainty lines of her faceless twin's loose silhouette are lurking in the far corners of his peripheral vision. Always. He wishes they were never there at all.
Her shadow is the only real part of her he can watch in peace. The association of dark elements of his incorporeal soul can only cut a fresh path through familiar territory. The only question remaining is whether the contour of her two-dimensional being holds any connection to the three-dimensional Luna Lovegood.
He's bored because tormenting first years is no longer an adequate source of fun anymore, being a Head Boy giving out punishments has lost its magic under the Carrow siblings' reign of terror and because Pansy prefers to suck Blaise's dick. But Luna, the ever Loony, is here and he wants to play.
"Entertain me, Lovegood. Let's play a game."
She turns her head to the side whence the smug voice comes. Her face reveals nothing more than childlike curiosity. He hardly ever receives that expression nowadays.
His depravity carves her innocence even if her innocence is just a fancy flower dress she wears in his deplorable fantasies he is so ashamed of. In reality, Luna wears star printed socks with polka dot skirt in contrast to the war corrupted rags wizards of Britain breathe their last in.
Draco doesn't know innocence so innocence comes in the form of a tempestuous fusion of a late summer whirlwind of sunset colors and an ocean storm of sweet ambrosia.
Her arctic-blue orbs embellished chalk-white skin is invitingly begging to get blemished with lampblack from under his manicured nails.
"Fine. Let's play I spy with my little eye."
"In the library, you imbecile? Fine, but I start."
He lazily scans the library but fails to find anything thought-provoking. His gaze then slides over to the blonde head. A self-conceited smirk mars his pointy face as he his eyes intensively bore into hers.
"I spy with my little eye something that's like any other on the outside, but is far more peculiar inside…"
"This object is closed but can open to anyone willing to pay attention to it…"
"It hides a secret passage into an alternative world full of new unknows, but only those who appreciate it are allowed entrance. The more you study it, the more engaged you become, the more you want it…"
"It's very vulnerable though… You use a bit of force, and it lays at your legs in small pieces…"
Luna refuses to tear her eyes away from him. He has put on a nonchalant expression, his voice uncharacteristically airy and strain-free. Draco Malfoy has beautiful hands, she notes. Long fingers with vein garlands appealing with bluish hue against his icy skin, calloused and dry from his unshakeable habit of biting skin off around his nails.
"It's a book," she chimes in dreamily.
"How intelligent our little blood traitor is. Bravo! You go, " he sneers, a feature much more Malfoy-like.
She doesn't look around but dives straight into it.
"I spy with my little eye something, something that has deathly weapons it isn't afraid to use, but only uses when danger comes close to it."
"This something is although violent eye-to-eye, its threat won't reach you if you stand outside its comfort zone it so dearly guards."
"It is in constant fear; paranoia is eating him alive. It won't trust anything unless…"
"Stop," a menacing alarm wrestles through his gritted teeth.
Tiny dots of sweat are beading on his forehead with the purpose of cooling his boiling flesh underneath. His disheveled hair is only a pitiful semblance of the perfect platinum crown he styled his locks into in the morning.
He no longer likes this game.
But she doesn't stop gushing.
"…it has a small, unprotected knot near its base. It's a secret nobody knows. It's so obvious, but nobody knows what this little knot hides so privately. Maybe something that stands close to its base, something…"
"I said shut the fuck up!" He exclaims with anger dripping from his note. His figure abruptly towers over her sitting form as he jumps up from his seat.
He wants to take a step and let her plunge into the dark abyss.
"…that would immobilize him."
She stays calm and reserved, as always.
"I was merely describing the Whomping Willow. Draco, you are funny," a magnetic smile breaks across her face like the idiot she is.
He's seething again, consistently angry with himself and with her, this energy, this fire never failing to burn down his frail paper blockade along with his little paper world erected on the grounds of nothing, but feeble acts of self-preservation, secured by his deteriorating persecution complex. The anxiety of feeling inferior to this sanity-sucking leech as a superior epitome of human self-transcendence he regards himself as is something that wakes the desire to tear that flower dress into rags.
He can't deal with the loss, the realization that he's going to have to start from the very bottom again, constructing a new world, installing a more advanced safety network to keep blonde headed lunatics from breaking into his mind again.
He sentences her to 1-month detention and leaves in a huff.