On the night of the Malfoy Winter Ball, Draco descended the stairs, dressed in stark black dress robes. There were already people filling the foyer and large ballroom, even though it was only eight.
He spotted a girl he knew from school, Emline, standing with her parents, and made his way over. She was in Slytherin, a year or two younger than him, and she had olive skin and thick black hair and bright hazel eyes. So different from the girl he was trying to forget. He made small talk with her and her family, before asking her to dance. They spent most of the night together, and he knew that she was entranced with him. He was less captivated by the girl herself, but by the weight of her in his arms, the heaviness of her, the solidity. This was a girl who could have suffered. This was a girl who was completely part of this world. And there was nothing he wanted more than to feel like he was tethered to something real.
He kept thinking he saw Luna, but he had specifically asked his mother not to include her family on the guest list. His mother had almost asked him why, but instead she had just given him a long hug before wandering off.
After countless dances with Emline, he pulled her gently to a darkened corner of the room, and kissed her thoroughly. Eventually they returned to the dance floor, and before long her parents came to collect her. He nodded his farewells, suddenly disgusted with himself for some reason, and headed for the stairs.
But Luna was standing there, and his blood turned simultaneously hot and cold. She was beautiful, her long blonde hair in a loose braid trailing down her back, which was left otherwise bare by the loose silver dress she wore. The dress' infinite layers were weighed down with beading and embroidery, and she had a thin matching beaded ribbon tied about her head.
She was talking to Neville Longbottom, and was laughing at something he said, her fingers wrapped carelessly around her champagne flute.
She looked up, feeling someone watching her, and their eyes met. A sudden fury passed across her face, but then it was gone again, leaving her cool exterior unruffled. She politely excused herself from Neville, before turning and walking swiftly out the door. Draco almost tripped over himself following her, and finally caught up with her on the path down to the road.
He grabbed her wrist, spinning her around and holding her to face him. She struggled against him for a moment, but finally stopped. Raising her chin defiantly, she met his eyes, and he saw the barest hint of moisture at the edge of her eye.
He reached to wipe it away, and she flinched visibly when he brushed her cheek. He dropped both his hands suddenly, releasing her, feeling so much all at once that he couldn't bear it.
"Why are you here?" he asked softly, defeated.
"Because Neville asked me. And I didn't realize that it would mean anything, I thought perhaps you would just ignore me and I would go home, sad but understanding why this is hard for you. Because I understand you, Draco, even though you can't fathom that. I understand how you feel, and I want to hold you until it goes away. I want to protect you from ever being hurt again."
He felt tears rolling off his chin, and he reached for her. She shut her eyes and stepped away, as if it were the hardest thing she had ever done.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but as if she knew what he was about to say, she stopped him.
"Just because you're hurting doesn't mean you can make the people who love you hurt," she whispered, her voice cracking. He shook his head, trying to make her understand that he didn't mean it, that he needed her, but she stopped him again.
"I just have one question," she said, her soft voice turning to steel. He nodded quickly, wanting so badly to pull her to him.
"Have you ever had a lover that you didn't betray?"
He opened his mouth to say that he would protect her forever, that he would never cause her any pain, but the look on her face told him that he already had. So he turned his head to the side, silent, and she walked away.