Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Draco doesn't fight the urge to go down to the cellar again, not much, and Luna gives him her bright dreamy smile when he opens the door. He doesn't quite trust himself to kiss her, but they sit close together and she tells him softly about all the things she's fascinated by, how she would like to go on a world tour when she's older, and explore and discover for herself. He manages to keep his breathing fairly steady, even when she squeezes his hand in her enthusiasm.
'The sunrise was amazing this morning,' he says to her, out of the blue. 'I thought you would have liked it.'
Her face goes pointed with longing for a fleeting instant. He'd sort of forgotten that there was no way she could have seen it, down here, and sudden sick shame curls inside him. He inches a little away from her and shoves his hands in his pockets, turning his face away.
'I'll take you,' he offers, after a moment. 'Around the world. Anywhere. We can look for all those things together.'
Her face goes soft, and she smiles at him. 'That would be lovely,' she says dreamily, and then, 'We could see lots of sunrises… and the sky and sun.'
He puts his arm around her tentatively, and she leans her head down to rest, quite naturally, on his shoulder.
And he finds himself asking, 'Luna, have you – read the Bible?' He flushes as he says it, stiffening slightly, waiting for her to laugh.
She doesn't laugh, of course, but tips her head interestedly towards him, on his shoulder. 'Yes,' she says, and waits, as though she's not going to force the subject on him unless he really wants to speak about it.
He's actually not sure he does want to talk about it, but he says, awkwardly, 'My mother keeps reading it, and she said – that it's all about – love.' The last word sounds as odd on his tongue as it did when his mother said it.
'It is love, the whole book,' Luna says suddenly, softly. 'Everything is, don't you think?'
Actually it's pretty opposite to what he does think, which is that love is a rather scarce commodity these days, and he doesn't have the strength to play pretend for her.
'No,' he says harshly. 'The Dark Lord is taking everything over, you have to know that! Do you think the Dark Lord has anything to do with love? Love is weak.' And he turns his face away.
She's smoothing her fingers over the veins standing out on the back of his hand, which he didn't realise was clenched so tightly. 'Love isn't weak,' she says firmly, as though she's prepared to let him say all sorts of other crazy things, but not that. She goes on with her calming little strokes on his hand, and it feels good, and he closes his eyes.
'Whatever,' he says, tiredly.
'I'd rather go with no food than no love,' she comments idly, as though it's a perfectly normal thing to say. 'Because if there isn't any love, why bother eating anyway?' And she gives a little thoughtful hum in the back of her throat, agreeing with herself.
'Luna,' he says, 'seriously? You'd rather have no food?'
'Of course,' she says, like there's no question about it.
'I'll bet that you're all friendly and lovey-dovey with absolutely everyone you meet, at school.' It somehow doesn't sound as sneering as he'd intended, perhaps because of the fact that she's nestled trustfully into his side, and he still has his arm wrapped around her shoulders.
'No, actually,' she says sadly, her mouth turning down slightly at the corners. 'I would like to have lots of friends, but not many people are interested in being friends with me.'
He thinks that those other people must find her too bizarre and unusual, and feels an odd surge of protectiveness, which he tries not to acknowledge. 'Their loss, I guess,' he says awkwardly.
'Are you friends with me, Draco?' she says wistfully.
It throws him off balance. 'Of course I am!' he blurts, then, stumbling a bit, 'I mean – that is… if you want…' But she's glowing, smiling at him again so that it's like sunshine warming him up from his head to his toes, like stained-glass light pooling around him.
'Thank you,' she says softly, as though he's given her something precious and wonderful.
He goes and spends most of every day with her, after that, and no-one else even notices, or checks, or cares. But he knows he'll have to go back to school at the end of the Christmas holidays, and it lies like a weight on his chest. There'll be no-one there for Luna, no-one to talk to her and cast warming charms over her and the silent, listless Ollivander every day.
He makes sure she has enough candles, and matches so that she can light them herself. He finds more blankets, and when she asks, he even brings her paper and pencils, so that she can draw by the candlelight. But still – still – he's afraid, sick afraid. He's a coward, and there's nothing he can do to protect her, nothing.
The night before he leaves, he goes to see her, standing, wretched, just inside the door. 'I'm going back to Hogwarts,' he says drearily. 'Tomorrow – first thing.'
'Oh, Draco,' she says softly, as though he's the one who's worse off and needs sympathy. 'I'm so sorry to hear that.' And she comes over to him and puts her hands on his arms.
He knows that really, it's all wrong that she should be feeling sorry for him, but her compassion feels like balm, and he savours it, putting his arms around her and burying his face in her soft hair. 'I'll miss you,' he says fiercely.
She says something which gets muffled into his chest, but he thinks that she'll miss him too, and grips her, suddenly, even tighter. 'Luna, Luna!'
They cling together, and don't speak for a long time, just hold each other and breathe.
