His hatred for the outdoors was palpable, skittering like electricity across skin without freckles or redness, skin that didn't often see the tender touch of the sun. While his brother took quests with their mother, he sat inside with books or chess or television, refusing to even look at sunlight on the rolling hills or gentle rain sliding down the window panes or the snow that made everything gleam silver. It made him the black sheep of his family - the son of Rolf Scamander and Luna Lovegood, unable to stand the bite of fresh air or the whistle of the wind? Inconceivable.
It made him a pariah, at Hogwarts. If asked to Hogsmeade, he didn't linger in the winding streets, and was almost insufferable on dates - never one for romantic walks in the glistening snow. Outdoor study groups were an impossibility for him, and he often simply closeted himself on his bed and studied while the sun shone outside. One first year actually started a rumour that he was a vampire - but of course, that was utter nonsense. He was simply not a fan of the outdoors.
With skin so pale and hair so dark, untouched by sunlight, he was an imposing figure. But not to a Malfoy, someone already hated by the world for his parentage. Someone who couldn't go outside without being hissed or booed at, like some pantomime villain. They bonded over the inability to face the outdoors.
Their first kiss was not bathed in moonlight or walking in the snow or paddling barefoot in the lake beneath a warm sun. It was closed off from the world, on Lorcan's bed, over a pile of colour-coded Arithmancy notes.