Listen

Listen

Draco Malfoy stormed through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, prepared to trample over anyone who got in his way, though not many did. One look at the seventh year's angry face was enough to send them all scrambling in the opposite direction; they had learned early in their school years to stay out of his way. So intent upon his anger was he that he didn't even relish in the fact that he was one of the most feared and powerful students in the school.

Instead, he used his recently acquired status of Head Boy to snap at some second years, enjoying their terror, and deduct ten points for dawdling in the hallway. Only when he had releashed some more of his pent up anger on a terrified first year, a snogging couple, and four overjoyed fifth years did he stalk out of the school towards his favorite hill to sit under the tree and glower out at the lake. In his hand he still clenched the crumpled piece of parchment.

"Seven years!" he thought angrily.

For seven years he had been trying his hardest to bring honor to his family name, to make his father proud, and to establish some foothold on the beginnings of his life. He had worked relentlessly - studying until all hours of the night, practicing his Quidditch, winning Snape's favor, and all this only to come in second best. Again!

He rubbed a throbbing temple as more angered thoughts poured into his head. He really should have expected this letter from his father. Lucius had never before failed to point out all of Draco's other failures such as being outdone by Granger in his studies, beaten by Potter in Quidditch and even bested by Ron in the sixth year Dueling Club.

Draco swore vehemently as his head started to pound even fiercer his body aching under the strain of his thoughts. With little more than three quarters of a school year left and he becoming a fully certified wizard, he was at an absolute loss for any concept of what he should do with his life. Day by day the pressures of his father and family were getting more persistent until Draco thought he would scream.

It was either promise his life away to death or be condemned to an even worse ending. And by the sound of his father's most recent letter if he didn't reply soon the choice would be made for him.

For lack of anything better to do Draco started to rip up the parchment until little pieces of paper flitted around him in the grass and all over his robes.

"That's a good waste of paper you know."

Draco's anger instantly flared back to life at the rebuke and the intrusion on his solitude. Looking up, ready to snap out a remark and possible point deduction he could only stare at the girl before him.

Although he had known Luna Lovegood for years and had heard the strange rumors about her, never once had he actually talked to her - aside from a cruel taunting every now and then.

Luna had never been his favorite person to pick on simply because it was impossible to get a reaction out of her. For the better part of his second year when he hadn't been tormenting Potter he had been teasing Loony Luna, but nothing seemed to bother her. Her facade of indifference was impossible to break, almost as if she lived in a world entirely separate from the others.

Not once, in six years, had she ever said a sensible word to him, yet here she was, striking up a conversation with him as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. Not that there was anything normal about this girl.

Scrutinizing her he realized that she had grown from her first year image of a tiny scrawny bird to that of a tiny young woman. Like always she was still short at five feet three inches, and although she wasn't that scrawny anymore she was in no way curvaceous. Underneath the bulky school robes he could discern that her figure was lithe and slender with the promise of a suggested curve here and there.

Her waist-length dirty-blonde hair had been twined into a thick braid that wound about her head like a crown with small tendrils escaping at the temples and neck. Around her neck were strange beaded necklaces and she wore colored feathers for earrings. Her cloak, which he had assumed was at one time black, was now covered with ribbons, buttons, pins, and feathers into a colorful array of chaos.

He could only frown as he took in her appearance, also noticing that her socks didn't quite match.

Sitting without invitation she continued on, "Did you know that with a simple spell you could re-use your paper? My father uses the spell to recycle paper for his magazine, The Quibbler. I think it's much more resourceful and it helps to cut down on wasting too. In fact we had a printing just last month from a wizard-scientist who claimed that he had a -"

"Sod off Loony!" he growled, glaring at the small form next to him.

She looked calmly back at him, regarding him with silvery gray eyes.

"That's not very nice," she admonished. "Although I had heard you aren't nice before. But I normally don't like to judge people until I get the chance..."

"Does she ever shut up?" he found himself wondering.

Refusing to be the one to leave first since this was his favorite spot he continued to glare out over the lake. Suddenly, amongst all the babble he heard her say, "You aren't a very good listener, you know that?"

"Maybe I don't want to listen to you," he retorted.

"Now that's a silly idea."

Her looked over at her in question, raising one pale brow.

She smiled, as if reading his thoughts at how a weird girl like her could consider anything sillier that herself.

"I mean, if you really didn't want to listen to me you would have told me to shut up by now or you would have left."

"Would you have shut up if I asked you to?"

"No."

She smiled again and stretching out on the ground beside him opened the book she had been carrying. With horror Draco realized she was reading the Monster Book of Monsters. He wondered why anyone in the world would ever want to read that?

"What are you doing?"

"Reading."

Draco's irritation and impatience started to grow along with his head-ache.

"Can't you read somewhere else?"

She didn't even glance up at him.

"I could," she agreed, continuing to read the page.

"Then why don't you?" he demanded.

"Because I'm still waiting." She turned the page while he blinked at her in incomprehension.

Was she going daft or something?

"Waiting for what?"

Sighing, she snapped her book shut with impatience and propping herself up on her elbows she replied, "For you to listen."

"Listen to WHAT?" Draco yelled in frustration, glad that there was no one out on the grounds to witness this absurd conversation he was having with a complete lunatic.

"I'm waiting for you to listen to yourself," she explained as though it was obvious.

She was watching him closely now, her gray eyes holding an intensity he had never seen before, in anyone's eyes, much less hers.

"English please!" he snapped. "I don't understand anything your talking about."

"Of course you do."

While he was sitting there fuming with anger and frustration she continued to look out on the scene unfolding before them. A slight breeze played with her tendrils as she watched the setting sun's reflection in the lake.

Finally in a very small voice she explained, "I kind of have this thing with people. I can tell when they are hiding something from themselves, like grief or desire. My Dad says I started to get it after my Mum died..." she paused there and Draco found himself actually listening, waiting for her to go on.

"I just..." she paused yet again.

"Just what?" he asked quietly, amazed that he wanted to know at all.

For once he watched as the facade fell away from her face and she also seemed surprised by his interest. Turning to face him in the rapidly fading light she said, "I just know what it's like, to not know what happens next. When life takes a sudden quick turn, it use to knock all my sense away. I eventually learned to expect the unexpected."

It seemed like she was waiting for something, for him to admit something as secret about himself as she had. But he wouldn't do that, not to a complete stranger. He merely nodded, gazing back out among the grounds as he considered his previous thoughts once again and Luna's own words.

Life had always been unexpected for him and he had been trained from birth to be prepared for it. His skills of manipulation and deceit had been honed by his father since he was a boy with the hope that he would one day follow in Lucius's footsteps. He was now a master at the Dark Arts and dangerous with his knowledge. But he had become all this at his father's urging.

Since when had he ever really made a decision for himself in what he wanted? Would he even have a decision from now own or would his choices continue to be guided by his father?

Unconsciously he reached out a hand to rub his skin where he had often seen a mark on his father's arm. He was surprised when a soft warm hand enveloped his own. Looking down with a frown he gazed into Luna's silvery eyes.

"Are you listening yet?" she asked, her face becoming illuminated in moonlight.

His frown deepened as he realized he had been listening to himself. To how he viewed his life and how it had changed through the years. With the realization he felt his body relax and his head-ache ease away with the released tension.

He was positive that whatever life he had after Hogwarts, it wouldn't be good. But he was just as positive that whatever life he had would be his, and his alone, to choose.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, as he focused on her face once more.

She merely nodded an acknowledgment and lay back down opening her book to read. She didn't seem to care that it was dark out and she probably couldn't see the words anyway. Draco shook his head, more in amusement now than scorn.

"Loony Luna," he thought to himself.

Discovering, oddly enough, that he enjoyed the peace and quiet of simple companionship he stretched out on the ground also, studying the stars with absent-minded interest. It was so strange, he mused, the realizations she had made him recognize. Realizations he had known all along but refused to admit.

Draco had never been one to open up fully before another, and he still wasn't. But he felt that even though words hadn't been exchanged, they had come to some quiet understanding. An understanding Draco had never had with another peer before, he hardly had understandings with any peers at all.

If he talked to or was "seen" with a person it was strictly for a reason or purpose; the act of appearing on top or the appearance of being superior. Most of the students in the other houses were considered lucky if they even got a whole conversation with him, much less a whole evening. And it felt strange to be sharing something he had never had with a girl he had never even talked to.

Other girls in his past had been tools, objects used to please him. Other friends had been acquaintances, people used to help him. Luna didn't fit into any of these categories and he was confusing himself as he tried to figure out exactly what had been shared between them, and more importantly, the purpose of it.

Turning on his side he propped his head up with an elbow, resuming his previous study of her, seeing her somehow differently than before.

No. She wasn't a tool nor was she an acquaintance. At first he had thought her a freak because of her strange habits and the way she distanced herself from him and the other students. Now, in the revelations of comprehension he could see her as a young woman, afraid of abrupt changes in her life. She distanced herself from others only because she had already lost someone close to her. Her facade of indifference and weirdness was just that, a facade.

But it was a facade that she had allowed him, and him alone, to see through. Her open-mindedness and unusual beliefs were just ways that she expressed her true self. She hid her true self in plain view by using it as her facade and yet she had no friends. Because to be a friend you must accept someone for who they are, and no one ever accepted Luna, they just tolerated her.

Draco was slightly startled that he could even comprehend what friendship was since he had never understood it himself till now. Was this part of the listening she was speaking about? Was she making him see his life in a totally new perspective by understanding some of the simple things he had always regarded with scorn?

She continued to read, oblivious to him, or perhaps purposefully ignoring him as he continued to noticed other small details about her. Her pale skin was glowing in the moonlight that also turned her eyes into liquid silver orbs. She was determinedly working her bottom lip between her teeth as she squinted at the words on the page and her right foot with the mismatched blue sock was tapping out a rhythm. All in all, she seemed happy, complete and confident within herself. She didn't even seem disturbed by his scrutiny or self-conscious about what he was thinking.

He had known other girls to preen or squirm under such a studying look from him, but she hardly seemed to noticed him at all as the silence of night enfolded them. Not wanting to disturb her he rolled back onto his back to study the sky. It was some time later before he even felt her stir beside him.

"Do you feel better now?" she asked.

He opened his eyes to see her leaning over him, face quizzical.

"Somewhat," he replied.

"Good," she nodded. "Goodnight then."

As she went to move away he reached out and caught her wrist suddenly. She turned back to him perplexed.

"I thought you were better," she stated.

"I am."

"Then what is it?" She regarded him carefully, waiting for his answer.

He seemed unable to talk as he returned her stare. How did she do it, he wanted to know. She seemed to emanate an essence around her of tranquillity and calm that had engulfed itself around him too. It was an intoxicating feeling that he didn't want to leave. He feared that the world would come crashing down in ruins if this feeling ever left him.

"It's strong." Her comment jolted him back to reality as he looked into her face, inches from his own.

With some alarm he realized her eyes seemed unusually brighter than normal.

"What?" he asked, his deep voice a little more than a murmur.

She shook her head as if to clear it, chewing on her lip once more. "The power," she explained. "I know it's strong and I shouldn't have let you stay in it so long. But you seemed so lonely."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand-"

"I got it from my mother," she hurriedly explained. "We never knew until her death and then my father was so sad. That's when we discovered-"

"Knew what?" he asked.

"That I'm a Dainth," she explained. "This rightness you feel, while it is genuine you must let it go."

She seemed almost fearful of his reaction as he searched his mind for some memory of the word. Finally, a distant lesson with Professor Lupin came to mind as he described a dementor's complete opposite, the Dainth, an original being of happiness that was the essence of peace and tranquillity.

He pulled himself out of the memory to realized she was pushing away from him, removing his hands from her arms.

"I'm sorry," she continued to whisper and that was when he noticed she was crying.

To his own shock he found himself reaching out to her and drawing her onto his lap for comfort. She continued to cry and protest against his administrations of support until she was limp with tears, her face buried in his shoulder. Only when she had stopped crying did she pull back, somewhat awkward in his embrace.

He was relieved to see her composed once more as she openly studied his face. Shaking her head she said, "It has to end," firmly.

"Why?"

"Because you can't hide in happiness forever. It takes other things to complete a person."

He could only continue to stare at her, marveling at how much he had never noticed before. He had once prided himself on being able to read people excellently and know their secrets; he never would have guessed this to be the real Luna.

Before he knew what he was doing, before he could even fathom it, he was leaning forward and capturing her lips in his own. She tensed, instantly startled, before relaxing into it, tentatively moving her hands from his arms, to his shoulders, to his neck where they nestled in his hair. She seemed to fit so perfectly against him, and she tasted so good as he carefully explored the regions of her mouth. She suddenly pulled away with a soft gasp that made his stomach clench with yearning.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, before she said quietly, "You will forget."

"How can I?"

"You must."

"But-"

Then it happened. She had taken it all away from him in a sudden lurch of reality. The happiness evaporated and the tranquillity shattered. The instant weight of his father's expectations pushed down on him until he could feel his head-ache coming back. Only the calm that he had previously used to listen to his thoughts remained and with it he knew that he would be able to overcome anything in his future, as long as he maintained some faith within himself.

Turning to look at Luna with reproach he declared, "I wasn't ready."

She was still in his arms and seemed reluctant to leave. "Most never are," she replied, pushing a stand of his hair back.

Studying her Draco realized that with her power she had taken away his knowledge of her and replaced it the with simple comfort that they were friends, a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw.

As she stood he also realized that she had once again hidden herself behind the facade of her own strange being. Loony Luna was in control once again as she bent down to retrieve her books, humming a Muggle Christmas song even though it was hardly October.

He watched her grab her cloak before saying, "I'll never forget."

She froze, halfway through the process of slipping the garment on. Although her face remained perfectly neutral he recognized the glint of regret in her eyes.

"I know," she whispered a reply.

He nodded. "Good."

She smiled, as though amused at his determination in keeping the thought with him.

"You still don't listen very well," she declared, not upset that he was disobeying her initial wishes.

He smirked. "So I've been told."