Pansy and her group, who seemed especially enthusiastic about putting Ron Weasley in his place, had even started using their breakfast time for extra training. For the unwilling Goyle and Crabbe, this was nothing short of a nightmare.
While winning the duel against Ron was important, giving up breakfast was far more of a challenge. Unfortunately, none of them dared to defy Pansy's orders...
So, over the past few days, Draco—who was usually seen with Pansy at his side—had spent most of his mornings alone in the Slytherin common room.
This morning, the only ones there were Draco and the peculiar Ravenclaw girl who came by every day to share his tea. Ever since discovering that Draco brewed a cup of Gurdyroot Infusion every morning, she had taken to quietly joining him. Even Pansy's protests had no effect.
If anything, the girl's vague, innocent confusion had only made Pansy feel like she was the unreasonable one.
Eventually, the Slytherins grew used to the sight.
Glancing at the Ravenclaw girl beside him—who accepted the cup with her usual calm—Draco, free from Pansy's constant chatter, found himself growing a little curious. He studied her for a moment before speaking.
"Come to think of it, I don't believe I ever learned your name."
They had been tea companions since the previous year, yet, oddly enough, they had spoken fewer than ten sentences in total. It was almost unbelievable that Draco still didn't know her name.
Up until now, he only knew she was a Ravenclaw witch from her robes and house crest. Not that he particularly cared about such details...
Caught off guard by Draco suddenly addressing her, the girl—who had been quietly savoring the tea's bitterness—lifted her gaze toward him, eyes filled with a faint, dreamy confusion.
That dazed expression only enhanced her ethereal, floating sort of presence.
Draco took a sip of his Gurdyroot Infusion and repeated his question.
"Your name?"
"Luna Lovegood."
Her answer was more straightforward than he expected—or perhaps she simply didn't care that Draco now knew who she was.
"Lovegood? That Xenophilius, is he—"
"You know my father?"
"Yes. If your father's the one who wrote the article about the Deathly Hallows, then yes, I know of him."
"You've read my father's work? What do you think of the Deathly Hallows? Do you believe they really exist? What about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"
After all the mornings they had spent sharing tea, it was the first time Draco had seen her show such a clear expression of emotion.
Had he not seen it himself, he might have assumed she didn't have any.
Now it seemed she simply hadn't encountered a topic that genuinely interested her before.
Still...
As she suddenly picked up a book and laid it open in front of him, her eyes narrowing in a faint, knowing smile, Draco couldn't help murmuring, "That's quite the change of expression."
Perplexed, yet intrigued, his gaze drifted to the item in her hands—not a book, but a magazine.
"The Quibbler," Luna said lightly. "My father's the editor-in-chief."
"I see."
Some of the magazine's articles were undoubtedly outlandish, but the pieces about the Deathly Hallows had caught Draco's attention before. That was why he had taken an interest in Xenophilius Lovegood in the first place.
He hadn't expected this odd, dreamy girl before him to be the man's daughter.
If that were the case, it certainly explained her peculiar manner and strange way of speaking.
After all, everyone knew that The Quibbler's content bordered on the eccentric—if not downright bizarre.
Perhaps she sensed some kind of kinship in him.
Because this morning, instead of quietly finishing her tea and leaving as usual, Luna stayed where she was, showing no intention of leaving even after her cup was empty.
...
From the topic of the Deathly Hallows to discussions about where Crumple-Horned Snorkacks might appear, Luna spoke endlessly about strange yet oddly fascinating things.
That dreamy, unpredictable air about her—it had to be part of Luna Lovegood's peculiar charm.
As Draco listened quietly, he began to notice the younger students nearby whispering and pointing in their direction.
He could faintly make out what they were saying about Luna.
Perhaps because she didn't seem to care much about anything—or because she always spoke in that peculiar way others couldn't quite understand—Luna had become an easy target for teasing.
And the fact that she was sitting there, calmly drinking tea and chatting with Draco, only made the nearby witches burn with a mix of envy and indignation.
Draco glanced at the oblivious girl across from him, her expression serene as ever, and found himself wondering what exactly went on in that head of hers.
Did this girl ever get angry?
Just as he was observing her with mild curiosity, another figure suddenly stepped into view—a witch with a mane of fiery red hair.
"Luna, morning classes are about to start. Come with me."
"Ginny?"
Interrupted mid-sentence, Luna blinked up at her friend in mild confusion.
Luna herself didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, but Draco certainly did. He caught the flash of hostility in Ginny Weasley's eyes—a silent warning that regarded him as some kind of notorious flirt who toyed with girls for sport.
Draco didn't respond, merely watching as the two girls leaned in close to speak in hushed tones. More accurately, Ginny seemed to be scolding Luna for something.
Even so, it was easy to see that the two were close friends.
Perhaps his stare lingered a little too long, because Ginny soon turned and shot him a glare—sharp and direct.
"The Quidditch Cup won't be Slytherin's this year! Harry's stronger than you think!"
"Well, that's one way to say hello," Draco murmured dryly.
He watched as Ginny huffed and stormed off, with Luna lingering just long enough to slide her magazine toward him before following her friend out.
For a moment, Draco could only blink at the magazine lying on the table, caught off guard by the abrupt turn of events.
Two girls, so completely opposite—one all fire, the other air—and yet, somehow, they were friends.
Still...
"Maybe I really should lend Goyle and Crabbe a hand with training," he thought, lips curving faintly.
As Ginny glanced back one last time to pull a face at him before disappearing around the corner, Draco couldn't quite suppress a quiet chuckle—or the sudden, inexplicable spark of motivation she'd left behind.