Locked to Luna

[of_badfaith]

Christmas. The season of love and giving and peace and good will and blah blah blah...

He'd been... melancholy lately, to say the least. Even for him. It wasn't Christmas that had brightened his spirits, and certainly not her, he told himself, and it didn't come from any sort of self-awareness... some revelation that he needed to pull himself out

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[dreamily_luna]

"I can't tell if you didn't like them, or if you liked them too much," Luna says. She's spent most of her day at the compound, and isn't really sure where her various layers have gone. She's proper, at least, in a dress worn to softness and thick ribbed socks that come up past her knees.

But she's pleased to see him, not bothering to hide the way her face lights up.

[of_badfaith]

"I despise them them in every way!" he declared, but there was something strange happening to his face. He was... almost smiling.

Well, almost.

[dreamily_luna]

"My, that's a dramatic statement," Luna says, and she's more pleased than ever, sitting down on the sofa to watch. "Oh, poor Harry. There's all these Muggle publications with that young man who looks like him, and articles about a play that would give you nightmares."

[of_badfaith]

"Then I suggest you keep it you yourself," he said in a tone that, for Draco Malfoy, could almost pass for cheerful.

Tossing the last into the fire, he dusted glitter from his palms and turned to face her. "So, to what do I owe those lovely gifts. Boredom?" Lovely, of course, was relative. He was very thankful to be rid of all those tiny little troll faces.