I have returned. Beware.

This was just something that sparked from a song I was listening to last night, something about drinking in the yard or whatever. If this turns out to be crap (and I really hope it doesn't), just blame it on the fact that I wrote it at 1-2 AM. Also, I think I tend to make Draco a little OOC in my fanfictions because, out of habit (at least when writing), I keep confusing his demeanor with someone else, lol. However, I figured that if he seems too OOC, I can just say that it's all okay, because he's drunk!

Anywho, enjoy. 3

Disclaimer: Believe me, I don't own Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy had no idea how he came to be in this particular situation. Honestly, if a person had asked him later what exactly happened for him to be put in such a place, he would make up some lie and scoff (that was the Malfoy way) and walk away, satisfied for having made that person feel stupid—all the while, he was the one feeling stupid, because he had no idea how the hell this had happened.

But he couldn't deny it: Luna Lovegood was a funny drunk.

At the moment, she was laughing hysterically at the fact that a fly had just buzzed past her face.

Draco supposed, if he had to be somewhat truthful, he could admit that this moment of him, sitting in the middle of courtyard with Looney Lovegood, a bottle of Firewhiskey in between them and Luna's alcohol-induced, musical laughter hanging in the air, that it all might have occurred because of that damned victory for the Hufflepuffs. Everyone knew that they weren't the best Quidditch players in the school, so when the loyal house did win today's match, it was a fantastic win for the whole castle, because while the Hufflepuffs were bursting with their fair, modest pride, the other houses were treated to what was (astoundingly) one of the greatest celebratory parties in Hogwarts' history. The common room had been flooding with students dancing, chatting, snogging in corners, and of course, finding interesting ways of getting drunk.

Draco had arrived to the party alone. It wasn't by choice—Crabbe and Goyle were in the Hospital Wing for beating each other up after discovering the other person's individual affairs with Millicent Bulstrode, whom they both, as it would seem, had been in love with for a little over a month. At the time, Draco was highly amused with the scene of his two companions fighting over such a girl, but he hated them for it now. He didn't like being alone. It made him bored.

And there it was, the thousands of bottles of Firewhiskey, sitting on the table, beckoning him over. He was eager to comply, as he never cared much for boredom either. He opened a bottle, took a burning swig, and shuddered—then he took another swig. Already, he felt more at ease. Judging by the lack of dancing skills around him, he guessed that his peers were at ease as well.

So yes, he did know how he got to the courtyard (he walked, of course) and why his senses were fairly numb and why there was a bottle of such a delectable drink at his side. He just didn't know how Luna got there.

"What are you staring at?" Luna giggled, coming down from what wasn't her first moment of hysteria for the night. She unsteadily reached over to poke Draco's nose with her finger. If he hadn't been so drunk himself, he would have threatened her for doing such a heinous thing as touching him. However, although he wasn't pleased by the action, he felt that it was appropriate, for some odd reason that he himself couldn't comprehend.

And he didn't have to. He was drunk.

"I'm not staring," he insisted. "I'm thinking."

"Well, what are you think—hic—ing about?"

Draco scrunched his face up, as if thinking actually hurt him. "I think I was thinking about… this bottle." With a sigh of satisfaction, he grabbed the Firewhiskey and took a large gulp. Luna laughed at nothing in particular and swung her legs on top of his.

"You're nice, Drago—I mean, Draco." She hiccupped.

Draco snorted, handing her back the Firewhiskey so she could take another swig. "I'm not that nice. I've done some pretty bad things, to be honest."

Hiccup. "Have you ever kicked a dog?"

"Er, no."

"Have you ever kicked a person?"

"I can't remember."

"What about an ant pile?"

"Well, who hasn't done that?" he remarked, smirking lazily at her. "I'm surprised you haven't yet asked me if I've ever kicked a Nargle."

She blinked, tilting her head to the side. "What's a Nargle?"

Draco openly gaped at her, and the next thing he knew, he was falling off of the bench they were sitting on, laughing as crazed and uncontrollably as she did every few minutes. The fact that she didn't know what a Nargle was… it was all sidesplitting, and the small part of him that wasn't so drunk (it was a very small part), reminded him that he didn't know what a Nargle was either. That made it all the funnier.

Within seconds, his guffaws became contagious. Luna collapsed to the cold ground beside him, rolling around like an insane person, which wasn't too far off at the moment. The two laughed and hiccupped and laughed for a solid few minutes, until they couldn't remember why on earth they'd been laughing in the first place.

Luna sat up, clawing at the bottle of Firewhiskey still on the stone bench. She raised it to her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she looked inside, pouted, and fell onto her back again.

"It's all gone, Drago—I mean, Draco. What're we gonna do?"

He frowned to himself. "I suppose we'll have to find some more."

Hiccup. "Like a scavenger hunt?"

"Exactly like a scavenger hunt."

Luna gasped, squealing with delight. "We'll have to scour the whole country for more!"

"And we sure as hell won't stop scouring until we find it!" Draco said, only to grab her hand suddenly, raising their interwoven fingers above their heads, and cry out, "FOR BRITAIN!"

Luna echoed his exclamation, but stopped halfway through her shout. "Wait—what are we looking for?"

Draco dropped their arms, but didn't let go of her hand. "I don't know."

"You have soft hands."

"Yes. Yes I do." He paused, realizing that he was, in fact, holding someone else's hand, for it hadn't occurred to him before. His thumb gently stroked over the backs of her fingers. "You have small hands."

"Yes, Daddy tells me that that's because a Ghastron Grotbeg broke into my room when I was a baby and shrunk my hands to this size."

"That's depressing."

Luna nodded. "But I lived, and that was the most important thing."

"It always is." Draco listened as Luna begun to hum to herself. "Can I see the other one?" he asked curiously. "Just to see if it's small, too."

Luna seemed delighted at the prospect. "Of course!"

So, to see her other hand, Draco rolled onto his side, pulling her other arm towards him. After inspecting the second hand, he came to the conclusion that it was just as small as the first one.

Luna let out a sigh of relief. "Good! For a minute, I was afraid that another Ghastron Grotbeg had gotten to me."

Draco held both of her hands in his and gazed down at her. She wasn't bad-looking, he supposed. Her eyes were a little too big and she blinked an awful lot, and her hair was so straggly that a bird could have (and probably had once) lived in it, but other than that, she was fairly pretty. If he was into that sort of thing.

The less drunk part of him smirked. He told it to shut up.

"You're staring at me again, Drago," Luna told him in a soft whisper. Unbeknownst to Draco/Drago, she had also taken a moment to stare at the person above her, noticing the details of his face and how they made him look relatively handsome. She didn't tell the part of her that was less drunk to shut up, because she didn't have a less drunk part. She was proud to admit that every part of her was equally intoxicated.

"Am not," Draco said defiantly, but his defiance was actually very quiet. In reality, he was staring, and so was she, and they both knew it. Neither could look away from the other person's lips.

"Luna?" murmured Draco. "What's a Ghastron Grotbeg?"

Luna tore her eyes away to meet his for a split second. "I don't quite know. But I think one is doing something to us right now."

"Yeah, I think so, too."

And that was when it hit him. Draco remembered how Luna came into his night.

He was half as drunk as he was now and sort of bobbing along to the music when he'd spotted Luna through his hazy vision. She was sitting by herself in the corner, watching the party with delight, half because she was Luna Lovegood and that's just how she was, and half because she had just downed an entire bottle of Firewhiskey some of her roommates had given to her. Draco saw that she was alone and remembered that he was too. He strode up to her after having snatched a new bottle of Firewhiskey from the nearly empty table.

"Looney."

She stared at him. "Drago."

"It's Draco."

"Oh. Sorry."

The next thing he did puzzled even him, but he did it anyway, without hesitation. He held his hand out to her, waiting for her to take it.

"I'm going out to the courtyard. Care to join me?" he sighed, a little agitated for having to explain himself.

Luna looked between him, then his hand, then back at him. A wide, dazzling grin spread across her face, and she took hold of his hand. He cracked a half-smile and they made their way out of the Hufflepuff common room…

… And to this spot, where Draco and Luna were leaning in, their lips barely touching. The less drunk part of Draco was telling him that he was about to kiss the craziest person in school.

Even though he was drunk, he knew this all too well.

He did it anyway.

At first the kiss was gentle; Luna's lips were soft and she tasted of Firewhiskey and vanilla. He dropped one of her hands to wrap around her back, just as she used her newly-free hand to touch the side of his face. The tenderness eventually led to their embrace becoming slightly more passionate, with him nibbling on her bottom lip to gain entrance into her mouth. She allowed him with a moan, and it was all fuzzy from there. Neither Draco nor Luna knew how long they lay in the courtyard, kissing, running their hands through the other person's hair or feeling their skin because letting such electrifying touches go to waste was a crime. They each only kept one of their hands conjoined together, resting in between their bodies. With every movement, Draco held onto her tighter, never feeling so elated and fantastic and lightheaded, and certainly not all at the same time. A part of him wondered if this was the Firewhiskey talking.

The less drunk part told him it wasn't.

But then, Luna pulled away. Her face was flushed, her breath ragged, and her blonde hair was sprawled out in different directions, much like he figured his was. She didn't let go of him, and he didn't let go of her. The second she broke the kiss off, he became a little sober, and it dawned on him that he'd just kissed Looney Luna Lovegood and liked it. A lot.

Luna stared up at him. "I think you're a little drunk, Drago."

Draco nodded and squeezed their entwined hands. He kicked the Firewhiskey bottle as he dipped his head to kiss her again.