Written for MidnightEmberMisery's "Girls of Harry Potter" competition.

Pairing: Luna/Draco

Prompt: Waffles

Enjoy. This is a new pairing for me, but it was fun.


"It's time to bring our guest breakfast, Draco," cooed Bellatrix. Draco, who had been at the kitchen table quietly reading The Daily Prophet, winced at his aunt's falsely sweet voice.

"I don't want to," he muttered, not looking at her.

"Don't want to?" Draco didn't have to look to know that Bellatrix's eyes were opening as wide as they would go, and she was plastering a mock-pout onto her face. "Does itty bitty baby Draco not want to go visit his little friend?"

"She isn't my friend," Draco snapped. "I hardly know her."

"Then there's no reason not to bring her breakfast!" Bellatrix lost patience completely. "Now, Draco!"

He took his time folding his newspaper, setting it on the table, and wandering over to his aunt, who was clutching a plate of…

"Good god, what is that supposed to be?" Draco asked, staring, repulsed, at the dish.

"Don't be impertinent, boy!" Bellatrix shoved the plate into his hands.

"No, I'm honestly wondering. What should I tell Lovegood she's being served?"

"Waffles," said Bellatrix shortly.

"Why are they purple?"

"I put in blueberries," Bellatrix snapped, and she stormed out.

Draco raised his eyebrows. If these are waffles, Luna Lovegood is the next Minister for Magic. But he started for the basement stairs anyway.

It wasn't fair that Draco was the one who had to bring Looney Lovegood her food. It hadn't been his idea to kidnap her in the first place, so why was he responsible for her? Oh, of course, because he was the youngest, and the one who had failed to kill Albus Dumbledore last spring. He supposed that contending with Looney was a fair enough punishment for that. But she really was out of her mind, and Draco didn't know how to deal with that.

Maybe Bellatrix ought to talk Luna sometime. The two crazies might get along.

He kicked open the door to the basement, and stamped down the stairs, not at all worried about Luna. The girl hadn't tried to escape even once. Which furthered Draco's belief that she was not at all right in the head.

"Hello, Draco Malfoy!" she sang when he crept down the stairs. Draco winced. Why did she insist on calling him by his name? It made it seem like they were friends, which they most definitely were not.

Luna was sitting in one of the cell-like rooms, cross-legged on the floor. There was a mouse sitting in front of her, its paws resting on her leg.

That girl is crazy.

"Brought you breakfast," Draco said shortly. He unlocked the door to her cell, shoving the plate of whatever it was that Bellatrix had cooked at her. The mouse ran away.

"Oh, thank you!" A sunny smile split Luna's face, and she took the plate, sniffing it deeply. "Tell Aunt Bellatrix thank you for me, won't you? Blueberry waffles are my favourite."

"Why are you calling her Aunt Bellatrix? She isn't your aunt." Draco wasn't sure why it irked him to hear Luna talk about Bellatrix so familiarly, but it did.

"Well, I think as long as I'm here, I might as well take the opportunity to make some new friends. She's almost like family, cooking for me this way."

"Oh for the love of god!" Draco wanted to shake her until her teeth clattered together, wanted to smack that infuriating, beatific smile off her face. "We aren't your friends! For god's sake, Luna, what is wrong with you? Don't you understand? You are a prisoner! You're not here to make friends! You're here so that your father will deliver us Harry Potter!"

Luna took a big bite of the purple mess that was apparently waffles. "But since I'm here, I might as well make the best of it, mightn't I?"

"You're out of your goddamned mind!" he said loudly. The mouse was creeping along the edge of the room, trying to get to Luna and her food. Draco yanked his wand out of the pocket of his robes, and aimed at the mouse. There was a flash of green light, and the mouse crumpled, limp and dead. "Grow up!"

Luna looked from her little mouse to Draco and back. Then she put down her plate, and stood up so that she could look him in the eye.

"People tell me that a lot," she said, and Draco was horrified to realize that her voice was quivering. Oh god, please don't let her start crying. I don't know what to do if she starts crying!

Draco had been under the impression that Luna was impenetrable, un-hurt-able, a sort of creature above that couldn't by insulted or injured, especially not by words.

"People tell me that a lot," Luna repeated, "but look at me and look at yourself, and who's happier?"

That rendered Draco speechless.

"Because I think it's the crazy little girl in the basement," she finished, and although her silver eyes glittered with tears, she looked at him, proud and kind and too damn good to exist.

She was pure, in a way that Draco couldn't understand. How she could stand there, brave, and proud, and look him right in the eye, after he killed her pet – probably her only friend in the world – and say that she was happier than him, baffled him. And what baffled him even more was that she was probably right. She probably was happier, damn her!

They looked at each other for a long time; Draco's clouded blue eyes fixed on Luna's honest silver ones. Her pale eyelashes were graced with teardrops, but they were just as open and honest and good as they had ever been.

She stood up on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the nose.

"You're a good person, Draco," she said. "You just have to stop worrying. You're only seventeen, after all."

He stared at her, confused. Then turned on his heel and stamped out of the room, leaving Luna with waffles and the corpse of her mouse.

When he got to the stairs, he touched his nose where she had kissed him. There was a little smear of blueberry on it.

Looney Lovegood, he thought derisively. She really is a crazy girl.

Crazy girl.

Then, she is sweet though.

You aren't supposed to think that, said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Bellatrix.

Oh, shut up, he told the voice, and it felt good.

Luna was right. He was only seventeen. He was allowed to think a girl was sweet if he wanted to.

Even if she was his prisoner.

You're crazy! snapped the voice.

And if I am?

Crazy boy.