Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

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Draco was chiefly an observer. He'd watched the formation of the Golden Trio, noted the workings of social groups from each of the houses, analyzed even the teachers' inner affairs. He had a knack for recognizing patterns, often making predictions with unerring ease. Draco never took notes, opting instead to rely solely on memory. It had worked well thus far, so why take the risk of becoming too dependent?

Naturally, he concealed this intense scrutiny with a mask. He was after all, a Malfoy. And if people noticed his depth of understanding his fellow students, they merely attributed it to the qualities any Slytherin worth his salt would possess. Lucky for him, really.

So Draco developed a keen grasp of those around him; he knew how best to manipulate them, push their buttons...he had always been charismatic, so it was a simple matter to convince others to do his bidding. He even found ways to manipulate his father. That had frightened him, at first, knowing he could control the powerful adults around him. But it was natural for him, and he slipped from mask to mask, always wondering when he could find one that fit properly.

There was one other student, however, who utterly baffled him: Luna Lovegood, that gentle, inquisitive conundrum who smelled of summer castles and apple trees and brown sugar.

It had been raining the first time he saw her. She was barefoot by the Lake, feeding bits of pumpkin pastie to the giant squid. He'd looked down on her from his perch on the old pine tree, initially curious as to who would voluntarily stand in the chill English rainfall. She had stood facing the water, so he'd noted first her clothes: lavender cardigan over a sea green turtleneck and loose grey Capri pants. Heavy silver-pale hair hung almost to her waist, nearly obscuring a jade and silver belt buckled underneath.

He had nearly fallen from the tree when she spoke without turning. "Do you enjoy the rain, Draco Malfoy?"

With the ease of long practice, Draco smoothed the lines of surprise from his forehead. "I like it well enough," he said, voice carefully neutral.

She turned to pierce him with a look. "I've always loved it, and it has always loved me back." She crumbled the final remnants of the pastie into the water.

Unsure of what to make of the comment, Draco slid down from the branch, landing catlike on all fours. Mud squelched beneath his boots as he made his way to stand by her side. "What do you mean?"

"Rain is cleansing." She tilted her head back, let the water run down her cheeks, her hair. "Can you feel it? The scent envelops you, and when you breath it in, you're clean inside, too." Luna raised her hands. "Even the sound of rain is comforting."

"I know what you mean," said Draco, and he was surprised to realize it was the truth. "And no one else stays outside, if they can help it. So it's just you and the rain."

She'd smiled at him then, a secret smile. He grinned back.

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The next day, Draco spied Luna walking with Harry Potter. She wore shoes, this time, and enormous multi-hued earrings. The girl wasn't a conventional beauty, Draco thought, narrowing his eyes. But there was something appealing in her wide, almost violet eyes, in the thoughtful way she tilted her head. As they drew closer, Draco's features morphed into a cold sneer, the mask sliding seamlessly into place, just as it had one thousand times before.

"Potter," said Draco curtly.

The boy shot him a glance. "Malfoy," he said tightly. "Come to annoy us with your prat-face again?"

"Not to annoy you," Draco replied. "This prat-face would much prefer to be left alone, rather than suffer your insults."

Luna regarded him solemnly. "I suspect the prat-face isn't lying, Harry. Shall we head to supper?" Their voices grew distant as she steered him in the opposite direction.

Draco watched the retreating figures until they vanished from sight.

That evening, Draco wandered to the Lake again. He had been staring across the softly stirring waters when he heard a noise behind him.

"Hello, Luna."

She stopped beside him, following his gaze to the Lake. "I'm glad to see you've taken off your prat face, Draco." A hint of amusement curled in her voice.

He turned to her, then. "You knew I was...you knew?"

"That you are a man of many different faces?" Luna's gaze drifted to his. "Yes, I know." She sat on a mossy boulder.

Draco wondered if she guessed the impact her simple answer had on him. "Am I so transparent?" He sank down next to her.

Luna laughed, and he thought he had never heard so clear a sound. "Not to anyone else," she reassured him. "No worries." She leaned her head back to stare at the sunset. Draco joined her. "My mother wore many masks, too. She used them so often, I think she forgot what her real face looked like."

"Truly," asked Draco."What happened to her?"

"She died."

Draco started. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." He moved quickly to a sitting position.

She shook her head, motioning for him to lay down again. "I know you didn't. It's okay; people live, people die. It's nature."

"Don't you miss her?"

"Of course. But I've realized that there are worse things than death." She seemed pensive, and Draco didn't press her for more information. He found he quite liked seeing her dreamy expression.

After a while, Luna shot him a sideways glance. "What is it?"

"What's what?" Draco asked, bewildered at the sudden change.

"You want to tell me something."

"I do?"

Luna pierced him again with those violet eyes. "Go ahead," she said gently. "say it."

Draco chewed his lip. "You said your mum had forgotten her real face," He was silent a moment, then added softly, "but I'm not certain I have a real face."

The girl placed her hand on his cheek, turned him to face her. "Draco," she breathed, eyes earnest. "I see you..."

He put his hand on hers, holding it in place.

I see you, Draco.

Later that night, he lay in his four poster bed, remembering the encounter. It was the second time in his life that he could remember crying.

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