Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

A/N: This isn't properly British.

Luna isn't entirely sure why she's in detention. The information she gave Professor McGonagall regarding Coffeetabledors was perfectly correct, although she supposes they are a lesser-known species. Still, someone assigning an essay on the transformational properties of certain brands of furniture should know about them.

As soon as the door closes, trapping the two of them alone in the room, Luna looks over at her inmate and wonders, "What are you in for?"

Draco Malfoy starts at her question, as though he's either shocked to see her or shocked that she would attempt conversation. Snarling slightly, he drawls, "Didn't finish the essay," and promptly looks back down at his parchment.

Writing lines is a horribly boring exercise. Luna likes to make up fonts as she goes, sometimes as much as every second letter. She likes it when no two lines look the same, and even better when no two words do. She's about half a dozen lines in when she glances sideways again. They're two seats away from each other along the first row, where Professor McGonagall put them. An example of their sentence is scrawled across the blackboard, though neither of them needs to look at it as they work. "Do you get detention often?"

This time Draco eyes her as he looks around, then scowls, "Of course not." Luna isn't particularly deterred by the attitude; it's something she's more than used to. And at least he looks fairly handsome with his pointed features twisted like that. When he realizes she's still watching him, he adds, "What are you looking at?"

Tilting her head to make sure, Luna calmly tells him, "You have very nice shoulders." Strong, but not too broad. The black jacket atop his turtleneck hugs him very well—it's probably custom made.

Draco looks at her like she's mad (another thing she's used to), before stating, "Naturally."

Luna nods, figuring they've reached an understanding. She goes back to her parchment, knocking her inkpot over when she turns. It teeters and topples over, running quickly down the side of her desk and onto her lap before she can stop it. It gets all over the front of her skirt and her thighs, and she rights the pot a little too late. She rolls her skirt up as much as it'll go to minimizing staining, wringing it out over her thighs. She leaves it wrinkled tightly around her waist, exposing her panties. Fortunately, she's wearing black ones today—she can't help but giggle at the way it matches the inky rivers around them. Luna tosses her hair away from the mess as she bends over to dig in her bag for her wand, twisting awkwardly in her seat. She can feel Draco's eyes watching her, but she says, "It's alright; I can fix it."

While she's bent double, Luna glances down her bra, which is very much exposed in this position, just to check that she hasn't left her wand there. It looks like she hasn't. There is, however, a crumpled piece of paper between her breasts—Luna pulls that out; she forgot about her Pixie notes. Then she returns to finding her wand in her bag, which takes several minutes. Straightening back out, Luna taps both of her thighs, soaking all the ink up. She casts a more complicated spell on her skirt, hoping to draw out the ink. Then she puts her wand back, and then she rolls her skirt back down.

She smiles at Draco as if to say, 'all better.' He's looking at her very strangely, as though in deep thought. Luna straights under his contemplation—she isn't usually examined so thoroughly.

Draco suddenly gets up and moves two seats closer, until he's right next to her. Luna blinks up at him.

He asks, "So, what are you in for?" He smirks when she laughs at his cleverness.