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.

Draco's torn between wanting to kill Pansy and wanting to kiss her, and he hasn't even spoken to his date yet.

He recognizes her as soon as he takes his seat. He's already asked the maitre d' to double check that it's his table. He never spoke to her much in school—and that was for a reason.

There are parts of Luna Lovegood that look just as strange as all the rumors foretold. Her earrings appear to be live snails, or at least, toy snails animated to look and move as though real. An odd choice for a blind restaurant date. Her makeup is akin to a starry sky—he gets a glimpse of dark blue with white dots as her eyelids lower to skim the menu. She looks up as he sits down, grey eyes a storm. She says, "Hello," too easily.

Draco repeats, "Hello." She closes her menu, pink-painted nails looking delicate and cute. Her pink dress dips off her shoulders, showing off ample cleavage and occasionally shimmering with different shades of blue. Her blond hair is swept gorgeously over one shoulder, pinned to the side with an amethyst barrette.

Overall, she looks stunning, snail earrings aside. Her glistening lips work into a smile, head tilting as she sighs, "Aren't you married?"

Draco looks at her oddly, answering stiffly, "No." He's well aware that she probably knows nothing of him other than his Slytherin heritage and his Dark Mark, but he's still mildly offended that she thinks he'd go on a blind date if he were married. Unless she's into open marriages, though that's also an odd thing to assume. "Single." He leaves off the 'very much' part.

Luna nods. "Me too." Draco snorts and resists the urge to say, 'obviously,' only because he thinks he might want to sleep with her. She might be criminally insane, but there's no denying she's attractive.

Pansy assured him she's also a pureblood, although he has his doubts. When the waiter arrives, Draco still has yet to look over the menu. He drawls casually, as though it doesn't matter because he always naturally chooses correctly, "Two glasses of your best red wine."

Luna adds, "And two plates of spaghetti. I'll take mine with strawberries in it, please."

Draco's too shocked to correct her. He's never had a woman order for him before, aside from his mother when he was too small to talk. The waiter nods and takes their menus. Luna leans forward with her elbows on the table, chirping, "So, how've you been?" It's a strange question, phrased as though they've always known each other and simply took a small break.

Frowning, Draco lies, "Well. ...Yourself?"

"I've been alright. I've been working hard on an article for my newspaper regarding fire-breathing peacocks."

Draco would hardly consider The Quibbler a newspaper. Before he can stop himself, he's blurted out, "I have peacocks at my manor."

"Do you?" Luna asks, eyes wide with sudden interest. "Do they breathe fire?"

"Of course not," Draco quips. He leans awkwardly back in his seat, rearranging the salt and pepper vials for something to do. He's grateful that Pansy chose a particularly grandiose and spacious restaurant—none of the other tables are close enough for anyone to hear their quiet, ludicrous conversation.

Undeterred, Luna presses, "Are you quite sure? Perhaps they only do it when you aren't around."

Draco tries his best not to stare at her as though she's completely lost it, despite the fact that she obviously has. To be fair, he's never spent more than an hour outside with them, but he's still quite sure he'd know if his peacocks breathed fire. Because he comes from an aristocratic family that's taught him diplomacy, (although it took several years for him to master) Draco drawls, "I suppose it's possible."

"Well," Luna decides, as she sits back up in her chair. Her full chest puffs out as she breathes, squished between her arms as her hands fall to her lap. "If this works out, I'd very much like to see them sometime."

Draco nods, "Indeed," and doesn't specify a preference one way or the other. So she's fairly easy, then. Or at least to get home, but he's confident he can get any woman from the doorstep to the bedroom without incident. The question is whether or not the pillow talk will be worth it. So far, this date is less inane than the last one with Greengrass and the prior one with Bulstrode, although he still very much doubts he could bring Luna Lovegood home to his parents with a straight face.

Just then, the waiter arrives with their wine—Draco realizes too late that neither of them ordered appetizers. Not that spaghetti should take that long to cook. It's not the most eloquent of first-date-foods; thinking back, he really should've ordered. Luna sips at her wine slowly, looking thoughtful. When she puts it back down on the table, she asks rather bluntly, "What would you like to do with your life?"

Instantly, Draco's at a loss for words. It isn't a question he prepared himself for, and, truth be told, not even one he thinks over much. He grew up rich, and until his recent struggles, the thought of achieving things on his own was never top priority. After a very long minute, he decides, swirling his finger inelegantly around the edge of his glass, "...I suppose earn my own fortunate."

"That's dreadfully boring," Luna tells him, looking utterly unabashed. Draco raises an eyebrow, smirking despite himself. He certainly isn't use to people talking to him like that, even if life has been distinctly harder since the war.

More curious than he'd like to admit, he asks, "And you?"

"I haven't fully decided yet," she drawls, which strikes Draco as supremely unfair; he wasn't aware that was an option. "...I suppose I'd enjoy discovering something completely brand new. Something no one's ever seen before."

Draco nods like he understands. He isn't surprised. Their meal arrives sooner than he expects: two heaping plates of steaming pasta. The strawberries in Luna's look very strange and out of place, and Luna catches him staring. She skewers one and holds it up, asking, "Would you like to try it? They're very good with pasta sauce."

There's a brief moment where Draco feels the need to glance around the restaurant and make sure he doesn't know anyone around. Stifling his paranoia and letting his curiosity get the better of him, he nods. Luna smiles and holds the fork closer—Draco leans forward to pluck it off with his teeth.

It's... very strange. She smiles at him not-really expectantly, and he raises his brows to himself but doesn't say anything. He drops his own fork into the noodles, twirling them together without a word. Luna doesn't press it. She begins to eat her own dish in silence. After a moment, Draco comments, "This is very good."

"Yes," Luna agrees, after slurping up a noodle as a five year old might do. "I sometimes ask for coconut in it too, but then it takes a very long time for them to make it, and I didn't think you'd like to wait."

Draco nods and says, "Thank you." While he appreciates the courtesy, he's now stuck mulling over what a very odd combinations her tastes conjure. After a few slurped noodles, she begins to eat properly, twirling it the way he does. When she isn't being insane, she's actually capable of being somewhat dainty. Every time her eyes flutter down, he gets a nice view of the stars, and a few glimpses in, he realizes they're spelled to move. Draco takes another sip of wine, mildly impressed.

A few more minutes in, the fever must be catching, because Draco finds himself asking, "Have you actually seen a peacock breathe fire?"

"Oh yes," Luna mumbles around her mouthful, covering her mouth with her hand. "It was quite fascinating. Very beautiful, too."

Draco continues, as though this makes perfect sense, "Did it do it for any particular reason? Were you aggravating it, for instance?"

"Oh no," Luna insists, shaking his head. "I was quietly observing it from afar while it wandered the field, then, bam, fire."

Although he lifts an eyebrow, Draco doesn't say anything. Even though he started it, he switches the subject. "And you're working for that paper now? Full time?"

"All the time," Luna says dreamily. "My father and I run it. And you? Do you work for the Ministry like your father?"

Draco says, "Yes," and doesn't admit how impressed he is that she remembers that. Then, because there's something about her that makes him blurt out things he doesn't mean to, he adds, "Although I'm considering applying to teach Potions at Hogwarts. It's my area of expertise, and I have some rather infuriating coworkers as it is."

"You were always good at Potions," Luna states bluntly, once again flattering him with her memory. He wouldn't have thought they'd ever looked twice at each other in school, but apparent he was wrong. He wonders vaguely what her best subject would've been. Charms, perhaps? Since she seems to have snails and stars so down pat. After another few minutes, she asks silkily, "Can we order dessert?"

Draco says, "Of course," and waves one of the other waiters over, asking for a new set of menus. All in all, he doesn't see any real reason to not let the date continue longer. He said no to the last few. She's... interesting, at the very least. And Draco hasn't not been bored on a date for a good while. He asks as the waiter waits patiently for them, "What would you like?"

"I ordered the spaghetti," she reminds him, "so it's your turn."

He orders two chocolate fudge sundaes. It feels like the right thing for her. Evidently he made a good choice—she smiles winningly. It makes him feel abnormally victorious and lucky. Swirling the final strawberry around her plate, Luna sighs contentedly, "This date isn't going at all how I expected."

Draco nods in agreement, although he does wonder what exactly she expected. She has him wondering about a great many things—a definite change. He wonders, for instance, what they'll do when they've finished dessert, and what bizarre shape their conversation will twist into.

Perhaps she'll get to see his peacocks soon, after all.