This was originally a oneshot that I posted under '101 Reasons Why I Hate Draco Malfoy' Look at the spiffy new title. Like it? I didn't want something else to start with 101 Reasons… plus this is going to turn into more than just a fic about a list… Anyways, this has been turned into a full-fledged fic.

Luna is rather OoC in this chapter, (the first two, actually, I think, but definitely not as much in the second), but that, too, will get better.

Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to make this into a multiple-chapter fic. With all the stuff that I have coming out right now, though, don't expect updates too frequently. (I'll try to get out one every week and half—so expect about three a month, maybe more, depends on how well this story cooperates). Thanks again!

The reasons are not numbered because I am too lazy to go through and number them all. Doesn't translate into ff form, which I forgot. So... it's not happening. Just take my word; there's 101.

Read and REVIEW!

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He had said things like that before. He had told her, God, how many times had he told her, that she was crazy. He had told her that she was a loon, that she was a muggle-lover, that she was a bloody idiot, that she was just a little girl living in a dream world. But she had heard it all before. No matter what Draco Malfoy had said to her before, she had heard it. But she had not heard this before. Maybe people had thought it. In fact, she highly doubted that they hadn't. But no one had ever dared to say it to her. The least anyone could do was give her the right to revel in the perfect dream she had about the one thing that she wanted more than anything in the world; her mother.

Of course she should have known that they would find a way to take that away. Anything that to her seemed worth having was taken away. And for what? To conform to societies accepted 'norms.' But no matter how many norms she conformed to, she never had been, and never would be, accepted simply because she, who dared to be different, dared to be herself, dared to be anything but what people expected her to be, had rarely—though not never, she admitted—stopped and thought about how people would react. Being Luna Lovegood sometimes meant just not caring about the stares, the whispers, the nicknames, the teasing. But more often than not, being Luna Lovegood meant her dreams were all for nothing.

But the one thing that everyone had left alone was her mother.

Had it been anyone else, Luna admitted, she would have been able to put on her dreamy smile and walk away, waiting until afterwards to let her eyes fill with tears, to let the blocks of reality fall on her shoulders. Had it been anyone else, Luna could have acted the way everyone expected her to act: Loony. But she hadn't. She had acted like a real person—a real person who had real feelings, real expectations, and real longings.

Luna was not dreamy enough to believe that Draco was above picking at the most tender part of her fragile heart, but she was just dreamy enough to believe that if she just took what he dished at her, she could avoid getting hit too hard.

She was wrong.

Her tears stung her eyes, burning, searing them with such intensity that it felt as though they were made of acid. The more she tried to blink them away, the more they flooded her vision, filling her with deep anxiety, fear, sadness.

Why, why, why, why, was he the only one who made her feel this way? And why, why, why, why did he have to say that?

"You aren't going to see your mother again, you loon! She's dead, and who could blame her for leaving when she had a crazy, stupid, daft excuse for a daughter like yourself? She probably committed suicide to get away from you and your lunatic of a father."

The words burned inside of her head. It was as though Malfoy had stepped into the deepest parts of her mind, the parts that not even she dared to go, and seen all of her greatest fears and nightmares. Yes, that was why it hurt so bloody bad. It was true. It had to be! Why would her Mum, Daily Prophet reporter and journalist, feel obliged to stick around her crazy and work-obsessed husband and equally crazy, even at the age of five, daughter? She wouldn't. Not at all. Back in the far corners of her brain, Luna had always thought that her Mum's death wasn't exactly an accident…

But that was why there was only one part of her dreamland that Luna regularly wished was reality. Yes, it would be amazing to meet a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, it would be amazing to be popular, it would be amazing to not notice the teasing as she so often didn't in her dream worlds. Everything in her dreamlands was better than her reality; but there was one part that she loved above everything else; the soft, chiming voice of her mother, telling her that everything would be all right, that they only said these things because they were jealous of her originality. The most amazing part about living in her dreams was that after a while, she really could hear and see her dead mother, she really could seek her out for guidance, and for once in her long, lonely life, she had someone who loved her unconditionally, without question, and forever.

Luna dreamed of many things, and yearned for as much, but the only thing she had ever wanted was the intangible love of her mother.

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Luna almost crashed against her favorite tree, journal and quill in hand. She was practically trembling, she was so mad with rage. Usually, Luna was not good at writing lists. But today, as she sat beneath her tree with all of her hatred coursing through her tired veins, she could list, perfectly, all of the reasons she despised Draco Malfoy. Before she had even tried to think about it, she was scrawling '101 Reasons Why I Hate Draco Malfoy' on the top of the page.

She didn't think logically, as though she ever did. All that she did was let her hand flow over the paper, saying what she had wanted to say for so bloody long.

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101 Reasons Why I Hate Draco Malfoy

I hate that he's in Slytherin.

I hate that he's nearly killed Harry several times. Now Harry, there's someone I like. Not Malfoy.

I hate that he regularly stares at me like I'm an alien. Really, just because I read upside down…

I hate that he laughs out loud when I talk about my Mum. But I will see her again—I know it.

I hate that he insists on calling me Loony Luna.

I hate that he calls Hermione a mudblood. He sounds like a conceited, arrogant bastard when he does that. I mean, he is a conceited, arrogant bastard, but then he actually sounds like one… and you know what? Next item.

I hate that he refers to all of the Weasley's as blood traitors. Quite unattractive, really.

I hate that his father is a deatheater.

I hate that his father gives blondes a bad name.

I hate that his mother also gives blondes a bad name.

I hate that he gives blondes a bad name.

I hate that he's Snape's favorite student.

I hate the way he slicks back his hair.

My father is not crazy.

I hate that he told me that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks were a myth.

I hate that he reads Witch Weekly. What self-respecting guy reads Witch Weekly?

I hate that he says The Quibbler is a disgrace to the magic world.

I hate that I listen to him.

I hate that yellow is my favorite color, and it doesn't look good on him.

Professor Lupin was amazing. Unlike him.

I hate that he's a pureblood believer.

I hate that he eats like a pig.

I hate that I've never seen him wearing anything but black and gray.

I hate that he insists I was sorted into the wrong house.

He took my grey sweater, and I know it.

I hate that he takes an insane amount of joy in torturing people.

I hate that he's cursed almost all of the people I consider my friends.

I hate that he gets good marks without trying.

I hate that his laugh makes my spine crawl.

I hate that his shoes make him look like a dork.

I hate that he seems to think that the entire female population swoons over him.

I hate that almost all of the female population does swoon over him.

I hate that he never forgets it if you're wrong.

I hate that he's damned good at hexing.

Crabbe and Goyle aren't monkeys, no matter how stupid they may be.

I hate that he doesn't treat anyone—not even his supposed friends—like they're human.

No one should be so devoid of a heart as to make Neville cry and walk away.

He's really not as amazing as he thinks he is.

I hate that he's made everyone think that's not true.

Buckbeak was awesome.

I hate that he's dated Pansy Parkinson for several years now.

I hate that he sings off-key.

I hate that he's probably in deatheater training.

I hate that he doesn't believe in Dumbledore.

I hate that he thinks of stupid, juvenile nicknames for every single person he comes in contact with.

I hate that he still claims it didn't hurt when Hermione punched him in third year.

I hate that he's talent-less as a Seeker, yet he still manages to win Quidditch games.

I hate that when he thinks I can't hear him, he repeats what I just said and laughs manically.

I hate him because I'm beginning to run out of things to say…

But I'm not done yet. I hate that he makes fun of Professor Flitwick.

I hate that he never looks at anyone besides the girls with the biggest tits.

I hate that he's outrageously addicting.

My bottle cap necklace is not stupid.

I hate that he says I don't have any friends.

I hate that he made me think he was right.

I hate that he points out everything I try to ignore.

I hate that he thinks I'm outrageously funny because I'm different.

I hate that I always used to be happy with the way I was, until he pointed out just how strange I was.

I hate that I bet he knows nearly everything about the inner workings of the deatheaters, and he doesn't say anything.

I hate that he can get under my skin without trying at all.

I hate that I was the one who first noticed him, not the other way around.

I hate that he's really polite when he wants to be.

I hate that he smirks, never smiles.

Radishes are too a good accessory!

Neville is not a fool, he is not a goon, he is not there simply to be laughed at. He is not a disgrace to purebloods; he's a million times more a man than Draco Malfoy will ever be.

I hate that he looks like a ferret.

I hate that his eyes never look warm.

I hate that, for some reason, I always feel bad for him.

I can't stand the way he stands on the balls of his feet.

I hate that he probably knows all of the Unforgivable Curses.

I hate that he's grown up surrounded by evil, but I've seen someone die.

I hate that he doesn't know that I've seen someone die.

I hate that he wouldn't care even if he knew I had seen someone die.

I hate that he thinks he's too high and mighty for the rest of us.

I hate that he might be right.

I hate that he makes me second-guess myself.

Harry is not a prick, he is not a prude, he is simply more of a man than Malfoy.

I hate that he owned Dobby.

I hate that Dobby still thinks he owes something to him.

I hate that he hasn't even noticed that Dobby works at Hogwarts now.

Dumbledore is in no way a fool.

I hate that I am once again running short on things to say.

I hate the way his eyes pierce into mine.

I hate the way he always knows what to say.

I hate that one day what he says will make my heart flutter, and the next day it will make me want to crawl under a rock and die.

I hate that I always think it's not his fault for being this way.

I hate the way his eyes are such a shade of piercing blue that it makes my heart melt.

I hate that I could fall into those eyes and feel at home forever.

I hate that none of these are real reasons at all.

I hate that I can't ever get him off of my mind.

I hate the way his un-tucks his shirt slightly and expects everyone to swoon.

I hate that everyone does.

I hate that I'm part of everyone.

I hate that he makes me feel unoriginal.

I hate that I only thought of 78 decent reasons as to why I hate him.

I hate that only about 30 of those 78 decent reasons are really good reasons.

I hate that most of the things that are really good reasons I feel like I can change.

I hate him because I know I can't change him.

I hate him because I know I don't really want to change him.

I hate him because he makes me forget what I'm supposed to be.

I hate him because I love him so bloody much.

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Luna looked in shock at what she had just written. She loved him? How could she bloody love him? She had many strong feelings towards Malfoy, but none of them were love.

She continued to look at the pages, covered in her sprawling, angry handwriting. There were some compelling reasons here, and she had left the biggest one of all out. But whenever she began to believe that she really did hate him, that she really didn't care what he thought—at least not that much—she looked at the bottom of the list.

'I hate that I could fall into those eyes and feel at home forever…'

'I hate him because I know I don't really want to change him…'

I hate him because I love him so bloody much…'

Luna swore loudly at the list—very un-Luna-like, as Ginny so helpfully pointed out later, and tore out all of the pages in her journal. She crumpled them up and threw them into her bag; not caring or noticing that all but one of the pages fell out. If she had looked on the ground, she would have seen the pages fluttering, lonely, underneath her tree. And if she had stayed about four minutes longer, she would have heard Draco's laughter and the sound of the Slytherins stalking towards her tree, hoping to find 'Loony Lovegood' acting the way she should. Instead, they found a few crumpled pieces of parchment, starting with the words 'I hate that he's in Slytherin.'

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So, we liking? Review with responses and ideas, please! The whole 'planning' thing isn't really going too great right now…

P.S. Anyone who read/reviewed '101 Reasons Why I Hate Draco Malfoy'--THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING THAT PIECE MY MOST HEAVILY REVIEWED AND VIEWED PIECE TO DATE! LOVE YOU ALL!