Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

a/n: This is... kind of a confusing mix of movie-verse and book-verse, but oh well. I think I'm just way too fond of that birdcage in the sixth movie.

Draco Malfoy had reached the end of his tether, as evidenced by the fact that he didn't sneer and jeer at Luna Lovegood when he saw her standing at the end of the hallway, staring up into the wrought iron birdcage.

Of course, a lot of this was due to the immense weight caused by the dead finch in his pocket. He was sure that she was looking for the missing bird.

He had never been this tired in his life—as he walked away from the Room of Requirement, studying the blonde's profile, he was fighting the urge to drop to the floor and sleep right there, preferably for several years.

It was unfortunate, really, that she should show up just then. If he were to be honest with himself, which he had developed a bad habit of doing lately, Luna was the last person he wanted to have to face right now. There was something so essentially innocent in her general existence that he could not fathom having to look at her with this burden of guilt and terror pressing on his sanity. It would be like those Muggle confessionals in churches—in that face, there was potential for absolution.

He hated it.

"There used to be two birds in here," she said, that maddeningly soft voice making him cringe, eyes sliding away, fixing on the stone of the floor. "I wonder what happened to the other one."

"Probably died. Birds don't live long," he said flatly, finally reaching the cage and the girl, not looking at either, stepping forward with every intention of breezing past her.

"You spend an awful lot of time in there."

Any other day, he would have glared at her, told her that it was none of her bloody business what he did with his time, maybe called her a blood traitor or abused her father, but she had chosen today, of all days, to pry.

He refused to see it as an abstract attempt at showing compassion, as it probably was meant to be.

Instead, he paused, eyes blown wide and fixed on her face, absorbing the open expression, the interest—he refused, also, to call it concern—that was rather detached, but genuine, showing in the tilt of her head, the way she studied him.

"You're tired, too." She blinked, and something that was almost a frown, but not, worked it's way into the corners of her mouth.

"Must be some mission," she added, throwing Draco so far off-balance that he nearly swore and hexed her and ran for it. How could anyone know? That was impossible.

Absolutely impossible.

He inhaled sharply, expression contorted into something along the lines of horror, making her eyes widen infinitesimally (which should not have been possible, considering how wide they were naturally).

"Oh, I don't know anything about it, don't worry. I just heard Harry talking, and combined with the fact that you haven't been eating and that you've started disappearing between every set of classes instead of lurking with Crabbe and Goyle, I figured that Harry must've got it right, and that you were doing something important."

Draco stuttered incoherently.

Draco never stuttered, not to mention he could feel his ears and neck and face heating with a peculiar mixture of absolute fury at Potter for his insufferable inability to keep his nose out of Draco's business and…embarrassment.

Since when did Loony Lovegood give a dragon's testicle what he did or why he did it?

It took him a few long, long moments to realize that Luna now looked almost horrified herself.

"Harry doesn't know anything, either, and he wasn't talking loudly. People just don't notice me a lot of the time—selective awareness, I think—and I was walking with them onto the grounds, and he was talking about what he thought you were doing. I'm sure he wouldn't have said anything if he'd realized I was there," she said, coming as close to rushing her words as she ever would, watching intently for any sign of lessening tension in his face.

The tension didn't ease so much as warp into incandescent fury, and he leaned forward to glare into her round little face with its round little eyes and its long eyelashes and small mouth and—

"What do you care, Lovegood?"

She blinked at him for a moment, not seeming to notice—or mind—that he was blatantly invading her space, her eyes wandering back up to the birdcage and the one remaining finch.

He didn't think she was going to respond, and was straightening to storm off when she spoke, gaze sliding back to him.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer to that," she said, her tone of voice insinuating that she had actually given it a great deal of thought in the last several seconds, "but I stole some food from dinner, because you never showed up."

"Wh—why?"

"Because Crabbe and Goyle ate with Theodore Nott, and neither of them took any food with them, so I knew you wouldn't get any dinner otherwise." She pulled a bundle of food wrapped in a napkin from the pocket of her robes and held it out to him, looking quite sincere and unashamed of taking such an obvious and involved interest in someone else's well-being.

This was exactly why he had not enjoyed seeing her outside the Room of Requirement.

When he didn't take the food immediately, she smiled her vague smile, continuing hold her offering, and said, "Feel free to tell me to go away. I'm quite used to it"

He really should have done just that. It would have been much more natural than taking the food and pressing his lips together to keep from crying again.

"Thank you," he said as quietly as humanly possible, feeling as guilty as guilty could be, except that when her smile solidified into something quiet and pleased, he felt a little of the burden roll off his shoulders.

"You're welcome. I'll see you," she said, having accomplished her task, her robes brushing his leg as she turned to go.

Halfway down the hallway, she started humming, and he noticed that she wasn't wearing shoes.

He would have to tell Pansy to give the pair she had stolen a few weeks ago back.