Draco and Luna
Draco would rather have stood there in silence than talked to Luna about... anything, really, but his life most of all. She, like the rest of Potter's old fan club, wouldn't care how difficult it had been for him to find work, how plagued he'd been by nightmares, how reduced the Malfoy's had become in wealth and status. If anything, Draco expected she'd be pleased. That was what he deserved, apparently, according to everyone on the other side. Ginny Weasley had certainly thought so last time Draco had been forced to speak to her. For a long moment, Draco didn't respond, but the silence was grating on his already-frayed nerves. "What do you expect?" he snapped. "I work. I see my friends. I foolishly attend balls thrown by the Ministry and then I'm surprised when they go badly." Honestly, what had Lovegood thought he would say? That he danced gleefully on the graves of those who'd died? That he was attempting to organise an uprising of Death Eaters? Draco had a normal life - at least as normal as anyone in their war-torn generation.
Hopefully, Luna's date, whoever it might be, would come searching for her soon. Hopefully he'd think to look in the cloakroom. (That seemed rather less likely.) "Can you produce a patronus?" Draco asked, seemingly out of nowhere. He knew they could be used to send messages, and since they weren't made of anything substantial, one might be able to pass out the same way the mist could. Draco had never produced one, and wasn't about to try and fail in front of Luna.