Descent to Madness
Summary: A girl wanders where she should not. She skirts the side of darkness everyday. Eventually DM/LL
A/N:this is my response to a challenge by orpheus-izanagi at the HP challenge forum. Warning: Rated 'T' for dark themes including sex and violence. I'll try and stick to T but it will mean reworking some later chapters, if not then the rating will go up!
Beta-read by je suis l.m!
I do not own any characters, places, spells etc... they belong to JKR!
'Lights out!' called Molly Weasley from the kitchen of the burrow. Her voice magnified to resonate throughout the house, though she had not used a spell to make it do so. Luna Lovegood had always thought of such things as a mother's talent. Other quirks like smelling out a dirty sock in a tidy room, or finding scarlet red underwear she'd accidentally left in with the pale washing, would also fit in with this assumption. Red was Luna's preferred underwear colour since the French claimed it brought luck. She also enjoyed wearing red socks; only they were even more skilled at finding their way into the washing. Occasionally, Luna would find herself watching her sock drawer to catch a glimpse of the famous Prosapio magical 'sockstealing' community. Her father had let her in on the secret when, on his 40th birthday, she'd questioned where all his older birthday presents were disappearing off to. He'd then revealed his collection of gift socks, or rather his odd collection. Not a single pair was to be found in the box. Luna had guarded her socks very carefully since, often opting for bright colours, that way a sighting of the toe-sized creatures was more probable.
'Out now, if you would!' Molly's weary voice sounded again.
'She must be very tired,' Luna sighed.
At Molly's second order, Luna heard the faint scrambling around in the room of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley about three doors down. She couldn't be sure but it sounded just like someone falling out of bed. Luna supposed they were having a quick discussion under the duvet: Nothing ends the day better then a little bedtime chit-chat,she thought. Of course, it wouldn't be Harry and Ron doing the talking, rather Harry and his girlfriend in one cuddle and Ron and his in another.
Poor Ron. Luna supposed it must be tough seeing your little sister make a palaver over her boyfriend everyday, especially when he had been your best friend for nine years. Luna wouldn't look up from her hands when the girls came in. She loved how skin would sparkle in the moonlight; it did so in the sun, too, but there was something magical about moonlit skin: it appeared to be painted metallic.
Sure enough, five minutes later, when they were sure Molly trusted them enough to not come inspecting upstairs, Hermione and Ginny came scuttling back into the room the three were sharing, both looking surprisingly peachy and out of breath considering they'd told Luna they were only going off to have a little 'cuddle' with the boys before turning in for the night.
Luna smiled knowingly at the glances the two girls offered each other as they passed her en route to bed. No doubt one had bumped into the other in the now darkened corridor of the burrow; Molly insisted on turning all lights off when they were asleep. Luna could hardly blame her. Poor Molly was worried sick, as was everyone else, about the safety of their loved ones, and what with Molly having five members of her family, plus her children's friends staying too, she had more right than most to feel anxious.
There was just something unsettling about a house sticking out in the black night, what with the death eaters circling the country and everything. Luna had heard they were looking for something, or rather, someone, though nobody seemed to know what, not even the Death Eaters themselves. And even if they did, on the face of it they did not know why.
Of course nobody had actually stated this as fact, but one could gather it easily from piecing odds and ends of newspaper cut-outs together—always a favourite pastime of Luna's. While Hermione spent her mornings scaling every written-on inch of the Daily Prophet, Luna enjoyed cutting the thing to pieces with scissors, before re-arranging the bits of stories to make something entirely new. It had been one of the 'quickspirations' to feature in her Father's magazine one month. Whether they appealed or not, Luna would always try them, and, as was with the newspaper clipping's case, she often found herself hooked and doing the suggestions scrupulously. She tried bits and bobs in most activities, picking her choice of hobbies like one would with finger food.
And so it was the other morning when Luna had been pouring out the orange, that she spotted a five page spread on death-eater activity. Well, Luna had thought, why not turn the talent into a means of research, as it was. The pieces had oddly fit together on their own, appearing as though they wanted to aide Luna in her investigation. She only needed to provide the flexible fingers.
A sighting of four Death Eaters tearing down an antique shop was not much differently worded than another article, telling of how a bunch of them had taken over a Muggle shop before blowing it to pieces. In some other, more disturbing stories, Luna noticed how the missing list of people was growing to sound like a list of patients at St Mungo's. All the 'missings' (Luna preferred that term for the people, as it sounded more positive than 'victims') could be linked in one way or another, if not by hair colour then by other distinguishable features, such as having many freckles around their noses, or a small scar along their cheek. Luna had told the order about the Death Eaters' strange activity, though nobody other than Tonks and Remus had taken much notice. Not that Luna minded; she just wanted to help with anything she could. Sometimes the order seemed to forget that she put hard work in, as well. Though, that too did not phase Luna in the slightest. She was not dense and knew recognition always had a way of returning to its owner.
Pots and pans were clanking away downstairs, and the smell of honey and lemon wafted in through the crack in the door, where from Luna inhaled it with the sudden urge to shrink herself, so that she could swim in the dishwater—pre-dish washing of course. Molly Weasley really was a lovely woman, and she made sure that guests in her house were treated as though they were in her most inner family circle.
Luna had been staying at the burrow for roughly a week or so and had only ever felt more at home in one other place: her own home, over the hill. Ginny had invited Luna to stay whilst her father took a short but necessary trip to Australia, where he was researching the Yara-ma-yha-who creature for his newly created feature, 'Beasts of the World'. Luna had been very tempted to go, but her work for the order would always come before her own fruition (Luna loved the word, since it reminded her of happy mangoes and cheery pears).
Luna had come to think of Molly as the godmother she'd always wanted; in fact it was hard not to label everyone under the burrow's roof as some form of family. They had all become as such to Luna, in ways she had never known they could. It was a queer thing about war: it often brought many closer together. If it weren't for the hundred or so deaths and missing reports coming in every week, Luna would almost be happy about what was happening. Almost.
'Hey Luna, do you mind?' Ginny's voiced called from a hole in her nightgown as she shimmied it down and over her head. Puzzled, Luna raised her eyebrows in question. 'The bed?' Ginny elaborated when she'd finally pulled her head through, evidently glad to be able to breathe again.
'Oh no, sure! Go ahead.' Luna smiled from the armchair.
There were only two beds in the room tonight. Hermione had turned up a day earlier than they had planned; she'd rushed through an explanation that Luna hadn't quite caught, though she suspected it was something to do with her parents. Molly had been busy all day and had not had time to arrange a bed in their room for Hermione. Earlier that evening, Ginny had offered Hermione hers upon seeing the tired, dark circles around her eyes that were a clear sign of a dreadful night's sleep.
Luna couldn't remember the last time she'd slept badly, though it was likely somewhere around the time of her mother's death. Luna was comfy enough on the armchair, anyway, her legs dangling lazily off the end, where her newly polished toenails shimmered banana yellow. Ginny, thoughtful as always, tossed Luna a thick blanket over the small lump that was the sleeping Hermione. She really must be tired, Luna thought.
From where she sat she had a lovely view out the window over on the far wall. Luna closed her eyes and waited patiently for sleep. Before it came, she heard the soft snores of the redhead to her right. Somehow Luna always managed to be the last to sleep. It always came though; she just needed to be patient, and she was very good at that.
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Luna awoke in an icy burst of panic. Her skin tingled, though her room was warm and the window still shut.
She had always dreamt, every night for as long as she could remember, and they were usually pleasant enough with an occasional warning about a forgotten assignment or a weather forecast for the following day. Never before had a dream affected her in this way, at least not any other dream.
She replayed the dream in her mind, half in fear, half needing to remember if only in an attempt to grasp its meaning." In it, she was venturing through a deep forest with only the light of a small white candle to keep her walking straight. Her destination didn't matter for she never reached it. Her feet began to burn as the ground grew hot; so she walked faster, as though staying idle for a moment would give her blisters. It was only after a short while that Luna began to question her candle; she couldn't understand how it would keep burning in spite of the fierce wind that blew her long cloak around her bare ankles. 'Surely all candles must come to an end at some point?' Luna recalled herself thinking.
And it seemed that thought was enough to stop whatever magic had kept the candle alive. Then the light died altogether, and there was nothing to distinguish but a bleak, foreboding darkness. She remembered trying to turn around, to come home, but her feet were no longer free. She was bound to continue downward into what she could only assume was somewhere she didn't belong. The pull had forced her onward until she finally began to see the thick dark ropes that twisted around her ankles, dragging her body along. They glowed a rich green before morphing into distorted human hands. Luna screamed as the forest floor began to shake beneath her feet. Then, she saw the flames break free through the ground as it opened to swallow her whole.
A hungry beast of an inferno scorched her skin. Luna was weak, helpless and could do nothing but cry out for help as the fiery ropes dragged her to hell...
Luna stared down; it had seemed so real. She could almost feel the burning forest floor tingle through her feet. Her toes pointed and relaxed repeatedly as she checked them over.
A muffled moan from across the room silenced her harsh breathing. Ginny Weasley rolled over in her peaceful slumber and mumbled a name Luna couldn't quite catch, but she knew would rhyme with Barry. Luna checked her Snorcack clock: 4:44am.
It had puzzled Luna why she always caught the time when all the numbers were alike. She worried that it was now too late to get any more sleep; otherwise she'd never get up in time for her morning duties. It was hard work keeping up with the order, what with all the mysterious requests from Harry—who had clearly been looked to as their leader once Dumbledore had passed—and the never ending risk of death that came with any job these days if did not involve allying oneself with Voldemort. Luna thought Harry really was a brilliant leader and wizard and felt glad to be under his orders. It brought a kind of feeling one associated with a parent when sick, that they would be all right so long as they had their parent there.
Luna often wondered how his supporters perceived Voldemort. Would it be with admiration or fear? Luna imagined it would be something else entirely, something she never wanted to understand.
She had never minded saying his name much though; she'd just avoided it so as not to upset others in school. What fear could a name possibly bring anyway?
But despite the baffling work, the fact that nobody other than Harry, Ron and Hermione knew exactly what the missions were for, and the added risk they were continually under, Luna couldn't imagine life any other way. It had become a part of Luna. A part which, she now knew, would stay with her through the rest of her life. Nobody struck Luna as thinking about things the way she did, but she didn't expect them to. Whether anyone else was aware of it or not, no two minds were identical. Luna knew though, and it was a fact that had lifted her during the worst of her school days.
Like that time an older Slytherin and his friends had tripped her while she carried an elaborate model of a werewolf she had built for her defence against the dark arts assignment. It had taken her six days, four of which she had slept few hours and barely ate. She had really enjoyed making the model, and had even more fun anticipating the well deserved grade she knew would have been awarded. Then, she tripped and watched as it fell to the floor, crushed under the foot of a howling Slytherin.
Luna had cried that night. But then reminded herself the boys had probably done it for their own amusement. At least she had given them that, even if it was at her own expense.
Luna was a part of something much more important than a school project now anyway. Most of the order were a part of it because they either were good people or fancied themselves admirable if they played the part of a good person. In the case of someone like Mundungus Fletcher, Luna expected the latter.
It was close to 5:00am when Luna concluded it was now officially too late to go back to sleep. She was wide awake, anyway, and realised, with delight, that she had not yet missed the sunrise. Luna always tried to catch it when she could, not for any sentimental reasons like young couples did but because Luna simply couldn't think of a more natural beauty in the world than the exchanging or light between night and day. She always caught the sunset, though did not do so religiously. She simply found herself with a perfect view no matter where she was.
Luna was fascinated by the change in things. In her wise eyes, nature bordered on magic itself; with little effort involved.
Some people saw the rise and setting sun as the end of one time and the start of something new. For Luna, though, nothing ever really ended; one just sort of let go of things, and they went. Letting go of the night meant giving fate the space to bring whatever it liked for the new day. Nothing could ever end in Luna's mind.
Ginny rolled over and scrunched her nose as Luna silently levitated her armchair to carry her to the window. There! She saw the first flames on the horizon. Luna opened the window the tiniest crack, so as not to disturb Ginny but yet still be able to feel the morning breeze. September mornings never seemed to be as warm as they used to—the goose pimples on Luna's arms told her. But Luna didn't mind the chill. It was like a cold drink: refreshing and often soothing. Just what Luna needed after that awful night's sleep.
She hoped it would be enough to urge her out of the thick, fuzzy blankets that she cuddled into, for breakfast. For now though, she planned to just watch the large spider making his final web of the year outside on the windowsill. After this one the winter air would compel the poor creature inside, perhaps under a creaking floorboard. Luna hoped he had earmuffs; the order could sure make up a loud riffraff when they liked, and the burrow would be busier than ever this winter since various relatives would be visiting the order for the holidays—in particular Xenophillius Lovegood.
Luna could not wait to see her father again. They wrote weekly, and he always sent her a copy of the quibbler which, as far as she knew, was still going very strong. More so lately, after a clever hint from Hermione, Xenophillius had made the magazine available under the cover of various household items. That way, to any death eater or follower of Voldemort, the magazine would appear to be nothing more than a harmless knickknack.
Apparently Lord Voldemort did not approve of the content associated with the quibbler; so her father had been forced to suspend printing it for a while. It was a shock to everyone when, after careful planning, Hermione devised the plan for people to receive their copy without alerting any undesirables. It made Luna smile that Voldemort was being outsmarted in ways even he would not suspect. Nobody would worry about a magazine, anyway, especially when it was one with such a famously odd reputation.
Luna always caught herself secretly beaming with pride whenever she saw someone walking down the street with a small sheet of loo roll stuffed under their arm. Hermione really was a very clever witch, as many people had already pointed out, but Hermione wasn't wise. It was rare for someone so young to understand the difference between the two, but Luna did.
She heard her alarm clock bleeping in an adaptation of the legendary Snorcack grunt. People everywhere would hear the beast but often mistook it for an old, wheezing vehicle on its last legs. They would still opt for this explanation even when, bizarre as it seemed, they were miles from the nearest road. It irked Luna that some people would never even try to accept things like the notorious beast. Luna took one last look out the window before untangling her legs from their criss-cross arrangement.
She made her way over to Ginny to wake her (the poor girl really was a nightmare with waking up), and she idly checked the date on the calendar on her way. It was September first, and there would be a new moon that night. A new moon at the start of a new month meant new beginnings and a new slate of good luck. Luna smiled. The order of the phoenix would be needing all the luck they could get.
The two women appeared in the room; he would have missed their arrival had he blinked at that very second. Both held wands readily at their sides. Three pairs of eyes met, each alike in their regret. It hadn't worked.
'Well, we're running out of options,' snarled Bellatrix at the man, '...and you said this would be it. You said this would work!'
'I never said it was guaranteed. I thought it would be though,' he said, standing. At his full height he towered over both women, muscles prominent through his shirt. Fenrir Greyback was intimidating in the extreme.
Narcissa Malfoy kept her eyes on him, her beautiful face lined with such precision that it seemed deliberate. In truth it was the consequence of several sleepless nights and months of worry. 'Fenrir, what can we do now?' She disguised her fear with accusation, and did it well.
'We'll discuss it later; though I honestly don't know yet. For now, though...' He turned as the clock on the mantelpiece began to chime—a subtle reminder that time was ticking on, never one to wait. One chime sounded. Fernir gestured to Bellatrix to do the 'honours'.
But she just stared at him with wild and clearly tired eyes; her darkened circles matched her sisters, though on Bella they just made her look mad. Comprehension came after a second's hesitation, and she knew to raise her wand. Needless to say it would be better to hear of their failure from them now than somebody else later; Bella suspected he already knew, anyway.
Bellatrix extended her wand and pointed its tip on the tail of her mark.
Two. Three. Four.
The three waited with breaths held as one. From somewhere above the few remaining house elves could be heard scuttling around quickly to ready the beds for their sleepers. The clock chimed on as they waited.
Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve. The silent room appeared to contract with the tension that twisted every way inside it.
Finally a crack sounded as the three fell to their knees, Bellatrix with alarming haste. Lord Voldemort stood over her collapsed body and, with his wand, lifted her chin slowly. His eyes burned a dark fear into her soul, this one stare freezing Bellatrix's heart as her blood pumped colder.
'My lord, we failed,' she began hesitantly. Each word wisping through the cold air in the room, which had suddenly become impossibly quieter. 'They knew,' she whispered, her tone pleading for him to understand—something she had yet to see him do but so desperately hoped for.
'Of course they did, Bella. Maybe I should have been consulted first? Or did that logic magically slip your—uh, mind?' Voldemort's lips momentarily showed signs of amusement before pressing into a line so fine it could have been drawn on with a quill in one stroke.
Even the most loyal of followers needed to be reminded of their place occasionally. Bella tried to fool herself as she waited for the inevitable. 'Crucio,' he whispered, soft in such a sinister way that; for a moment at least, Bellatrix did not know where the pain had come from. Voldemort's pitiless expression gave it away soon enough. She twisted on the floor, her eyes ablaze with hatred, directed only at herself of course, as though it were Bellatrix who held the wand on her chest while it's curse leapt freely through her body. She could never hate her Lord no matter what pain he threw upon her. Narcissa and Greyback watched on; they could do nothing more, both knowing Bellatrix was taking in their punishments as well as her own right then.
It only lasted a moment, but the only real pain for Bellatrix came when he lowered his wand. Lord Voldemort swept from the room in a swift motion, gliding along the old floorboards as though he were walking on dark water. His disappointment did to her what nothing else could: it made her detest her very soul. Bellatrix turned to her sister, finding she was already helping her up. Greyback followed Voldemort out of the room without a glance at either woman.
'I don't understand what was so important about a—ah...' Narcissa moaned as Bellatrix's legs gave way and she began to fall down again. '—a silly old medallion.' Giving up on her sister for a moment, Narcissa waited for Bella to pull herself together on her own.
'Why question him now?' panted Bellatrix, dropping her head to rest on her knees. ' After all this time?'
'Because I'm starting to wonder why nobody has before,' she admitted with a defeated sigh as her own legs grew too heavy to stand on. Sinking next to her sister, she offered her hand which Bellatrix accepted wordlessly. Disregarding everything, evil, too, needed comfort sometimes, and the only person in the world Bellatrix dared ask for it was sitting right next to her. Bella turned her head slightly to gaze at her sister.
Lord Voldemort could never see any of his followers in such a meek, uncontrolled state of mind. The two stared at each other in silence. They were running out of options. And very quickly running out of time.