Written for Hogwarts, Care of Magical Creatures Assignment 1 - Option 1: Write about an antagonist doing something uncharacteristically cordial. Extra Prompt: shakily

Word Count: 2338 without A/N

It was two in the morning, and the January breeze ruffled the feathers of white peacocks seated in the Malfoy Manor garden.

The manor itself was a black shadow that the moon could not seem to light up, perhaps because of the dark presence brooding inside its walls. In fact, the inside of the manor was just as dark as the outside, save for the few torches that lit the hallways of the house.

The orange light, though dim, was enough to guide a pale teenage boy's feet as he slowly and silently made his way into the dining room.

He poured himself a glass of clear water and sipped it slowly. His eyes darted around the darkened room as if afraid to be seen. The longer he stood in the silent manor, the tighter his grip grew on the glass he held.

When he was done with his drink, Draco Malfoy set the glass down again and lifted the pitcher. He hesitated and swallowed hard before allowing the water to pour into the cup.

His long fingers trembled as he picked up the cup of water; water dripped down the sides onto his hand, but Draco did not appear to notice. He crept out of the dining room and made his way to a small set of stairs that led to the basement.

He came to a stop at the top step. If anyone had seen his thin, gaunt face then, no one could deny that the boy was terrified.

He shakily pulled out a thin wand from his pocket. Hawthorn, he mouthed to the wand, and it thrummed in his hand as if it could hear him. Unicorn core. Ten inches. Reasonably pliant.

The words seemed to only heighten his fear, and he quickly stowed it back into his pocket. Two hands cupped the glass of water, which had lost a quarter of its contents in his shaking hands.

Draco Malfoy took a deep breath before allowing himself to continue down the steps of his house and into the dark corridor beyond. Twice he stopped and leaned against the wall, heart hammering as he listened for the sound of anything other than his erratic breathing.

At last, he heard the faint sound of a whimper and a girl's soothing hush. He continued blindly down the hallway until the sound was loudest, and he could hear the girl whispering, "It's okay, Mr. Ollivander, we'll get out of here…"

Draco looked down at the glass of water that he could not see in the dark. To leave it outside the dungeon would be stupid. Which left him no option but to open the door or go back the way he'd come.

But Draco Malfoy had already planned what he was about to do for weeks, and he wasn't going to stop short now. For months, each night he'd lay in his bed, he thought about the old man in the cellar and the blond girl who had joined him at the start of the Christmas holidays. Recently, with the sound of the man's screams echoing through the manor sometimes all day, Draco had been staying awake all night thinking about the dungeon and the glass of water in his hand.

With uncertain fingers, he plucked his wand out of his pocket and whispered, no louder than a breath of air, "Lumos."

Faint light stemmed from the tip of his wand and bathed the corridor in yellow. He knew that the prisoners inside could see the light seep in from the crack under the door; the whispers and moans immediately silenced. He could not leave now that he'd announced his presence.

It was a matter of who would get over their fear first, who would speak first. But Garrick Ollivander and Luna Lovegood had both their shock and fear to render them speechless. Draco only had the latter.

"Don't speak," he murmured under his breath. "I'm coming in."

Thankfully, the two prisoners were smart (or scared) enough to pay his words heed. Using his wand, he unlocked the door and brought himself, light, and the glass of water into the dingy prison cell.

For a moment, he stood with the wand lighting up his face and just barely touching its glow to the old man's and the girl's faces. Draco saw fear, surprise, wonder, and suspicion in their eyes as they stared at him. He stared back, unwilling to move or to speak.

He shut the door to the dungeon quietly and shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

The girl and the wandmaker continued to stare.

Draco cleared his throat. He didn't know what to do or say; somehow the quick exit he'd planned seemed impossible at the sight of their sunken eyes.

"Here," he whispered, and stuck out the hand holding the water. Some sloshed out of the glass and dripped onto the ground.

Neither Luna Lovegood nor Mr. Ollivander made any move to take it, and Draco was about to turn and leave when he realized that they couldn't move. The two were bound together at their wrists and at their ankles.

He stared at the rope for a few moments before clamping his mouth shut and glaring at the water as if it was at fault for embarrassing him. With four quick strides, he was standing next the prisoners, looking down at their faces. The wandmaker's was thin and sallow, but the girl's cheeks were still a little rosy. She had only been here for one week.

"Here," he said again, and shakily placed the cup between Mr. Ollivander's hands. The old man squeezed his fingers around the cup and, twisting to accommodate himself while tied up, drank half of its contents.

"Keep drinking, Mr. Ollivander," said Luna softly, shaking her head when the wandmaker offered the glass to her.

"No - drink, my dear girl -"

"Drink it, old man," Draco said harshly, and he pointed his wand at the glass and said, "Aguamenti."

Pure water filled it to the brim again, and both Luna and Mr. Ollivander stared up at Draco with astonishment.

"Hurry," he muttered, avoiding their wide eyes. "I have to return the glass."

They awkwardly passed the cup between them, and when both had drunk their fill, Luna held the cup towards Draco. Her large blue eyes gazed up at him with a strange but serene expression on her face.

He snatched the glass from her hands and held it tightly within his hands. "Well," he began, but since he did not know what he could say after that, he spun around towards the door.

"Draco," the girl said, and he stopped in his tracks at the sound.

"Draco," she repeated again, as if it pleased her to say his name. "Thank you."

He swallowed hard. He hadn't heard those two words in so long, and why should he? No man could ever thank his torturer, and the Dark Lord's torturer Draco had become…

"It's not going to happen again," he said stiffly.

"I know. But thank you."

He knew he ought to leave - there was nothing more he had to say to Loony Lovegood or Mr. Ollivander, not when he had heard the man scream under the Dark Lord's wand, not when he knew what had happened at least twice in this very cellar.

Yet Draco stayed rooted where he was, unable to move but unable to speak as well.

At last, the girl whispered, "Mr. Ollivander, you should thank him too."

"He's… he's the Malfoy boy."

"Yes. He brought us water."

"He's the one who tortures people."

Draco grit his teeth and stalked towards the door angrily. He wanted to throw the glass against the wall, hear the satisfying crack as it splintered into a thousand beautiful, deadly shards. But surely someone would hear the glass break, someone would come down to the dungeon and see the shards and wonder who had been there, who had thrown it -

"Wait!"

The girl's voice stopped Draco again. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd seen Loony Lovegood at school countless times, her strange radish earrings framing her face, her blond hair (now matted and dirty) tucked under an atrocious looking hat. In fact, he'd spotted her just before they boarded the Hogwarts Express on the way home from the holidays - just hours before she was deported to the cellar of his house.

And now she sat behind him with her wrists bound and face growing thinner from lack of much nutrition, but her voice was still as he vaguely remembered it: light, speculating, and dreamy enough to be considered deranged.

"I used to think that everyone here was bad," she said. "But I can see that you've had it hard, too."

She had to stop talking. She needed to, or he really was going to throw the glass at the wall, but he somehow wanted her to keep going, he wondered what she was getting at, but he didn't want her to, she had no right -

"I always thought I saw something a little nicer in you," Luna said thoughtfully. "You bringing water down here proves it."

"I didn't do it for you," he felt the need to bark out. "I just did it - I just - it was for…"

"It's alright. I think I understand anyway. Thank you again, Draco."

Why did she keep thanking him? Yes, he had risked a lot to bring the glass of water down here, but she was a fool if she thought thanking him would get her more. She was a fool if she thought thanking him would make him pleased, no matter the small bit of warmth budding in his heart at her gentle voice.

He spun around and glared at her. "You don't understand. No one does."

She looked at him curiously, neutrally, neither agreeing with nor denying his claim.

"I -" he began, but words failed him. He did not even know what he wanted to say, just that he wanted to say something, teach Loony Lovegood a lesson about him, that she could never understand him as she said she did.

He clamped his mouth shut and moved his gaze towards the wandmaker, who was watching him cautiously. Draco felt sick at the sight of fear in the old man's eyes and suddenly said,

"He only makes me torture the disobedient Death Eaters. Not the… not his prisoners." He turned to Luna and said before he could stop himself, "You're neither, so if you're quiet and submissive enough, they won't do anything to you."

He didn't want to be stopped by either of their voices this time, so Draco took quick steps towards the door of the dungeons. The girl did not speak again, and he slipped out of the cell and shut the door behind him.

Draco extinguished his wand and stood with his back pressed against the door for a few minutes. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes as he squeezed the glass in his left hand.

And then he pushed himself off the wall and slowly started to make his way back to his bedroom. Through the hallway, up the set of stairs, past the dimly lit foyer, up the large staircase, through the second floor hallway and into his room.

He settled in his bed and stared at the empty glass in his hands. He would not return. He would not go back to the dungeons and see the maker of his wand again, see Loony Lovegood and hear her thoughtful voice.

He would not return. He'd done all that he had planned to do, and to do any more would be foolish.

But Draco did return to the dungeon. In fact, he returned just two night later, but with no glass in his hands, just a single sharp little rock clamped tightly in his fist.

The hallway was as dark as it had been, but he did not bring out his wand. He didn't want either of the prisoners to see his face, and he didn't want to see theirs. So he made his way to the dungeons in silence and darkness, stopping when he reached the door.

He hesitated as he did the other time before opening the door just a crack. From where he stood at the entrance, he heard one of them shift on the ground.

"I'm putting this on the ground next to the wall," he said into the black room. He only had a vague idea where the girl and Mr. Ollivander sat, so he chose the closest wall and shakily set the sharp stone down.

"You can use it if you want. If you're smart enough," he added for good measure, then promptly turned out of the room. He briefly wondered if either was even awake, and then -

"Thank you, Draco."

The girl.

He didn't answer her, and closed the door quietly behind him.

Like last time, Draco leaned against the wooden door and shut his eyes. There would be a meeting tomorrow, and the Dark Lord would be arriving in the morning. When he came to Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord made a point to visit his prisoner, Mr. Ollivander.

Draco winced and pushed himself off the door as if it burned him. He shook his head wildly and began the slow path back to his bedroom.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget the wandmaker's gaunt and terrified face.

Meanwhile, Luna Lovegood's thanks settled somewhere in Draco's heart so that, weeks and weeks later, when they found out she'd escaped with Potter and his friends, he felt an unusual rush of warmth mixed with gratitude.

He couldn't identify what the feeling was. He didn't, until the news that the Dark Lord had been killed and the war was over reached him and his parents on the battlefield.

It was relief. And Draco inexplicably thought of Luna's thanks and thought he now understood why.