4. Hold my hand
It was always the same dream. He would sit in a compartment of the train, the sun covering the fields outside with a golden blanket, and he was on his way to his second home: Hogwarts. Everything would be normal, as it should be.
But then the dream would change, and he never was really able to recall that feeling of belonging in the beginning after he had woken. The terror of that sudden darkness; followed by an icy chill were just too strong. Even though he tried to fight it every time and return to the pleasant part of the dream, he also knew that it was useless. When the hooded figures appeared in the door, he would just sit there, waiting, completely helpless. That was the worst about it - that he never fought back, not once, when they grabbed him and dragged him off, no doubt to bring him back to him.
Covered in cold sweat, Draco awoke with a gasp, feeling like he just had emerged from a deep lake. The images of his nightmare were whirling before his eyes and it seemed to him that they tried to drag him back down, under the surface, to drown him in fear. He was shivering violently, but he didn´t dare to go back under his covers - sleep was waiting there, and sleep was dangerous tonight.
Sitting up in the darkness, he tried to fight the drowsiness and cling to consciousness. At the moment reality was better than his nightmare, but there had been more than enough times when he had wished to just wake up from the horrid scenes that took place in this house, even in plain daylight. He didn't want to think about them, nor did he want to go back to sleep.
In fact, what he really needed right now was company. Someone to tell him that everything was all right, though he knew it wasn´t. The sudden urge to get up and awake his parents shot through him like lightning - a long since forgotten instinct from his childhood. It vanished, though, just as quickly as it had come, being replaced by that familiar taste of bitterness, which made his throat constrict and filled his chest like poison.
A cruel smile appeared on his gaunt features as he imagined his parents ´reactions - no doubt his father would laugh at him for being so weak and childish, after shouting at him of course. Maybe his mother would be a bit more sympathising, though whenever he thought he saw something like compassion flicker in her eyes these days, she quickly smoothed it over with her perfected look of ice. She always told him to be strong and just to ignore any pain, but he wondered whether she really was as unfeeling herself. He also wondered whether such hardness meant to be strong at all. Or would it turn one into something like the Dark Lord?
Sighing in exasperation, he leant his head against the cold wall. Who was he kidding? There was no one in the house whom he could talk to. He´d rather have another nightmare than to confess his thoughts to aunt Bellatrix. And apart from her there were just the prisoners, old Ollivander and that weird Lovegood girl. Making fun of her at school had almost been too easy.
She has to be really mad, he mused, because when she arrived here, there was no fear in her eyes. She actually pointed at one of the portraits and asked me whether the Malfoys had always had such pointy chins.
He had only snorted at such naivety, but somehow it didn´t seem to be that funny to him anymore. Whenever it had been his duty to bring food to the prisoners (he hated those occasions and always said that it was servant work and that Wormtail should do it instead), she had seemed oddly calm and collected for someone, who was being held hostage by the Dark Lord.
A crazy thought sneaked itself into his mind. What if he went down to the cellar now? Surely she would be sleeping, but he could wake her - and then? He shook his head. It was absolutely ridiculous and if someone caught him...
Still, he felt that he couldn´t stand another moment in this room, which once had been his sacred refuge.
Slowly placing his cold feet on the creaking floor bars, he waited another few second before he fully stood up. He tip-toed towards the heavy door, covered in Slytherin posters, and opened it as carefully as possible. Even though he was listening with all his might for some sign that someone had heard him, he wondered whether it was even possible for him to notice anything else above the frantic beating of his heart.
After what seemed years to him, he dared to step out into the deserted hallway, looking eerily peaceful in the moonlight. Like a normal hallway in a normal house. Except that it didn´t feel like home anymore. A blurred memory of sneaking through dark hallways a long time ago appeared before his inner eye. He almost laughed out loud as he remembered following Potter and Granger in his first year. It had all been just a silly game to him back then. Getting detention together with them in the Forbidden Forest had seemed like the worst punishment possible - he wished that it would still seem to him like that.
Having taken an unusual long time to descend the marble stairs, he finally arrived in the kitchen. It was a mystery to him why he had chosen to come here, he wasn´t hungry at all. He was just relieved that no one had detected him yet, so he sat down at the bright polished counter and gulped down some water. If anyone found him now, he could simply state that he had been thirsty and return to his bedroom. But he didn´t want to. He had half hoped that the excitement of this little trip would scare him off and weaken this unnatural desire in him to do something courageous.
A horrible groaning sound made Draco jump and notice with a shock that he hadn´t taken his wand with him. He stood there, petrified, for some moments, waiting to be attacked, before he realised that it had been the wind howling against the windows. If this had been anyone else he would have laughed at their scabbiness. This not being the case he only felt completely lost.
Against his will, he took one step forward to the hallway that contained the trap door to the cellar. And another. Honestly, he was growing scared of himself. But somehow he felt that even if they would tell him to go to hell he wouldn´t feel any worse. Because he was there already.
Taking the steps down to the prison which had once been a place to hide dark artefacts and Christmas decorations, he stopped dead in front of the iron bars. There were two dark figures leaning against the far off wall, barely discernible in the darkness. Somehow he didn´t want Ollivander to see him there. He had heard his cries of torture and pitied him, yet at the same time he was scared of him. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had bought his wand at Ollivander´s, like every child going to Hogwarts, and that the old man had frightened his eleven year old self quite a deal with his talk of dark but great wizards and the expectations the world put in someone, who was descended from such an ancient family.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, reminding himself of that horrid Umbridge woman - no one stirred. The thought of sending a message with a patronus crossed his mind, but then he remembered that he had never managed to produce one. And these were certainly not the right circumstances to finally find a memory happy enough to do the trick.
"Damn it," He muttered through clenched teeth, trying not to cry. Why did he have to be so pathetic?
"Hello?"
The voice was barely above a whisper. Yet it carried that unmistakeable tone of ethereal airiness that made Draco certain who had spoken.
"Luna," he whispered back as quietly as he could with still being heard.
"It's me - Draco."
He cursed himself for that last bit - he had meant to appease her but had forgotten momentarily what a monster he must be in her eyes.
"Oh," was all that she responded to his relief. She sounded neither frightened nor angry.
"Is it breakfast time already? It's so hard to tell the time of day down here."
Draco winced. Her unusual habit to speak unpleasant truths and state them matter-of-factly always had shocked him. In that respect he was her complete opposite - he never spoke of uncomfortable things; he would wind and coil around the truth like a snake.
"No, it's still dark outside."
What time was it? He hadn´t thought of checking that. Certainly no descent time to start a chat. But this was no descent place any way.
"Umm, are you hungry?"
He didn't know what to say. Maybe he should have brought some food and drink, but he hadn't thought of it. Shame began to glow on his cheeks and he was glad about the darkness.
"No, not really. Don't be offended, but I don't like the food here much."
Draco had to snort in disbelief in spite of himself. According to her tone they could be sitting in a fancy tea salon.
"Though I guess I can't be picky."
That last sentence came as an afterthought and sounded as if she had just remembered she was a prisoner.
Even though he had desperately ached for someone to talk to back in his room, he found it to be beyond his strength to speak about what had brought him here, or to speak at all. It was as though somebody had cast that tongue-tying curse upon him.
Several minutes passed by in silence. It pressed against Draco's eardrums and transformed the surrounding darkness into something dense and heavy. Like a living being, like a wild beast; it seemed to attack him and try to swallow everything that was left of him.
His heart was being smothered; his mind seemed to suffocate, making it impossible for him to form any clear thought. Swaying slightly, he turned around and started to walk towards the only source of frail light.
"Why are you leaving? Did my comment on the food insult you?"
There was real concern in Luna's voice and it was this that made Draco turn around and finally speak.
"No, of course not. I just...I should let you get some sleep."
"That's nice of you. But sleep here is a bit like food. I need it to survive, but it isn't very pleasant. A very interesting dilemma actually. I think I would enjoy it much more, though, if I wasn't in it. "
"I can't sleep either."
Maybe this wasn't as philosophical as her view on the situation, but he was relieved to have spoken his mind at last. That was already a big thing in itself.
"I'm sorry to hear that - do you have to sleep on the stone floor as well?"
She was sitting by the bars by now and tilting her head in curiosity.
After hesitating for a moment, he went back and sat down on the other side of the stanchions.
"No, luckily not. It's – I'm just having nightmares."
"So it's more what's in your head than under it?"
He half-smiled and nodded.
"Yeah, I guess you could put it that way."
She seemed to ponder his answer for some time before replying.
"I think I'd also be having nightmares if I were you."
His face fell at once and his flight instincts were kicking in again.
"I suppose you didn't have much of a choice, with your father being a Death Eater. Although, some would say that there always is a choice," she continued, unfazed.
"But of course, it´s harder to do the right thing when you don't know what the right thing is. I guess one could call us both prisoners, though in different kinds of cages. What are your nightmares about?"
Although this question didn't come by surprise, he thought a long time about what to answer or if to answer at all. He didn't know what to make of her; he seemed to be a challenging studying object in her eyes, like a new bug species. Still, he had come all the way up to this point - if he left he might as well hear what she had to say before leaving again.
"It's always the same: I'm on the Hogwarts Express and then there are Dementors, who carry me away."
It didn't sound frightening at all when he told it like this. He felt ridiculous.
"But that's almost how I got here!"
She exclaimed in child-like surprise.
"Although they were Death Eaters and not Dementors, of course. I'm glad about that."
Nodding awkwardly, he waited for more to come. Surely she had more to say about that.
"Well, it pretty much sounds like the kind of dream Wrackspurts would cause. There must be a whole colony of them in your room, when your dream is so horrible."
He blinked. His confusion must have been visible on his face, because she added:
"Surely some would say that it's just the fact that you're a seventeen-year-old teenager being forced to be a Death Eater and to do You-know-who's bidding, but I think it's disputable."
"Umm, what if...let's just assume it's the second part. What would you do against it?" He phrased carefully, making sure not to mention Wrackspurts.
She stared him fully in the face for the first time and even through the darkness he could see her unblinking, protuberant eyes. They reminded him slightly of his aunt´s mad gaze, though they lacked the feverish glow of insanity.
"Isn't it obvious? You would have to stand up against those Dementors, cast a patronus. That's the first step. And then, if you can fight your dream-fears, you can also fight those of reality. Though I guess...a patronus wouldn´t suffice against You-know-who."
She pressed her index finger against her chin at her last thought. It seemed to trouble her.
Draco's heart slumped down in frustration. Of course. Of course it couldn't be easy. If it were, he wouldn't be in this mess. Nobody would be. It had to be some stupid, noble Gryffindor-thing.
"But I can't cast a patronus, Luna. I never quite got the-"
He stopped abruptly and listened hard. There were footsteps above them - no heavy boot trampling, but muffled, measured steps. As if someone was walking on bare feet.
Panic spread through him with the speed of lightning, making the hairs on his neck standing on edge.
"It's him! He came back from wherever he went, he's back-" His frenzied whisper, which was barely a hiss, ended in a sob-like gasp.
"Ssh, keep calm or he'll hear us! Here, just take my hand."
Luna placed hers on his trembling fingers, as he seemed unable to move. Even though she was living in the cellar and he had come out of a cosy bed, her palm felt almost hot against the cold of his hand. While they were both listening for the footsteps to die away, Draco could feel some of the warmth emanating to him.
After what seemed half an eternity, but really only was the quarter of an hour, they heard the front door slamming.
"I think you can go up now, he seems to have left away again," she whispered into the night.
Swallowing hard, he nodded. He knew he had to take this chance quickly - because the Dark Lord might come back any minute and also because he would never be able to do it if he started to think about it properly and what would happen if he was discovered by the Dark Lord alone, in the middle of the night.
"Well...good night then. And thanks for talking."
Before getting up awkwardly, he forgot all his former shame and squeezed her hand quickly.
"You're welcome - I think I'll stay here for a while, if you feel like talking again."
There was no bitterness or accusation in this.
"Good luck."
He smiled and vanished into the twilight of dawn that was spilling the stairs.
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