AU: Set immediately after the events of "Order of the Phoenix," Book Five. Draco/Luna.

Chapter One: The Accomplice

"To be chosen by the Dark Lord is an honor, Draco, you must know this."

Draco Malfoy closed his eyes, reclining his sleek blonde head against the limousine's black leather upholstery. He did his best to keep a neutral expression in place, but honestly, his aunt Bella's endless rambling on the subject of Lord Voldemort was wearing more than a little thin.

Even with his eyes closed, Draco could sense the tension in his mother, who sat next to him. He could picture her slender body curled in on itself, her curtain of white-blonde hair hanging lank around her pale face, her lips drawn and bloodless. This was how she had looked since the night two weeks after his father had been carted unceremoniously off to Azkaban, when Lord Voldemort had decided to do Draco the "honor" of appointing him Albus Dumbledore's murderer.

What did one say when the most powerful dark wizard of all time made such a "request"? Draco was no fool, regardless what some of his Hogwarts professors might think: He had stared mutely at the tops of his feet, aware of his mother slowly collapsing into a chair beside him, while the Dark Lord explained how the Malfoy family could repay him for Lucius' serious mistake at the Ministry – a mistake that had cost Voldemort his much-sought-after prophecy.

"You accept this task, then?" the cold voice had hissed.

Without lifting his eyes, Draco had nodded once, wordlessly.

Aunt Bella, of course, had reacted much more dramatically. "Of course he accepts, my lord!" she had cried, vaulting forward from where she'd been hovering beside the enormous fireplace. High spots of color appearing on her cheeks, she had seized Draco's arm, dragging him a few steps closer to her beloved master. "Our family only lives to serve you!"

Lord Voldemort's steely glare had slowly drawn Draco's eyes up to his. Not so much as a shudder had betrayed Draco's revulsion at the snake-like countenance of the Dark Lord.

"Is this true, Draco?" Lord Voldemort had murmured. His tone reminded Draco of a cat toying with a mouse. "Do you live only to serve me?"

Draco had shrugged off his aunt's cloying grip and squared his shoulders, allowing a lifetime's worth of Malfoy arrogance to shine through. "I'm ready," he had declared, without a trace of hesitation. "I'm ready to fight."

A sardonic smile had played upon the Dark Lord's lips. "So be it," he had decreed, and so they had left it.

Only Aunt Bella couldn't seem to leave it. All summer, she had dogged Draco's steps, wanting him to reveal his plans for how he would kill Dumbledore. He had avoided answering her questions directly – intimating that he had a plan, but resorting to stony silence when she persisted in trying to wheedle the particulars out of him – though he had made use of her knowledge. Aunt Bella had been one of the Dark Lord's top lieutenants for years before his downfall, and she had readily agreed when Draco had asked her to teach him the darkest, most complicated magic she knew.

Once those lessons began, Draco's mother had retreated to the farthest wing of the Malfoy mansion. Draco didn't know if she was that distraught over losing her husband and, quite likely, her son, since he very much doubted that Voldemort meant for him to succeed where so many great wizards had failed, or if Narcissa actually disapproved of his sudden interest in the Dark Arts, for which she had never shared her husband's (or her sister's) passion.

Aunt Bella was an excellent and avid teacher. She spared no thought for Draco's youth or innocence; every cruel trick she had ever divined at her master's side she sought to pass on to Draco, determined that he should succeed in this, as she called it, "most glorious task."

Draco knew the stakes better, perhaps, than his aunt. He knew had no choice but to find some way to carry out Voldemort's wishes – or his parents would face the consequences for his failure right along with him.

And so he had learned everything Aunt Bella had to teach him, curses he had heard of but never dreamed of casting (like the Cruciatus curse, or the Fiendfyre) and some, honestly, he never even knew existed (like a curse for literally eviscerating an opponent, and one for slicing through skin and bone). The Death Eaters who wandered through the Malfoy's estate seemed to have an endless supply of magical objects expressly forbidden by the Ministry; Aunt Bella had shown Draco many of these as well, especially those seemingly innocuous items that carried horrific curses, designed not simply to kill but to torture before death.

"Get one of these into the castle and into Albus Dumbledore's hands," Aunt Bella had whispered, levitating a cursed necklace around Draco's bedroom, "and your task is done."

Draco had obediently nodded, without voicing his doubts that Dumbledore would be so foolish as to not recognize a cursed object when he saw one.

All in all, Draco reflected wryly, this had not qualified as his most enjoyable summer holiday to date. Still, worrying about his father in Azkaban, fearing for his mother's fragile psyche, and dreading the task set before him had been easier to put off while absorbed in Aunt Bella's lessons and his own private plotting. Now, as the moment of his departure drew near and he could no longer lose himself in those macabre studies, he could feel the doubt and fear catching up to him.

"Ah, we're here," Aunt Bella declared suddenly, causing Draco's eyes to pop open. Sure enough, the limo, which the Malfoys kept for ventures into the Muggle world, had stopped in front of King's Cross Station. The driver was hurrying around to unload Draco's luggage from the trunk.

Draco understood, without being told, that he would board the Hogwarts Express alone this year. Aunt Bella obviously couldn't saunter onto a platform loaded with Ministry officials, seeing as how she was a wanted escapee from Azkaban, and Narcissa had not poked her head outside her front door since Lucius's arrest.

"You'll write and let us know if there's anything you need, anything from Borgin and Burke's, maybe?" His aunt's eyes searched Draco's face hungrily, desperate for some clue about his plan. Draco simply nodded. Turning from her, he kissed his mother's ashen cheek, then made to step from the car.

Narcissa caught his wrist gently, holding him back. "Good luck," she whispered, her ice-blue eyes, a mirror of his own, staring hard into his face.

Draco's throat constricted. For a moment, he felt eleven years old and about to leave home for school for the first time. He understood every unsaid sentiment his mother had poured into those two, strangled words: I'm sorry this has fallen to you; whatever happens, make sure you survive. Don't worry about us.

Just as he had with the Dark Lord, Draco nodded silently, though with his eyes he did his best to convey his determination not to fail. Nodding, a look of stark grief marring her lovely features, his mother released his arm and turned her face away from him.

If only he could tell her the truth…But Draco knew this was a journey he had take alone, without his parent's protection, for the first time in his life, really. Always before his father's specter had hung over him, wealthy and influential, able to buy him a spot on the Slytherin Quidditch team or earn him the easy friendship of his House mates. Not this time. This time, he was on his own.

Not even Aunt Bella could help him. The coolly appraising look she cast after him with her heavy-lidded eyes told Draco that, for all her efforts this summer to make him into a dark wizard capable of matching Dumbledore, Aunt Bella doubted that he even had a plan. But she was wrong; Draco did have a plan, a very carefully laid-out plan, in point of fact.

To make it work, though, he needed an accomplice – and his choice had to be perfect, or the whole thing was likely to blow up in his face. Draco knew he would only have one chance to do this right. One misstep, one false start, and he would not be given another opportunity. He was nervous – terrified, really, if he was honest with himself – but now that his mind was made up, he was eager to put the plan into action.

Draco pushed a trolley laden with his belongings slowly through the crowded station. He knew he was cutting it close; he knew he couldn't afford to miss the train this year, of all years. Yet the knowledge of what faced him on the other side of the barrier – the reproachful glares from all those who despised Death Eaters, the wary sidelong glances from all those who secretly supported Lord Voldemort but were too cowardly to declare open allegiance and face Azkaban – slowed his steps. He might as well have been tromping through quicksand, his feet fell so heavily on the dirty floor.

But, at last, Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters presented itself. With a quick glance over both shoulders to ensure he wasn't being watched by any of the scurrying Muggles, Draco pushed through the magical barrier.

No fear, he heard Aunt Bella whisper in his ear. Never show fear.

The scarlet steam engine stood whistling on the tracks. The reception to his appearance was not as terrible as Draco had imagined; he had cut his arrival so close to the train's departure that most students were already onboard, which meant the parents were either dashing alongside the train to push forgotten schoolbooks through half-open windows or waving frantically to the faces pressed against the doors. Draco handed his trunk over to a frazzled-looking porter and, with his head held high, glaring left and right at those around him as if hoping for a confrontation, stepped onto the crowded train.

Here again, no one dared make a single snide comment, although a flurry of whispering broke out behind him as he passed. Draco ignored it. If that do-gooder Potter could withstand being singled out everywhere he went, all because of some stupid prophecy and a ridiculous scar on his forehead, Draco supposed he could handle the wide-eyed stares of a few stupid second-years.

Sooner or later, Draco knew he would have to put the second part of his plan into action – he would have to face his fellow Syltherins, intimate to them that the Dark Lord had brought him into his deepest confidences, and make it plain that only those Hogwarts students who swore allegiance to Lord Voldemort and his mission to rid the magical world of those whose blood was impure were friends of Lucius Malfoy's son. But before he sought out Crabbe and Goyle or any Slytherin-filled compartment, he had someone much more pressing to see.

Luna Lovegood floated down the crowded corridors of the Hogwarts Express, noting with mild curiosity the looks of frank admiration cast her way by students who usually took pains to avoid her. She smiled serenely back at those who spoke to her, but she didn't stop to talk. She knew what everyone would want to know – about the battle at the Ministry, about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning, and most of all, about Harry Potter, the Chosen One.

Luna had little interest in popularity. While it was pleasant not to be called "Loony Lovegood" behind her back, and while she was looking forward to her possessions remaining in her trunk (instead of hidden throughout the castle) this year, she didn't care much what people thought of her. Like her father, Luna understood that her opinions – in fact, her whole outlook on the world – were too bizarre for most people to respect. That mattered little to her, because Luna knew her own mind, whether anyone else agreed with her or not.

The nicest part of this year for Luna, really, would be having friends. And that was actually who she was looking for – her friends, Dumbledore's Army – when who she should run smack into but Draco Malfoy.

"Excuse me," Luna said automatically, as the tall, slender boy bumped hard into her with his shoulder, knocking her into the wall. She felt a moment's thrill of fear: After all, Draco Malfoy's father was in Azkaban now, in part because of what she had helped Harry do at the Ministry…

Malfoy cast a coldly appraising look over her that, while certainly scathing, didn't indicate the depth of hatred Luna had expected. "Sorry," he drawled, sounding anything but.

Watching him move off, Luna absently rubbed the bruised place on her arm where he'd caused her to stumble into the wall. Luna was not the sort to form hasty judgments of people. Unlike many of her friends in the D.A., even sweet Neville Longbottom, she didn't dislike Draco Malfoy on principle. It wasn't his fault that his parents had chosen to support You-Know-Who. It was, however, his choice to be positively vile to her friends, like Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and Neville and, of course, Harry Potter himself, throughout their tenure at Hogwarts. For that, Luna disliked Draco Malfoy and his friends.

Still, she felt a twinge of sympathy for him, given what his family had been through this summer. Draco was good-looking and athletic (if not the best Quidditch player in school, admittedly). Up until this year, Luna knew he had enjoyed the easy popularity of the rich and beautiful. How different must his life be now, with his father openly avowed to the Death Eaters? Even the Slytherin students whose families supported You-Know-Who probably wouldn't want to associate openly with the Malfoys, for fear of losing their own freedom.

Luna's sympathy for Draco didn't extend very far, seeing as how he had never shown the slightest distaste for his family's views. Not like Harry's courageous godfather Sirius, whom Luna's father had told her had rebelled against his pureblood parents when he was hardly older than she was now. The wizarding world was at war, and if Draco Malfoy had chosen the wrong side, Luna could accept, in her straightforward way, that he was her enemy.

A few steps down the corridor, Luna encountered a much friendlier face – Ginny Weasley's. "Luna!" Ginny exclaimed, appearing truly glad to see her. "You look so pretty. Did you cut your hair?"

Luna ran her fingers absently through her slightly-shorter, honey-blonde tresses. "Yes," she admitted. "I got into some old potion cleaning out one of Daddy's cabinets a few weeks ago, and it started turning my hair green. I had to cut the ends off, but now I should be safe from wrackspurts. I was just thinking it would be nice to run into you," she added, which was perfectly true. Ginny was one of Luna favorite people; she was always interested in the wonderful creatures Luna described to her, unlike Hermione, who quite often drove herself to distraction trying to explain how such things simply could not exist, all because nobody had yet put them down in one of her books.

"Good holiday?" Ginny returned.

"Oh yes," Luna answered. "My father's been corresponding with a friend who's tracking down fire slugs in Brazil. It's going to make a really wonderful issue, maybe even better than Harry's interview…"

Luna was still answering Ginny's queries about the origins of the fire slug when they finally came to a compartment full of friendly faces. Ron and Hermione, apparently finished with their Prefect duties, waved them inside, and Harry scooted closer to Neville to make room for the two of them. The conversation turned to their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Horace Slughorn, whom Harry had actually met over the holidays.

"He's a bit of a show-off, really," Harry admitted. "But Dumbledore must think he's worth the trouble."

After that, Neville, Seamus, Ron and Harry started talking about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Ginny turned to Luna, her face serious.

"I saw Malfoy bump into you. Was he being rude?"

Luna smiled. She was genuinely touched by the fierceness of Ginny's expression. Though she knew Ginny's explosive temper, honed on five older brothers, tended to fire at the slightest provocation, it was nice to have friends watching out for her.

"Oh no," she assured her. "He was just being Malfoy."

Before hardly any time at all seemed to have elapsed, Hermione was announcing that they needed to put on their school robes. As Luna slipped hers over her head, a scrap of paper fell out of the pocket of her jeans.

"Here you go," Harry said, picking it up and handing it to her.

Luna started to crumple it up, assuming it was some old note she'd written to herself (she was always forgetting things, try as she might to be organized), then thought better of it and unfolded the paper. To her surprise, scrawled across the torn parchment in spidery, slanting letters was a cryptic message:

Tomorrow, stroke of midnight, Great Hall. Come alone.

"Luna? You coming?"

Luna looked up to find Neville waiting expectantly in the corridor. Everyone else had already moved off, as the train had just lurched to a halt at the Hogsmeade station. "Yes," Luna answered, stuffing the note back in her pocket, her heart beating hard and fast inside her chest.

"D'ya hear I'm helping Professor Sprout tend the greenhouses this year?" Neville asked, as Luna linked her arm through his so they wouldn't be separated in the press of students disembarking into the cool evening air.

Nodding, Luna half-listened as Neville listed the plants he hoped to be in charge of. Her thoughts were focused on the note. Who could have written it? Who could have slipped it into her pocket? She'd been sitting beside Harry and Neville the entire trip – unless somebody had put it there while she was saying goodbye to her father at the train station. Maybe it was someone's idea of a joke, luring her off alone to bully her…

But no, she decided, that wouldn't be the way of things this year. People knew now that Harry had been telling the truth about You-Know-Who all along, and they knew that she was Harry's friend. That knowledge glowed like a tiny light deep inside Luna's chest, warming her from the inside out: She had friends, good, brave, kind friends, and because of that, this year she would not be tormented. That meant whoever had sent the note must really want to meet her. The question was, why?

Without fully understanding her decision, Luna decided not to mention the message to anyone as she clambered into one of the horseless carriages beside Hermione and Ginny. She couldn't help stealing a glance at Neville across the way, but he seemed absorbed in Quidditch talk with Harry and Ron. She'd suspected now and again that Neville might have a bit of a crush on her; she had to admit, it would be nice to have a boyfriend like other girls, especially someone caring and sensitive – and surprisingly open-minded – like Neville. She also knew that Neville was painfully shy. If the note was from him, she didn't want to spoil his plans by announcing it to the whole group.

And if it wasn't…Well, Luna decided, nobody ever solved a mystery without taking some risks.