Prologue
England, 1944
"It doesn't matter," Riddle said icily, his chiseled features a mask of determination. "Release her."
The man's wand dug deeper into her skin, drawing a hiss of pain from her in spite of herself. "Drop your wand, and I'll let her go. Don't, and she dies."
"How do I know you'll keep your word?"
"You don't."
Well, Luna thought resignedly, this is it after all.
The click of a wand clattering to the ground made her blood freeze. Her world tipped upside down. Since she was little, he had always been the bogeyman, the horror parents used to frighten their children. Why would he do something to save her? He was Lord Voldemort, who cared about no one, and would never do something so sacrificial, least of all for her.
Even worse was the rush of sudden fear as an uncountable number of wands rose to aim at his heart.
She could not let him die for her. She didn't know why – perhaps it was because if she did, she would not be able to live in the skewed world that would remain, always wondering why and how and if, somehow, they'd all gotten it terribly wrong in the future.
A tidal wave of all-consuming, debilitating panic bloomed in her chest.
Yes, maybe they had.