Author's Note: I do not, and never will, own Harry Potter.
Written for the Unusual Ships Challenge. Pairing is Luna/Voldemort.
Her mother would have wept for her, but her mother was dead.
When Voldemort appeared for the Last Battle, Luna scrambled through the wreckage of the Great Hall, heedless of the splinters gouging her bare feet, her straggly blonde hair whipping against her eyelids. Nobody called her back, and it wasn't a shock. Harry might have cared, but she already knew that Harry was walking to his death. The savior's sacrifice, and what a pretty bit of prophecy that made. Maybe they'd erect a statue in Diagon Alley.
If they won, anyway. And she didn't want them to. The bitterness surprised her, surging in her mouth and tasting of bright copper, as she spat to one side and it came out red. The battle raged around her, but she was good at hiding. Good at being invisible. Pity she'd learnt those traits as self defense from her year-mates, not taking up arms against the Dark Lord.
Chaos around her, and death in front of her. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow... Her mother had read the Bible to her sometimes. She thought it was important that Luna be exposed to all manner of thinking, all sorts of spirituality. The minister down in the Muggle village had spat at Luna's shadow and crossed his fingers at her the last time she'd ventured down that way. It wasn't her fault he'd come across her. It wasn't her fault he'd startled her into performing accidental magic. He wasn't even harmed. Not that that seemed to matter.
Voldemort wasn't pretty, but at least he was real. Smoke streamed into Luna's eyes, startling tears from them. Nargles and crumple-horned snorkacks were a child's whimsy, and she put them aside a long time ago. Her father lived in the past, a past where the Quibbler could almost be considered respected.
A past where her mother was still alive.
She heard a commotion ahead of her, in the trees, and quickened her pace. Had Harry gone like a pig to slaughter? The Death Eaters whirled, wands at the ready, but Voldemort raised one languid, spidery hand and they subsided, uneasy.
"Darling," he whispered, eyes sparking maroon, and Luna smiled. Her teeth were bloody.