DISCLAIMER: All of the places and characters in this story belong to the genius Ms. J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made from this story. It only serves to (hopefully) entertain.

Rated T for allusions to violence and some blood.

-Diamond in the Rough-

Luna leaned back against the moist, moldy cement wall, inhaling the stench of cold sweat and blood as she desperately attempted to will the pain away. The gash where the curse had struck burned her abdomen and radiated outward like a growing inferno. Though the flow of blood had lessened, the front of her shirt was saturated in a crimson mess after hours of the injury being left unattended.

She closed her eyes, praying for sleep to come. Perhaps sleep would help. Perhaps she'd be magically healed by morning. Perhaps, by some miracle, she'd wake up to the sight of the painting of friends on her ceiling, safe in her bed and perfectly healthy.

But even Luna – bright, courageous, optimistic Luna – was beginning to lose hope that she'd ever get out of that damn basement.

Her eyes remained shut as she listened to the steady, oddly peaceful breaths of Dean, who slept a few feet away from where she sat. Mr. Ollivander and Griphook competed for the title of most obnoxious snorer. She wished the two of them would quiet down; if anyone upstairs heard, they'd all be in trouble.

As if on cue, Luna heard a squeak, and her eyes snapped open in alarm. The door upstairs was opening. It closed with a click. A pair of feet stepped down the creaky oak stairs.

Her instincts told her to close her eyes again, to pretend to sleep, to even play dead if she had to, but she was too terrified to do so. Luna curled herself up into the tightest ball she could, cowering against the pillar that jutted out from the wall. She helplessly stared at the bottom of the stairs, waiting with wide eyes and bated breath to see the face of the one who would torture her next.

He was tall, unsurprisingly dressed in nothing but black, and his face was concealed by shadows. He gripped a wand tightly in his right hand, held down by his waist as if he was preparing for a fight. But Luna would put up no fight. She never did. Fighting served no purpose. They always won.

He walked toward her at an intimidatingly slow pace, neither wand nor demeanor wavering in the slightest. Luna didn't take her eyes off the wand. She waited for the tip of it to begin glowing, wondering what it would be. Purple for physical pain? Red for psychological torment? Green for death? All were colors she once loved. Once upon a time, they were beautiful.

Luna looked up only when he stood directly at her feet, towering above her frail, shivering frame. She still couldn't see his face, the pillar continuing to cast a dark shadow across his features. She took a deep breath as he began to kneel before her. Her eyes closed as she awaited the insults, the taunting. Sometimes those were worse than the curses themselves.

But no words were spoken. No curse was uttered. The man was completely silent; he didn't even so much as cough.

Luna slowly cracked her eyes open to see an emotionless expression and a pair of equally indifferent blue eyes, accompanied by a head of platinum blond hair. It was Draco.

In spite of her fear, she studied him curiously. He appeared thinner and even paler, if such a thing was possible. Some of his hair was out of place and there were a few specks dirt on his nose, an obvious contrast to his typical pristine and flawless appearance. Upon close inspection, his eyes appeared to hiding a struggle; it was troubled look unique to any Luna had ever seen. She almost felt sorry for him.

Then he reached for her arm.

Luna audibly gasped, pulling herself even closer into the corner where the wall met the pillar. She wanted to scream, but caught herself just in time. It was bad enough Draco had come downstairs; the last thing she wanted to do was attract the attention of those who were far more vicious than him.

She expected her defiance to result in a scolding at the very least, but it didn't. Instead, Draco pressed his index finger against his lips, indicating for her to be quiet.

Luna flinched again when he made another attempt at grabbing her arm, which she held protectively around her wounded, bloody abdomen. She resisted the urge to spit at him as he inevitably succeeded in getting a grip on her. Her contempt quickly morphed to confusion upon realizing his touch was tender, his eyes empathetic, and his motives maybe, just maybe, kindhearted.

Her apprehension lingered as he guided her arm away; regardless of apparent intention, he was still Draco Malfoy, after all. He slowly and gently lifted her shirt, pushing it up just below her breasts to reveal her wound. He gazed intently at the large, fresh gash that was crusted with old blood around the edges. Though he made no motion to harm her further, she couldn't help but prepare herself for pain by holding her breath and tightening her muscles.

Draco placed his wand on the damp floor beside him. He reached left, dipping his hand into a bucket Luna hadn't even realized he'd brought with him. He pulled out a soft blue washcloth drenched with water. With his free hand, he again pressed a finger to his lips. Then, as gently as he possibly could, he brought the washcloth down to her wound.

Luna wanted to cry out in agony, but she restrained herself, settling for a deep intake of air and a couple of unwelcome tears. Though the water was only lukewarm at best, it stung her open skin and scorched her nerves in the most unpleasant way. She bit down on her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut as Draco slowly moved the washcloth in circles, cleaning out the dirt and grime that had likely settled there in the hours since she'd been thrown back into the filthy basement. He dunked the cloth back into the bucket a couple of times to rinse it, wringing it out each time before pressing it back to her body. It hurt less the more he cleaned until she barely felt it at all.

When he finished, Draco tossed the washcloth, now tainted red, back into the bucket before picking up his wand. Luna watched as he pointed it toward her abdomen. He said nothing, wordlessly sending a dim stream of azure light to her middle. It was warm, but not in a burning way. She quietly sighed in relief as delicate waves of pleasant heat seemingly weaved its way through her skin, stitching her back together. Draco held this spell upon her until nothing more than a slim, pink line accompanied by a dull ache remained.

He ridded himself of his wand by tucking it into the pocket of his onyx coat, replacing it with a small bottle of what appeared to be a cobalt gel of some kind. Luna wrinkled her eyebrows at him as he popped it open and squeezed some of it onto the tips of his fingers. He proceeded to rub it onto the various other exposed, smaller wounds Luna had forgotten she had. Draco focused solely on the healing process, never tearing his gaze from the task at hand. Luna didn't notice; she was too busy closing her eyes and relishing in how good the cool gel felt upon her skin. There was the bruise on the back of her left hand, the scrape on her forearm, the welts on her neck, and the puncture behind her right ear. She could feel Draco's medicine mend each one, closing and smoothing them.

Luna opened her eyes only when she felt his fingers on her cheek, rubbing the small but deep cut his aunt had left there. Though his attention remained only on his actions, she saw that his face was no longer indifferent. He looked apologetic and sincerely concerned, both of which surprised her. Why had he come downstairs? Why would he care? He had no reason to... did he?

Had Draco – arrogant, sour, selfish Draco – had a change of heart?

He must have, Luna concluded, because after putting the stopper back on the bottle, he tucked it into the pocket of her damp, blood-stained jeans rather than into his own coat. She gave him a questioning look, to which he only gestured to the darkness where her fellow prisoners rested. Once more time, he pressed his finger to his lips. She nodded, silently agreeing not to tell any of them where the medicine came from.

Draco pulled one final thing from his pocket: another bottle, this one containing an indigo liquid. He held it up for her to see. She squinted, barely making out the label which was penned in tiny cursive penmanship: Sleep Draught. He unfastened the cap and gestured for her to open her mouth. When she obliged, he slowly poured it in. It tasted like sweet berries and spring rain.

In mere seconds, Luna could feel her body begin to wind down. Her muscles relaxed and her eyes grew heavy. For the first time in many days, she felt as if a solid night of sleep was within reach, and that for at least a few hours, she could be truly well.

"Thank you," she murmured with every last ounce of energy she had left. It was all she could muster.

Draco nodded as he shoved the empty Sleep Draught bottle back into his pocket. He opened his mouth twice as if he wanted to say something, but both times closed it right away. For the first time that evening, his blue-grey eyes met hers. They were slightly wet, Luna noticed, and he swallowed hard as he brought up a hand to gently touch the locks of blonde hair that fell down the side of her face.

"I'm so sorry," he choked out in a barely-audible whisper.

Luna tried to smile or even nod, but she was too sleepy, and forget words; anything she could attempt to say would come out as nonsense. Perhaps it was for the best. After all, he was still a Malfoy, and still under watch of the dark side regardless of any change of heart he may have had; he had an image to uphold if he wanted to stay alive. She would forever cherish this bit of compassion he'd showed her, this tiny glimpse into his good heart, and that would have to be enough until she could properly thank him when this was all over.

As Draco ascended the stairs, bucket of water in one hand and wand in the other, Luna watched his black silhouette disappear into the shadows before closing her eyes for the remainder of the evening. She slept soundly, and for the first time in weeks, she didn't have nightmares. Darkness and terror didn't plague her sleep. She wasn't haunted by wretched curses or missing friends or a frightening war. She slept in peace.

That night, Luna dreamt of nothing but tranquil blue.

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've written a one-shot that wasn't inspired by a challenge in some way, but here it is. I had an idea and ran with it, and it was actually quite enjoyable! Draco and Luna can be considered a romantic pairing in this, or not; it's completely up to you. :D

Be sure to check out the beautiful art for this story if you get a chance. The link is on my profile page, and I assure you it's safe!

Thanks for reading! :)