Author's Note: This story is set in an alternate universe where Voldemort triumphed over the Ministry of Magic in the early eighties.
"A Distorted Reflection"
Luna Lovegood knew she was fortunate to have her own room; most of the servants made do with dormitory-style quarters in the attic. Her blood, mixed thought it might be, afforded her certain privileges.
She laid a hand on her bedroom window. Outside it might be cold, but charms on the panes kept the window-glass the same temperature in January as in June. Her fingers moved from glass to window frame to faded linen curtains to bare plaster wall. When she was little, she'd had a much larger room in her parent's cottage with yellow painted walls. That long-age home was filled with warmth and chaos from floorboards to chimney top. She supposed her parents were both dead by now.
Far below she could see a figure approaching the old caretaker's cottage that was now only used for storage. Luna recognized him from his stride and fumbled for her cloak. It was black, fastened with simple ties, and covered the white cotton nightgown that otherwise would have been a beacon in the night. She crept from her room and down the narrow stairway constructed for the use of the Lestrange servants.
It was cold outside and she was shivering as she pushed open the cottage door. Inside, Percy Weasley caught her by the waist, brought her to him, and kissed her deeply, sending a fire though her veins that drove away the cold faster than any spell.
"I missed you," he whispered into her ear. Despite all the years he'd spent at the Lestrange's Scottish estate his voice never quite surrendered its original Devonshire accent.
"And I you," Luna said, shrugging off her cloak and letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of dark wool. Her thin cotton nightgown and his silk robes joined it moments later.
Some time later, she lay in Percy's arms, running her fingertips along his collar bone and reveling in this stolen moment with him. Too soon they'd have to return to the house and their separate bedrooms.
"I'm being sent back to Leith," Percy told her, frowning, as he stroked her hair. "The Lestranges want me to see to their interests there."
Luna closed her eyes, she'd already heard of his impending departure from a house-elf. "How long?"
"A month. Perhaps longer."
There was a deeper sadness in him than usual. She opened her eyes and traced the line of his jaw. "Something troubles you."
"Am I that transparent, love?" Percy whispered into her hair.
"Only to me."
"I saw one of my brothers yesterday."
Luna sat up a little. Percy's parents were blood traitors like her late father, but they were both still pure-blood. After being forced to witness their parents' execution the Weasley children were fostered by Voldemort's most loyal supporters. In the intervening years, Percy had only seen one of his siblings, his younger sister Ginny.
It was not pleasant to think about Ginny Weasley. Luna had been sent by Mrs. Lestrange to help with her wedding and would never forget the horror in the other girl's eyes, her face whiter than her dress, as she was married off to Avery, a Death Eater old enough to be her grandfather.
"Which one?" It was not easy for Percy to discuss his family, something Luna well understood as she was in the same situation. He'd been the Lestrange's sole foster son and they had no children of their own. In an instant he'd gone from one of seven children to an only child. When she'd first been brought here, seven years old and her face still stinging from Mrs. Lestrange's slap, he'd been kind to her even though he was a pure-blood and she a half-blood servant. Percy was used to, even missed, comforting younger children and thought nothing of having her climb into bed with him when nightmares robbed her of sleep.
It had been Percy to whom she'd fled after Travers forced her into his bed. He'd given her a potion that prevented 'complications' and held her until her tears stopped. Later, it had been to him she turned when she felt the need to know that sex wasn't only about pain and humiliation. Since that night, he'd come to need her as much as she needed him. They kept their relationship quiet - the Lestranges believed Percy was simply tumbling an available half-blood servant while he sought an appropriate pure-blood bride. Neither did anything to convince the them otherwise.
"George."
One of his twin brothers.
"He works for the New Ministry," Percy's expression grew pained and more than a little disgusted. "In the Department of Muggle Affairs."
Luna could not refrain from wincing. After the war, Muggles and Muggle-borns had been reduced to slaves in fact if not name. The Department of Muggle Affairs was supposed to help them adjust, in reality it tortured and killed them.
"I spoke to him," Percy continued. His brown eyes were closed and Luna knew he was reliving the memory even as he told her. "He said he was pleased to see I was working to redeem our family name. He sounded like Malfoy. I think that's who fostered him."
Luna knew of the Malfoy family as Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Lestrange were sisters. The Malfoys were also infamous for their hard line on Muggles. Sometimes Mrs. Lestrange left copies of the New Prophet about the manor that Luna devoured for crumbs of real news amid the lies that Percy called propaganda.
Luna wasn't supposed to know how to read, but her parents had begun to teach her before they died. Percy furthered her instruction in secret and advised her to keep her literacy hidden. She was not a quick reader, but she could usually persevere given enough time. Once she'd struggled through an article on Lucius Malfoy's views of Muggles. It held her with the same horrific fascination as the public execution of a purported rebel she'd been required to witness did; no matter how much she wanted to turn away, she couldn't.
Privately, Luna thought the Malfoys were the ones in need of eradication. And their Lestrange kin.
"I've heard there is still rebellion in the north, that Lord Malfoy failed to contain resistance in the north west," Luna whispered. They weren't meant to know about places where the Dark Lord's edicts were meaningless. No matter how filtered the news or the number of memory charms, everyone at Lestrange Manor knew about the rebels. Luna herself had become very good at piecing together pictures from scant clues. Knowledge was survival.
"So I've heard," Percy sighed wistfully. "I think my older brother Charlie may be them. He was at Hogwarts when..."
He did not need to complete his thought, Luna already knew the tale of how the great rebel Dumbledore vanished - taking many of Hogwart's students with him. These missing students were a subject of much hushed speculation in the backstairs world of the servants. It was even rumored that some were Muggle-born wizards and witches.
"Maybe Charlie is with them," Luna said, winding her arms around Percy's neck. Cautious hope burned in her lover's brown eyes, for if Charlie were not with Dumbledore then he was most likely dead. She kissed him, driving way shadowy doubts.
"There is the prophesy," he reminded her, running a hand down her side. "The second child was never accounted for."
An old hope, repeated countless times by the oppressed, one Luna knew even better than he; it was what kept the servants going. The hope that someday Neville Longbottom would bring down Voldemort.