Her hair was fanned out behind her head, where she had fallen. It was streaked with blood. Blood so red in contrast to her white hair.
It was a pity; she might not have made a good Death Eater, but she had been a pretty little thing. Voldemort smiled in an unpleasant manner. Getting sentimental in your old age, are you? He thought. Blood dripped off the end of the dagger held in his long fingered hand, and onto the floor. He held it up, watching the red liquid trickle to the point, and hang there quivering, until falling to the floor. His forked tongue flickered out over his lips, as though tasting the scent of fresh blood on the air.
A low hiss came from his right, and Voldemort turned towards his beloved Nagini. The snake was curled up on a rug near the fire, basking in the warmth, in the otherwise cold room. She had raised her head, looking in the direction of the fallen girl. The snake's tongue flickered out, tasting the air. She was hungry.
Not now, my sweet, he told her in Parseltongue. We must save this one for later. For after her worthless friends have seen her. After they've seen that they came too late. His lips curled in amusement at the thought.
Nagini hissed her dissatisfaction.
Don't worry, Voldemort whispered, Potter and his friends will be here soon. You needn't wait long.
The snake cast one last look at the prone figure, and then slithered away, out of the room. Voldemort turned to the girl's body, walking slowly, white feet streaked with blood. He paused beside her, red eyes glowing in the dim light. Wind howled at the windows, rattling them in their frames. The fire flickered and crackled. Shadows danced across the dead girl's face, nearly disguising the bruises covering it. The fine bones and pale skin were marred by purple and green bruises, trailing down her neck, and disappearing under her tattered clothes. Blood pooled on the wood floor, dripping from the slashes on her arms.
Voldemort remembered her screams; Bellatrix had tortured her, dragging every minute out like an hour. It had taken a little while to get her to crack; the girl was stronger than most, but Bellatrix had a hand with torture. She knew how to make it worse than hell for her victims.
Voldemort gave a small, mirthless chuckle. Yes, Bellatrix was eager to please him. He needed unwavering servants like her. Or like Severus. His one, true follower. He was what was needed, more Death Eaters like him. Strong, knew how to take orders, smart, yet obedient. Didn't waste time with useless taunts. That was Bellatrix's flaw. She would rise to any provocation sent her way.
Voldemort turned away, making his way to the window overlooking the grounds. Lightning flashed, and his face was lit up like a skull. The Dark Lord stood at the window as the thunder cracked, loud enough to make the windows quake. He stood there for a long time, not moving. There was something dangerous about it, like a snake poised to strike.
Suddenly a red light appeared for a second in the grounds. You couldn't hear the shouts above the storm, but somewhere in the dark, a fight was happening, Death Eaters pitted against desperate friends. A venom filled smile crossed Voldemort's lips, shown for a moment in a flash of lightning. More flashes of red, and then green, flaring brightly between the hedges.
Die, Chosen One.
Voldemort turned from the window, and begin making his way around the room, treading slowly, bloodstained dagger held loosely in his grip. He was silently counting, counting each step his enemies took, counting each spell they cast, counting how long it would take them to fight their way up the driveway, through the hall, and into this little room, counting their numbered heartbeats.
Die, Boy-Who-Lived.
They had reached the hall; the Dark Lord closed his eyes and savored the sounds of combat, standing in the middle of the room next to the body, holding the dagger against his breast.
The shouts grew closer; Voldemort could hear Potter, hear him yelling spells and directions at his friends. The boy thinks he has a chance, thought Voldemort, amused.
Nagini hissed right outside the room, and Voldemorts red eyes shot open, glowing in the white face. A group of people crashed through the door. Potter and his friends, come to die.
"Luna!" cried Potter, taking in the mangled body
"No!"
"Luna!"
"Luna! No!"
Die, Potter.
Voldemort advanced, smiling manically, raising the hand holding the dagger, hurling it at Potter…
Die.
Authors Note: I hope you liked the writing, if not the actual story. I didn't mean for this to happen to Luna, it just did. Luna is one of my favorite characters, so I'm not doing this out of spite!
This is the sort of story that I hope gave you shivers (I know it did me). Let me know what you think, even if you hated it.
- DD