Of Liars and Pretenders

"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact."

(A Midsummer Night's Dream)

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{ D. A. Y. B. R. E. A. K }

"Do you love me?"

"I'd be a liar if I said yes."

Astoria.

It's a pretty name for such a pretty pure blooded Princess. He hates her though, with every breath that he takes.

Luna remains hidden away, watching and waiting. Astoria knows nothing of the dead little girl wandering the halls, and it's simpler that way. He's unsure how to explain to his wife that he's in loved with the girl he killed. His wife is still in love with the dead Hufflepuff that once lived and breathed like anyone else.

Almost a year ago, Astoria had wandered to his door and demanded he marry her.

Almost a year ago, he had been drunk out of his mind and agreed.

Luna sometimes whispers in his ear still, "Have you forgotten me yet?"

He'll shiver because the truth is crawling up his spine, and slowly peeling the flesh and nerves away from his body. It's ever blissful agony, and he wants to say no, because he loves her dearly. He regrets her blood upon his hands, and wishes for just stolen moments of life.

"No. You won't get the hell away from me." He's a liar, but he doesn't regret it.

She knows the truth, buried beneath lie after lie.

"Go ahead, Draco. Tell me another lie."

So he does.

Astoria once loved a Hufflepuff. Now she's in love with a corpse.

Luna had sung the song through the halls, echoing loudly through the stillness of the manor. Astoria had been gone for a meeting, leaving Draco to the empty Manor, and the strange little ghost. He had watched her dart through the halls, feet slapping floor with unbroken glee.

"That's really not nice." He had once mused to her, forcing her to stop.

She giggled loudly, turning to him slowly. Her skin gleamed like his mother's opals, eyes lit with laughter. "She was very nice to me when she burned my books, was she?"

"She burned your books?"

She's offended, drawing back like a snake waiting to strike. "Do I ever lie?"

He dares not answer.

He knows the moment he smells fire whiskey on her skin.

He knows when she becomes swollen with life, her womb budding with child.

"What shall we name her?" He can hear her voice. It's burdened with grief and hope, sick with misery and lies. He feasts on her pain willingly without regret. Luna watches them from behind the wall, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

His voice is like razors. Slicing into the truth and devouring it without relent. "Whatever he wants."

She doesn't deny it. She's unable to say a word with his knife at her throat. It's impossible to say a word with her heart frozen in terror and breath stolen away.

Her eyes remind him of Luna's. Filled with tears and regret, poisoned by lies and fear. He doesn't kill her though, because he's already been driven insane with the little ghost already. He doesn't need another ghost wandering behind him.

"Remember when we first met?" Luna asked, bare feet skimming across fresh grass. Astoria was gone, most likely to visit some Ravenclaw.

He's brushing dirt from his hands and looking up at her. The gardens had become his haven, filled with life and brightness. His mother once haunted the gardens, devoting hour upon hour to them. "No. Care to remind me?"

She tilts her head and rolls her diamond like eyes. "Silly Draco. I'll tell you."

When she says nothing, he frowns. "Well? Go on."

"How can I when your eyes are open like that?" She shakes her head, a foolish grin breaking her face.

He sighs, as if it is a burden to flutter his eyes shut. "Happy?"

"Delightful." She leans forward, and he imagines her pale hair brushing against his skin. "You met me after Filch's poor kitty was petrified. You told me I'd be dying soon, because my blood wasn't pure enough. Remember?"

He remembers.

"You reminded me of that?" He growls roughly. He doesn't understand her strange babbles. She's disorienting, forever there but never still.

"No. I'm only reminding you of what had followed the incident. You had told me my body would join the rest underground." She's smiling, because she knows something that he doesn't.

He opens his eyes and shakes his head. "What does this have to do with anything?"

She's beaming now. "Because the dead are beneath us. Waiting to be atoned for their sins."

Astoria doesn't often leave the Manor. Not after several mass graves were unearthed, revealing children and elders alike. Ginny Weasley's frozen body had been dragged free from the dirt's clutches. After the infant had been discovered. After the tiny little Luna Lovegood's bloody body had been released from its tomb.

They've all been preserved. Nothing changed. The bloody smile on Luna's neck look like it had the last time he had seen it. Vengeful and deadly. The terror in Weasley's eyes remained frozen, similar to the knife in her chest.

He vomited after discovering the bodies, but Luna only watched. "Are we still dirty, Draco? Is our blood unclean? Will we ever be good enough?"

He stops sleeping afterward, because all he can dream of is little Luna Lovegood sitting outside his window begging to be let in because she isn't really dead.

In reality, he's surrounded by the dead. Buried and rotting within their grasp, he'll never escape.

"Tell me a lie, Draco." Luna whispers, watching blood run down his wrists, knife fall from his grip. It makes a hollow sound, hitting the ground.

He chuckles weakly. He tells her the best lie he knows. "I'm alright."

He's overwhelmed by this figure. Burrowing her way so deeply in his life, and tangling him up in her death. He's struggling to free himself, but only to be snared tighter.

He loathes and hates her, wishes her to hell.

"The morning will come soon." Her words are warm, despite the strange frown.

Dried blood covers his hands, and he's unable to step away from the corpse and the ghost. "I know, Luna."

"Staying here will not accomplish anything." She speaks stiffly, looking at the mangled dead body of her own.

Eyes resting shut with subtle peace, her face pale with death's clench. Her hair is tangled with dying leaves, and fingers grasping into nothing.

"I never meant to kill you," His words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

She shakes her head. "I'm dead Draco. By your hand. This is your sin."

"I'm sorry," He whispers softly, before bending to press his lips to her frozen forehead.

She scoffs, turning away. "Don't lie to me. Don't tell me you regret this."

Sometimes he plays the flute.

The weaving notes spiral together in soft care, tumbling in the warm air. Luna hums unknown words to the sounds, and there is a blissful smile upon her pale face. The sun shines warmly, distorting her figure. Like a diamond, glittering and bright.

The midnight wandering the two had partaken of ceased to exist, leaving them to scrounge stolen moments. He had fallen in a deep, sickening love with this dead little girl, and she had fallen into death. No other words could make it better, but that was alright.

Draco loved the harshness and bitterness of each passing moment. She remains unchanged forever, but he was growing and learning and understanding and hurting. He was alive.

"You should learn the piano, Draco. Daddy had always said Whackspurts were fond of the tunes." She still believes in such fantasies, despite death and reality and boundaries that she shouldn't cross, but she does all the same.

"When will you ever stop believing in nonsense?" He asks sometimes, when he grows tired of listening to her strange words.

Her reply is like barb wire. "When I breathe again."

She has the face of a drowning girl.

Pale and frozen, eyes glazed over like pools of ice and poison. Her hair drifts down her back, a waterfall of silver moonbeams. The once angry scar upon her neck seemed to have faded ever so slightly. It still marked her death for him to see, but it just wasn't quite so angry anymore. Only resentful.

He finds it rather difficult. Remembering that she isn't alive and never will be alive again.

Sometimes he reaches for her arm. "I don't need you," He whispers when the sun falls to the moon, bowing in silence.

Sometimes, it is she that is the one that reaches for him. "Don't be a liar, Draco Malfoy."

"Will you ever leave me?" He whispers over a bottle of fine wine.

She's there, of course. "When I grow weary of this world, I suppose I will drift into eternity."

"Why don't you leave now?"

"I cannot. Not while you live and breathe. Your life chains me into this hell and misery." Her words are quiet. "I promised to never tell you until you gave your last dying breath."

He ponders her words carefully. "Why now then? I'm not dying, am I?"

"No, you're not dying." Her words are gifted with a smile. Fleeting and simple.

"Then why?"

Her laughter is cruel and mocking. "Because I'm a dead lunatic. What did you expect?"

"Am I insane?"

"Am I dead?"

And there we go. After rewriting every word of this, I have finally finished chapter number two. The last one is the final chapter, and I'm going to move on to other stories. I hope you all like this, but if you don't, I'll be honest. I don't quite give a damn.

Next chapter will contain a brief flashback to Luna's death, as well as Ginny's. Both died together, in an odd way.

I have one Ginny/Tom story to spit out, and I have this very strange story I've had on my mind lately. Involves Andromeda and a certain Lestrange.

Oh yes. I did edit the last chapter, added a few things. Tied it up a touch more. Feel free to review if you want.

And yes. Draco essentially kissed a year old corpse. But the way I see it, is that some spell would have been placed to prevent the decomposition of the bodies, leaving her in essentially a preserved state.