In the end she answers all his questions, one by one. The whos, the hows and the wheres all come tumbling out of her in rapid succession — words that are barely words, thick with tears and sobs and guilt. They hollow her out until there's nothing left of Blaise's bright doll but a broken marionette.
Time and imagination. It never fails to do the trick.
He runs his fingers through her hair and leans down, kissing her temple. "Well done, sweetheart."
She does not react, not even to shy away from his touch. Her face is turned away from him, eyes open and unseeing, home to tears that fall silently and freely. Her torrent of words has slowed down to a trickle of, "Kill me," over and over — a mantra that's a prayer, that's a plea.
He too feels a little deflated, a little drained, crashing down from his high a little harder than usual. He slumps down on the chair by his desk, all adrenaline replaced by a deep melancholy. The world — for a few hours so bright and colourful and alive — is slowly returning to normal, all of it soft contrasts and sepia tones. Luna's tireless litany continues in the background and he knows he ought to end it. He will end it. He owes her that much. But not yet. He's not prepared to let her go just yet.
He jumps out of his chair, the curse on his lips before he even raises his wand. The Unforgivable breathes new life into Luna's crippled body, which contracts and convulses, racked by the anguished screams that fill the room. Blaise doesn't hold back, turning the dial up as high as it will go, and it doesn't take more than a few seconds for the witch to pass out.
It's nighttime in the garden, but there's enough moonlight for Blaise to see the path ahead. He finds his way to the picnic site, only to discover the blanket partly hidden by the fallen bookcase. There are books scattered on the ground, ripped pages floating aimlessly above them. The broken china of the tea set orbits the empty biscuit tin, which spins slowly on its axis. Closer to the edge of the cliff, one of the chains of the swing has come loose and the other's hold on the tree branch above it looks precarious at best.
Luna is nowhere to be seen.
He turns and heads towards the trees, which look dark and threatening in the half-light. There are no sounds but those of crunched leaves under his feet. The light of the moon barely penetrates the dense canopies, but it is not long before Blaise comes to a clearing. He finds Luna huddled up between the massive roots of a tree, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She's silent and still, her face the impassive mask of a doll — unthinking and lifeless and empty. He kneels in front of her and cups her face with one hand, brushing his thumb across her skin.
"Can you hear me, darling?"
Luna does not respond, does not react, does not even look at him. It's as if she doesn't even realise he's there.
"I think you broke her," says a voice behind him.
Blaise jumps to his feet and turns in one swift motion. The woman in front of him is also Luna, but different. He can't put his finger on why she's different, but he knows it instinctively, the awareness of one predator meeting another. Her ruby-red lips curve into a friendly smile that does not reach her eyes, and his gaze wanders to her soft curves, wrapped expertly in a vision of red silk.
"I was hoping you'd come," she says, her girlish voice at odds with her sultry appearance.
"And why is—" The ground disappears from under his feet and he flies across the clearing, crashing heavily against a massive oak. Unable to catch himself, he falls to the ground in a heap of limbs. Before he can do more than try to catch his breath, roots and branches wrap themselves around his arms and legs and torso, lifting him off the ground until he's suspended mid-air, staring straight at his attacker.
"Well, well, well," he says, half surprised, half amused. His head feels twice its size and he can taste blood on his lips. "Alice has turned into the Queen of Hearts."
The Luna still clutching her legs to her chest remains where she is, as unconcerned by this development as she was by everything else, but the other Luna moves closer to him, the hem of her dress fluttering softly in the breeze. Her fingers trace a trail down the side of his face in what could have passed for a caress.
"You silly boy," she says. "I'm not the Queen of Hearts." The roots tighten around his body and he can't help a howl of pain when something cracks in his chest. "I'm Wonderland."
"The tea." His voice comes in short bursts that leave him breathless. "It wasn't solicitude; it was a fishing expedition. You wanted to know if I could be hurt in here."
Her smile widens, smug and triumphant. "This is a little worse that a burnt tongue, isn't it? It takes a special kind of arrogance to barge into someone's brain, Blaise."
"What are you going to do with me?" He tries to jump back to his own body — has been trying since before he hit the oak — but he's stuck.
"I'm going to kill you. But first I'm going to hurt you."
One second he can see her face and the next he can't see a thing, blind to anything but the surge of electricity rushing through his body, burning everything in its path. Feral howls of pain echo inside and all around him, and it takes him a few moments to realise that the sound is coming from him. The whole world shrinks, and he's never before been more aware of his body than now, when it feels as if his very skin will begin to melt.
It stops as suddenly as it started and he's left exhausted and panting. His throat feels raw and sore, and every inch of his body aches, but he still can't stop the peal of laughter that bubbles to the surface.
"Is it funny?" Luna asks, and never before has he wanted so badly to kiss her.
"I'm just thinking that there really is a monster inside all of us."
She tilts her head, bird-like, and regards him for a moment before pronouncing, "Not inside you. You're all monster, old friend."
He's hit by a new flood of energy that overwhelms his entire nervous system until he wishes she'd either let him pass out or kill him. It's agonising and terrifying and the funniest thing Blaise has ever seen, because he's going to die inside Luna Lovegood's brain and if that's not hilarious, he doesn't know what is. He can't even hold it against her. She outplayed him fair and square. He'd tip his hat off to her if only he were wearing one and still retained control over his limbs.
"Are you scared?" In anyone else's lips it might have been a taunt, but Luna asks as if she really wants to know, as if he's a puzzle she's trying to solve.
"Yes."
"How does it feel?"
"Novel."
The novelty soon wears off, however, and all he's left with is torment and agony, a never-ending circle of misery that stretches excruciating seconds into excruciating hours. She has no wand, nor any need for one. Her brain is her playground and she rules uncontested. The real Luna would have had misgivings about doing to him what he had no misgivings doing to her, but this Luna has no sympathy, no restraint and no pity. She's all rage and wrath and retribution, and she will kill him as sure as he's standing there. And maybe it's fair, maybe it's just, maybe he's getting what's coming to him, but Blaise does not want to die. He does not want to die, even as he badly wishes she'll kill him, if only to make the pain stop.
"Just get it over with already," he says in a broken voice, the words faint and slurred.
"My poor darling." He flinches when she touches him, her fingers soft and warm on his face. "Do you want me to stop?"
"Yes." He breathes out the word like a sigh. Talking is too much effort. Everything is too much effort.
Luna's expression hardens. She lets her hand drop and takes a step back, cold and remote and regal.
"Then beg."
Blaise Zabini does not beg. He's been coddled and indulged and pampered all his life, the spoilt only child of a family both old and wealthy, grown into the powerful and influential lieutenant of Bellatrix Lestrange. He's never been told no, never been denied a thing, and he's certainly never had to beg for anything. Blaise Zabini does not beg, but he does so now, undeterred by either pride or vanity. He's not so proud that he'd be a fool.
"Please." The word catches in his throat, a rasping, almost unintelligible whisper. He runs his tongue over his cracked lips and tries again. "Please."
Her smile is sweet and innocent, and her lips soft and warm when she kisses his cheek. "Good boy," she says, like a caress.
The moment she steps back, the roots start to coil tighter around him, slowly compressing his chest and squeezing all the air from his lungs. Blaise gasps, pulling uselessly at the branches around his arms and legs, trying to free himself from their deadly grip. It's a useless exercise that serves only to exhaust what little energy he still has, but he can't stop himself. It's the instinctive terror of a cornered animal, panicked and frantic and primal.
He can't move and he can't breathe and he's going to die, but something catches his eye at the edge of the clearing. Luna's complete focus is on him and she does not see the woman behind her until she grabs her hand. She turns around and both Lunas stare at each other for brief moments — Alice and the Queen of Hearts come face to face.
"No," says the first Luna, trying to pull away, but the other Luna does not let go. She pulls her instead into a tight embrace, withstanding with ease the other woman's efforts to free herself. The first Luna's indignation at finding herself constrained becomes frantic and desperate, her angry protests turned into sobs of frustration that fail to move her captor. The second Luna whispers soothing nothings in her doppelganger's ear, gentle but unwavering, until she eventually stops struggling. The last thing Blaise sees before the world goes black is both Lunas clinging to each other.
When he comes to he's on the ground, his head raised on something soft and warm. He looks up to see Luna looking back at him.
"I would normally say sorry," she says, "but you fully deserved that." There are dark circles under her eyes and she's a little pale, but she's Luna as he remembers her — kind eyes and an easy smile and silly radish earrings.
He raises a hand, touching her face. "Does that mean we're even?" he asks.
"Not even a little bit."
No, he hadn't thought so.
Blaise sits up carefully, but he need not have worried. Whatever one Luna did, the other was at pains to mend, and he feels better than he should, no doubt better than he deserves. He's fine and he's whole, and if he's still stuck in that place, that's no more than he expects. No version of Luna would let him go — not this one, not any other. She may love him, however little he deserves it, but she loves them too — Gryffindors and peasants though they are. She'll make sure her secrets die with him.
"So what do we do now?" he asks.
"We could have tea."
"You broke all the china." There was a whole planetary system of broken tea cups.
"Oh, I'm sure I can contrive something."
"Try to contrive some milk this time, too."
"You're very demanding for someone who was just used as a squeeze toy by a tree."
"Tea with no milk is uncivilised."
They walk side by side away from the clearing. Dawn is fast approaching and it's easier to make out the path among the trees. Somewhere in that made-up garden, there is a picnic blanket no longer buried under the debris of a fallen bookcase, friend to a teapot no longer smashed into a million pieces. Blaise hopes there will be biscuits. Luna got all the ginger snaps last time.
Draco is almost at the bottom of the stairs when he feels that something his wrong. It takes him a moment to put his finger on it, but then he realises. The wards are gone. Blaise takes meticulous care of his wards. Even Bellatrix is unable to cross them unless he decides she can.
He draws his wand, slowing his step. There are no intruders in the Manor. He would have known. But those wards should have been in place and yet they're not.
Everything is quiet when he reaches the landing, and that too is unusual. Blaise does not prize his toys for their ability to keep silent. Whenever he has company, screams can be heard several levels above.
Draco opens the door without knocking and immediately sees what caused the wards to crumple. Blaise lies fallen on the ground. There's a gash on his head, probably from hitting his head on the table where Lovegood is still tied in place. Draco kneels by his side, trying to find a pulse, but there's nothing. He's gone.
He checks Luna next, but doesn't even have to check her pulse. Her face has lost all colour and her blind, unblinking eyes stare up at the ceiling, well past any earthly concerns. He glances down at Blaise before closing her eyes.
"Good for you, Lovegood."
He reaches inside his pocket for the Galleon he knows is there and wills the numbers around the edge to form the message he wishes to send. Hermione will be heartbroken, but Draco is actually relieved, and he knows he won't be the only one. Lovegood knew far too much for comfort, and no one kept secrets from Blaise for long.
Standing by the door, he looks around him one last time. His gaze falls on the bodies in the middle of the room. Blaise Zabini and Luna Lovegood. Once upon a time there was no seeing one without the other. They're a long way from Hogwarts, all of them.
Draco closes the door and makes for the stairs. He doesn't envy the poor sod who will have to break the news to Bellatrix.
The End