He leaned in, a chilling smirk on his face as his eyes glowed red.

"I want her life to be made a living hell, and if you can't manage that properly between the three of you, I'll make sure your life won't be any better than hers."

Chapter 5: Serum

Luna had always had the same nightmare since she was nine.

It shouldn't have been a scary dream. She knew she was dreaming, for one; there was also the fact that there was nothing scary in her dream. Nothing to be scared of.

Because that was what her dream was. Nothing – in it, she was surrounded by filters of gray fog. She could walk forever, and she did, but nothing changed; there was only mist in front of her. No sights, no sounds, no people.

Lost and alone.

Does a scream really happen if no one is there to hear it?

She woke in the darkness to the sound of footsteps.

They were light, not at all clunky; just listening to their soft rhythm, she could imagine the feline grace that accompanied their owner's movements. Her heartbeat quickened. Would he try to force it open?

She exhaled softly when he passed by without incident, no longer quaking, but the ghosts of chills still played along her rigid spine. She had to get back to her time and away from the Dark Lord for the sake of her sanity. Her fingers fumbled for her Arithmancy book. Perhaps she was no Hermione, but she was a Ravenclaw, and she could damn well get back on her own. Slowly, she shifted out of bed, wrapping herself in warm furs before letting a candle spark to life beside her.

Before she knew it, her quill was flying across parchment, scratching out notes and plans and formulas. Desperation lent itself to paper with a fluidity that she'd never experienced before. She lost herself in the cool certainty of number and fact as the night wore on; laws and rules of magic that could not be broken. There wasn't much else to hold onto, after all.

As the dawn approached and the piles of parchment mounted ever higher, Luna thought that she heard singing.

"Luna! Are you there?"

Groggily, she pushed herself up from the stacks that she'd fallen asleep on the prior night. Her face felt funny, almost wet.

"Come in."

A hesitant Cecelia pushed open the door and gasped in horror. "Luna! There's ink all over your face!"

"Is there really?" So that was why her skin was so crusty. She leaned over the bathroom sink and began to wash it off. The cool water was so revitalizing.

Her friend barely looked at the papers sprawled across the floor. "The prefect meeting's in ten minutes. Hurry, you don't want to be late. Do you want me to help with your hair?"

"That's really nice of you, but I think I'll manage." Luna tied it into a loose bun and gave Cecelia a grateful smile before the words finally registered in her brain. "What? A prefect meeting?"

The other rolled her eyes. "It's the first holiday planning meeting. You were looking forward to this all year, remember? Your oh-so-perfect bonding time?"

"Bonding time," Luna echoed blankly, but when Cecelia opened her mouth to explain, she sighed. She really didn't want to know. "I think I need a few minutes – you really don't have to wait. I'd feel terrible if I made you late too."

A relieved look crossed Cecelia's face. "I'll meet you there. It's just that Riddle's pretty big on punctuality, you know? And – I'll get you a glass of water?"

Luna forced a smile. "Thanks. And believe me, I know Riddle likes scheduling." After all, Riddle had given Harry a time limit to commit suicide.

Ten minutes later, she crept into the Prefect Room, not too sure of what exactly she was supposed to be doing there. She wouldn't even have known about it if not for Cecelia, who was a godsend for telling her that she had to attend and bringing her to the correct location.

A glass was pressed into her hand.

"You look pale, Luna. Drink up."

She didn't resist as the water trickled down her dry throat, and turned her attention the center of the room.

Tom Riddle stood in front of a group of captivated listeners, all but visibly glowing at his speech as he gestured and smiled and charmed, acting the part of the perfect gentleman. Her revulsion slowly gave way to a strange sort of admiration. How did he do that, concealing the beast, the monstrous being that hid beneath the façade? She made for a seat in the back, wishing to blend in with the crowd before being noticed and watch the Dark Lord at work without being part of his plans.

If only she was so lucky.

"Miss Faulkner!" he said, his verdant eyes lighting up in what everyone else assumed was friendliness as he looked at her. Tingles rang down her spine again. Green, not red, reassured Rationality. "How good of you to rejoin us after your accident. Feeling well?"

"Delightful, thank you," she said, hoping that her reply sounded pleasant and not like the retort it was. How kind of him to inquire.

He smiled at her again as if he'd completely forgotten the events of yesterday. "In fact, you came just in time to discuss what we would do for the annual holiday events."

Holiday events. Of course. He was making her look like a fool – he knew all too well that she had no idea what the event was.

All were waiting for her to speak, she realized, her mouth dry.

She turned to face her adversary, bubbling with a thick, building energy that cut her words into sharp pieces of ceramic, pieces to draw blood with. It frightened her, how fast he could make her revert to her most instinctive. "Why don't we hear what Mr. Riddle has to say first? I'm sure that his ideas are exemplary."

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but he didn't argue.

"Traditionally, we hold a Halloween celebration and a Yule dance, but I thought this year we could do something a little different." He inclined his head toward Malfoy as he spoke, who smirked knowingly. "Instead of the usual Halloween festival, we could celebrate the holiday the way wizards have always celebrated it. A trip into the way of tradition, so to speak."

It was all beginning to sound very ominous to Luna. She didn't like the way he emphasized wizards, and the hint of hidden meaning that infused every word. A million flying Gloompuggers seemed to gather round his head.

"What will we be celebrating?" piped up a short Hufflepuff.

His answering grin was positively wicked.

"Why, Samhain, of course."

The blood drained from her face.

Samhain. Of course he would choose that festival. It was the day when magic was stronger, wilder, at its most primal. It wasn't dark, not inherently so, as Riddle very well knew. He wasn't a fool; the school would never let him organize it if it were corrupted so. But Samhain took a person's true alignment, true nature, and amplified it a thousand fold. Daddy and Mother had both loved Samhain while alive, but Luna knew better.

After all, Samhain was the day that had killed Mother.

She shook her head. While she'd reconciled herself to her mother's death long ago, it didn't mean that she enjoyed thinking about it. More puzzling was the why – why would he celebrate Samhain? It would only highlight his dark nature.

Except she didn't really want to be there for the festival to find out.

"Why don't we have a pumpkin-festival or a costume ball instead?" she proposed quickly. "I don't think Samhain is really appropriate for the younger years, and the Professors might not let us celebrate such a controversial holiday."

The Slytherins were staring at her, but there were some murmurs of agreement from the prefects of the other houses. Lucretia Black's eyes glittered particularly dangerously. How much had Riddle divulged to his followers?

She was shaken out of her thoughts by Riddle's unsettling politeness as he nodded at her.

"Very good points. However, I have already secured Professor Dippet's permission to hold a celebration, if the prefects so wish, and his assurances that it will be completely safe."

Dippet's brain must have been infested by Cockroach Pixies.

"What are you planning, Riddle?"

His eyes narrowed.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Faulkner."

"What festivities are you planning?" she corrected quickly. She hadn't meant to say that aloud.

"Ah. Well, if we all agree, we could hold a dance – " there were immediate excited whispers from the female inhabitants – "and set up a rather naturalistic decoration theme. A bonfire would be necessary, and the younger years could amuse themselves with festival games." He paused to survey the response.

The prefects were all smiling and talking in low voices to their friends and housemates, except for the Slytherins, who sat in rigid composure. Cecelia was staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. Luna frowned. How to salvage the situation? Riddle had sold the idea of Samhain, and sold it well.

She cleared her throat twice, and the chatter subsided. Perhaps Luna Faulkner had been more influential than she'd known.

"Did you know," she stated, "that Samhain is a holiday of rituals that is based on the participation of individuals? Magic is particularly sensitiveat the time. One misspoken spell while celebrating could kill. Despite Professor Dippet's assurances of safety, it could never hurt to put up some wards against magical buildup for the festival, could it?"

Riddle finally gave her a full out, venomous stare. Chills rang down her spine again as he bore into her eyes, but she held her Occlumency walls strong. I'm not so afraid of you that I won't try to thwart you, Riddle, when you jeopardize my safety and the safety of others. Courage cheered.

He seemed to shake himself out of the eye contact first, as if remembering others were watching, and another sickly smile plastered itself to his face.

"Of course we will put up safeties, Miss Faulkner. Your concern is appreciated. However, so that we don't take up more of the precious weekend, can we conclude this meeting with a decision upon Samhain?"

Not a single voice of dissent rose. The prefects trickled out of the room, congratulating Riddle on the way out –

"Faulkner, a word."

"Yes?" To her surprise, it was Abraxas Malfoy. He was in quiet, arrogant repose, leaning against the doorway; his grey eyes gleamed with shrewd calculation. They were alone in the deserted room. Even Riddle had left.

She had a very bad feeling about this.

"Why are you so keen to oppose Tom?"

Whatever she had expected him to say, that wasn't it. Caught off guard, the first thing she said was, "Is it really so obvious?"

His jaw slackened.

"You're actively against him? Faulkner, have you lost your mind?"

The irony of that question was not lost on Luna, still reeling from what she'd let slip. What was wrong with her today?

"I don't believe so," slipped out from her mouth before she could stop it. Merlin, what was going on? She stared at him with a mixture of anger and concern. Her mind was fuzzy, fuzzier than normal, and she could tell right away. "What did you do?"

He smirked at her, his earlier shock forgotten – or hidden. "You're rather sharp. Was that a result of that little fall you had?"

"No," she said without meaning to. Something was definitely wrong. Everything he asked was answered with no mental filter; that was nothing less than dangerous. Her eyes widened. Veritaserum. Stupid, arrogant, sneaky jerk. "Can I tell you a secret?"

He leaned in eagerly. Steeling herself, Luna grabbed his shoulders and French-kissed Abraxas Malfoy.

It wasn't particularly unpleasant, to her surprise, though a little revolting to stick her tongue aggressively in his mouth. His lips were warm and soft, like caterpillar skin. And, just as shockingly, he didn't immediately pull away.

She did.

Ew, grumbled Rationality. He probably had herpes.

Taking advantage of the fact that Malfoy was stunned beyond belief, Luna snapped quickly, "Who gave me the potion?"

"Cecelia – "

"Why?"

"Riddle ordered - "

Luna ran off while he was talking, having gotten all the answers she needed. There was no need to tempt fate by staying lest he managed to question her. But what stung wasn't that she'd almost been revealed. It prickled that Cecelia, whom she'd trusted, whom she'd believed was a friend, had been one to do it. That was what stung, and she didn't like it one bit.

Her vision blurred a little, so she sped up, heading straight for her room –

"Normally I'd assume it was your time of the month and just walk by, but this is the second time I've caught you crying in three days – what on earth is your problem, Faulkner?

Luna looked up and caught a flash of russet hair. Her jaw dropped in surprise, and a torrent of words flew out.

"Malfoy got Cecelia to slip me a potion, I'm utterly alone with no one to trust, and Riddle's after my blood. What isn't a problem?"

Horrified, she clapped her hands over her mouth. The Veritaserum hadn't faded yet – dear Lord, it wouldn't for at least another few minutes, if what she'd remembered from Potions was correct. She didn't know the dosage. If they'd given her more than three drops, she'd be dead. But it had to had been enough to linger on her tongue while she argued with Riddle.

Three drops, then – three drops, ten minutes left.

The boy in front of her's eyes widened ever so slightly, but he shook it off his surprise with the ease of a platypus shaking itself dry. "Riddle after your blood? What a calamity. Did he finally get sick of you following him around?"

"No, of course not – what?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're not known for your subtlety. And what did Cecelia give you today? An aging potion? I haven't seen you this non-bratty since – "

"Veritaserum." Merlin, how would she stop the spell?

"Repeat that?"

"Veritaserum – Muffliato!"

He opened his mouth, probably to demand what she'd done from the redness of his cheeks. She smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, the Mifflers are buzzing really loudly. I'm afraid I can't hear you."

And she skipped away.

Luna had never liked Arithmancy during her tenure at Hogwarts, not until her final year. By that time, she'd lost her anchors.

By that time, she couldn't see them anymore.

The Crunkle-horned Snorkacks had disappeared, as had the Nargles, as had the Moon Frogs, who used to float and croak and comfort her late at night. The Raspberry Fairies never made another appearance, and the Blueberries never smiled again. Luna mourned them. How many times had she cried late at night, wishing for them to come back?

She'd called and called, but they never did responded, and one especially melancholy day, she simply gave up. She let them go. It didn't matter how hollow she felt, because they'd weren't there either way.

Then, when she looked back at the subject halfway through the first semester, she'd immediately loved it. She'd breathed in it, heart, mind, and soul. Facts would never be as dear to her as they were to Hermione, but they were something, something to clutch in the endless storm that kept her awake and tossing at night.

And now, it had become her key to going home. The only way she could have gotten here was magic. Logically, it should be able to take her back, if she could find the counter –

What are you thinking? interrupted her incredulous Imagination. You sound like Hermione. It's fate that brought you here, and you know it.

Fate is rubbish, snapped Rationality. We'd never get anything done if we didn't work for ourselves.

Rubbish? You're onion-flavored, sauce spiked, bug-antennae and dragon feathers covered rubbish!

A pause. Dragons don't have feathers.

Says you.

"Luna Faulkner! I've been calling your name for the last five minutes!"

The world spun back into focus. Squinting a bit, she caught sight of a petite, stern woman with thick gray hair and extremely thin lips.

"Have you really? I suppose I got lost in the smell of chalk for a moment there. It's really quite addictive, you know, Professor – "

The woman's mouth narrowed into a straight line. "Just because you hit your head does not entitle you to foolery in my class, Miss Faulkner. That would be a point from Slytherin, and another for not being able to answer the question."

"Could you repeat it?" She liked questions. They were so broad and limitless and pretty.

"What are five uses of Randall's Third Law?"

Oh, this one was easy.

"Reducing fractorial-numerals, translation of Runes, the fifteenth component of blood for use in healing spells, correlation between minerals, specifically iron and zinc in alchemy, and the flow of propulsion in air-matter related charms."

The rest of the class stared, but a faint smile could be seen on Professor Vendal's plain face.

"See me after class, Miss Faulkner."

A/N: Long wait for a not-so-great chapter, I know. :( Sorry this took so long to update - school is awful. Again, thanks to readers and especially reviewers. :) Reviews are what make me continue writing.

MaxRide05: Yes, she is. :) I'm not sure I want to write that part, though - it'll be tough to connect the stories.