Chapter 9: Gone

Draco opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. A horrible smell of burning rubble hung thickly in the air, and the sky had been filled with a dark black smoke. There was a gaping hole in the side of the Lovegood's house, and the two Death Eaters Draco had seen before were striding away from the wreckage of the Lovegood's house, dragging an unconscious figure behind them.

Luna's father. Draco thought. Luna. He suddenly remembered Luna, and it was all he could do to keep himself rooted to the spot, lest he give away his position. He could now fully hear the Death Eaters' argument, and he pricked up his ears to listen.

"—stupid old nutter, letting Potter get away like that—"

Potter. So Potter had been to see old Lovegood too, but why?

"—when the Dark Lord hears about this Travers—"

Travers. Draco wracked his brain for the other man's name, finally reaching it.

Selwyn. Selwyn and Travers.

"—at least he'll be with his stupid daughter and he might shut up for once about her—"

He felt like laughing, despite the perilous situation.

So, he thought. Voldemort does not wish his failures to become public knowledge.

He glanced around, looking for a flash of amber eyes, or a glimpse of dappled feathers that was Luna.

"—couldn't believe what Bellatrix said about Draco, turning on them like that—"

Wait. If they knew about him escaping, why didn't they know about Luna? Unless—

Draco exploded out of the underbrush, not caring about alerting them to his presence, not caring about the fact that both men had raised their wands, not caring about the fact he was probably about to die. He was livid, his veins seemed to have frozen and his mind glazed over. His sharp fangs plunged into Travers' arm, causing him to yell in pain and send his wand flying out of his hand. Selwyn aimed a jinx at Draco but he leapt aside, howling, angrier then he had ever been in his life.

Now that he was close to the Death Eaters, he could see Luna's prone figure, her arms no longer wings, her body no longer bird, her arm being gripped by Selwyn's free hand. Draco snarled and dove at the sneering man, dragging his claws across his face until blood flowed. Selwyn's scream was drowned by Travers' curse that hit Draco in the chest. Draco was blasted backward, slammed against a stunted tree, then crumpled to the ground, winded. He tried to struggle to his feet, but his ribs felt splintered and his heart felt dead.

He could hear the two Death Eaters approach him, and Selwyn pointed his wand at Draco.

"Protego." Before Draco even could even stand, Selwyn spoke.

Draco changed back to human form, pulling out his wand, clutching his chest.

"Hello Draco." Selwyn said.

Draco said nothing, he just stood there, shaking he was so angry.

"Kill mw then. Kill me, for realizing what good and evil really were."

"Good and evil?" Travers laughed. "There is no good and evil Draco, there is only this, and who wins. There is truth, and lies, but no justice. And no mercy. Not in this world anyway."

"Still," Draco said. "If I die now, I'll die knowing who I am, and why. I'll die free."

"Free?" said Selwyn. "You'll never be free, boy. The Dark Lord may hav agreed that you should be allowed back into the fold, if we disposed of the girl, but you'll never be free, not after you helped her escape."

Draco spat at them. He aimed a hex at the protective shield, but it just bounced off and hit the dilapidated fence, singing a hole in it. He struck out, punching the shield with his bare fist, but bringing it back with a howl of pain, the bones splintered and skin burned. He cradled his hand with his free one, and glared up at the leering Death Eaters, and felt a wolfish snarl curl his lip.

Travers chuckled under his breath.

Selwyn laughed, and he and Travers walked away, mounted their brooms, disappearing long before the effects of the Shield Charm wore off.

Draco fell to his knees in the snow, his face in his hands.

She was gone. Actually gone. Taken by Death Eaters. I have to go back. He thought. The truth of that statement burned cold in his heart.

That was what it meant to be friends. To be willing to do anything for them. And Draco was willing, he was willing to forfeit his longed for freedom to save her, Luna.

Shaking, he stood, drew his wand, and turned on the spot, thinking of a towering building, in which, deep, deep, down, below its foundations, was a dark, dank room that was named for the feeling that so often imprisoned the poor soul in its depths. The room that now most probably held Luna. The room he and her had escaped from. The Désespoir Room.