Once again surrounded by the seclusion of my sleeping quarters, I free-fall into the depths of my mind. There are so many thoughts to entertain today, I pick up a scroll and quill to sort through them. I like to organize my musings when I have the opportunity, placing them all in thoroughly labelled compartments. It makes them simple to retrieve when they are required.
I am commanded to protect the girl, so long as her father complies. Shall he fail, or shall Potter fall, I assume I will be thrust another equally vile assignment to contend with once she is slaughtered. Lovegood's father is to be brought before the council soon, and I assume the girl will need to be present. How I am to relate to her, how to contain her, how to ensure none of the filthy snivelling wretches in this regime harms her while she is my charge present another challenge altogether.
The girl sits on the balcony, oblivious to the maelstrom of my worries. A warm, humid wind swallows her in a hurricane of curls as she rolls a knut to and fro over her knuckles. She doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps she doesn't care. I can't decipher which sensations of this world get past the gates of her faraway stare. Perhaps all of them fall in and drown, withering away like a mortal among the fae.
I force myself to continue my task, ignoring the blush creeping into her shoulders as the warmth of the day caresses her.
"Strategy" I write at the top of the page, drawing a vertical line underneath to divide my thoughts in two.
xoXOXox
Plan… I need a plan.
One doesn't present itself outright, so I call to mind a blank piece of parchment floating in a wide-open sky. The words will begin to form when they choose to.
For now, I watch the clouds pass in my thoughts. Fluffy white ones with Harry flying through to catch the snitch, tumultuous black ones bearing thunder and lightning over my father's face as I am gagged and bound to be dragged away from him. Bright, white sun shining through them as Draco wakes up alive.
The page begins to fill.
xoXOXox
I have filled four feet of parchment when my hand begins to cramp. I take a break to review what I've gathered so far.
A warm breeze tousles my parchment, imploring me to indulge in a spot of fresh air. I stroll outdoors to find Lovegood still entranced, in the same position she was in an hour ago.
The girl doesn't acknowledge me as I lean against the stone wall across from her. She remains quiet, looking through her hands as if I don't exist at all.
Her silence itches in my veins.
"What are you doing?" I ask with much more venom than I anticipated. Being ignored has never sat well with me.
"Thinking." she says
"Of what?" I bite back. If she insists on being short when I attempt to have a modicum of civil conversation, two can play that game.
"Sunshine." she says, unbothered.
This girl abuses my patience.
xoXOXox
Draco has interrupted my planning to come to talk with me. Talk at me, mostly.
He throws his hands up to let them flop unceremoniously to his black trousers, flailing into a typical Malfoy tantrum as he launches a tirade.
"Brilliant. Sunshine and rainbows and all the bloody unicorns the forest will provide!" he spits "Please do let me know if you come across a djinn in your wistful imaginings, Lovegood. I could do with a few wishes granted."
His sarcasm is a bit off-key. I don't hear arrogance and audacity banging their war drums per his usual show, but little pings of hurt colliding with his pride.
I've heard children with no siblings sometimes act like this when their parents have difficulty setting boundaries for them. I suppose I'm fortunate to have been the type of child who set boundaries for myself. It's no wonder the boy is lonely if he displays such volatile behaviour when trying to strike a conversation.
He continues -
"Must you insist on being so thoroughly perplexing? Is it entirely necessary to take every mundane conversation and turn it into something incomprehensible?"
I think it's safe to acknowledge saying "every conversation" is a bit of a dramatization on his part. He and I have had only a dozen or so conversations throughout our lives. Speaking solely about this interaction, I don't see what is so incomprehensible about one-word answers. Maybe the potions are starting to impair his functioning.
"I didn't realize you didn't understand what the sun was, Draco."
He fumes, pointing at me as he wanders around the balcony in a huff. The wind mussing the soft white fluff of his hair paints him a striking resemblance to a disgruntled pygmy puff.
"See? Like that! Exactly! Why do you call me Draco, as if we are the best of mates?"
I know what he means, but if I'm going to let him vent, I may as well let him get it thoroughly out of his system. It must be stressful to always be working, if you can call what he's forced to do work. I decide to let the anger erupt in my direction for a moment if he needs it.
"It's your name..." I deliberately coax him.
He growls; literally growls like a dog. How the Malfoys are supposed to be the superior among us I may never understand.
"I know bloody well what my name is, Lovegood!" he shouts at me through his bared teeth.
I decide to quit riling him. Obviously, the boy is conflicted. I can't force him to get it, but I will try nonetheless.
"How am I supposed to live in the same room with you and keep calling you by your surname?" I ask calmly, bringing him back down to reason from the high of his rage. "We slept in the same bed last night, Draco." I use my hands to illustrate the air between us, keeping the explanation short so he can absorb it in his flustered state. "This is what friends do, they call each other by their first names."
"Friends!" he shouts it like an expletive, falling to the chair across from me as he tugs on his white locks. He starts laughing into the long sleeves of his shirt.
This boy seriously needs to see a mind healer.
"What are you?!" he yells, and with it, the last threads of my tolerance shred away.
I am a person, not a "what".
xoXOXox
Friends. She calls the two of us friends. Not "fellow prisoners" or even "captive and captor". Not "two people who may be forced to kill one another at any moment." She wills herself into my good graces. Has she not been paying attention to what becomes of my companions?
I laugh into my arms because tears won't come anymore. I wish they would fall into the dust, dissolve my body into nothing so I could sink into the earth.
She reminds me of my name as if I have mysteriously forgotten what the M on the gate stands for. Perhaps I have.
"Friends call each other by their names, Draco."
'Friends notice when friends are breaking apart from the inside, Draco.'
'Friends don't follow masters who kill their friends, Draco.'
How can she assume so grandiosely? I know nothing about the infuriating witch aside from the persona she put on at school. I have only heard wretched things about her, her compatriots, her father. I don't even know who her mother is, or what stains her blood.
"What are you?!" I growl frustratedly, clenching my teeth to moderate my volume. Yelling is for savages. Malfoys do not yell.
"When a subject is a person, it's 'Who are you?'" she corrects unabashedly, with the air of a bored professor.
I chastise myself internally for my poor phrasing. Certainly, I've been better educated than to structure a question so vaguely. To regain control of this encounter, I try for a domineering tone. My voice comes out flat as my lack of conviction deceives me.
"What breed are you?" I rephrase myself "Are you a veela? Fae? Half-blood or some such?"
It wouldn't do to get my hopes high for this "friendship", especially if her kind are on the itinerary to be extinguished in the coming months.
She looks at me, into me. All at once I realize my transgression. The professor is not bored, but seething. Her quiet rage is calculating my demise in scores, fifties, hundreds. I am harshly reminded Ravenclaw magic is the darkest sort, for they can cause whatever their evil imaginations conjure up to come to fruition. Her stare is a blade as her thoughts slice me apart again and again in her gaze. She grants the killing blow with her next statement -
"To answer, I am Luna Lovegood. Who are you, Draco Malfoy?"
Once her words materialize, it is apparent she has well made up for my lack of conviction with the assurance in her tone. Her voice is flaccid, robbed of the brightness of her intuition and sharpness of her maddening brand of cunning.
I am a bit taken aback by her answer. Perhaps it's the whiplash from her change of tone or her overtness that has me reeling for stability to take hold in this conversation.
Alas, the silence stretches into the horizon.
She lets her eyes fall, looking once again through the knut rolling languidly over her knuckles.
After several eternities, she straightens up, once again piercing me with her eyes.
"I believe I am a person, as you are a person, regardless of how our blood may be composed." She says, nodding to herself in confirmation as she looks out across the railing.
She considers me a person. One more reason to value her. I'm not so sure I consider myself a person anymore.
"So you are fully human?" I ask incredulously
"Oh goodness, no!" she replies, shocked.
I knew it! It would require the truth to be far too similar to decency for her mother to have been some unknown pureblooded witch who didn't sympathize with those who dare to resist the Dark Lord. It would be outside of the realm of possibility for my vengeful Fates to grant me a single drop of rain to wet the desert of my thirst.
The girl continues -
"Are any of us?" she asks rhetorically, "We're all people, but certainly not all human. We all have our eccentricities, and we all have monsters inside." she concludes at a mumble, staring askance into nothingness.
I count to ten as I pinch the bridge of my nose to postpone the oncoming headache. I may as well be speaking to a sphynx for the riddles this girl comes up with. Perhaps a trifle of hope will present itself if I remain steadfast.
"Right. Will you answer me this, then - are you directly descended from any magical creatures?" I try again to get the answers I seek.
She turns to face me now, crossing her legs beneath her and straightening her spine. The malice is back, injecting its foul venom into her voice.
"You seem quite confused." she quips as I'm stabbed through by the ice in her eyes once again.
I linger on her statement momentarily. This witch has a niche for stating the obvious. As I plan to win this battle by playing on her level, I assume it will be of no consequence for me to be forthright with her. I bury my frustration, as it won't do to let my temper get the best of me.
"Yes. Yes, I suppose I am. Will you answer me?" I ask, inflecting much calmer than I am feeling.
I'm not prepared when she takes my hand. My mind implodes beneath the weight of her touch. There is nothing left to keep me tethered to the Earth as I pine for this insanity.
"Before I can answer you," she says, digging into the occluding space she was not invited to indulge in "we need to define the terms. You seem to think the words 'person' and 'human' have the same meaning. I don't believe such."
The warmth of her touch and the hate in her stare juxtapose each other exquisitely. As if I'm dying softly, being sang into eternity by a beautiful, malicious angel.
Madness, it suits me. I try it on for size, realizing it embraces all my tattered edges, coaxing them to shine anew. I relax into it as a warm comforter on a wet night, letting the remnants of fury melt away into it's lulling chaos to humour her.
"If they are not equal, what might you believe the difference to be?" I ask, genuinely curious to hear her answer, knowing against hope I won't understand it.
The soft light is back in her eyes to keep company with ire as she explains her position.
"A person is someone who can have a personality. Someone who has feelings and a sense of right and wrong."
Puzzles: a Ravenclaw's forte. What has a personality, but isn't a human? I guess at an answer.
"So you think a Veela is a person then?" I question, staying my sarcasm as I attempt in earnest to unravel the workings of the witch before me.
"Yes, Veelas are people. Centaurs are people, as are fae, elves, and children. Anyone who can feel and have a conscience." she confirms, quickly adding "That's why it's called a person-ality, and not a creature-ality."
So for her, a person has a sense of right and wrong. It follows if she believes me to be a person, she believes this sense to be within my reach. I'm sure the girl grants me too much faith.
This brings about a prospect I've dared not think even in the privacy of my mind until this point. Abruptly, I crave to hear it said aloud, if for nothing but to validate my sanity. And so, with a deep inhale, I ask the plaguing question in one breath.
"Are muggles people or creatures?"
Lovegood thinks for a moment, her eyes glittering with curiosity as her mouth stays pursed in stoicism.
"I've never met a muggle to know for certain, but I would assume they are people. They do occasionally birth witches and wizards, and I don't see how they could manage that if they weren't some sort of person."
She states it so simply, so refined - as if it had been a mundane observation she made while walking in the garden. For all I know, perhaps it was.
xoXOXox
I have used up every trickle of my mental capacity to attempt conversation with the brick wall that is Draco Malfoy. I've no idea if he understood any of the thoughts I bombarded him with, but I'm out of strength to check his comprehension.
"I'm tired now." I tell him "Come, Draco."
I pull his hand that still sits in mine. I've never wanted to believe people have to be trained to listen like pets. I've never believed they could be. A bit of conditioning to hear his name may do him good though, so Draco it is, from now until we part.
I drag him to my sleeping space because I do not wish to be awakened by his screaming from across the room while I lay helpless in my wards. If his demons release themselves, I'd rather be close enough to contend with them.
He follows where I lead, although I'm sure he's not sleepy having awakened only hours ago. I collapse on top of him. He makes for a lumpy pillow, but at least he's clean and warm.
"Sleep sweetly, Lovegood." I hear him say as I drift away.
"Luna" I instruct as I fall beyond the veil.
xoXOXox
"Luna" I say into the air.
The moon, the light in the darkness. My mouth wraps around the word, savouring the sound. For now, I can allow myself a sweet morsel of compliance to temper the growing hunger.
I know when she awakens, when we stride out of these quarters into the hellish landscape of reality, she'll be Lovegood again. Once more she'll be a pawn no less disposable than I am. She, like me, is but one wet heartbeat away from eternity.
But here, pinned to the guest sheets inside my mother's blood wards, I am the artist of my lies. I can, and do, create a world of my own within these confines.
In my creation, I am my namesake: a constellation of glittering stars protecting the queen of the night: the glorious moon in all her splendour.
She shines brightly as she sleeps.
Here in seclusion, we will exist until the sky falls from heaven and the sun explodes in it's violent, evil wrath.
Madness, it suits me.
xoXOXox
In Draco's arms, I fall into dreams of broomsticks flying through wide-open gates. When I top the wards and fall from the sky, I land on my feet to take off at a run. Faster, faster than I ever could in life, I jump, and the wind catches hold of me. I take flight once more.
There are no battles, no smells of burning flesh and wet ground. Only spice and expensive soap to fill the air.
xoXOXox
The girl has been asleep for three hours. The sun is setting and my stomach gurgling as I set down the book I have no passion to read. It's been floating above my face on the same page for some time now. If I sleep now, I won't be able to feel the hunger. Bright idea, Malfoy.
I shut my eyes to let the darkness take me.
xoXOXox
"Rise, witch." It's a woman's voice, almost musical in its harshness, like the low chords of a piano being all played at once. "Personal hygiene practices are paramount in this household."
A tiny hand grips me, jostling me to wakefulness.
"Five more minutes, mum." I request. I know she'll let me sleep just a moment longer. She always does.
"Call her mum again and I swear I'll put you out of my misery."
Professor Snape.
Bugger.
I'm awake.
xoXOXox
I try to push myself onto my arms, but Draco holds me fast. The hand that holds my stomach against him rises up my back to my head, digging once again into my hair.
I don't like where this is going.
He pulls me close to his mouth to whisper in my ear.
"Friends trust each other, Luna. Play along."
I know this is manipulation. Unfortunately, he knows better than I do how to navigate a den full of Slytherins. I guess I can play along with his little game. If this goes tits up, Snape is here, and he can hear me.
Draco's voice is silk and honey as he places his lips on my neck. Deception at it's finest.
"Five minutes isn't much to ask. Why not let the girl rest, Mother? She's had a long night."
Narcissa snorts and throws a derogatory glance in my direction.
"I don't wish to be party to your dalliances, Draco. You have two minutes to get the girl up and in the lavatory."
"Hasn't Father informed you?" Draco drawls before his mother has the chance to storm away. The false surprise in his tone sickens me as he continues.
"No? Pity." He clicks his tongue, locking eyes with me as he brushes my hair from my face. "Grandfather thinks she would make a suitable heir. I must say I agree with him."
Professor Snape interjects, grabbing Draco roughly by the collar to drag us both to our feet.
"Your grandfather is dead, boy. Unless you care to join him in eternal damnation I suggest you do as your mother has bid. Council will begin at eight sharp."
My mind is thrown for a loop at how easily Draco switches into the persona that suits him best. For Professor Snape, he's once again the cocky menace he played at school, striding haughtily to his wardrobe.
Instead of the same black robes he wears outside these walls, he floats a formal gown ahead of him. Deep blue silk flows to the ground as he levitates it before me.
"To set off your eyes, lovely." He winks. This has to be the most lively I've seen him so far.
I nod my head in appreciation to Narcissa, who is currently looking at me as if I am something she stepped in on the way to the stables.
"Come." She orders, and I follow her into the lavatory along with the gown.
xoXOXox
"What… are… you… thinking… Draco?" Godfather snarls through clenched teeth. "If the Dark Lord hears tale that you've compromised the girl…"
"Godfather," I interrupt "I'm winning her to our side. She's incredibly useful, and her allegiance will provide all the more reason for her father to cooperate."
I'm a swift liar, one of the best I've ever seen when threatened.
"If his daughter's head on a plate is not enough reason for the man to do as he is commanded then he is a fool." Godfather spits into my face.
"Is it not our place to procure intelligence,
Godfather? Doesn't that mean subverting the expectations of fools?"
"It is my place to procure intelligence, Draco. It is your place to keep the girl alive!" he booms.
"For what?!" I roar. The volume I reach startles me. "So she can die when her father is no longer of use? No, I won't waste her, Godfather. She is intelligent. Look at me!"
I show him my palms, my eyes, my skin.
"She did this." I say softly.
Godfather stares his black daggers into my soul, daring me to say more.
I stand as tall as possible, tilting my head back to look down at Godfather's inky locks.
"I want my award for killing Dumbledore."
xoXOXox
Narcissa slams the door with her magic. The sound of wood attacking the frame echoes through the endless lavatory corridor.
She speaks down her nose to me as her anger rolls and boils in the air between us.
"You will not harm him." She commands.
Of course, I won't. Why should I?
"When we get out of here, you will vow such. Now, make a valiant effort to appear worthy to be seen alongside my son."
I do as I'm told. I have no desire to incur Narcissa's wrath. Not when I could use her cooperation to get me out of here in one piece.
xoXOXox
"Your award is having your neck attached to your shoulders, you ungrateful cretin." Godfather sneers.
"Come now, the Dark Lord rewards his most loyal, does he not? Certainly ridding the world of such an inconvenience deserves a prize every snivelling sycophant in this regime doesn't have."
Godfather's nostrils flare in his fury.
"I want to restore my name, Godfather. Lovegood can assist in this endeavour, only if she is alive."
I'm pleading with him now, and he knows it. The man is brilliant at hearing all the nuances I've left in the space between my words.
'Let me loose from my cage, Godfather. Let the girl live once her father is disposed of. Give me a chance at freedom if the Dark Lord fails to conquer all.'
"I'll do what I can." He says, billowing away to wait for my mother.
xoXOXox
A/N:
Credits:
All hail PhoenixDragon111, aka my adorable ride or die Nyxxi Pixie for betaing this fic free of charge. Please do yourself the favour of reading her stories. They will give you a whole new appreciation for atmospheric description and character motivation.
May Devon A. Snow, formidable witch and heir to the throne enjoy every ounce of freedom she syphons during her holiday. Narcissa's line about hygiene was a stroke of her brilliance.
May Bob Ross, wizard of beautiful happy accidents via ASMR painting rest in bliss. The "creating your own world" line is his.
Luna's meditation on the clouds is a traditional Buddhist meditation which I learned from Andy Puddicombe of Headspace.