A/N: There's a dash of fluff in here to cut the angst.
Vine
Tonight we fall asleep together in white sheets. I transfigure a canopy so I'm not forced to wake to the starkness of the day. I ingest only one drop of Dreamless, forgoing the pain potion for sensation and the DOLD for longevity as I relish in her warmth.
The night bleeds into days and weeks. We steal our moments, taking time to cue each other to the progression of our plan. Luna is charged as an assistant in the infirmary, taking on healings which can be accomplished without a wand. This proves to be an advantageous exchange, as she spends the majority of her time in the potionery, and thus I am able to assist. We brew all manner of healing salves and draughts in between the mangled idiots Luna repairs.
We nick a vial here and there from the stores for some time until we have all of the ingredients for Polyjuice. I've always been a competent potioneer under Godfather's tutelage. Before long we have garnered four vials.
xoXOXox
My days are interesting, if repetitive. I awaken in the dark in the morning, put on clothes I don't own or care much for, and march with Draco to heal the injured.
Most of the physical ailments aren't caused by dastardly dealings as I'd expected, but routine training and poor habits.
"You know, the air down there isn't good for the composition," I have Draco translate for me to one of the guards in the dungeons "if you have yourself some gillyweed before starting your rounds you'd end up with much better outcomes."
The guard laughs in my face. I guarantee he'll be surprised and bemoaning his circumstances in a few years. I press on.
By far my most common treatment is recovery from Crucios. Same every time: pain potion, hot liquids, lots of reminders about alcohol poisoning. I don't understand why the powers here break their soldiers only to stitch them back together. It seems like a terrible waste of resources to me. Train them with pleasure, not pain, and you won't be dealing with their increasing weakness and nerves which will never heal from the abuse.
Hardly anyone listens to me.
I suppose it's good on me they are weakened this way, or that's what Draco says to console me at least. When I'm up close with the suffering - when I see the wounded flesh and vacant stares in a person - it's unnervingly difficult to think any good can come of this. I want to fix them all. I desperately desire for this terrible sickness to end.
Nights are much better than days. I crawl into bed with Draco at my side, finding all the little places we fit together nicely. We discover we're the perfect size for me to tuck under his arm, and our legs always find a happy way to tangle. He's put on some weight, making him a soft place to land when I collapse from exhaustion. Narcissa has gifted me a plethora of silks to keep my hair away from his mouth, which I'm thoroughly grateful for. I'll have to get some for myself when we're gone. Sometimes he reads, and occasionally I draw, but distracting ourselves from the atrocity usually ends in a kiss. I'm proud to say our practice has improved my skills in this act exponentially.
Above all, we plan. It's a quiet plotting - the Slytherin variety - with me as strategist and Draco as executor. The two of us make a wildly unstoppable team. We create ideas together, I check them for sanity, then he finds a way to make them happen. The silent and thoughtful way he listens, the look in his eyes when he tells me he thinks it will work, this feels uncannily similar to love.
We're getting so close; it's only a matter of time before we have wind under our brooms to fly free.
xoXOXox
"The gates will open for you, won't they?"
I nod.
"Excellent. Will anyone else be notified?"
"Only my father."
"That may present a challenge."
"Not if I can help it."
Today has been extraordinarily taxing. Aunt Bella has a new string of recruits to torment. Each one of them arrives bloodied and melted at some point, ungratefully depleting our stores of dittany and burn cream. A few will undoubtedly experience an unceremonious demise this week as Aunt Bella weeds out the chaff. One might say I'm relying on such a situation. Personally, I'd rather not think of it as reliance, but more of an expected gift. Aunt Bella carries a predictable sort of madness after all.
She doesn't kill for self-preservation. She doesn't kill for her beliefs. She seldom kills quickly.
It's a sport for her.
Her motivations aren't cunning, or profitable, but purely cruel. She enjoys pain for its own sake. I've determined she only wants to watch the walls burn down around her as she cackles in the destruction. I lament that I'll be granting her a modicum of sadistic pleasure upon my departure. The joy this brings her I never desire to comprehend.
In my nightmares, I can still hear her whispering "Do it, Draco" before the first Avada parts my lips.
This world would unquestionably be a better place without her, but soon she will be my unwilling accomplice. Cheers to your usefulness, Auntie.
Now, we make haste to visit Father in his study. Regrettably, cowards such as he are occasionally to be of use too.
xoXOXox
I've memorized this path during my stay with Draco.
I count the doors along our way.
36… 37… left… 38…
Hiss… hiss… ballroom… 42…
Draco grits his teeth… I tell him to stop breaking his smile... He kisses me... 46… and we're at Lucius's entryway.
The dragons and arrows are far less intimidating these days as we stroll in unannounced.
Lucius is caught off guard. Good. He stands.
"Draco, Ms Lovegood," he greets, I nod "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
Haha. He thinks our company will be pleasurable.
xoXOXox
"Father," I acknowledge against my will, pulling a chair for Luna to sit with me at his desk. "I have a buyer for one of your artefacts."
Not that he advertised the sale of said artefact to begin with.
"Do tell." He questions
He doesn't say it, and neither do I. We both know the vaults have been running lower and lower since his debasement settled in. Even the Malfoys are hard-pressed to finance an entire war effort without assistance and competent stewardship.
Father was once an excellent businessman, managing our dealings swiftly enough to ensure our legacy would remain comfortably unbothered for generations. Recently, however, Mother has been dipping into the Black vaults to keep the household running. I know the Malfoy Foundation has become nothing but a farce for Mother to ladle money to Aunt Andi under lock and key. Father is ignorant of this fact, however, and thus he won't notice when half a million or so vanishes.
I hope silently Mother and Andi won't suffer for my discretion. Andi is free, and I am not. Somewhere in my depths I know she won't be troubled by a loan to her only nephew. I'll pay her back when we all survive.
"500,000 Galleons." I intone without inflexion. "From Russia. No barriers to export."
"Take what you need, son," he tells me. "Well done."
I roll up our bounty and make haste to depart.
He halts me.
"I've been meaning to ask a question of you."
Fuck.
"What is it?" I force a bored, nonchalant tone.
"Do you plan on wedding Ms Lovegood in the near future? There are certainly many… arrangements to be made once you set the course."
I hate him.
xoXOXox
Marriage? That's a bit of an overstep, wouldn't you say so, Mr Malfoy? It's only been a bit over a month. I just recently learned Draco likes apple streusel for breakfast.
Not that I can tell Lucius that, nor was I asked for an opinion of my life.
Luckily, Draco knows what my opinions are, and shares them with his father for me, albeit in the secret-y Pureblooded code they use. I'm becoming pretty good at reading their language.
"Come now, Father. It would be rather uncivilized to hold a celebration prior to the Dark Lord's victory."
Draco means no. It's too soon, obviously.
"What's uncivilized, son is your improper taste for courting and the uncouth manner you choose to take housing with her like a common miscreant. We are not Weasleys, Draco, and I don't expect you to produce a bastard heir before it can be properly named a Malfoy."
Lucius thinks we're being inappropriate because he doesn't know what love is. He thinks holding each other at night means we plan on having children straight away. Poor Narcissa. He apparently hasn't thought through the idea that his son and I are barely 17. We were only children yesterday.
Fortunately, Draco is much smarter than his father.
xoXOXox
"Grandfather!" I call across the room, because I know how to find allies in the lair of my enemies.
"Draco," he calls back "Come around where I can see you."
I oblige, bringing Luna with me to stand in front of Grandfather's portrait.
"What say you, Grandfather? Do Malfoy's hold weddings amid carnage?" I ask, knowing what the answer will be
"Take a seat son. You too, mute child. Humour an old man with a tale to tell."
It appears I was mistaken.
Luna beats on my chest with her open palm, looking up at me with the visage of snow-covered skies.
"Get chairs for us, Draco. I do so love stories."
xoXOXox
"Many moons ago, when the world was a dark and vile place, there lived a man named Armand Malfoi."
I wish I had a tub of caramel corn. Caramel corn is the best accompaniment to storytime. But I don't, so I listen politely.
Abraxas - Draco's grandad - continues:
"Armand's time was inharmonious. The Muggles persecuted our kind far and wide, burning our villages and stealing our daughters away."
This sounds familiar.
"France, where the Malfois hail from, was the seat of this turmoil. The Muggles were at war with one another, you see; not a soul was spared from their leader's cruel wrath. It was around this time Armand was a young man, much as you are now, Draco, and he began to fall entranced by a witch named Cassandra."
"It was said Cassandra was a kindly sort of witch, restoring the people of the village whose lives had been torn asunder. From what I know of her, she wasn't concerned if they were squib or magic, muggle or creature, Cassandra cared for them all."
Draco rubs circles on my back, pulling me in tightly to kiss the top of my hair.
"Although her portrait was taken from us in a raid some years back, I remember Cassandra to have been stunning. Her hair and eyes were the colour of night, her fair skin shone like the moon. Not unlike your silent paramour, might I add." he remarks, pointing to me.
"You're the cunning sort grandson, and I know the pieces are falling together for you. Armand fell in love with the witch. He sought to give her the life he thought her to deserve, one where she would receive tenfold the graciousness she showed the villagers. He couldn't very well implement his desires in his home in France, so he took up arms to fight with the Muggles."
I can feel Lucius cringe from across the room.
"That's what brought him here, son. War and carnage, death and brutality. He fought across Europe, leading the king to victory until there were no more wars to take away his beloved. That's how we have this estate, you see. It was a reward for his service, and a gift to Cassandra. He constructed the strongest wards in all of Britain to protect her from the chaos which ravaged the world."
Abraxas gets the same hard stare as Draco when he's angry. His mouth becomes a tight line and his nostrils flare out a bit.
"To answer the question you originally posed, no, Malfoys do not hold weddings in the midst of carnage."
Abraxas shoots a pointed glare to his son, tilting his head back to view Lucius down his nose.
"Malfoys will never be subject to the squalor the world forms around us. We conquer the desecration, building our strongholds where we see fit. Malfoys hold celebrations when it suits our sensibilities."
xoXOXox
This is where the nasty bits begin.
"Where do they take the bodies?" she asks flippantly on the walk to our quarters
I haven't a clue, and tell her such.
"We'll have to find out then," she states simply, as if it isn't an impossible feat to roam the halls of the Manor without being questioned
She's become rather adept at reading my expressions. Perhaps she always has been.
My hand sits enveloped in hers as she reassures me with a smile.
"We will." she says, and means it with every beat of her heart
We arrive in our quarters where the plotting never ceases. I don't want to plan tonight. My only desire is to fall into my mind and her arms to reflect on Grandfather's words.
It must have been shocking to her to hear my father's request. Ironic, how only a few years ago I unquestionably signed my life away to the Greengrasses to appease the tradition, not even knowing if I'd marry Daphne or Astoria. I was crushed when they recanted the contract. Now, I've never been so thankful for Lord Greengrass's foresight.
Hearing Grandfather's story has awakened a devious spirit within me. One I know will send me drowning in my occluding room for days on end if I'm not careful to circumvent it. Alas, the spirit must find my mind a comfortable place to stop and torment me, for it asks relentless questions.
I've spent every hour with Luna since she was released to be my charge. I guard her with ferocity. I may have developed the habit of pouring a generous helping of pepper essence into the pain potions of the vermin who dare to laugh at her wisdom.
She's mine.
Or is she?
I said I would never own her. I'm almost certain I couldn't if I tried. Will she even wish to remain in my presence once she is free and reunited with her magic?
Bloody, idiotic hope is a draining thing.
"What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours, Draco?" she asks, taking my face in her hands "Do you want to talk to me?"
Not knowing what to say, I take the words off her lips to swallow them whole. Her musings are generally more effective than mine, anyway.
xoXOXox
A thought has occurred to me, one that's been rolling on and off my mind for days, and might cheer him out of his melancholy.
"I suppose I should be calling you something other than Draco by now, but all the names I've come up with would probably offend you."
He laughs, a true laugh, not the sort that makes me think he might be losing touch.
"And what might you call me, lovely? Let's see; ferret? No, overused…" He taps his chin in a playful mockery of thinking. "How about dragon?"
I scrunch my nose. Dragon is way too harsh and not at all descriptive of his personality. He laughs again.
"You think of something, darling." he says laying back on the pillows with my hands in his.
"I was thinking something like kitten, because you're so soft." I tell him, taking one of my hands to run through his hair. He would make an excellent kitten, or pygmy puff, or fluffy cake.
The laughter makes his face turn red as his eyes go scrunchy around the corners.
"Soft, hmm? Like a kitten." he repeats, rolling his eyes "Or a rabbit, perhaps?"
"Ooh! Bunny!" I exclaim
"No…" he replies
Looking at him this way - with his lips pulled back and his teeth all shining - it gives me another idea entirely.
"Or beautiful," I tell him, because he is. "but that word has a feminine connotation, and I don't know if you'd like that or not."
He must not. He stops smiling. Bugger.
"You think I'm beautiful?" he asks
"Of course," I reply "you are."
He pulls me down to him, crushing our ribs together in his embrace.
"It's going to hurt like the fires of hades when you leave me."
xoXOXox
"Who said anything about leaving you?" she asks, confusion permeating her voice
"My grandfather, and my father, covertly." I respond
"I'm pretty sure they didn't say anything like that…"
"Oh they didn't, but they did." My statement makes sense to me. I know she'll understand, so I go on.
"Would you ever want to spend your life with me, Luna? Once we're out of here, you won't need me anymore…"
She interrupts -
"I don't need you now."
"See? Point made."
"But I want you. Now, that is. I can't see why I wouldn't when we leave."
"Desires change when circumstances do, lovely. You'll have every opportunity to part from me. Why would you want me to stay with you to slow you down?"
She thinks for a moment, and I can see the pixies putting together a message I won't want to hear in her mind.
"Draco, you will only slow me down if you choose to. You're smarter than that. I don't think that's a choice you would make."
It isn't, no.
She continues -
"If you want me to stay, then choose me. If I want you to stay, I'll choose you. As long as we do that it won't hurt if we part because we'll know we chose to do what was best for ourselves and each other."
Merlin, I love pixies.
xoXOXox
"Let's aim for one adventure at a time, kitten." I coax him, ruffling his hair before sitting up straight.
"If you call me that in front of anyone I'll kill you in your sleep."
"But if I'm dead, you can't escape. Vows, remember?"
"Fuck. You're right. I suppose we'll have to do that first, then."
Back to the plan.
"How good are you with a rennervate, kitten?" I ask.
This is fun. I'm a bit concerned with how much I enjoy teasing him.
"Proficient." he says
Good. I have him responding to it now. Endless enjoyment is in my future.
"Very well. How long do you think it will take for Bellatrix to start killing the recruits?" I gag a bit at how easy it is for me to talk about a wasted life, a needless murder.
"One week, at most. Someone always dies the first week."
"We need two, though."
"No more than a week, I assure you."
I don't even want to know how he knows that.
"Okay. A week then. When are we going to tell your mum?"
xoXOXox
A/N:
Credits -
"Merlin, I love pixies" was *heavily* inspired [read: shamelessly copied] from Tempest E. Dashon's "Merlin, I love buttons!" If you don't understand this amazingly quotable reference, please go read The Wizard's Pleasure over on Priestesses of H.I.S.S. You could totally thank me with tee-shirts bearing her quote.
All hail my girl Devon A. Snow, who always comes through with the thoughtful love and encouragement it takes to make a fairy flutter. Go buy her book on Amazon. Order a fan while you're at it, it will be needed.
While we're hailing, the queen of SlytherClaw magic, PheonixDragon111 has kept me sane enough to write this story for you. Not a feat for the weak of heart, I assure you. Follow her into the dark when her new story, Silence, is published.
Onwards to the adventure!
Vine