He lost her.

Three years ago, Draco let Luna go.

No, she wasn't dead. They had never found her body. He couldn't mourn her; not because there was no body; not because he held out hope that she was alive. No, it was because the Dark Lord had won.

Their chance of reuniting had flickered out at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Inexplicable relief had washed over him when Harry Potter showed up that day with the Snatchers; his scar warped and face unrecognisable. It meant he could save her. It meant she would be taken from the Manor and away from his insane aunt.

It meant that the light at the end of his tunnel, even if he were thrown into Azkaban after it was all over, would remain lit until he was free.

But Harry Potter died. He died on May the 2nd, 1998. In the Forbidden Forest, alone.

Draco's family couldn't escape quickly enough and were all treated as prisoners in their own home when they returned to the Manor.

The Dark Mark seared like a fresh branding iron and Draco found himself standing before the Dark Lord in his drawing-room. It was easier to blindly apparate to where he was called before he could think about it.

The absent portraits left ghosts of their shapes on the walls where they used to hang. The chandelier was unlit. And Draco was surrounded by cloaked Death Eaters.

Out of habit, he braced by tensing his body. He was used to this, they would summon him to torture him, or summon his mother or father, and torture them. Just a little fun, kept spirits up whenever they were frustrated hunting the last of the Order.

Draco had proven to be more resilient than the Dark Lord had thought. Lucius and Narcissa had long descended into madness. One without the other tended to end in violence; so they were together, tethered to each other's last string of sanity.

The catch? Malfoy Manor was bound by blood to the Malfoys. Only a Malfoy had complete dominion over the ancient house. There was nowhere else so strategically placed, or well protected by hundreds of years of protective magic. They needed Draco, so the Dark Lord stopped his routine entertainment torture on only Draco.

It didn't mean that Draco wasn't a beaten dog.

Internally, he struggled and flinched, always expecting to be cursed or hexed.

But he had somehow wrangled his mind under his control with the use of Occlumency and stood now, tall, chin angled up, smugness warping his features.

"Draco."

"My Lord." Draco drawled. His fingers flexed on his wrist, attempting to restore blood flow.

"You are to accompany Dolohov." The Dark Lord's voice was a low thrum, vibrating outward oozing threat.

"Yes, My Lord." Draco dipped his head slightly. He avoided the floor as much as he could. The blood through the years had caked onto the ground, completely discolouring it and hiding the intricate patterns of the tiles.

He knew better than to ask for details. He was told to go with Dolohov. So he gripped his wand, found Dolohov in the circle around him, met his eyes and looked away.

The Dark Lord vanished. Draco knew it was because he had found Potter's cloak in the forest. And he knew The Dark Lord used it when he needed to disappear. Draco thought he was the only one who knew, and he couldn't undermine his power by gossiping about it to the others.

Not that they were friends.

Draco had found joy in inconveniencing the Dark Lord through the years. One of those ways was by successfully lying that there was no way to allow the Dark Lord to apparate directly out of the house.

He didn't know how, but he knew it could be done. So when he was asked 'How does one successfully apparate onto and off of the compound?', he didn't have to worry about fighting the veritaserum; a battle he would inevitably lose.

Draco hadn't apparated off the compound grounds since the Manor had been occupied, only within. He couldn't let them know.

Because he had to find her. He needed to find her.

The gravel crunched under their heels as they stepped out into the cold air. It was an early morning at the time of year when Winter met Spring. It smelled clean, innocent, untouched, and untainted by the darkness that was walled up and called Malfoy Manor.

"We found your little girlfriend, mutt." Dolohov hissed gleefully.

Draco stiffened for a second and twisted his face into a sneer. He seethed through his teeth and let his magic cackle dangerously off his new wand. It smelled sharp and smokey. Dolohov eyed him carefully, his own mouth twisted in contempt.

"I'd watch your mouth, Dolohov. You might not make it back from wherever we're going." Draco shut the lid of the box in his mind that had him recoil at Dolohov's vileness. He couldn't cower.

"Kill me, mutt, and you're sure to follow." Dolohov flicked his wand and the wrought iron gates swung open, creaking loudly.

Suddenly, the gates shot a bolt of purple lightning and Dolohov yelped and clutched his hand where it had touched him.

Draco laughed, his mouth tugged high on one side as he smirked at Dolohov.

"Threaten me again, please. I'm curious what else my home could do to you. It could swallow you up if I so much as thought it." Draco casually sidestepped him and his heel clacked loudly on the slate path that met the gravel at the border of the gate.

"Doesn't matter. We get your bitch and I can finally prove to the Dark Lord that you were a traitor this entire time." Dolohov took long strides to meet Draco's pace. He was clutching his hand and Draco could see it was burnt red. There was no remedy other than time.

"I'll kill her myself. And then maybe the Dark Lord would let me kill you." Draco drawled.

His stomach churned as images of Luna's lifeless body flashed through his mind. Empty silvery eyes, her blond hair stained and dotted with her blood. Her kindness reduced to cold flesh.

But he was going to see her. He would find her again.

And if Dolohov was right, and they indeed did have her, Draco would have to come up with a plan. Fast.

Draco would not lose her a second time.