Updates may take a long time, as French has been made a core subject; and I unfortunately have to take it seriously now lol. Swimming is going to be insane as well, as I have moved up. Oh well, I do have an hour everyday after school, so as long as there isn't too much homework......we'll see.
Thanks to all reviewers for reviewing! Yes, I know Luna is a bit OoC, but she's so hard to write! Have been researching Harry Potter books lately, so I hope next few chapters will be better......
VERY IMPORTANT!!!!!! Make sure to re-read the first couple of chapters of this story, as I have changed them slightly and some details may have been altered.
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Draco Malfoy was never pleased to be summoned before the Dark Lord.
When he was, it usually meant there would be a punishment or another assignment waiting. Having completed his last assignment so well, Draco hardly expected to be given another. At least until Luna was dead or had no more use. Therefore, that left the punishment option wide open.
He couldn't exactly remember what he'd done (other than failing to extract any information whatsoever from Potter's rather irritating fiancée) but he had a sinking feeling it was something that had seriously irked Voldermort. He mentally slapped himself for saying the name.
He had gotten into the habit in his sixth year at Hogwarts, trying to prove he was as brave as Potter was; the habit was like trouble, easy to get in to, hard to get out of. The fact that he'd said in front of his father and gotten backhanded halfway across the room (he was already halfway and had become rather well acquainted with the wall) had definitely helped him to begin quitting.
Draco shrugged mentally as he strode down the hall, his long black robes swirling around him like dark mist. Punishments never lasted more than an hour; extended use of the Unforgivable Curses seemed to have an unpleasant effect on Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord could hardly afford any more losses. The bloody Aurors were enough as it were.
It wasn't that Draco dreaded being tortured like some of the others, his father for one, had. He was no stranger to pain, in fact, he almost enjoyed it. Pain was a part of him, something he was few days without. Draco was no weakling; that much was impossible with a father like Lucius Malfoy.
He traveled down the blood-red carpet, passing the stairs leading to Luna's room and paused. He decided to visit her when he was done; if he was still in one (preferably usable) piece.
Perhaps Vol-the Dark Lord was worried he was becoming far too attached to Lovegood. He needn't have.
Lovegood was not an unattractive woman, in fact she was one of the most beautiful Draco had ever seen, yet he felt no attraction to her other than curiosity. She intrigued him in ways he had never expected, and he was more than a little impressed with her bravery. Not many people would scream through the Cruciatus Curse without revealing a single thing. What irked him most, though, was how she was utterly unresponsive to his taunts. Even at school, nothing had seemed to faze her. Luna lived in her own little world, locked away; her mind was a complex puzzle he longed to solve.
However, that was for another time and place, and not the current one he found himself in.
Adjusting already perfect robes, he entered a room through a massive set of oaken doors with polished brass handles. The room was spacious, but gave off the presence of a Muggle dentist's office.
It was a waiting room, and the black door in its far right corner, guarded by two Death Eaters with drawn wands at all times (Draco had hated door duty, luckily he had been promoted and no longer had to do that revolting chore) led to the Dark Lord.
He dry-washed his hands and wet his lips slowly as he glanced around. He hated waiting. Even as a child, he had been incredibly impatient. It was his nature, and he didn't expect it to change any time soon.
He took another step into the room and was met by Peter Pettigrew. Draco's lip curled at the sight, the man disgusted him.
Completely bald save a few strings of white hair greasier than Snape's; skinny arms and legs with a rounded gut; hands almost claws because of the long, jagged nails protruding from their tips; and a nervous, tired look, like he had run a marathon, Pettigrew was the very image of a poor little rat everyone pitied. If you had time for pity, anyways, because if not, there could always be scorn. Draco had no time for pity.
"Pettigrew!" He barked. "Is the Master in?"
The other nodded. "Yes, but he will not see you for a while." He grinned, revealing what teeth he had left. Draco longed to punch them out, but steeled his expression to one of calm. Pettigrew bounced on the balls of his feet. "He seemed very........displeased, Malfoy. I hope you deserve what you get."
Draco cocked his head. "Why is that, rat? Do you enjoy watching punishments?"
The man bore his teeth in a twisted semblance of a smile. "Yes, I do. Especially giving them." At least he was honest.
"I'll bear that in mind." Draco muttered, his mind already on other issues. The twisted bastard hardly deserved his time.
"I get everything I deserve, Malfoy. So will you."
"Don't we all." Draco muttered as he lowered himself into an armchair. "Don't we all."
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Ron strode down the corridors of the magically enlarged building that was now the new headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione jogged beside him, complaining steadily about how long his legs were.
"For goodness sakes, Ron! Slow down!"
"Speed up, 'Mione! I'm not going that fast!"
"Yes you are! You have freakishly long legs, Ron!"
He grinned cheekily over his shoulder, "No, you just have freakishly short legs!"
Too late, he remembered the Golden Rule: As far as you, the simple-minded male, are concerned, her body is perfect. If you suggest otherwise, that is fair grounds to receive a slap or a de-manning kick.
Hermione stopped dead and set her jaw.
Ron hastily slowed down, Lupin had warned him about annoying a woman; every month there was a twenty-five percent chance they might bitch at you on a whim. He grinned apologetically, offered his arm gallantly, and bowed; Hermione merely sniffed and passed him with her nose in the air. Maybe more than just twenty-five percent with this one.
"What'd Harry want, d 'ya know?" He asked, changing the subject, a tactic that usually worked.
Hermione glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "No." She said shortly. That obviously hadn't been the right thing to say. He thought fast.
"I didn't mean it!"
Hermione nodded, he was obviously on the right track. "Um, I mean....uh......your legs are perfect! So......um....soft....and.....um.....nice?!"
Hermione slapped him without even gracing him with a glance. Ron rubbed his stinging cheek.
"Uh......I'm sorry?"
"For what?" Her voice was too sweet. Ron worried for the place she would kick if he stepped too far out of line.
"For saying stuff about your legs......."
"Are you implying that my legs are imperfect?!"
Ron backpedaled furiously. "No, of course not!"
"Good." She patted his cheek. "Smart Ronnekins."
Ron wisely shut his mouth and didn't open it again until they had reached Harry's office. Women were just too confusing to speak to.
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The Dark Lord Voldermort ran his pale hands over the snake's scaly head. Like a white spider's legs, his fingers curled in different directions as he contemplated his current situation.
He had no doubt he would win this pathetic excuse for a war he was fighting with the annoying Potter boy who had been his shadow for the past twenty-two years. It had become no more than a matter of when.
He sighed, the sound coming out as a dark hiss. Nagini rose up; a whip of coiled muscle at graced him with a queenly glance. He chuckled darkly to himself. Snakes were truly the best of creatures.
"Nagini," he hissed, "I want you to find loyalties for me."
The reptile fixed him with a clear, unblinking stare.
"No, not now. Tonight. I do not want any unnecessary time wasting. As far as I know, I am perfectly capable to find loyalties from a mere human. If he is one of the rare ones I cannot learn anything from, I will send you. Rest, now, my pet, and refill your venom."
With something that resembled a nod too much for it not to be one, the snake settled back down, placing her head on her master's lap.
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Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was busy. Since Luna had been kidnapped, Voldermort seemed to have become bolder. Muggle killings had increased an insane amount the past week, and the Order was having a hard time following them. Harry wondered if the old location had been found and destroyed yet.
Hell, he wondered if Luna was alive. Probably not.
He found himself thinking about her a great deal. He remembered the way she had laughed, the way she had looked at him, the way she smiled. He mentally slapped himself. Harry would never see her again; he had to move on.
Moving was the bloody hardest thing he had ever done in his life.
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"I don't understand, Master." Draco's voice was slightly angry, but kept more or less under control. He stood stiffly, facing the back of a chair in front of a roaring fire. A long, beautiful snake lay coiled on the floor to the chair's right, its appraising eyes watching Draco's every breath.
Draco hated that snake. It was nothing more than a whip of muscle and flesh, but it was valued far above him, and held in a place he could only dream to reach.
A sigh came from the man sitting in the chair. "You aren't supposed to understand. You are supposed to obey. Like the rest of my servants."
"Master...."
"I allow you far too much, Draco." The use of his first name was a dark warning.
"But, sir, she could still be useful!" Draco refused to destroy Luna just yet. He had yet to figure her out.
"How so?"
"She knows the Order! She could tell us-"
The Dark Lord cut him off with a wave of his hand. "She will say nothing."
"Ransom, perhaps?"
"What could we bargain her for? Potter is no fool. He would never trade the lives of his entire Order for the one girl."
"Forgive me, Master, but I think it would not be wise to destroy her just yet."
"Why?"
"I don't know, Master."
"You have become far too attached to her, yes?"
Draco didn't bother to answer the rhetorical question that was hardly a question. "Master," he breathed, "I have been your faithful servant since I was sixteen." He shook back his sleeve to reveal the tattoo on his arm. "I took this without complaint, I have "died" twice, and I have served you faithfully, without asking for anything. Please, just this one request? She hardly hinders us, but may have some use yet. I don't know why, Master, but I doubt the wisdom in destroying her."
Voldermort was silent. Draco feared he had over-stepped his boundary. Then the wizard laughed. The sound was so unexpected that Draco was caught off-guard.
"You may keep the girl, if you wish. Prove her worth."
Draco bowed and turned to leave.
"You will see Pettigrew on your way out. I'm to busy to punish you."
"Yes, Master."
As the door shut behind the young Death Eater, Voldermort rubbed the back of his snake's head wearily. Nagini hissed softly. It was a question, one the Dark Lord understood perfectly.
"Yes, my dear, go now. Go and listen with your silent ears, and be my unseen eyes."
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Ron knocked cautiously on the door leading to Harry's office. Hermione watched him with her mouth set in a thin line and her eyes narrowed. He deserved a slap, but Hermione doubted that would be enough to snap him back to reality. He was far too upset about Luna, and seemed to almost be enjoying his "lone wolf" role. He had gone all quiet, trying desperately to convince himself that he couldn't endanger anyone else with his humongous burden. Such a little martyr. Typical testosterone-induced mind. He was such a guy. Yup, he needed a good hard pat on the cheek. So did Ron, come to think of it. The little pervert.
"Come in." Harry called wearily from the other side of the door. Hermione set her jaw. No matter how much he deserved it, she would not slap him. She would not slap him. She would not slap him. Well, maybe if he really, really needed it..........No, no, don't think like that.......She would not slap him......ugh.
Hermione grabbed Ron's arm to keep him from knocking again, and opened the door. He was obviously hard of hearing, poor guy, after her screamed lecture the night before.
Harry was sitting in a high-backed chair, a fire roaring behind him. Fawkes, Dumbledore's final gift to Harry before he died, rested comfortably to the chair's right, watching them carefully with his appraising gaze.
Hermione watched her friend's tired smile stretch his cheeks briefly. "Ron, Hermione, glad to see you. Please, sit down."
Hermione sat down carefully, but Ron plonked himself in the chair next to her. He set off the Whoopee Cushion, an obvious compliment of Fred and George. Harry came close to smiling like he used to for the first time in a long time. Hermione almost giggled, but reminded herself that Harry wasn't who he used to be. Namely, her friend. He was her boss, now.
"Stupid gits." Ron muttered throwing the offending item away and reseating himself.
"What did you want, Harry?" Hermione asked, ignoring her redheaded companion's grumbles.
Smile disappearing, the wizard rose wearily out of his chair and crossed to the other side of the room, folding his hands behind his back, which was turned to them. He was clearly fighting an intense inner struggle. And losing. Hermione had to remind herself she would not slap him.
"I shouldn't have called you two. I apologize. What I have on my mind is my burden alone."
Hermione had to physically restrain her hand from flying through the air to connect with his face. Stupid git.
There was an awkward silence.
"Have you found anything out from Crabbe yet?" Harry asked; referring to the Death Eater caught outside Hogwarts a week ago.
"No, we haven't yet." Ron's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hair at hearing the sharp tone in his friend's voice.
Harry turned around. "Then if you want to keep your jobs, I suggest you try harder. Dismissed."
Shocked, Hermione and Ron nodded as they left.
They exchanged a glance as the door closed behind them, and Hermione's hand curled around Ron's.
"He'll be okay." Ron said fiercely, the voice of a man trying to convince her of what he had yet to convince himself.
Hermione couldn't help the single tear coursing down her cheek like a sliver of rain. No, Ron, she though silently, he won't.
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Luna rested her aching head against the stone wall behind her. She needed to escape. But how? The room had no windows, was probably guarded, and had a huge door she would never be able to break down. Her dungeon was fairly spacious, but it was bare, and if she tried to dig a hole in the wall or use some other classic escape method it would be almost impossible to cover up. She needed to pull a Harry. The problem was, she wasn't nearly as lucky or as stupid to try some of the insane stunts he had pulled to get out of sticky situations.
She could use the wandless magic Harry had partially taught her, but she might end up killing everybody. That actually wouldn't be too bad, she reasoned. The worst was she could end up dead, but she was as good as anyways. The best was she would kill all the Death Eaters and Voldermort, and escape in the bargain. She resolved to try, but she had not fathomed a far worse consequence.
The door creaked open and she set her jaw as she caught a glimpse of silvery-blond hair. She sighed silently. Didn't he have anything better to do than bug her?
Right there and then, Luna resolved to hate him. He didn't deserve her pity, it was obviously his fault he was the way he was, and he had tried to kill Harry on numerous occasions. On a more personal level, he had made her school life hell. Alright, then.
She, Luna Lovegood, would from this point forth hate Draco Malfoy's guts, organs, brain, body, mind, heart, bones, and everything else, even his bloody good/hot looks and velvety voice. Ooh, the voice....mmmmmm......
Well, well, wasn't this was going just fine?
Okay, she had her reasons! She knew he was good looking—well; maybe a teensie bit more than just good—but he was an arrogant little bastard.
He was insensitive, and he had tortured her.
There, she hated him.
"Hello, Draco." She sang.
The other grunted and slowly lowered himself into a chair. He wasn't in a good mood, apparently.
His eyes came to meet hers, filled with their usual smugness, if slightly lessened and hinting of exhaustion. That was when she noticed the cut. Mostly hidden by his hair tumbling in front of his eyes, but it was definitely there. Blood trickled from the line that marred his high forehead. Luna's gaze dropped to his hand. It was shaking. Badly. Someone had tortured him recently, probably Voldermort. And it was probably her fault for not telling him where the Order was.
Bugger.
"Something wrong, Lovegood?" He asked scathingly, drawing her eyes back to meet his. They were haunted with pain. SHE COULDN'T HOLD IT IN MUCH LONGER.......she was starting to feel pity....no, this was bad, very bad........his eyes......his hand.......the blood trickling from the cut was almost at his eyebrow. His hand gave a particularly violent twitch.
That did it.
Luna threw up her hands and screamed.
Taken slightly back, Draco drew his head away from her and shifted back in his chair. A smile fought to appear on his face, until it broke out completely and he burst out laughing. "What are you doing, Lovegood?" Was all he managed to gasp in between fits of mirth, holding his ribs in apparent pain.
Luna wailed loudly. Damn it, why couldn't she hate him? "WHY?!!!"
His eyes sparkled with amusement and one eyebrow fought to stay normal. "Just when I thought I knew you." He muttered.
Luna quieted, then gave him a mysterious smile. "You never knew me."
He shrugged lightly. "Probably not."
Luna indicated the cut on his head. "What happened?"
He blinked, but reached up and drew away his bloody fingers. He seemed as puzzled as she was. "Not sure."
"Looks like it hurt. You get some of what you did to me?"
His mouth twitched and his tone grew angry. "That's my business, Lovegood."
He was completely unaware, unprepared for an attack. This was her chance. She shrugged and looked away. Here went nothing.
Luna closed her eyes. Like she had been taught, she focused on nothing and everything at once. She felt power pulsing in her. She felt the room. The stones, the walls, the plaster, the magic that had made it all, the figure seated before her ; they all swirled in her mind, sucked into the whirlwind of dreams and ambitions, lost love and hatred, her wall of self-control, everything that made Luna herself. Her memories flew through her mind. She felt anger, happiness, sadness, physical and emotional pain and pleasure, love, and hatred fly forth unbidden with her recollection of her life. She let it simmer, and then slowly, gathering it in the darkest recesses of her mind, unleashed it like a tidal wave, calling the magic to her.
She dropped back, bracing on one leg, her eyes snapping open like a cat's. The world was in complete focus. She was drifting. Drifting in a room of sharpened detail and heightened senses. She focused on Draco.
She watched his breathing quicken, heard his pulse. Saw the way the blood flowed and his heart beat. Knew where every part of his body was, knew how the robes traced certain limbs, and his others. She felt, above all other things, shock. She savored the taste of it. It was wonderful, coming from him. She watched his hair, the way it shimmered, watched the blood trickle slowly towards his eye. She breathed heavily as she envisaged his gaze, calm and arrogant. He was beautiful, and her heightened sense made him even more so.
She watched the muscles working, contacting and flexing under his skin as he dropped his hands beneath his robes for his wand and raised it, almost in slow motion. He was too slow. His mouth opened, and words left it, furiously demanding an explanation. His voice, too, was lovely. It caressed her ears, and she closed her eyes, savoring it. Then she moved.
Like a panther leaping on a deer, she pounced on him, knocking him over backwards and easily plucking the wand from his fingers. She threw it away, and it hit the far wall with a hollow thunk. He froze. She felt his muscles tense and almost laughed at his fear.
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There was an odd roaring in Draco's ears. He was in complete shock. Luna shouldn't have been able to do that. No one moved that fast. She had just been a blur, one minute watching him, the next pinning him. He struggled, but it was like being a mouse held by a cat. He swore she purred. He opened his mouth in shock, and then swore frantically as he fought to get free.
It was, more than anything else, the look in her eyes that frightened him. There was nothing that reminded him of Luna in them; they were intense rather than dreamy, sharp, and hungry. He fought not to swallow.
"Lovegood," Draco hissed hoarsely, "I'll only say this once. Get. Off. Now."
She laughed then, throwing back her head so that her hair brushed her arched back. "Why?" She asked, leaning forward so that her hair tickled his nose. Her voice wasn't Luna's either.
He struggled harder, but she just laughed, and then rested her head against his. Her face lifted, and then leaning forward even closer, so close that Draco could hear her even breathing, and she licked the blood off his forehead. His left fist came free, and he swung it frantically at her head. She caught it calmly, without even so much as looking.
"That wasn't very nice." She purred, and laughed quietly to herself.
She's gone insane, Draco thought wildly. She's gone completely bloody insane.
Luna pouted. "Insane? Not yet, dear." She grinned darkly, blood staining her lips making her seem like some hellish harpy. "You, on the other hand, must just yet."
He fought not to swallow.
A spell erupted to his right, lifted Luna up, and threw her against the dungeon wall.
She did not get up.
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Blood.
The smell of it excited Luna in some dark part of her conquered mind, but the part that was still Luna was horrified by it. The magic wanted blood. To taste it to feel its rich flavor caress her tongue; it was a need, no longer a mere want.
There was blood on his forehead. His blood was pure wizard, and would lack the harsh flavor of the Muggle's saltier fluid.
Slowly, she brought her head close to his, feeling the exhilarating sensation of his warm skin brushing hers. (Luna would have been tempted to kiss him.) The blood was there, and she almost trembled with anticipation.
Slowly, slowly, her tongue came out, and cleaned the blood off his face. He froze, and then twitched violently. His hand came free, and he frantically swung it at her head. He was very slow, and she caught it without looking.
"That wasn't very nice." She purred, and laughed quietly to herself.
She's gone insane, he thought wildly, his thought echoing like a million bees in her head. She's gone completely bloody insane. Must he think so loud?
She pouted. "Insane? Not yet, dear." She grinned darkly. "You, on the other hand, must just yet."
He fought not to swallow, and she reached to caress his throat. It would be beautiful to watch him swallow.
A spell erupted nearby, lifted her up, and threw her against the dungeon wall. She blacked out, and felt the magic leave her helpless and broken, lying like a smashed china doll.