Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I get so excited when I see them! I love reviews! (Even if they're flames, cause then I can vent my teenage anger at someone...........hehehehehe)
Apologies for any errors in text, they are my fault, or ffnet's. Ignore them.
Again, major thanks to Lady's Eternal Darkness for agreeing to beta this story and doing a WONDERFUL job of it! (applauds furiously)
Thank you also to Sophie for amazing ideas and support. I hope you enjoy the next chapter! I eagerly await your next fanfic!
Chapter 6
Nature has a strange way of bringing opposites together.
Take, for instance, the flower and the bee. The bumblebee is a worker, buzzing around constantly, wearing his adorable coat of fuzzy yellow and black fur for the world to admire, yet without flaunting it. If any attack him, he will fight back, yet killing himself in the progress. He is selfless, and works endlessly for the good of a despot. His is the noble road. (Sucker.)
The flower, on the other hand, swaying gently in the breeze, pompously displaying her proud hues for all to admire, is the yin to the bee's yang. She is bound to earth, cannot move, cannot see, cannot hear, but interacts with her constant companion, whom she pays in nectar to spread her pollen and bring her a mate. She is her own haughty lady, her own ruler, yet she has no soldiers to defend her, and her most tragic life ends at the fingertips of a child, or at the breath of Winter.
Take, in another instance, Winter and Spring. Spring brings a breath of hope from her mate's cold heart. She may warm him prematurely; he may oppress her until her belated arrival. They operate on different schedules, Winter takes life and brings slumber, Spring end slumber and brings life. Yet Spring may be messy; Winter is always cold, crisp, and precise. How they came to be together is a guess anyone could make, and easily get right or wrong. What matters, however, is that they fit in with each other, and become the light and dark halves of the same whole.
In yet another instance, see Light and Darkness. Light is beautiful, perfect and illuminates the path one must travel. It makes life simple, yet does not crave adventure. What one sees is what one gets. It is whole, open, and honest.
Darkness is the conflicting force in the universe. It is mysterious, loathing, and one can never see beyond what Light illuminates in its depths. It is mystery, the essence of adventure. Some seek it, but few can find their way.
Such is the male and female.
They are different. Very, very different. However, when they mixed, they brew a wonderful yet confusing potion called Love. They are meant for each other; one cannot survive without the other. Thoughts of each other fill their minds, they would die to protect one another, and they are content with everything; a smile, a kiss, a hug, or even the warm glow that flows from loving eyes that shatters hatred and brings a new way of living into their hearts.
They are meant to love each other; and they will do so for their entire lives.
99.99999999999999 percent of the time, anyways.
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Draco Malfoy, at that particular moment, could not have possibly despised Luna Lovegood a nanometer more. She had not only forced him to be saved by Pettigrew—he would rather have died than that rat to see Draco being 'raped'—and now he was facing serious problems; utter humiliation, loss of a reputation he fought for years to gain, and his pride. The fact that an unarmed witch had all but pummeled him into the ground and there had been nothing he could have done about it seriously bothered him.
He tugged his silvery hair off his face as he sat outside the door that led to the adjoining hall leading to Voldermort. A strand fell back in his eyes, and he puffed at it irritably. It was getting far too long; he needed to cut it sometime. Or tie it back, maybe. He pulled it back with his hands, and let it fall down his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the man next to him brush back the spikes that coated his watermelon of a head in an almost imitation of the movement; the other on his other side copied him. His flanking guards glanced at him and exchanged small nods.
The two Death Eaters wore identical smirks. They had found the entire thing hilarious, of course, and now insisted on accompanying him in case he was attacked or molested by another unarmed prisoner. He could hardly believe they had once been his companions, but jealousy and power definitely had blown their paths apart.
Draco massaged his hands slowly, deep in thought, and his fingers unconsciously brushed the dark angry bruise on his forearm. He winced inwardly, but the two seemed to notice the almost imperceptible motion.
"Did she hurt you, Malfoy?" One asked, widening his dinner plate eyes into a look of innocent concern.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"He.....he's to choked up to speak!" The other gasped, clutching his chest. "Oh, how my heart breaks!"
Draco narrowed his eyes to slits.
Crabbe snorted on his other side.
Draco fixed him with a withering stare, silently thanking his old Potions professor for teaching him the glare.
They both chuckled mildly. Maybe he needed more work on that, Snape would have had them almost wetting themselves by now. Draco gritted his teeth. His fingers curled around his wand—it would be so easy to kill them right now; nothing was stopping him (except Voldermort)—and he drew a deep breath.
"Malfoy, the Master will see you now." Pettigrew poked his bald head around the corner and waved his silver hand for the other man to hurry. Draco stood.
"Be careful, Malfoy!" Crabbe called after him as he strode after the rat. "You don't want to get molested again!"
Draco's gritted teeth almost cracked.
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"Ahhh, Draco. Draco, Draco, Draco. What am I going to do with you?" Voldermort had an expression of dry humor on his face, not one Draco saw too often. He fought a very strong instinct to attack the man; reminding himself over and over that he was just a mere servant. His jaws remained clenched, and his teeth were really hurting now. He fought not to crack one.
"That is not the question now, Master. It is what we are going to do with Lovegood. My punishment is either pain or death; your decision."
"So cold." Voldermort deadpanned.
The silence stretched, as though the elder of the two had forgotten he was halfway through a conversation.
Draco fought not to sigh angrily. The man was senile, he swore. "Master?"
"I am not senile, Malfoy." The other's voice was dark now, and filled with anger. It was the closest statement to a question without being a question that Draco had ever heard. Inwardly, he raised a questioning eyebrow. Was that fear he had heard?
"Of course not, Master."
"As you should remember." His voice changed, returning to its previously humorous state. "We have no more use for the girl, and you obviously seem to want to kill her for some strange reason........I can't imagine why, though.........so have your fun."
Humor was a rare mood for the Dark Lord, and Draco hardly dared to spoil it. Especially now that he had gotten exactly what he wanted. "As you wish."
He bowed, and turned to leave, but was stopped when the Dark Lord called his name.
"Yes, Master?"
"I'm all too sure you have pressing matters to attend to, but I have a question."
"Of course, Master."
"How did you manage to be disarmed by Lovegood? I doubt even you could be that careless."
Draco chewed his lip. "It was strange, Master. All of a sudden, she stopped talking, closed her eyes, and then jumped up and tackled me over. She was incredibly fast. No human could have moved that quickly. She threw my wand aside, and then just........sat on me, Master."
Voldermort threw back his head and laughed.
He hissed in some strange voice Draco didn't understand, and Nagini came and coiled beside him. Voldermort was hissing and Nagini was replying too conversationally for Draco's liking. Voldermort looked surprised suddenly, and then hissed more urgently. The snake answered him with her unblinking calm, never changing her tone. Draco supposed emotion was a human quality the snake did not possess.
Finally, the Dark Lord turned back to Draco. If he had been happy before, he was all but bouncing now. "Nagini told me the girl used magic, but had no wand. She is correct." It was hardly a question, but Draco answered it anyway.
"Yes, Master."
The other grinned widely, revealing his pointed teeth. "Then you won't be killing Lovegood just yet. You are going to learn exactly what she did. And how. When you can do it too, then you can kill her. Until then, you can do whatever you want with her, as long as it doesn't have a fatal outcome. Use your family's old mansion, I will assign a Secret Keeper, and lock you two in to have the best time of your lives. Dismissed."
Draco was dimly aware of one of his molars shattering.
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Luna woke up in a different dungeon. Her head really hurt, and she sat up, rubbing it. Her hand hurt too.
The last time she had been conscious was very fuzzy in her head. She remembered Draco being hurt, she remembered trying to hate him, and she remembered attacking him.
The last bit was etched into her memory was sudden clearness. It was very well remembered. Disturbingly well. She remembered the taste of his warm blood, the feel of his skin, the tickle of his breathing, the vibrations of his voice, and his unusual heartbeat.
She was drawing a complete blank after that, however.
She also seemed to be waking up in a lot of different dungeons lately.
The door swung open, and she was greeted by her usual visitor.
"Lovegood," Draco's voice was pure hatred. Luna raised her eyebrows. Grumpy, grumpy! "We are confined to the same living space for the next two months. There is no way out, and a squad of Death Eaters patrols the perimeter constantly. You will tell me exactly what you did to me, and how. It can be done the easy way, or the hard way. The former will be far, far more pleasant for you, so my suggestion is to choose that. You can go wherever you want within the manor;" he flicked his wand, swinging the door open even farther, "and can have any of the unlocked rooms to yourself." He took a deep breath and grinned evilly. "If you cooperate. If not, you can stay here with me and chat for the next two days. What will it be, Lovegood?"
It took her a while to comprehend that. "What?!" She squawked.
"Choose, Lovegood."
"Draco, love, I know we had our problems—everyone does—but that doesn't give you a reason to be so angry—" Luna frantically tried to stall him, her brain screaming and running in circles of confusion. She chuckled lightly to ease the situation.
"This is no laughing matter, Lovegood. Choose."
Luna's mouth opened and closed silently. She couldn't tell him what she knew! She couldn't! Luna swallowed, and then steeled herself. Her expression turned deadly serious, and her voice hid quiet anger. "You'll have to kill me, Malfoy, because I will never, ever tell you anything!"
"So heroic," he sneered, "yet, exactly the response I expected." Draco rolled up his sleeves and pointed his wand at her.
Pain exploded in Luna's body, even before the curse had touched her enemy's tongue. Her heart broke first.
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Lupin rubbed his nose furiously with his index finger. It felt like an icicle, but at least his hands had feeling in them. Taking it firmly between his fingers, he spun his hands as if he was kneading dough in a vain attempt to warm it. His nose; fortunately, was not the results of several plastic surgeries and could not fall off, although he felt it surely would if it went from sub-zero to tropical too quickly.
His house was a humble dwelling; it had never been warm, but it had always been at least cozy. He got a warm feeling in his stomach when he thought about it—usually. Today, he was just cold.
He cursed whoever had broken his stove the night before. Namely; himself.
Many things seemed to be his fault these days.
Snape, almost dying way back when.
His friends, risking expulsion to keep him company on a full moon.
Accepting the teaching job, meaning he would be near children who could potentially be bitten.
Harry in his third year at Hogwarts, almost getting killed.
Giving Harry the map back when he was finished teaching.
Dumbledore dying; he could have saved him if he hadn't been so weak.
Harry losing Luna, he should have been there. He should have told Harry that he suspected Luna had been poisoned.
Accepting Harry's offer of trust, a way to draw him from the deep depression he had sunk into lately.
He sighed and gave up trying to revive his nose; burying his thin unshaven face deeper into the itchy scarf that rarely left his neck these days.
His life was pointless. He had nothing to live for but the Order.
Moreover, he knew what many did not, but that would be a secret he would likely carry to his grave.
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Draco watched Luna idly as he sat at the desk he had moved into the old storage room. The two were in the "dungeon" of the manor, and Draco hated the room with a passion. It was in this very room that he had, so long ago, agreed to become a Death Eater.
Luna seemed immune to her companion's gloomy mood, she looked around with the happy air of a puppy that was done with its shots; the pain was over and there was the future to look forward to. Except there would be more pain. Much more. And there would be more war. More death. More suffering. Although he hardly dared admit it to even himself, even tormenting Lovegood had lost its fun.
Draco sighed and drank deeply from his goblet. His wand hung between his fingers, long, pale, and pointed; like a white spider. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, and his hair was disheveled.
He was depressed.
Not your usual, down-in-the-dumps kind of depression; he was well and truly ready to kill himself. Except suicide was hardly a way out. Death was hardly a way out.
He should know; he should have been dead twice.
Weasley had shot him through the heart with a beam of destructive magic. He was still alive now.
A flying piece of pipe, sharp and moving incredibly fast, had been blasted away from its original position when a wandering spell had struck it. It had gone right through his stomach, wrapped in his intestines, and pulled them out the other side like spaghetti from a bowl. It had really hurt, and he had a scar to show for it. A most unusual scar. He was still alive now.
Even Voldermort was not invincible. He had been dismembered by that irritating Harry Potter before, but he was still alive. The entire army of Death Eaters was still alive when it had no right to be.
The goblet rolled in his hands, and Draco caressed it rim thoughtfully. He wanted to die; but he couldn't die, apparently, unless he defied Voldermort. Even then, he might be beyond Death's reach if Voldermort refused to let him die and just fell pain for the rest of his life. Stabbing himself or hanging didn't sound quite appealing either.
The answer dawned on him, and it was so obvious he couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of it before.
He could poison himself.
It wasn't a physical wound; it couldn't be repaired. It wasn't a spell; it couldn't be reversed. The Death Eaters who checked on him at odd intervals wouldn't be there; he could poison himself as soon as they left.
His plan was brilliant. It was virtuoso. It was a masterpiece. It all but glowed. It was radiant. It was perfect.
It was bound to go wrong.
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Luna decided she was in love.
It would be too hard to pretend otherwise any longer, and she was rather sick of trying to be loyal to Harry. It was senseless to deny her feeling. She no longer cared for Harry.
Or so she told herself, but she didn't believe it. She knew she still loved Harry.
Luna flipped over and rested her head on her other bicep, furiously trying to relax. She needed the sleep desperately.
She was confused. She knew she loved Harry; he adored her and she him. However, she also had decided to admit to herself that Draco was nothing short of perfect. Moreover, his looks weren't bad either.
This was very, very bad. She was in love with two men who were trying to kill each other and one of them her.
It would probably be the most sensible thing to try escape or kill Draco, go marry Harry, have kids, and live happily ever after.
Luna decided she had no shred of sense.
She couldn't seem to make sense of her feelings. Draco was her enemy. Harry was her fiancé. The choice was obvious to the onlooker. But the onlooker didn't feel the feelings she felt.
It was hard to explain, but she felt different around Draco. She felt her stomach twist when she looked at him; a warm wave of happiness swept through her when he smiled. It was probably a senseless crush.
Luna had never been one to have a crush.
Apparently, she was nothing short of head over heels.
She groaned and tugged on her hair. Why her? Why, of all the people in the world, him???
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"All seems to be in order," the tall Death Eater muttered, poking his abnormally large nose around Draco's room, "I see no problems."
Long fingers turned over a painting, checking carefully behind it. They flowed across the walls; brushing the silver trim. They left finger marks. Draco hated finger marks. He fought not to curse the man. That would be cleaning for him later. Finger marks were so hard to polish out of silver. He would be dead, he reminded himself. He wouldn't have to clean the silver.
Out came the wand; the man poked and prodded the wall. "No problems. Of course, that's probably 'cause you have nothing to hide."
Draco, standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his black-robed chest, inclined his head slightly in response to the other's comment and fought not to sigh. Or laugh. He did have something to hide, and it was hidden. Hopefully, the other wouldn't find it. "Precisely why you have no reason to be here, Redden. This is a waste of my time as well as yours. Care for a drink?"
The fool was taking his own sweet bumbling time. Moreover, he was all too close to the bottle that Draco had hidden. The one he wanted to keep hidden. In fact, if the man found it, he would be forced to kill him and blame Lovegood. But that would be too messy for his taste.
Redden sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "No thanks, Malfoy. Have to keep looking. Master's orders. Sorry about it."
"I understand." Draco purred. "Next time, maybe?"
Two inches from the precious bottle, the other stopped. He nodded and straitened. "Sure."
Draco fought not to sigh with relief.
Giving the room a final glance-over, Redden nodded with satisfaction. "All done, Malfoy. See you in—oops, sorry; can't say—see you next time."
He Dispapparated with a loud crack. Malfoy waited a second to make sure he wasn't coming immediately back; then dove for the potion, tearing away the fabric that had concealed it. He held the bottle in his slim hands for a moment, admiring its deep hues and the dark liquid that swirled within it. He opened it and deeply inhaled its fumes. They smelled plantlike. Duh.
He waved his wand idly, still focused on the bottle, and the finger marks disappeared from the silver trim on his walls. He hated finger marks.
To drink or not to drink?
Drink.
In a single gulp, he swallowed its contents. It should be enough to kill him. More than ten of him, for that matter.
The world lurched, and he fell to his knees. It was funny that he couldn't seem to focus on anything. He felt a warm feeling spreading through his body, and he crashed to the floor. His limbs twitched, and then relaxed.
With a soft sigh, he watched his world dim. He slipped aboard the ship of Death, and rode its river, slowly floating farther and farther away from life. No more pain for him. No more life.
Strangely, the last person he would have expected to occupied his fuzzy thoughts.