AN: This story is part of my Draco/Luna series. It references the events of "Dizzying" but does stand on its own. I don't own Harry Potter.


Part 1

Draco Malfoy is not a coward. He's not. He tells himself this every day as he combs his hair and washes his face, ignoring the mirror's snide remarks of, "Restless night again, was it? Those under-eye bags don't lie."

He should say that he's happy to be home, but he's not. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever been so miserable in his life. He may as well not even be alive at this point.

Stop, don't think that way.

The Dark Lord would only be too happy to make that thought a reality, and wouldn't he regret his silly little melodrama then?

It wouldn't matter so much, except the Dark Lord is living in his house. In his house. Although he wouldn't exactly call the manor cozy, it was still home, it was still his. And now the Dark Lord is holding Death Eater meetings in their dining room and has turned the drawing room into some experimental charms lab. Plus, wherever the Dark Lord goes, Nagini goes. The snake creeps him right out. He's as proud a Slytherin as anyone else, but to be afraid of a man-eating snake is the only sane reaction. (At least he knows he still has some marbles rattling around in his brain. Sometimes he wonders.)

So, going home for the Easter hols isn't exactly a joy ride. Compounding all this is the fact that his aunt has taken up permanent residence in Malfoy Manor as well, and she unfortunately thinks that he is a spineless slug. Bellatrix never misses an opportunity to remind him what a failure and utter waste of space he is. His mother tries her best to defend him, but Bella would just as soon turn her taunts—and worse—on her sister, so he begs his mother to let it go. He and Narcissa have never been that close, but he knows she does her best. And she's a prisoner here as much as he is, probably even more, because at least he can go back to Hogwarts.

He's always running into some Death Eater or other, although he sees mercifully little of the Dark Lord himself. The Death Eaters never miss an opportunity to remind him of the crumbling reputation of the Malfoy name and his own pathetic-ness. He wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Lord is spying on him via his followers, waiting to catch him out at something, anything, and make him the night's entertainment. The only person he doesn't mind having around is Snape, because as annoying as Snape was the previous year, at least Snape treats him like a human being instead of a joke or a freak show—"Hey, look, it's the Malfoy boy, isn't it funny how the Dark Lord keeps him around? Remember that time he threw up at the sight of blood? He's such a pussy." Snape doesn't come that often, though. He's busy chipping away at Hogwarts from the inside.

Draco has spent a lot of time during the break just wandering around the manor, dodging Death Eaters and just brooding about the general state of his life. Sometimes he goes out into the grounds and sits with his mother, who likes to tend to her small, year-round garden by hand (charming her clothes to repel dirt, of course). They don't speak. There's nothing to say that can be said out loud.

He is occupying himself with an arbitrary mission to count the number of stairs in the manor when the sounds of a distant commotion reach him. After a moment of hesitation, he follows the noise into the entrance hall, where he finds two Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, and the unlucky, unconscious body of a new prisoner. He's about the turn back before they see him, but then he glimpses the captive's pale face, the high cheek bones and the button nose and the eyes, which he knows are the brightest blue underneath her closed eyelids.

"The bitch is tougher than she looks," grunts one of the Death Eaters. He has a long cut down the side of his face.

"And the father?" the Dark Lord inquires.

"Finally gave in once we Stunned her, said he'd do anything as long as we didn't take his precious daughter," says the other Death Eater. There are no obvious signs of injury on him, but patches of his robes look like they've been scorched.

"Excellent."

The Dark Lord moves forward, and Draco shifts slightly so he can see better. The two Death Eaters have her by the arms. She's only wearing one shoe.

"Ennervate."

She begins struggling immediately, almost elbowing one of her captors, but a flick of the Dark Lord's wand has her limbs bound tightly. He presses the wand into the side of her neck, and she goes still.

"Lovely of you to join us," he says, with mock respect.

"Daddy will never lie for you," she says, her voice full of an iciness that Draco didn't know she possessed.

"Oh, but he will," the Dark Lord purrs. "I hear he offered 'anything' to get you back."

"He doesn't have information."

"But he will have information, and when he does, he will call my men." The Dark Lord removed his wand and leans back. Draco gets the sense that he is assessing her like a piece of steak. "Until then, I'm rather interested in you. What tricks do you have up your sleeve, little girl?"

"I don't know anything either, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you," she growls. He feels a twinge of admiration. She has guts (more than he does).

"You seem to be mistaken, girl. You see, I don't need you to tell me anything. Legilimens."

Her head suddenly drops, and her limbs strain against the restrains as they try to contort involuntarily. Draco winces. He can feel the attack as if it were against him, it resonates in his body and digs up memories that he can feel in his bones.

The Dark Lord evidently doesn't find anything. He pockets his wand and watches her as she struggles to catch her breath, her face screwing up with the pain of what Draco imagines is the worst headache of her life.

"Take her to the cellar," says the Dark Lord to his Death Eaters. Then, to the girl, he says, with undisguised, vindictive pleasure, "Enjoy your stay, Miss Lovegood."


He makes himself wait half an hour, and then he casts a Notice-Me-Not spell on himself and creeps down to the cellar. He unlocks the door with an Alohamora, opening and closing it as quietly as he can.

It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. Once they do, he makes out the still shape that is Luna Lovegood, pressed against the back wall and hugging her knees to her chest. At first, he thinks she must be asleep or unconscious, but then he realizes that her wide eyes are fixed on him. Her face is absolutely expressionless.

"Lovegood?" he says, taking a cautious step forward. She doesn't react as he continues to approach her. When he's a few feet away, he stops and crouches down so he can see her better. "Lovegood?" he says again. He hesitates. "Luna?"

He thinks she isn't going to respond, but then she says, "You aren't supposed to be here" in that dreamy yet matter-of-fact voice he's accustomed to hearing from her.

"No," he says, suddenly awkward. Why did he come here again? He doesn't even like Lovegood.

"Don't feel bad," she says, as if he's expressed such a sentiment. "The starspurts will protect me."

He wants to laugh, but he doesn't. "The starspurts?" he asks drily.

She takes no notice of his tone, explaining with utmost sincerity, "They're distantly related to wrackspurts, but instead of making your head fuzzy, they make it clearer. I'm sure my mother will send some to me. She's always looking out for me like that."

The impulse to laugh dies. He recalls one particular night when his insomnia had led him to the Astronomy Tower long after curfew. Lovegood had found him and revealed that she wanted to die after her mother had, and then made a ridiculous comment about wrackspurts and trapdoors. It was almost a year ago now, but the encounter was just so odd that it has stuck in his mind with crystal clarity.

She's more scared than she looks, he realizes.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small vial. "You should take this," he says, holding it out. "It's for your headache. I'm sure you have one."

He waits for her suspicion, but it doesn't come. Instead, she takes the vial with a hand that trembles slightly and takes the potion like a shot. She doesn't even grimace at the taste. Then, she puts the stopper back in and offers it back to him. Their fingers brush as he takes it and returns it to his pocket. A shiver runs down his spine.

"I should go," he says, looking away.

"Thank you," she says, and he can't help but look back and meet those bright blue eyes with his own grey ones. He gives her a clumsy nod and stands up. His knees hurt from kneeling on the cold stone.

He's almost at the door when she says, barely audible, "I'll ask my mother to send you some starspurts, too."

He nearly trips over his own feet in surprise. He gets out as fast as he can, re-locking the door and practically running the two flights of stairs back to his room. He closes his own door and sinks to the floor, pressing his palm to his forehead.

Luna Lovegood always manages to catch him off guard. And he doesn't mind nearly as much as he should.

Damn it.