April 1993

Sometimes Luna wondered what her life would be like if she was not friends with Draco (if he hadn't been in Ravenclaw). She could see it sometimes, but she liked how it was better. (But she wasn't sure if he would.) It wasn't so bad not to have shoes (if your best friend didn't either). It wasn't so bad that no one sat by them at dinner (Draco always gave her his pudding, but only because sweets made him sad. His mother used to buy him sweets.) It was okay that no one believed her (or her father or the Quibbler) because Draco did. But only because he hadn't thought to doubt her at first and he hated (hated, hated, hated) to change his mind. He'd told her one night that he'd rather believe her anyway.

After seven months of friendship she knew he wasn't a nice person, that he liked to be mean, that he held bitterness deep within (but he was nice to her and that was more than enough). She knew he disliked more things than he liked. He didn't like change or cold or hot or the color blue or his name (and she could go on.) He liked his cousin Dora, his aunt and uncle, flying, quidditch (his parents) and her (and that was it). He wasn't bad, he wasn't good, he wasn't particularly likable and he didn't care (neither did she). Most people hid their mean, but Draco did it the other way. In a bizarre way, that made him honest (and she liked that).

Draco was her only friend (because daddies don't count and sometimes moms leave).

Dimly she registered the shuffle of paper and tired bodies around her. It seems she'd spaced out through another astronomy class. (Good thing she already knew most of the constellations.)

She didn't rush to put away her things. Draco was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs and it was best to head back only after the other students were well on their way. (It was no fun being harassed in the dead of night.)

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw that he was turned away from her. She silently celebrated her luck, before she launched herself onto his back. She supposed her action may have surprised a real dragon, but Draco hooked his arms around her knees and sighed. "Luna," he tone was odd mixture of irritation, amusement and resignation, "I'm not a horse."

She laughed at his silliness. "Of course not, you're a dragon."

He didn't say anything, but she knew he was trying not to smile as he started back towards the Ravenclaw common room. (He may or may not have succeeded.)

Everything, was calm and good and right, but then it wasn't. Her vision became bright and soft (and not that good). She leaned forward and used her hands to cover Draco's eyes.

"Luna, what-"

"Draco." It was only his name, but he heard what she hadn't said (what she couldn't articulate, not with the shimmering Silver surrounding, smothering her). She closed her eyes, but all she saw was Silver.

"Luna, what's-" he started to ask, his voice a whisper, but she bit his ear to shut him up. Draco didn't like pain either.

"Can you smell that?" It was like meat and rot and gross and fear.

And death.

She felt his body shudder. Draco was afraid, but that was nothing new. Draco feared many things (change, pain, death). She didn't fear much at all. (But at that moment they were both very, very afraid.)

"What makes that smell?" The words were barely discernable like they were afraid to leave his mouth and fly to her ears.

And somehow she knew the answer to his question, but she didn't know how she knew (and she knew she wouldn't like the answer if she did). "Basilisk," the name a hiss of foreboding.

Draco froze, even his eyes stopped moving under her hands. "Shit." He could be so poetic really.

She nodded (though she wasn't sure he noticed). The Silver was pulsing behind her eye lids. It was coming for them, looking for them, no, the blinding Silver twisted, not her. Draco.

"Don't worry I have a plan," and she realized as the words left her mouth that she did. She felt him relax marginally (causing her heart to warm in appreciation). No one else would been reassured (not even a little) by those words from her, not even her Dad. (Fathers weren't supposed to depend on daughters.) "You just have to stay still and quiet."

'Easy enough,' he was saying in his mind. 'Death won't have to try too hard to pick me up that way.' Luna actually rolled her eyes, even though they were closed. Draco was always so silly and snarky (and she hoped her plan worked).

The silence around them was loud. She could hear it get close. And more close. And closer.

The smell was just awful, but she had to wait. It had to be close enough (so it couldn't get away).

She wanted to look out and see it. She could feel it coming and everything in her said look (look, look, look), but she didn't. Her hands remained firmly over Draco's eyes. He probably wanted to look more than she did.

She waited even though her mind told her she was about to die (die, die, die). Draco, too.

The Silver became electric, burning, it was in her throat, on her tongue, dancing on her lips (and it hurt, but she always knew that Silver wasn't supposed to feel good, it was wrong, it was right, it was not her fault!)

She opened her mouth and crowed.