It was lucky that Mr. Ollivander was in the cellar with her. Otherwise it won't have felt much like Christmas at all. Luna and her father had always spent the day together, sipping on Guddyroot infusions and looking through the articles for the next Quibbler. But this year, she wouldn't be spending it with her father in their rook-shaped house, but rather with Mr. Ollivander in the dark cellar of Malfoy Manor.
When she told him that it was most likely Christmas (she hadn't yet lost count of the hours and days), he was distant and lain back down onto the cool stone floor. There was something tragic about the pair-the old man sad to have yet another holiday pass without freedom and the young girl seemingly unable to be downtrodden.
"Tell me, dear Luna," Mr. Ollivander said to her, his voice coming out of the darkness. "Do you believe that you will escape from here?" His voice trembled with weakness and the need for reassurance.
"Well, of course," Luna said simply. "They would never forget about me."
Mr. Ollivander sighed, quietly enough that she could not hear. Perhaps her childlike naivety would pull her through this ordeal, but he had no delusions of the same for himself. His childish days were over.