Disclaimer and Notes can be found in Chapter 1
Counting Stars and Passing Cars 09/14
Draco/Luna
Inspiration: The Minnow and the Trout
The Lovegood weirdo spins in slow circles, dancing in the rectangle of light that spills into the cellar through the open door. He watches her from the doorway, his wand at the ready in case she makes any sudden moves toward freedom.
Once a day, Draco is sent to the cellar door to make sure Ollivander is still breathing and that Lovegood hasn't brained herself trying to walk through walls or something. It's shit work…literally, since one of his duties is to verify that the waste removal charms are still working. He is not told to sit there with the door open, giving the prisoners a little light and fresh air. If they— Him, his aunt, the other Death Eaters who tromp through his home as if they own it—knew, Merlin knows what they would say. They already think he's weak.
They're right. He knows he can't compete with his comrades when it comes to either brutality or their dedication to the Dark Lord. He's exhausted, frightened, and dreading the day he'll come down to breakfast to find them roasting Granger on a spit and playing ten pins with Potter's head. Watching Luna Lovegood flap her arms like a bird is a pleasant distraction. He rests his head against the splintery jamb and feels calmer than he does at his parents' side.
He was warned not to talk to her, that she may try to seduce or manipulate him. The thought of her seducing anyone, with her unwashed, straggly hair and dry, cracked lips—he makes a mental note to check with the elves and make sure she has sufficient water—is laughable. But, oh yes, mixed in with her inane rambles about Burping Humperdinks, there are little attempts at manipulation, attempts to point out that they are more alike than they are different and, therefore, should not be enemies. He's too much of a manipulator himself not to pick up on it.
They're both teenagers.
They both enjoy Charms, dislike Arithmancy, and consider Hagrid sub-par as a professor, although Luna "likes him as a person."
They're both devoted to their fathers.
They both eat their least favorite food on their plates first, saving the best for last.
They both wonder if Hooch and Sinistra have something going, although the thought is more titillating for Draco than for Luna.
They both hate clowns.
It's a transparent attempt to make him trust her, maybe even like her. He would pity her for the effort, if he was capable. He should stand up and bolt the door shut, leaving her in the dark again. Instead, he sits and listens.
"Do you like chocolate, Draco?" She clasps her hands behind her back and bends toward her toes until her hair hits the floor. He can see the dirty back of her neck. There's a faint rash on her exposed skin, probably caused by sleeping on straw. Perhaps he could bring a few extra blankets down, maybe a pillow…
"Everyone likes chocolate, Lovegood," he says tiredly. The last thing he needs is to be caught pampering the prisoners with the Malfoy family linens. He'd be likely to end up down here with them.
She stands up and pushes her hair back out of her face. Her arms are thinner now than they were two weeks ago. "Not Sagittarians," and she appears to be serious.
Idiocy. As if he hasn't seen his father, a Sagittarian through and through, gorge himself on hot chocolate and truffles every Yule. It's pointless to argue with her, though. "Well, I'm a Gemini, and I love it."
She smiles, and she could use a tooth cleaning charm. Another mental note.
"I love it, too. I'm an Aquarian; we're both air signs. That's probably why we're so similar."
He braces his feet on the top step. "We're not similar, Lovegood. We're the very opposite of similar."
She strikes another bird-like pose, her head cocked to one side. Her legs are as skinny as a stork's. "Do you really think so?"
"Look around, you loon! Here's the biggest difference between us." He spreads his hands to indicate the dank prison that is her home: the mildewed walls, the straw-strewn floor, Ollivander curled in a fetal position in the corner. "You're a prisoner and I'm not!"
She opens her mouth, and he's honestly curious—how can she dispute anything he's said?—but, from the drawing room, there is a loud bang followed by someone's shrieking and Bellatrix's mad cackling. His heart leaps into his throat, and instinct propels him toward safety…down the steps, into the cellar, next to her.
She's close enough to touch, close enough to make a grab for his wand although she doesn't move. This close, this he can better see the layer of grime that covers her and smell her body odor. She's always been the same loony little freak, but at least she used to be clean. It's another indignity, another crime on his head.
"Poor Draco. You think you're not a prisoner, too?" She touches him for the first time, a small pat upon his arm, and he realizes she pities him, and if he let himself, he would cry.
Not your everyday circumstance
Hummingbird taking coffee with the ants
Please, I know that we're different
We were one cell in the sea in the beginning
And what we're made of was all the same once
We're not that different after all
The Minnow and the Trout
A Fine Frenzy