Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.


Draco finds the silver Bible box, with its elegantly engraved, slithering swirls, in the chapel. It's been stored with quite a collection of other things that past Malfoys have found uncomfortably religious – hymnals, prayer books, a heavy silver sacramental cup engraved with angels, and a little cross on a chain.

He sits down and opens the heavy book, and faint stained-glass rainbows sprinkle the creamy parchment of the pages. The story about Jesus, he remembers vaguely, is at the start of the New Testament, so he flips it open in the middle.

Then he realises that the Old and New Testaments are obviously not the same length, because he's opened the book to the Psalms, which he thinks are in the Old Testament. But the writing looks a bit less intimidating here, set out like short poems on the page.

Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.
Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.

It's kind of scary, actually, sort of like it's saying 'You can run as far and fast as you want, but I'll find you anyway.' He reads it again.

If I make my bed in hell. It is, he thinks, rather apt, because he has made his bed and now he has to lie in it. All his life he'd wanted the Dark Lord to come back, but now that he is back, it's like a sort of twistedly hellish nightmare.

Thy right hand shall hold me. He imagines a gigantic hand, big enough for him to fit in the palm of it, just like Lucille fits in the palm of his own hand. He pictures it scooping him up and carrying him, anywhere, wherever its great Owner chose to go; and he shivers suddenly, imagining being totally helpless, utterly dependant…

…Because he's not helpless now, is he?

the darkness hideth not from thee… Luna in the cellar, shining faintly, moonlike in the darkness…

It's starting to make his head spin, so he flips away from it, riffling through the pages, picking up a phrase here and there. The pages of Psalms are full of pleading, desperate cries for help.

I am weak… O Lord, heal me… oh save me…

Have mercy upon me, O Lord… I am in trouble…

Out of the depths have I cried… O Lord… Lord, hear my voice…

He rests his chin in his hand, closing his eyes briefly, because he knows, sort of, how that person who wrote it had felt. Terrified – alone – backed against a wall – out of his depth.

He runs his thumb along the edges of the pages, letting the book fall open again randomly somewhere near the middle. A phrase catches his eye.

love is strong as death…

Wasn't that what Luna had said? Love's not weak. Her hands had been around his, stroking, calming, and her hair had been falling over her forehead, glimmering palely…

love is strong as death…

Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it…

The Canticles, or the Song, it reads at the top of the page. He reads some more, drifting back across the page, and then gulps in shock.

What?!

It's… a love song. As in, a real love song, with… two people telling each other how much they love each other and how beautiful they are…

He hadn't actually known that the Bible had anything quite like this in it.

My dove, my undefiled…

I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine…

Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me…

Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?

That bit sounds a lot like Luna. Luna, shining softly like the moon, but like sunshine in a way, too, clear and bright and – brave. And terrible, with a gentle terribleness of her own, because she makes him feel – all the things he doesn't want to feel – excruciatingly alive – less yet more afraid…

He actually sounds like a Hufflepuff. He shakes his head to clear it of the unwanted sentimentality, and flips through the pages again, till a flash of colour catches his eye and he opens the book to it.

There's an exquisitely illuminated page, bright with colour, full of little twining illustrations of trees and flowers, animals and birds. Two white-robed angels bearing trumpets flank the words The New Testament of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Clearly, the dividing page between the two sections.

He looks back at the last page of the Old Testament.

For, behold, the day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble: and the day that cometh shall burn them up, saith the Lord of hosts, that it shall leave them neither root nor branch.

His own family, a part of him says, while at the same time another part screams disloyalty. All the proud… all that do wickedly… The Malfoys have never been ashamed of being proud. Pureblood – the unsullied family line – aristocratic – superior. And he thinks there are probably a whole lot of things they've done that could be classified as 'wicked'.

A tiny shiver runs to the bottom of his spine. The words hold a definite warning: the day is coming. It's coming. He reads it again, slowly, and then on to the next bit.

But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall.

It's like a loophole, a way out, he thinks, and he imagines great, soft white wings folding round him, around everyone he cares about, safe and strong…

Then he starts to laugh aloud, wildly, because, seriously? There wouldn't be a single thing that would protect him from the Dark Lord's wrath if he started being 'good'. He'd be dead in a snap of the fingers, dead, finished, dead.

He slams the Bible shut, shoves it back into its box with shaking hands, the last traces of hysterical laughter shuddering through him. But all the time, a tranquil little voice that sounds a lot like Luna's is saying, gently, in his head:

What if you weren't afraid of dying?


The Bible chapters Draco read from (in the order they appear in this chapter):

Psalm 139
Psalm 6
Psalm 31
Psalm 130
Song of Songs 8
Song of Songs 6
Malachi 4