Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.


He goes back to school, though it feels like one of the most ridiculous things he's ever done. He goes, and waits – waits, in the way that one waits for their doom to fall and the world to turn to ash.


And then it happens. Potter's back, playing the hero as he always has, and the Dark Lord is coming, sending his chilling ultimatum before him. Draco, summoned to the Great Hall with the other students, sits apart from the others at the Slytherin table, his head bowed. At least, he thinks, Luna is safe, far away in some hidden shelter, no doubt. He stares at his hands, noticing, in exquisite detail, the little lines over each joint of his fingers, the blue network of veins beneath the surface of the skin…

Potter… Potter, who refused his offer of friendship when they first started at Hogwarts. Who was better than him, always, at Quidditch. Potter, who fought Draco's father at the Department of Mysteries and had him sent to Azkaban, while Draco was left to comfort his distraught mother as best he could. Potter, Dumbledore's favourite student – Dumbledore, who Draco couldn't quite manage to kill.

Potter, who'd done what Draco was too much of a coward to do himself, rescued Luna...

Then Pansy Parkinson shrieks that Potter's there, screaming for someone to grab him. Draco raises his head for the first time, watching dully as the other three houses rise to protect the Boy Who Lived, their wands out.

And then he sees, with the Ravenclaws, the shockingly familiar glimmer of moon-gold hair. His heart jolts in his throat.

Luna!

She, too, is standing, protecting Potter, who rescued her from her prison, and it's him, Potter, that she's looking towards. Potter. And cold, cold hatred rises up and takes him in the throat, and he forgets everything, everything except that he wants to strangle Potter. A gaping emptiness is spreading inside him, but as fast as it spreads, the hatred fills it up.

He slides away when the students are dismissed, taking Crabbe and Goyle with him. They're happy enough to come with him when he says that they're going after Potter, and he's almost sure he knows where to look.


They confront Potter, and all the while icy hatred drips through him, hatred that's been seven years in the building. He's not sure what he's going to do, now that Potter's finally at his mercy, but the frozen coldness inside him drives him on. He demands his wand back in a voice that's as brittle as icicles.

But then it all spins beyond his control, and Crabbe won't listen to him anymore, and he finds that despite the raging within him, he can't simply stand by and let Potter be killed, any more than he could kill Dumbledore.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

And then Crabbe's killed, killed by his own Fiendfyre, and Potter saves him and Goyle, and he could scream with the weakness of rage, if he hadn't been so tired – so tired that even his hatred seems to be melting through his fingers… He slumps on the floor.

It occurs to him, somewhere folded between layers of exhaustion, that Luna would perhaps not think he had been behaving very well. But then he remembers that she has Potter now, Potter who's brave and good and does the right thing without even thinking about it.

He dashes his hand very quickly across his eyes.


It all blurs together, fire and curse-flashes and the silver-masked faces of Death Eaters, shrieking and swearing and cries of triumph and despair. All he wants is to survive, and he's looking everywhere, frantically, for the glimmer of long, moon-pale hair, fear filling him up like dark icy water.

And then it looks like it's all over, Potter's lying, still, on the ground, the Dark Lord laughing above him. But Potter rises up and fights again, and finally – finally – faces the Dark Lord, and defeats him.

Draco's numb, and sick with confused fear beneath the numbness. His parents find him and they cling to each other, pride and coldness washed away, huddling by the wall while others weep and celebrate around them.

Lucille has been sheltering in his pocket during the fighting. He puts his hand out for her and she climbs into it, and it feels, oddly, like everything's a dream except for the tiny weight of the little mouse in his palm, and his heart beating chokingly high in his throat.

Then his father reaches out and takes his mother's begrimed face between shaking hands.

'Narcissa…' Lucius says, and his voice is hoarse, scratchy. 'My dearest… I'm sorry. Forgive me. This is all my fault.'

'Oh, Lucius…' she whispers, and Draco sees that she's weeping as she puts her hands over his fathers' and looks up into his bruised face.

And Draco, looking away, sees Luna, standing not ten feet away from him, her moon-whiteness streaked with dirt and blood. She's watching him gently, waiting.


'Luna,' he says.

She smiles a little, and moves towards him. 'Draco.'

He just looks at her. A lot of things that were confused before are going crystal clear in his mind, and two important points rise to the surface: he loves her, and, because he loves her, he mustn't have anything to do with her, not now, not ever.

So he stiffens his face and his back and says, in a low voice, 'Go away, now, Luna.'

She's looking at him with her head tilted a little to one side, and, infuriatingly, actually looking amused. Sudden frustration bubbles up inside him.

'Damn you…' he grates. 'Damn it all!' Lucille squeaks disapprovingly and climbs down him to the floor. He hardly notices, glaring smoulderingly at the space over Luna's shoulder.

'Draco,' she says, and her voice is gentle. 'You're damning things, so I know you're upset.'

'Upset?' he snarls. 'Upset? Why would I be upset? Me and my parents are only going to Azkaban!' He takes a long, calming breath and goes on in a level voice, not looking at her. 'Just – go, Luna. Go back to – Potter, he'll – take care of you and – make you – happy.'

She makes an odd little soft sound and reaches out her hand to touch his wrist, and the feel of her light fingers sends a shiver through him. But he keeps his eyes on a point a few feet away on the floor.

'Won't you look at me, Draco?' Her voice is just a murmur, sending him warm and cool and making something flip inside his stomach, and it goads him into action.

'Fine!' he says, wrenching his head up and looking at her fiercely. 'Fine! Happy…?'

Her eyes are soft, so soft, and there's a tender little smile on her lips as she looks up at him. 'You're alive,' she says simply. 'I'm very happy, because I love you. You.'

'No!' he says sternly. 'No.'

'You can't stop me from loving you,' she points out, dreamily. 'And if you were put in prison, I don't think you could stop me coming to see you, either. But, you know, I don't think they will send you to Azkaban, not after I tell them what you did for me when I was a prisoner, anyway.' And she reaches out and slips both her hands into his, clasping his fingers, waiting.

'Luna,' he says, low and wretched, and then stops, not sure how to continue. How does he explain this to her, explain why he needs to do this, even if it rips his heart bleeding from his chest? 'Luna… I can't – let you. I'm a – coward. A Death Eater. I was too weak to – save you.'

'And yet – you're strong enough, brave enough, to do – this,' she says, very softly, and her words drop into the bubble of silence that seems to have formed around the two of them. And he looks into her eyes, and knows that somehow, insanely, despite everything, she loves him – she actually loves him.

love is strong as death…

Love is – everything.

She squeezes his hands again, her fingers clinging and steady and firm, conveying unspoken messages through the contact of skin on skin. I love you. I won't leave you. I belong with you.

He looks down at her, a long, questioning look, and it feels like his whole being, and Luna's, are kaleidoscopic puzzles, made up of myriads of multi-coloured mosaic pieces, shifting and mingling and dancing to form a final figure, a single whole, heartwrenchingly complete.

And he puts his arms around her tightly and buries his face in her hair, and his face is wet and he's shuddering against her. But she doesn't seem to mind, because she's bracing him with her slight body, her cheek against his heart and her hands as warm as sunshine on his back.


The epilogue will be coming soon…