Chapter Six
Hello, everyone! I want to thank you all really quickly for remaining patient with me during the holiday season. I was extremely disappointed to not be able to post as frequently as I would have liked, but c'est la vie. Thank you for sticking with me! I hope you all continue to enjoy the story, and if you feel up to it, let me know what you think. Criticism is the only way I can improve. Thank you, thank you so much. -Lillie
Hands shaking, Luna attempted to smooth her hair into a single braid to no avail. Her hair was brittle from lack of nutrition and matted with blood and dirt, slightly damp from the musty dungeon cellar. Luna could feel Mr. Ollivander's eyes on her, but she wasn't ready to answer questions. She knew what his pensive stare was searching for; she knew what the wandmaker believed to be happening. Giving up on her hair, Luna knew she did not possess the energy to explain everything; however, turning her face to see Mr. Ollivander's concerned, caring gaze, she mustered every ounce of energy within her to give the older man a kind, reassuring smile. His gaze never wavered. Turning her silvery blue eyes away, Luna began to hum a sweet melody; she knew it was something that eased the wandmaker's mind and allowed him to relax.
The light tune echoed throughout the dark space, a small light hanging outside of their cell allowed minimal visibility; she could just make out Mr. Ollivander's face, worn and dirty though still maintaining his look of otherworldly intelligence. As she continued to hum, Luna thought about the past three days. Everyday Draco would walk down the stairs purposely ignoring her as he delivered their rations, his pointed face hidden in shadows of sleeplessness and despair. Sometimes he would speak to her after an hour or two of silence; other times the dungeon would remain deadly silent forcing Luna's mind to race and buzz with wackspurts. The eerie silence begged for sound, so Luna often hummed during Draco's watch. Sometimes, when she performed a particular song, she could hear a sigh escape from the young Death Eater's lips; a sound so pure and sweet, Luna craved for it to caress her ears in its splendor. Something so simple as a sigh of contentment brought joy to her existence.
However, Draco rarely let any noise fall from his lips during his time in the dungeon. He seemed haunted in the dark space, trapped and suffereing from extreme loneliness. He only seemed to come to life, to show signs of humanity when he stood in the clear, cool light of the moon. It was here when his pale skin glowed with enchanting energy and his grey eyes melted into shimmering silver, his white hair glowing like untouched snow as his pointed features created contorting shadows on his face enhancing the sharp angles. Luna once thought he had perfected the look of haughty aristocrat's son, stoic and unfeeling, but when she glimpsed at him in the moonlight, Luna realized that Draco Malfoy had turned into a ghost, a phantom searching for the life he once possessed. It was in the darkened room filled only with gently blowing emerald, silk curtains and chilled moonlight that Draco became something resembling a human.
Draco would watch her with swirling silver eyes, brimming with every emotion known to mankind. Luna saw hatred, disgust, and fury, but she could not deny the fear, the sadness, and even care in his eyes as he cast curses at her from his hawthorn wand. The Cruciatus Curse was becoming an everyday occurrence in her life; however, unless she provoked him, told Draco to imagine someone else, it felt like nothing more than a garden gnome bite, annoying and sharp though not mind-numbingly horrible. Luna knew she was given to Draco in order to practice his torturing and cursing; she was not ignorant towards her role. However, Luna was aware of Draco's hesitance, and should she not prove to be a decent target for his practicing or should Draco be caught showing humanity towards her, Luna feared she would be disposed of, killed as if she were nothing more than a pestering fly. To the Death Eaters, Luna knew she was less than human.
Though she seemed to act in self-preservation, Luna's nobility was not limited to protect only herself. While Harry Potter's strength grew from the understanding of love as the greatest asset, Voldemort considered such a thing to be weakening, frivolous, to be dangerous in the quest for total power and control. Luna knew that should Draco's compassion towards her be discovered, he would not be the only one to suffer. Though she hid deeply in the shadows, Luna was always aware of Narcissa Malfoy's presence as the woman's only son cast numerous curses and hexes at her; Luna could hear Mrs. Malfoy's muffled sniffing and gasps. Luna had no doubts that Voldemort would punish not only Draco for his seemingly weakness but also Narcissa for being his mother. Luna knew that being the cause of his mother's pain and suffereing would destroy the traumatized young man even more so than he already was.
Luna sighed as her humming trailed off. She wondered what the weather was like today; she wondered if the air was cool as winter approached or if the crispness of autumn remained. Her skin ached to feel fresh air, to be touched by unfiltered nature. She thought of the leaves falling from the Whomping Willow as the great tree shook its limbs. She thought of the cool ground in the Forbidden Forest, sodden with autumn's rain. Luna wondered if the thestrals were doing well, if they were being loved upon; she had no doubt that others would soon be aware of the haunting creatures' existence. Her musings were cut short, for hearing Mr. Ollivander clear his throat weakly, Luna realized she would have to face him and answer the questions only his eyes dared to ask up until that moment.
"Child," Mr. Ollivander rasped out, "where does the young Mr. Malfoy take you during the night?"
"We go upstairs," Luna said simply pulling her fallen dress strap back onto her shoulder.
"Does he—does he force himself on you?" the famed wandmaker asked looking into her eyes with a feverish concern.
"No," Luna said hastily. "Draco is a perfect gentleman, I assure you. Though he can cast a nasty Cruciatus when provoked," she assured. "You needn't worry, Mr. Ollivander; I'm perfectly safe with Draco."
"Dear child," Mr. Ollivander sighed unbelievingly as he shook his head. "I fear you have become blind to the dangers around you. Ms. Lovegood, you are not safe while in the presence or possession of a Death Eater."
"Then I suppose it is a good thing Draco no longer requires supervision," Luna said a serene smile stretching over her full mouth. "I am never in the presence of a Death Eater."
"Mr. Malfoy is a Death Eater, Ms. Lovegood. He is one of them," the wandmaker said gently as if delivering bad news to an unsuspecting victim of circumstance.
"He's not," Luna replied with a tone of dreamy finality; her mind would not be changed. Draco Malfoy was many things, but Death Eater was not upon the list nor would it ever be.
"It would not be wise to cultivate feelings for young Malfoy in such times, Ms. Lovegood," Mr. Ollivander said looking at the frail girl before him sadly. "I do hope you are being careful and not entertaining the thought of romance."
"I am too worried about Draco's life to amuse myself with such things, Mr. Ollivander," Luna assured him.
"Your kindness is limitless, Ms. Lovegood," the wandmaker sighed. "But it's your life you should be focusing on."
"My safety depends on Draco's survival," she told Mr. Ollivander just as the basement door opened and slammed shut.
Both Luna and Mr. Ollivander stopped talking at once, remaining stoically silent as footsteps neared their cell. The clicking of heels and joyous puddle splashing alerted the prisoners to the identity of the new arrival: Bellatrix Lestrange. Luna felt her insides glaze over with ice and dread. The echoing of clinking metal sounded throughout the dark space as Bellatrix trailed her ragged nails against the cell bars. She did not light a Lumos nor did she carry a lantern; she was playing games with the prisoners, using a tactic all too familiar to Luna and Mr. Ollivander though never diminishing in fright. Luna's limbs tensed in anticipation, her body protesting the tightness in her muscles. The blonde Ravenclaw could hear the Death Eater's heavy breathing, imagine the terrorizing smile upon her face, the mad gleam in her dark eyes. Luna often wondered how it could be that Bellatrix and Narcissa were related, much less sisters. Bellatrix Lestrange was dark, wild, and animalistic compared to Narcissa's fair, poised, and merciful disposition; Draco obviously took after his mother.
A sharp light illuminated the cell as Bellatrix casted a silent Lumos; Luna felt the fear and adrenalin rush through her bloodstream as the woman stared at her. Bellatrix pursed her lips as she looked at the ratty blood traitor; her ruined clothing remained the same, ugly and ragged. However, Bellatrix noticed her face had changed; it wasn't that her cheeks, though still sallow and protruding, had a very subtle rosy color to them nor was it noticed that her eyes were brighter than before, the misty silver-blue shining. Instead, Bellatrix focused on what she knew best: destruction, pain, savagery. The young girl, weak and pathetic, was covered in bruises. Her left cheekbone covered in a purple bruise sweeping upwards into her hairline; her right eyebrow was split towards the end in a slightly open wound, dried blood marred her fair skin. Her full bottom lip was split from both injury and dehydration. Her arms were dusted with marks of all colors, fading green bruises to new deep violet hues decorated Luna's alabaster skin. Though hidden beneath her leggings, Luna knew her knees were scratched from falling onto the solid wooden floor; her hands showed her attempts of catching herself with deep red cuts and splinters wedged in her palms.
"Well, look at you, blood traitor," Bellatrix grinned as she twisted her wand around a wild, dark curl. "It seems my dear nephew has had such a splendid time with you. Tell me, are you enjoying your time with him?" she teased with a cackling laugh; Luna didn't respond, for she knew her response would result in more abuse.
"Answer me when I speak to you," Bellatrix seethed pointing her wand menacingly at Luna's face; the young girl could hear the curse waiting on the tip of the Death Eater's tongue.
"He's horrifying," Luna whispered brokenly knowing it was what Bellatrix wanted to hear yet didn't expect. She knew Bellatrix still did not fully think her only nephew capable of living up to her reputation.
"Maybe you need reminding of what horrifying really is," Bellatrix growled waving her wand over the cell and pushing the door open, but before she could grab Luna, a voice sounded from behind her.
"That won't be necessary, Aunt Bella," Draco said coolly, indifference oozing from every pore. "I've just come down for her. I read about a particularly nasty hex and wanted to see how effectively it could serve the Dark Lord."
"Well," Bellatrix huffed smoothing down her black corset. "Go on then. There are others I can tend to," she grinned menacingly at the wandmaker in the corner.
Draco saw the flash of rebellion in Luna's eyes, so he quickly wrapped a hand around her upper arm effectively yanking her out of the cell, through the dungeon, and up the staircase. He never loosened his grip until they were in the room he always brought her too. Void of any furniture, the décor consisted only of silken emerald curtains that blew with the slight breeze coming from the opened windows. Releasing his hold on the girl, Draco backed away from her noticing the fire in her eyes.
"Why did you do that?" Luna asked her serene tone muddled by worry and distress.
"Do what?" Draco asked confused.
"Take me out of there, of course! She's going to hurt him; he's old and frail, Draco. He cannot withstand much more," she explained as she pulled at the ends of her straw textured hair.
"I removed you from a situation you would surely ruin with that mouth of yours resulting in you being on the receiving end of Bella's wand," Draco sneered crossing his arms over his chest. "Please, spare me your gratitude," he said with an eye roll.
"You of all people should understand," Luna said eyeing him carefully.
"And what exactly should I understand, Lovegood?" Draco asked staring at the broken girl before him, her pale skin shimmering under the white moonlight.
"The need to keep someone safe," she said gently hearing the basement door slam shut. "Do it now," she commanded Draco as she squared her shoulders.
"Do what?" he asked dumbly his mind trying to catch up to the sudden change in the atmosphere. No longer were her eyes full of concern or fear; instead her blue orbs were filled with determination.
"The hex, Draco," Luna replied hastily. "Quickly now; she's coming."
"I—I lied," he fumbled out reaching for his wand inside his robe. "I don't—There isn't—."
"Say this: Avis," Luna instructed closing her eyes against what she knew was coming. She heard Draco say the incantation followed by the fluttering of birds. "Oppugno," Luna said.
"Oppugno," Draco repeated in fascination as the birds, which had emerged from his wand, flew at Luna with lightening fast speed, their beaks shredding her meager clothing and embedding their beaks into her skin before disappearing.
Luna's shriek of pain followed by her legs giving out, a result of the deep gashes now marring her skin, echoed throughout the room. As her body hit the ground, her hands catching most of her weight, Draco looked up to see Bellatrix standing in the arched door way, a content, wicked smile on her lips. Nodding her head, the loyal Death Eater turned to leave, her black skirts billowing dramatically as she whirled around. Looking down, Draco saw Luna's arms shaking as they struggled to support her frame. Sinking down to one knee, Draco held out his wand to heal the deepest wounds on her skin, but Luna shook her head before he could begin casting the healing charm.
"Don't," she rasped out breathlessly. "She checks me for injuries."
"Lovegood, you'll bleed to death. Stop being so bloody heroic," Draco fumed pushing himself up and gripping his hair. "Why did you choose that one? You knew what it was going to do to you! Do you have a death wish? Do you want me to become a murderer?"
"Draco, I can't—" Luna gasped her arms giving out and her head hitting the floor with a resounding bang; her eyes were closed, her breathing labored.
"Dammit," Draco nearly yelled finding himself back on the floor pulling her ragdoll frame into a sitting position, her head lolling to the side slightly as her eyes opened but remained unfocused. "Lovegood, stay with me. Luna," Draco said shaking her slightly.
Luna's head was woozy; her sight was blurry. She could hear Draco calling her, even saying her first name, but she couldn't find the muscles to respond to him. She knew what was happening to her body; it was shutting down due to blood loss, for the birds had attacked more ferociously than she expected, cutting her more severely than she intended. She could feel her blood oozing from open wounds; her legs felt sticky and hot, as did her arms and torso. She could feel a particularly nasty cut on her neck throbbing painfully.
"Potion," she rasped out in a nearly silent whisper. "Blood," she added before her eyes closed off to the world and her vision went black.
Draco continued to hold her lifeless body, her dead weight falling entirely onto him. Her head fell onto his chest, her straggly blonde hair tickling his jaw. Trying to make sense of her whispered words as panic flooded through his bloodstream making it difficult to form a coherent thought, Draco grabbed her wrist feeling for a pulse. He didn't feel anything; his entire body turned into ice. In a panicked daze, Draco pulled her limp body into his lap as he pushed her matted hair away from her neck. Leaning down he placed his ear directly over her heart, ever so faintly a tiny thump sounded, much too faint and much too weak.
"Stay with me, Luna," Draco whispered hoarsely as he remembered her words: potion and blood.
Looking down at her once more, it clicked into place. Luna needed a Blood-Replenishing Potion. Unfortunately, the potion cabinet was located in the kitchen, it's stock closely monitored by both the House Elves and his father. With a fiery determination, Draco picked up his wand and aimed the dark wood at his arm. He cast a silent curse resulting in a deep gash appearing on his forearm; he struggled to keep the cry of pain from escaping his lips.
"Dippy!" Draco croaked as his blood flowed freely out of his skin and onto Luna. A soft pop sounded as the House Elf apperated into the room. "I need two Blood-Replenishing Potions. Now!"
"Young Master is hurt," the elf squeaked in a panic. "Dippy must heal Young Master," the elf said walking towards Draco, her crooked, grey fingers outstretched.
"Do as I say and bring two Blood-Replenishing Potions; I don't want your filthy mangled hands on me," he growled causing to elf to cower and disappear returning seconds later with two bottles. "Be gone," Draco said dismissively.
After the House Elf had disappeared, Draco pulled out his hawthorn wand muttering the incantation to heal the deepest lacerations on Luna's body before doing the same to his own; his skin pulled together tightly in a deep, pink scar. Pulling the cork from the bottle with his teeth, Draco opened Luna's mouth after setting her upright and poured the scarlet liquid down her throat; he drank half of the second bottle before pouring the rest into Luna's mouth. He waited a few minutes, but nothing changed. She didn't move, her full lips slightly parted, Draco leaned his head down feeling her breath on his skin.
Content that she would survive Draco shoved the two potion bottles into his robe pockets before laying the frail Ravenclaw on the floor, her flaxen hair a messy halo around her head. She laid there, the moonlight shimmering over her alabaster skin. In that moment, as she laid so completely still, she seemed to be a statue, an angel frozen in time. Her features soft and pale, glowing white in the raw light emitting from her namesake. Draco could feel the energy flowing through her, the goodness, the effervescent spirit, the purity; it all rejuvenated and surged through her as she basked in the light. Hesitantly, Draco reached out his long fingers to touch her cool skin, but as his hand hovered over her hand, their fingers nearly touching, Draco noticed the shadow his body created. It covered her in darkness, so unnatural and violent. He jerked away from her form, burying his fingers into the white locks on his scalp. He wouldn't allow himself to taint her anymore than necessary. He had caused her enough pain, enough fright to last a lifetime; unfortunately, he knew the show was nowhere near complete.
Lost in thought, Draco was unaware of his mother's sweeping robes as she passed by the open archway stopping to peer in on her son and the girl he was given to torture. As Narcissa looked into the room, she saw her son as she had so many times before: clutching his hair and rocking slightly as he sat on the hard ground. He risked so much by acting as such, frightened and troubled, out in the open for all passing to see. Quietly, Narcissa walked into the room and stood to the side of her only child. Bending down, she wrapped her thin arm around his shoulder and nuzzled her nose into his hair placing a kiss to his temple. He never responded to her touch.
"Come now, Draco," she said gently. "You must return her to the basement."
Draco looked to the body lying next to him. If it weren't for the layer of bruises and cuts, the dried blood or her matted hair and emaciated frame, the young Ravenclaw looked peaceful, as if in a deep sleep. Pushing himself up on wobbling legs, Draco pulled out his wand muttering Mobilicorpus under his breath as he pointed the wand at Luna's body. Her body rose a few inches in the air, her limbs floating beside her, her hair swaying in the breeze; she looked as if she were floating on a cloud at ease with the world around her. Draco turned away from his mother and the floating form behind him and walked to the basement. Down the stairs and into the cell, Luna's levitating body followed him where he gently lowered her to the cool ground. As he was turning to leave, Draco looked to the corner to see Mr. Ollivander staring at him with exhaustion in his eyes. However, seeing the wand in his hand, a small spark shone in the old man's eyes.
"Hawthorn, ten inches, unicorn core," the wandmaker muttered under his breath. "Unicorn hair, just like—"
"My mother," Draco finished looking down at the dark wood in his hand.
"Yes, Narcissa Black, now Narcissa Malfoy," Mr. Ollivander said closing his eyes. "Yes, I remember. Lovely girl, always polite," he nodded before opening his watery eyes. "You resemble her very much."
"I look like my father," Draco sneered. "I look like a Malfoy."
"Physically, yes," the wandmaker agreed. "But semblance runs much deeper than outer appearance, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco stared at the wandmaker as the old man peered back at him, his glistening eyes murky from exhaustion. Feeling uncomfortable under his unmoving gaze, Draco turned to look once more at Luna. He wondered whom she looked like, who she resembled. He knew her father was a complete nutter, but he didn't quite believe her to be one any longer. He supposed she was more like her mother though he had never heard anything of her. No longer wishing to gaze at her lifeless body, Draco turned to leave but was stopped by Mr. Ollivander's raspy, weak voice.
"I do hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries in saying so," he began before a cough overtook his body. "But Ms. Lovegood cares for you very deeply."
"Tell her not to," Draco replied as tension crept into his shoulders at the idea of the girl caring for him in anyway; it made his palms sweat, his head pound with panic.
"She cannot be persuaded," Mr. Ollivander sighed. "She is very wise, clever beyond her years, but she believes in people. She believes in you, Mr. Malfoy."
"Then she is as loony as people say she is," Draco whispered existing the cell and waving his wand over the metal bars sealing them together with magic.
Draco walked back to the edge of the staircase where his post awaited him. Sitting down on the wooden chair, he leaned forward to clench his hair with his long, slim fingers. Pulling at the roots, Draco felt tears well in his eyes threatening to spill over should he move at all. His scalp was burning with the force of his pulling, but he couldn't stop, couldn't let go. Everything was becoming too much. Wrenching his hands from his scalp, Draco pulled his sleeve up revealing the long, pink, jagged scar that now displayed on his forearm in the exact place the Dark Mark showed on the opposite arm. In a twisted way, the wound seemed more significant, more meaningful than the Dark Mark ever had to Draco. Though he didn't realize it, the self-inflicted wound showed more about who he was, who he was becoming than the Dark Mark ever could.