Chapter 1: The Désespoir Room

Draco sat in an armchair next to the fire that cast its sparse heat into the Great Room in Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix was pacing the floor behind him, muttering incoherently, her brow furrowed. His father and Yaxley had gone to retrieve the Lovegood girl from the Hogwarts Express to punish her father for his articles in that absurd magazine of his.

Serves him right for such disrespect for the Dark Lord.

Draco had seen Luna only once, in his sixth year, when he had sought solace on the grounds. He had been sitting on the edge of the lake in the misty dawn when he heard a light humming coming from the other side of the vast black pool. He had relied on the mist to hide him, and perhaps it did, for she did not appear to notice him. She had drifted along the edge of the lake, barefoot, trailing her toes in the water and laughing as the Giant Squid's tentacles danced along with her.

Strange. He had thought. He wistfully remembered the freedom he had had that day, before he had been given the task of killing Albus Dumbledore.

The door banged open, making Draco jump. Bellatrix stopped pacing as she watched Lucius and Yaxley drag the Stunned Luna across the threshold.

"Draco, bring the girl below."

Without a word he rose from the chair and flicked his wand at her, the Non-Verbal Spell making her rise a few feet into the air. He flicked his wand again, and she floated towards the stairs. He guided her down into the inner chambers of Malfoy Manor, until they reached the Désespoir Room. He called it the Désespoir Room, which meant hopelessness.

"Alohamora." He whispered. The door clicked open, and he waved his wand and felt a sickening mixture of pleasure and revulsion as her body thudded to the floor.

"Enervate." Luna stirred, and he watched her blinking slowly, glancing around confusedly. She rubbed her head where it had made contact with the stone floor.

"Draco?" she said, confused. "Where am I? What are you doing?" she said, taking in Draco's raised wand, and fierce eyes.

"You're in Malfoy Manor," he said.

She opened her mouth a question forming on her lips, but Draco didn't give her the chance.

"Your father has been disrespecting the Dark Lord. This'll make him see that we have no tolerance for such things. Figure the rest out yourself."

She did not cry, or even look all that frightened, as Draco had expected, in fact, she smiled a little.

"I'm not going to die here, Draco. We both know that. You're whole family may be Death Eaters, but we both know you're not like that. Like them." She said, gesturing to the ceiling, indicating the people above. His composure slipped, his smirk slackened, her words as surprising as a splash of cold water.

Anger flared in Draco, and he flicked his wand, which slashed a deep cut in her arm. She cried out, and with satisfaction Draco saw the tears in her eyes. But even as he turned to leave, the heavy stone door slamming behind him, her words still echoed in his head. We both know you're not like that. Like them.

She's wrong. He told himself. I'm a Death Eater, and a Malfoy. I'm loyal to Voldemort. This is the winning side. This is where I belong.

Was that true?

He barely dared to think it let alone say it out loud.

That maybe he wasn't like them.

That maybe he belonged on the other side of this war.