According to Draco—who had graciously made a habit of informing Luna what day and month it was, lest she lose track of time—it was March. It was hard to believe three months had passed since she'd been brought to Malfoy Manor. Her unlikely friendships with Draco and Ollivander had brought fleeting warmth and light into the cold, shadowy cellar that had become her world.
Sometimes, she let herself daydream about the early spring, how beautiful the countryside must be now—the same countryside where she and her father used to go on holiday. She no longer believed in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, but the memories of searching for them with her father still glowed brightly in her mind.
Her thoughts were shattered by a sudden ruckus echoing from upstairs—raised voices, a crash, something breaking.
"Oh dear, not again," Luna murmured, tilting her head toward the ceiling. "What could they possibly be doing this time?"
"It's a tough life, being a Death Eater," Ollivander muttered dryly.
"Yes, I suppose it is."
Before they could speculate further, the cellar door creaked open, and Peter Pettigrew descended, looking harried and grim. Behind him stumbled two new prisoners: one red-haired, the other dark-haired and wearing cracked glasses.
"Harry? Ron?" Luna gasped.
Harry's bruised face lit up when he saw her. He rushed forward, pulling her into a tight embrace and lifting her off the ground before setting her down again.
"Luna! You're alive—you're okay!" he said breathlessly. "I was so worried about you. Not that I didn't think you could handle yourself, but Merlin, it's so good to see you."
Luna blinked, stunned but smiling. "It's good to see you too. But—what happened to your face?"
"Disguise spell. Hermione cast it—made me look a little less... me," Harry said with a crooked grin. "But listen, I don't know how much time we have. I need to tell you something before—"
A blood-curdling scream from above stopped him mid-sentence.
They all froze.
"Oh no," Ron whispered, eyes darting toward the ceiling. "Hermione..."
"We have to do something," he said urgently.
Another scream ripped through the air, raw and agonizing. Then silence.
Suddenly, a man's voice screamed this time, followed by a sickening thud. They all exchanged horrified, confused looks.
Moments later, heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs. Narcissa Malfoy appeared at the cellar door, her face ghost-pale, her eyes wild.
"Get out. All of you!" she shouted. "I don't care how or where—just go!"
They stared, stunned into stillness.
"I said get out!" she screamed again.
That jolted them into motion. One by one, they hurried up the stairs.
As Luna emerged into the foyer, her breath caught in her throat. The scene before her was surreal—Draco and Hermione lay on the floor, dazed and disoriented. Lucius stood frozen in the corner, as if waking from a nightmare. And Bellatrix Lestrange lay dead.
Ron didn't hesitate—he rushed to Hermione's side and swept her up, bolting for the front door.
Harry grabbed Luna's hand, Ollivander and Griphook close behind, and together they fled through the chaos and out into the courtyard.
"We need to apparate. Bill and Fleur's," Ron said quickly. "We'll be safe there."
Harry nodded. With a firm grip on Luna and Griphook, he Disapparated.
When the world stopped spinning, Luna found herself standing on a soft hillside overlooking the ocean. The wind was clean and salty, a startling contrast to the stale air of the cellar she'd known for so long.
The others were there too—safe.
Hermione sat in the grass, pale and trembling.
"Hermione," Ron said gently, crouching beside her. "What the bloody hell happened up there?"