These Accidents of Faith, Part 2 of 3 - fic for the clever_claws Community
Author: dark_branwen
Recipient: The clever_claws Community
Title: These Accidents of Faith, Part 2 of 3
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers through Manor confrontation in Deathly Hallows. However, I change canon a wee bit so that Draco does not return to Hogwarts after Christmas break. Also, rather than have the Malfoys keep their prisoners in the cellar, I gave the manor a dungeon cause that’s just more badass.
Characters/Ships: Luna/Draco with a side of Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Fenrir.
Genre: Flangst
Summary: While home for Christmas break, Draco gets charged with overseeing the prisoners, including the new addition of Luna Lovegood.
Length: 21,000
Notes: Meditation in particular plays a huge part, and I hope the dialogue is sufficiently humorous. Another thank you goes to my lovely beta reader with putting up with me and my uncharacteristically het pairings. And finally, a thank you to the mods of clever_claws! Thank you so much for organizing this fest! I had a blast!
Title from "Lightning Strike" by Snow Patrol. Any other lyrics and the excerpts taken directly from Deathly Hallows used within the fic are obviously not mine.
December 26, 1997
The next morning, Draco was given another unwanted surprise.
"What do you mean, I’m not going back to Hogwarts?" he demanded, pounding one fist against the breakfast table. It occurred to him that this bordered on a tantrum, but he decided he didn’t care.
Narcissa took a slow sip of her tea, her pinky extended as daintily as ever. "I was unaware something in my statement was unclear."
Sometimes, Draco swore that adult-aged Slytherins like his mother, father, and Snape had all been taught a certain kind of diction purposefully meant to drive the children in their care up the wall. "I know what you meant of course, but I think I deserve more explanation than ‘I said so.’"
She gave him a dangerous look but answered him easily enough. "Did you know that Alecto and Amycus Carrow were in attendance last evening?"
The blood in Draco’s body pooled somewhere around his feet. "No. I… I didn’t see them."
Narcissa stabbed at her breakfast with unusual vehemence. "You’d already retired to your bedroom due to your… headache. And thankfully, they did not stay long."
Draco’s eyes darted around the room, seeking out all of the hidden corners. Bellatrix may have still been abed, nursing her hangover, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t enlisted the house elves or other spies to eavesdrop. And there was always Pettigrew, who was useless save for his Animagi capabilities. "Mother-"
"Your aunt knows how I feel about them," Narcissa informed him with icicles in her voice. "For the few minutes they stayed, I was regaled with a number of stories about the ‘improvements’ they have made to the curriculum as well as to punishment practices at your school." She slammed down her knife and fork with an uncharacteristically inelegant movement. "Why didn’t you tell me about the extent of this?"
Draco’s eyes fell away from her steel gaze. "I didn’t want to worry you, so I… left out some details."
"Details?" Narcissa spat. "Fiendfyre? Unforgiveables? Curses from Romania and Russia and the Ukraine that I cannot even hope to pronounce - though I must say, I can easily regale you with their effects in startling detail. You consider these mere details?"
"They have never used them on me," Draco insisted through clenched teeth.
Narcissa curled her fingers in exasperation. "Of course not, Draco. You were responsible for getting them into Hogwarts to begin with, even if you did not complete your mission as instructed."
Draco gripped his chair to keep from leaping out of it. "I told you not to bring that up."
"I mention it only to remind you why they have not turned on you," Narcissa said crisply. "But don’t think that this means you’re safe. You know your father’s position. The Dark Lord keeps him around as an amusement, his own white peacock to gawk at - a human house elf to torture!" Narcissa’s eyes glittered with tears, but Draco knew they would not fall. Throughout everything, she had never once cried in front of him. "Should your father fail the Dark Lord again, they may very well turn their wands on you. Or worse, they will order Vincent or Gregory to do it. Perhaps Pansy, though I was not told of her prodigious talent for their methods."
Draco felt like he might be ill at the thought. "They wouldn’t. They’re my friends."
"Your friends care for you. I know that," Narcissa whispered fiercely. "But above anything else, they will want to live. Should one of the Carrows order them to torture you, do not delude yourself into thinking that their love for you will stop them."
Draco ducked his head. He could not look at her anymore.
Narcissa did not speak for a few minutes, but when she did address him again, her voice was less hard. "I don’t say this to hurt you. You deserve the truth. It would be worse if I lied to you."
There was something both disheartening and absolutely hysterical about the fact that his mother and Luna Lovegood shared views on anything, least of all honesty.
He heard the rustling of fabric as she rose from her seat and crossed to him. "You need to be prepared for this reality. In normal circumstances, I would trust your friends with your life. Slytherin loyalties run deep." He felt her hand on his shoulder. The weight of it felt unbearable. "But it does not supersede a Slytherin’s will to survive. If you were in their position, I expect that you would do this as well. I have raised you that way."
He recognized the pride in her voice, and could not decide how he felt about it.
"Leaving you in that school is a risk I am not willing to take. After they left, I spoke to the other parents. Not all of them share my views, but they are not in our position." She hesitated. "I did hear from some that Slytherins have not been wholly exempt from their punishments."
He closed his eyes and remembered the screaming. "Usually we are. We’re smart enough not to attract their attention. But some of the First Years haven’t been around for very long."
Her grip tightened, and he realized that his mother and Bellatrix had the same hands.
"He’ll know why I’m not there," Draco muttered. There was no need to ask to whom he referred. "He won’t even need Legilimency to see why."
"Let him," Narcissa said brazenly. She bent down and wrapped her arms around him, holding him with a possessive air that would have frightened him if he’d had the strength. "Let the Dark Lord know what I will risk for my son."
-----
Once he’d finished his breakfast, Draco made the now routine trip down the dungeons. In light of Luna’s condition, he’d added a few extra items to the tray outside of the watchful eyes of house elves. He’d been expecting to find Luna still curled up on the floor of her cell, but the Sixth Year continued to defy his expectations. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Luna, amazingly upright and walking. He watched her move back and forth over the same small patch of ground and noted that her limp had gotten worse and that each action seemed to cause her pain.
"Must every woman in my life seek to drive me to my wit’s end?" he muttered darkly, deciding not to dwell on the realization that Luna Lovegood was officially "a woman in his life."
Hearing his voice but obviously not what he’d actually said, Luna turned to him and waved. "Good morning, Draco."
"I won’t ask how you managed it," he drawled, gliding forward. "I will ask why, though I suspect I’m going to regret it immensely."
She sank to the floor, tucking her legs underneath her as she always did while Draco sent the food through the bars. "I was doing a walking meditation."
He arched an eyebrow and sank into a crouch. "I thought you needed to sit for meditating. You know, make that funny hand gesture and say ‘ohm.’"
"It can be like that," Luna answered. "But there are many kinds of meditation. I decided to walk to try and work out my muscles a little. Yoga would have been far too intense." She gazed down at her tray, her eyes widening slightly. "You’ve added things."
"Yeah," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "I shrunk down a few blankets. If you get caught with them, just blame it on a house elf. And I’ve added some chamomile and peppermint tea packets; I’ve heard they help with pain. That tea cup is spelled to refill with hot water once you’re done. Don’t worry; it’ll stay hot if you’re not ready for it."
It wouldn’t be true for him to say that he’d never seen her smile before. He was quite familiar with that strange expression, as if she was forever dazed and caught in some pleasant living daydream. It would have been equally untrue to say that she smiled at him now; she beamed. It was as if the moon turned into the sun. "Thank you. That’s very sweet."
In addition to driving him insane, it seemed Luna had the talent to embarrass him as well. "Yeah. Well. Don’t mention it." He paused. "Really."
"I inferred that already," she said pleasantly, ripping open a packet of the chamomile and dipping the bag into the piping hot water.
He could have gone. Really, he should have gone. But if he did, he had a choice between seeing his mother, who he was angry with, coming across his aunt, who terrified him, or sulking alone in his room. Even visiting with Luna Lovegood seemed to be a better alternative.
"How do you meditate while walking?"
His nonsequitor did not faze her. "The same way you would sitting. You try to empty your mind of extraneous thoughts and worries and give yourself some time to recover from your own life."
Draco sniffed with some derision. "I can’t imagine that working for me."
She nodded. "I found it difficult myself when I first started. I like thinking."
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. "Bloody Ravenclaw."
She ignored him. "I finally decided to begin reciting a mantra in my mind. It’s a phrase you repeat to yourself over and over again so you have something else to focus on."
"Like what?"
"It changes for me," she explained, taking a bit of burnt toast. "Sometimes it’s a line from a song or something nice someone said to me. That doesn’t happen often." She swallowed, allowing time for him to hide his embarrassment by proxy. "Lately it’s been ‘Sabbe Satta Sukhi Hontu.’"
"Er."
"It means ‘May All Beings Be Happy.’"
He pondered this for awhile. "Seems like a waste of energy to me."
She tilted her head to the side. "In what way?"
"Wishing the whole world could be happy," Draco explained, wrapping his arms around his knees. "No matter what, someone’s going to be sad. It’s just the way things are."
Luna stared at him without blinking. It probably didn’t last longer than thirty seconds or so, but it felt like hours. Hadn’t anyone ever mentioned to her how creepy that was?
"I think that’s a valid point," Luna said in her faraway voice. "But I don’t think that’s the point of the mantra. It’s not like prayer or asking for something to happen. The act of wishing is important. It’s about the words, not the results."
He spared her a small smile. "Is this how it is in the Ravenclaw common room?"
Luna’s eyes grew wistful, and he regretted the question. "Sometimes. Most days it’s quiet since a lot of students do homework there after the library’s closed. But there are debates every now and again." She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears. He noticed she only had one of her radish earrings in. "I don’t usually participate. When I offer my opinion, they tend to stop."
This came as no surprise to him.
"Should you still be here?" she asked suddenly. "Won’t your family miss you?"
Draco closed his eyes. "My aunt’s still sleeping, and my mother and I had a bit of a spat. She’s not letting me go back to Hogwarts."
"Did you really want to?"
In all honesty, he hadn’t considered this. "I don’t know. Maybe I just resented being ordered. It’s not as though I’m popular right now, but… I liked being able to watch out for my friends."
"I understand." Her tone somehow made this statement more profound than it really was.
"Thanks."
"What about your father?"
The mention of Lucius Malfoy made Draco’s hand convulse reflexively into fists.
"He’s out working for the Dark Lord again. He left early this morning."
Her hand reached out through the bars to cover his own. He stared as if her fingers were completely foreign to him, and he supposed they were. She was cool, no longer freezing cold to the touch.
"I’m sorry," she said. He didn’t doubt her sincerity, but he did wonder at how she managed it.
"Why?" he croaked.
"Because you miss him."
He continued looking at their hands and then chuckled, feeling strangely repentant. "I never knew you were this perceptive."
"You didn’t know me at all," she reminded him.
"No. I didn’t." He took a deep breath and worked to relax his hands. Once he managed it, she pulled her hand away. Part of him wished it would return. His recent downswing in esteem among his classmates had left him a glutton for physical contact. Ginny Weasley’s slap did not count for obvious reasons. "Anyway, no one will miss me if I stay down here." He paused. "I almost prefer to be here right now."
She smiled at him again. He found it was growing on him. "I’m glad to have the company. Mr. Ollivander isn’t exactly a stellar conversationalist."
Draco looked askance at the eternally prone wandmaker. "No, I don’t suppose he is."
"And Draco?"
"Hm?"
"I’m a little glad you’re not going back to school."
He snorted. "Something else you and my mother agree on. What is the world coming to?"
December 31, 1997 - January 1, 1998
The next few days passed in much the same way. Draco continued to deliver food and various odds and ends for Luna (and Ollivander too, though only because she asked him to and he didn’t much feel like alienating the only person left in the Manor he actually wanted to speak to). He usually walked in on her latest meditation technique, but she always stopped when she saw him and they would talk. More often than not, he’d leave when he couldn’t suffer her nonsensical ramblings anymore. She still hadn’t caught on that the moment she mentioned Nargles, he remembered something he had to do.
On December 31st, Draco made a late-night trip down to the dungeons. For once, Luna’s look of surprise seemed genuine.
"I’m glad it’s you. I was afraid it was your aunt with a New Year’s Cruciatus demonstration."
Draco shook his head. "No. She’s out."
"Another Death Eater party?"
Draco thought back to bidding his aunt and the other resident Death Eaters goodbye a few hours before. She’d told him exactly what her plans were for that evening. Listening to her talk, he could almost hear the shrieks of agony that were likely to fill the night, masked by the sound of Muggle fireworks, noisemakers, and drunken renditions of Auld Lang Syne. He’d been sure if he went to bed, he’d awake with the taste of blood in his mouth.
"Probably."
He thought Luna could tell he wasn’t being entirely truthful, but for once, she didn’t call him on it.
"I didn’t know Voldemort’s followers were so festive."
He didn’t bother to hide the flinch at the sound of the Dark Lord’s name. "As far they’re concerned, it’s the last New Year. Bellatrix has decided that when the Dark Lord wins the war and kills Potter, they’ll make that the new New Year. We’d start over at Year One."
Luna frowned. "But then no one will be able to party in 1999."
"Err… no?"
"There’s a song where you’re instructed to party like it’s 1999," she explained. "Muggle music, obviously. I did a report on popular music for my Muggle Studies class, you see."
Draco flashed back to six months earlier. He saw Professor Burbage spinning above the assembled Death Eaters on a tilted access. He saw the flash of green and the light go out of her eyes.
"Anyway," he said a bit too loudly, "I thought you could do with a bit of festivity yourself." He enlarged the spelled champagne bottles and held them up for her inspection. "Not the best, but it’ll do the job."
"Of?"
"Getting us plastered."
Luna never giggled, but she came very close then. "Did you bring any for Mr. Ollivander?"
"I don’t think he needs any."
"Probably not," Luna agreed as Draco popped the cork on the first bottle. She took it from his proffered hand, stepping away from the overflowing fizz that spurted from the neck. Then she took a quick swig and passed it back to him. "It’s nice of you to come down here. I know you’d rather be out with your friends."
He knew better than to deny that, but he took a long drink from the bottle to give himself time to contemplate his next statement. "I don’t think they’d have me."
"Did you ask?"
He shook his head. "I didn’t want to see the look in their eyes. They want us to be all right, you see. They want to forgive me for what happened, for letting the Death Eaters in. It’s just hard right now."
Luna leaned her cheek against one of the bars. "I’d wondered if the Slytherins were having a difficult time as well. Everyone said I was crazy, but they always say that, so I didn’t pay them any mind."
Draco frowned. "Bloody idiots. They’re not the only ones suffering."
"You don’t make it look that way."
He scoffed and took another drink before handing it back to her. "It’s better for us if we act like we’re going along with it." He hesitated. "Sometimes we are, but not always. Some of the younger ones don’t know when to keep their mouths shut." He wrapped his fingers around another of the bars, watching as his knuckles faded to parchment white.
She touched his hand again. He’d never have guessed Luna was so physically affectionate, but then he supposed she was in a similar position as him, being stuck somewhere alone. In that aspect, he supposed they were kindred spirits, even if he was her jailer. "They’ll forgive you. It just might take awhile."
"What makes you say that?"
Her eyes were so blue, so wide, but not the least bit naïve. She looked at him not with the earnestness of a child who still believed in Father Christmas, but someone who believed things whole-heartedly, with faith like a sane zealot.
How odd that he’d compared her to a sane anything.
"Friends are friends," she said assuredly. "No matter what house they’re in."
As was so often the case, he had nothing to say to that. He simply raised his bottle in a mock toast. "Cheers, Luna."
January 20, 1998
When Draco was not dealing with the insane girl in the basement and her comatose cellmate, he spent most of his time wandering around the upper floors of the Manor, trying to avoid his aunt. He’d moved on from being frustrated with his mother and would have been happy to spend time with her, but Bellatrix had decided that she wanted to engage in some sisterly bonding. It left Draco hiding from his mother just to hide from Bellatrix.
He would have attached himself to his father to give him some small comfort, but his father wasn’t at home. No one knew where he was. Or if they did, they refused to tell him.
Draco couldn’t understand this reasoning in the slightest. As far as he was concerned, the only reason to keep him in the dark about his father’s whereabouts would be if they expected Draco to go after him. What did they take him for? A Gryffindor half-wit who would serve as little more than cannon fodder in their war for supremacy? Did they think he’d turned into Potter when they weren’t looking?
They should have known better. No matter what the danger, Draco would have never gone to his father. After all, Lucius was the adult. Certainly he could take care of himself. Maybe he was a little fragile, a little ragged, but he wasn’t helpless. There was nothing Lucius couldn’t accomplish in the end. It made no sense for the son to ride out and rescue the father; the father was supposed to rescue the son.
And Draco didn’t intend to need saving. He’d keep his distance from danger. His mother was correct. She’d raised her son to be the sort of man who kept his head down and lived. The Malfoys were survivors.
Not heroes. Not saviors. Not brave men.
Survivors.
Stupid of them to expect anything else from him. Stupid of them not to know him by now. Even bloody Luna Lovegood knew him better.
It’s all right. I know you’re not brave.
Idiots.
Then again, perhaps they were just being cruel.
Suddenly, Draco felt overwhelmed by the stench of something rotting. He inhaled the remnants of dried blood, and Draco knew this cologne of violence in an instant. He wanted to run, he wanted his mother, his father, even his aunt, anyone but a Death Eater more wolf than man. It was panic and not courage that led Draco to reach for his wand, whirl around, and aim it between a pair of nightmare eyes.
Fenrir Greyback just smiled. Bellatrix smiled like a knife, and his mother like thawing winter. Fenrir always grinned at Draco and at everyone else as if they were his next meal.
The werewolf batted the wand hand away, foolishly reminding Draco of a kitten and a ball of yarn. But when Fenrir grasped both of his shoulders to pin him against the wall, it seemed far more like a lion pinning down his prey. And Fenrir kept grinning at Draco as if he were the wounded gazelle.
"If it isn’t the littlest Malfoy," Fenrir crooned in his rasping, snarling timbre. Draco could smell human decay on his breath, and he swallowed bile when he realized bits of flesh must be caught between those pointed teeth. "Pulling wands on me?"
"I-I didn’t kno-know it was you," Draco stammered, hoping Fenrir lacked the intellect to see through this lie. No one in the world carried the same scent as Greyback. By smell alone, he could never be mistaken for anyone else.
The wolf-man growled, leaving Draco cold and trembling with fear. "I reckon it’s odd, you pulling your wand out in your own house. Who are you thinking of running into to duel with in the grand Malfoy Manor?"
Draco’s mind reeled desperately and landed on only one possibility. "We’ve prisoners in the basement. The house elves have been caught helping them before - giving them blankets and things. If they helped them escape, they’d attack me. I’ve been their caretaker."
Even in his hysteria, Draco had to commend himself on the excellent lie. Even someone driven by the mind and not by bloodlust might have mistaken it for the truth. And Greyback was dull enough to believe this without question. Draco began to release a breath he hadn’t realized he held as the werewolf relaxed his grip.
"Your aunt had mentioned something. Said she had a bit of fun with one of them." His dry, cracking lips split open into that same smile and a tiny river of drool fell from the corner of his mouth. "A little blond girl."
What happened next, Draco would later put down to some kind of psychotic break.
"No!" he snapped, shaking off Greyback’s loose hold. "She’s not one of yours."
Greyback let out what could only be described as an enraged howl, and it was made all the more horrifying by the mixture of human and lupine noises. He lunged for Draco, and the first time, Seeker reflexes kicked in, allowing Draco to dance out of reach. The second time, Fenrir grasped his left forearm and squeezed. The bones threatened to crack.
"What’s this, then?" he hissed, jaws snapping. "The little cub thinking he can lay claim?"
"I’m not in your bloody pack," Draco wheezed, longing for the strength to pull his arm free. He suspected if he tried, he’d wind up with a broken arm or a dislocated shoulder. He didn’t do well with pain.
A horrible, rumbling sound bubbled up from the recesses of Fenrir’s barrel chest. "But you could be."
"She’s not to be harmed," Draco spat. "Those are my orders."
Fenrir’s laugh was as awful as his howl. "And who’d be giving you orders? ’Sides, I don’t put much stock in orders. Sometimes I get carried away…."
Draco remembered the stories of the Montgomery boy. He’d been five. He’d never be anything but five. Draco fought the urge to be violently ill.
"Who do you think y’are anyway?" Fenrir rasped. "Seems I recall you trying to tell me something I didn’t like before. Remember how that turned out?"
His grip on Draco’s arm tightened. It trembled between his dirty fingers.
Draco swallowed again and looked Fenrir in the eye. "Not. Her."
The moment it was said, Draco knew it had been a mistake. Fenrir’s eyes dilated and his tongue began to slip out of his mouth. Draco wondered for a moment if he’d be as lucky as the oldest Weasley, and then remembered that Billius hadn’t been lucky at all.
"Greyback!"
Draco’s and Fenrir’s heads both snapped to the sound, and for once, Draco was thrilled to see his aunt.
She clicked her tongue at Fenrir, sounding for all the world like a disappointed professor scolding her brightest pupil. He imagined Fenrir squeezing into a desk in Bellatrix’s torture dungeon classroom, and he let out a hysterical laugh.
"I’ve told you before. Draco isn’t one of your toys," she said, ignoring him.
Fenrir growled. "I don’t take orders from cubs."
Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "My nephew is not and never will be in your pack. You may not take orders from him, but you do take them from me."
It was a standoff between bloodthirsty titans. Draco pictured the battle that could play out between them. Bellatrix with her favorite Unforgivable, Fenrir with teeth that sank into flesh and bone. He imagined the floor growing slick and crimson, heard the high cackles and the baying rage.
He did not think of who would be the victor. Even now, he didn’t know who he’d want to live.
Thankfully, he did not have to find out. Fenrir released his arm, and though it sang with pain, Draco realized it appeared to be intact. He cradled it to his chest, letting the warmth begin to work against the ache and throbbing.
"There’s a good puppy," Bellatrix teased, heedless of Greyback baring his teeth. "Come. Narcissa and I have things to discuss with you."
Draco’s heart sank like a stone in standing water.
Greyback lumbered away from Draco, still gnashing the teeth he had filed sharp at the start of the first war. He cast one final look over his shoulder, snarling, "Just wanted to play with his little poppet."
Draco saw Bellatrix’s eyes bulge horribly, her eyes wrenching from the wolf to the boy. He felt her measuring him and this piece of information. He remembered the shrieks that had echoed up and down the manor’s halls while she tortured the house elf who had been blamed for providing comfort to the prisoners. Even a creature conditioned for servitude and bred to bear pain had begged for it to stop.
"It was my understanding she wasn’t to be harmed," Draco said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "He only knows how to harm."
Bellatrix continued to stare, and he felt pinned more by her eyes than Greyback’s brute strength. The struggle to keep his body taut and steady felt like his own private war. It seemed like an eternity before his aunt nodded and then swept out of the hall, Fenrir following at her heels.
Draco waited until they rounded the corner, and then collapsed to his knees. He shook so violently he could have been mistaken for having a fit. He curled in on himself, still clutching his wounded arm to his chest. Then his mouth fell open and he emptied his stomach into the nearest house plant.
Finished, he toppled so that he lay on the floor, letting the marble floors cool his feverish skin. He remained there, breathing heavily, tears pricking at his eyes, which he blamed on his burning throat. Then he pushed back the left sleeve of his robe and stared at his arm.
When Potter had grabbed him in Madame Malkin’s robe shop over a year ago, Draco knew the sod had immediately assumed that he was marked. After the invasion of Hogwarts, Draco suspected that most students agreed with him. A few people in his house knew this was not true, simply because he’d told them that he would be rewarded with the mark on completion of his mission. Since he hadn’t fulfilled all of the parameters by allowing Snape to kill Dumbledore, the mark had not been bestowed on him. After witnessing the mark given to several others since then, Draco couldn’t say he was disappointed.
Draco may have technically been a Death Eater, but he was not so prized as to wear the skull and snake. So Potter had been wrong about that much. And no one - absolutely no one - knew what the real cause of his pain had been that day.
He stared down at the crisscross hatching of scars that stood out against his white flesh, still angry and inflamed as they had been the day Greyback had given them to him. He’d mauled Draco’s arm with teeth and nails thick as claws. No one had been there to stop him. Draco still didn’t know how he’d emerged from that disastrous meeting alive. But after a full minute of Draco crying and begging, Fenrir had released him. Then he’d given Draco a horrible pink smile.
"Just a warning," he’d said. "With my mark."
A warning, given only when Draco had told Greyback he doubted he could get the cabinets fixed in the original timeline set by the Dark Lord when he had been first given the assignment. And because he was nervous and apt to say things he shouldn’t when he was nervous, he made a bad joke that he might not be able to fix it at all. For that, he’d been given cursed wounds.
Well, he’d gotten the cabinets to work, hadn’t he?
Draco whimpered, hating the sound of it echoing across the vaulted ceilings. He wanted his parents so badly to tell him it was all right. His father was gone, and now his mother was caught in Bellatrix’s spider web. Before long, she’d be tangled up, stung, and trapped in silk stronger than steel. Then she’d never be able to get free. None of them would if the Dark Lord won. They’d be tangled up with him and Bellatrix and Fenrir for the rest of their lives if Potter and his sidekicks failed to win the war. And just how long could the rest of their lives possibly be?
He didn’t want to be alone in the face of his own stark fear. He couldn’t stand to listen to himself, couldn’t stand to envision a future for himself, couldn’t stand himself. And he knew there was only one person in the whole manor left for him.
Without weighing the decision, Draco clambered to his feet and hurried away from the hall. He half-walked, half-ran from the scene of his latest humiliation, retracing the now familiar steps through the manor all the way down to its prison cells. He threw open the door, nearly fell down the steps, and emerged in the dimly lit stone chamber.
Luna was there because she was always there. She sat with an erect spine, legs beneath her and hands folded against her ribcage. He wondered if she was this reliable when she wasn’t trapped. He let out that stupid, mad laugh again, and her eyes flew open, instantly alert.
"Draco?" she asked, rising to her feet in one fluid movement. She hardened her distant gaze, and for just a second, he could have sworn she met his eyes head on. The moment passed, and the dreamy look returned, but she was no less focused. She held a hand out to him through the bars, beckoning. "Come here."
He didn’t hesitate. He stumbled forward, tripping over his robes and then falling against the front of her cell. He grabbed the bars to hold himself upright. "I let him in."
"You let who in?"
"I didn’t know he was coming," Draco whispered in a high, manic voice. "But if I’d known he was coming, what would I have done differently? Nothing! I couldn’t have changed anything. I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was fix that stupid bloody fucking cabinet to let them in. But I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know Greyback would be there."
"Draco-"
"Don’t tell me it’s all right!" he bellowed. "It’s not all right! Do you think he would have cared what color the robes were? Do you think he would have even noticed? All he’d see was a child, a child to turn or to kill or violate. He would have torn them apart just for being young."
He squeezed his eyes shut and felt hot tears fall down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. Let her seem him cry, let him tell all the Ravenclaws like Potter had certainly done with the Gryffindors. Or let her just tell Ollivander, let that be the thing that would rouse him just so he could laugh at his pitiful jailer.
"They hated me for it. They still hate me for it," he rambled. "Ginny Weasley wasn’t the only one who hit me. Pansy nearly ripped me apart once she heard he’d been there. She kept screaming at me, furious that I hadn’t asked her for help. She said she would have thought of something better than letting a fucking werewolf into a school. She just kept screaming and crying and no one pulled her off, not even Crabbe and Goyle. They let her do it, and I can’t even be pissed at them because they were right to let her.
"But what was I supposed to do?" he shouted, pounding his fists against her cell. "They said they’d kill my mother and father. I couldn’t let that happen." He pushed his forehead against the steel, and it bit him back with cold. "And it didn’t even matter. My father’s alive, but they keep running him ragged. He’s sick, and they know it, but he’s always on a mission. He’s never home, and if one of yours doesn’t kill him, he’ll kill himself for the Dark Lord’s sake.
"What will my mother do when he’s gone? She’s already turning to Bellatrix because she’s her sister, she’s blood, but she’s mad! There’s madness in my blood; how is that supposed to be pure? How can anything be right when my father’s dying, my mother can’t help me, and I’m left crying to a girl from school I don’t even know I’ve got locked up in the fucking basement!"
He had no more words. Spent, he kept standing there, his face pressed against the bars and tears coursing down his face. He felt like he was choking, drowning in the open air, and there was no one to save him.
Luna’s hands smoothed away the wetness from his skin, her touch light and cool. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into her own. They were the softest blue he’d ever seen. Then she pulled away only to gently extricate his fingers from her cage. She pushed her flat palm against his and then interlocked their fingers, holding his hands with tender strength. She sank to the floor, and he followed, mirroring her movements unbidden. He sat like she did, kept his back straight like she did, and closed his eyes when she did.
"Just focus on your breath."
And so he did. He thought of each breath as it wheezed in and out, striving to think only of the air filling and exiting his lungs. After awhile, it became easier. And bit by bit, the urge to cry went away, the weight in his chest lifted, and he no longer felt afraid.
After the better part of an hour, he opened his eyes. She smiled at him, but she didn’t let go of his hands.
He was surprised to find that he didn’t want her to.
January 24, 1998
"Draco."
He looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at his aunt. She’d been gone for several days on some errand with Fenrir of all people, allowing him some time with his mother. He’d been expecting her back that day, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated her seeking him out.
"Yes, Aunt Bellatrix?"
Her thin red lips curled like a wilting rose as she made her way over to him, taking the seat next to him by the window. She wound her arms around him in an embrace that left him feeling as much of a captive as Luna. In a way, he supposed he always had been.
"I wanted to apologize on behalf of the little feral pup," Bellatrix said, pushing his hair out of his eyes and scraping the skin with her nails. "Sometimes he doesn’t know when to heel."
What was he meant to say to that? He could hardly say it was fine. He settled for, "Don’t worry over it."
"But of course I worry over my darling little nephew," she crooned. "No matter who his father is."
Draco held on to the book more tightly, but said nothing.
"Though I do wish you’d told me about the girl right off."
He froze and hoped he was pale enough that she didn’t notice the blood draining from his face. "What?"
"Granted, I should have guessed it, seeing as you spend so much time in the dungeons, and it isn’t as if you can do anything with that wandmaker."
Panic set in like an infection, spreading up from the base of his spine. He hadn’t been careful enough. He’d assumed no one would pay attention to him, the son of a fallen Death Eater. He’d been stupid, so stupid to think that Bellatrix would not see, that she wouldn’t notice. Now someone else was certain to die for his weakness. Perhaps this time there would be two.
Bellatrix pinched his cheek so hard he thought she’d punch a hole in his flesh. "Just remember, we need to keep her breathing. We do need to send her father proof of life on occasion to keep him cooperative." She rolled her eyes at what she obviously considered to be a great inconvenience. "But you’re welcome to do what you like with her otherwise."
Draco’s mouth went dry. Now he understood, and for the first time, wished he wasn’t so clever. "Of… course, Aunt Bella."
"And don’t forget that casting Imperius too much can make them hollow after awhile. I know one’s needs must be satisfied, but the girl was already addled."
He bit his tongue and prayed for divine intercession.
But Bellatrix just pat him on the cheek, hissed, "My little prodigy," and went on her way.
The next time he saw Luna, she asked why he couldn’t look her in the eye.
February 9, 1998
"Tell me again how you talked me into this?"
Draco looked down at his attire, which was so Muggle that he felt rather like a blood traitor just by wearing it. Luna assured him that "work out trousers" as she called them were far from the epitome of non-magical clothing, but Draco was not convinced. Besides, he doubted his aunt, family, or the odd Death Eater hanging about the house would see the difference. His eyes swept the corner for a rat with a shiny appendage.
Luna finished wiping at her skin with the cloth and basin he’d snuck down for her, wringing out black water. "Because you feel guilty for something you won’t tell me about, and it’s made you amenable to a great number of my requests."
"Ah."
She straightened and pushed the bowl over to Ollivander. Not surprisingly, he didn’t acknowledge it. She fluffed her damp hair and looked at him with her characteristically wide gaze. "I’m only teaching you some basics to help you deal with the stress. The meditation worked for you once, but all other attempts have failed spectacularly."
Draco’s frown edged near a pout. "I don’t know about spectacularly…."
"As I told you then, the point of silent meditation is to be silent."
"I only asked you for a mantra suggestion."
"After ten minutes of pointless babbling. And then when I gave you the suggestion of using a song lyric-"
"I still contend that you brought that entirely on yourself."
"-you began working all of Prince’s lyrics into your sentences."
"Boo hoo. "Is this what it sounds like when the doves cry?"
"I regret teaching you those songs more than I can possibly say."
"I never meant to cause you any sorrow. I never meant to cause you any pain. I only wanted to one time see you laughing. I only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rain."
"Enough," Luna said, her inflection momentarily reminding him of Flitwick’s squeaking instructions. She then stood with her feet together and her hands hanging at her sides. "We’ll start with a Sun Salutation. This is Tadasana or Mountain Pose. It looks like you’re only standing there, but the first step of any sequence is to get your body into alignment. Bring your weight evenly onto all four corners of both feet. Tuck your tailbone under and draw your stomach in. Elongate your neck."
Draco did his best to follow these instructions, hoping that she didn’t notice the furtive glances he cast of his shoulder to make sure no one would see him in this position.
She swung her hands out to the sides and then upwards, extending her arms until they were straight. "Urdhva Hastasana." Then she brought her hands down until they rested in front of her chest folded like a Muggle child in prayer, fingertips pointing at the ceiling.
‘Bloody Muggles and their unpronounceable nonsense words,’ Draco thought.
"Bring your arms out like you’re swan-diving," Luna continued, "and fall forward from the hips, keeping your back flat. Bend as far as your flexibility will allow." Draco winced as his hamstrings stretched to accommodate his position and wondered in what alternate universe this was supposed to calm him. Then he noticed that Luna had her palms flush against the floor on either side of her feet. His hands hung somewhere near mid-calf.
"Now push your right foot backwards," she said, moving into a lunge. He noticed now that she’d closed her eyes, which meant she couldn’t track his movements at all. He straightened, rubbing his lower back as he watched her go through the rest of the sequence.
She went through the movements gracefully and with ease, the mark of a well-versed practitioner. There was something impressive about all of this, even if it did stem from a culture he wanted nothing to do with.
"Then you go into Downward Facing Dog."
Draco’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline. Clearly, he had not given Muggles enough credit. Luna was essentially bent over with her hips lifted high into the air. He was beginning to enjoy yoga a great deal more than he would have thought possible.
"Come forward into plank."
Draco silently mourned the loss of the dog pose. For about ten seconds.
"And then you go into Moving Cat, into Low Cobra, and into Up Dog."
Draco felt quite certain that he popped a blood vessel watching her. He could only describe her actions as ‘undulating,’ bringing her chest and chin to floor and pushing forward. The rest of her body followed through, a snake writhing. Then she straightened her arms and pushed off, leaving only her legs below the calf touching the floor. And because he was a seventeen-year-old boy, he really only noted her arched back and the resulting chest.
Which of course was a signal for Luna’s eyes to open.
"Ah," she said, still holding her pose. "There’s a euphemism for this." For the first time, she gave him a different smile altogether - she smirked. "Draco Malfoy, you are checking me out."
She may as well have lit his face on fire. "I am not!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Really? I’m quite sure you are."
Draco, who prided himself on his ability to articulate, stammered for a full minute without once stumbling upon a verb.
"Granted, I’m not what you would call well-versed in this situation," Luna continued, apparently seeing no reason to come out of her current position. "When most people look at me, I rather suspect they’re wondering if I’m ‘all there.’ If they’re not embarrassed or afraid, which I think is rather silly. There’s nothing frightening about me, is there, Draco?"
"You’re doing this on purpose," he snapped, trying his very best to maintain eye contact. "I was not… I am not attracted to you." He flashed back to a similar incident with Daphne Greengrass at the Yule Ball that had ended with him getting a bowl of punch dumped over his head. "I mean! I mean, you’re attractive, just not… to… me. Because that would be inappropriate, all things considered."
They both shot a meaningful look towards her cell door.
"I wonder if there’s such a thing as Reverse Stockholm."
He frowned. "That’s a Muggle thing, isn’t it?"
"Stockholm Syndrome refers to when a captive becomes emotionally dependent on his or her captor because of the physical dependency that results from such imprisonment," Luna explained. "I think you have the reverse, though I don’t see what you’d be dependent on me for." She paused. "Perhaps company?"
His entire body launched into one giant twitch. Then he reached for his robes and threw them around his body, making sure any evidence of Muggle was covered. "You’re. Insane."
"And you’re a breast man," she said, finally emerging from that blasted pose. "Which is surprising. I would have assumed leg."
Draco swept out of the room with a flourish and a particularly nasty curse, punctuated by the sound of her laughing.
Part Three
Recipient: The clever_claws Community
Title: These Accidents of Faith, Part 2 of 3
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers through Manor confrontation in Deathly Hallows. However, I change canon a wee bit so that Draco does not return to Hogwarts after Christmas break. Also, rather than have the Malfoys keep their prisoners in the cellar, I gave the manor a dungeon cause that’s just more badass.
Characters/Ships: Luna/Draco with a side of Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Fenrir.
Genre: Flangst
Summary: While home for Christmas break, Draco gets charged with overseeing the prisoners, including the new addition of Luna Lovegood.
Length: 21,000
Notes: Meditation in particular plays a huge part, and I hope the dialogue is sufficiently humorous. Another thank you goes to my lovely beta reader with putting up with me and my uncharacteristically het pairings. And finally, a thank you to the mods of clever_claws! Thank you so much for organizing this fest! I had a blast!
Title from "Lightning Strike" by Snow Patrol. Any other lyrics and the excerpts taken directly from Deathly Hallows used within the fic are obviously not mine.
December 26, 1997
The next morning, Draco was given another unwanted surprise.
"What do you mean, I’m not going back to Hogwarts?" he demanded, pounding one fist against the breakfast table. It occurred to him that this bordered on a tantrum, but he decided he didn’t care.
Narcissa took a slow sip of her tea, her pinky extended as daintily as ever. "I was unaware something in my statement was unclear."
Sometimes, Draco swore that adult-aged Slytherins like his mother, father, and Snape had all been taught a certain kind of diction purposefully meant to drive the children in their care up the wall. "I know what you meant of course, but I think I deserve more explanation than ‘I said so.’"
She gave him a dangerous look but answered him easily enough. "Did you know that Alecto and Amycus Carrow were in attendance last evening?"
The blood in Draco’s body pooled somewhere around his feet. "No. I… I didn’t see them."
Narcissa stabbed at her breakfast with unusual vehemence. "You’d already retired to your bedroom due to your… headache. And thankfully, they did not stay long."
Draco’s eyes darted around the room, seeking out all of the hidden corners. Bellatrix may have still been abed, nursing her hangover, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t enlisted the house elves or other spies to eavesdrop. And there was always Pettigrew, who was useless save for his Animagi capabilities. "Mother-"
"Your aunt knows how I feel about them," Narcissa informed him with icicles in her voice. "For the few minutes they stayed, I was regaled with a number of stories about the ‘improvements’ they have made to the curriculum as well as to punishment practices at your school." She slammed down her knife and fork with an uncharacteristically inelegant movement. "Why didn’t you tell me about the extent of this?"
Draco’s eyes fell away from her steel gaze. "I didn’t want to worry you, so I… left out some details."
"Details?" Narcissa spat. "Fiendfyre? Unforgiveables? Curses from Romania and Russia and the Ukraine that I cannot even hope to pronounce - though I must say, I can easily regale you with their effects in startling detail. You consider these mere details?"
"They have never used them on me," Draco insisted through clenched teeth.
Narcissa curled her fingers in exasperation. "Of course not, Draco. You were responsible for getting them into Hogwarts to begin with, even if you did not complete your mission as instructed."
Draco gripped his chair to keep from leaping out of it. "I told you not to bring that up."
"I mention it only to remind you why they have not turned on you," Narcissa said crisply. "But don’t think that this means you’re safe. You know your father’s position. The Dark Lord keeps him around as an amusement, his own white peacock to gawk at - a human house elf to torture!" Narcissa’s eyes glittered with tears, but Draco knew they would not fall. Throughout everything, she had never once cried in front of him. "Should your father fail the Dark Lord again, they may very well turn their wands on you. Or worse, they will order Vincent or Gregory to do it. Perhaps Pansy, though I was not told of her prodigious talent for their methods."
Draco felt like he might be ill at the thought. "They wouldn’t. They’re my friends."
"Your friends care for you. I know that," Narcissa whispered fiercely. "But above anything else, they will want to live. Should one of the Carrows order them to torture you, do not delude yourself into thinking that their love for you will stop them."
Draco ducked his head. He could not look at her anymore.
Narcissa did not speak for a few minutes, but when she did address him again, her voice was less hard. "I don’t say this to hurt you. You deserve the truth. It would be worse if I lied to you."
There was something both disheartening and absolutely hysterical about the fact that his mother and Luna Lovegood shared views on anything, least of all honesty.
He heard the rustling of fabric as she rose from her seat and crossed to him. "You need to be prepared for this reality. In normal circumstances, I would trust your friends with your life. Slytherin loyalties run deep." He felt her hand on his shoulder. The weight of it felt unbearable. "But it does not supersede a Slytherin’s will to survive. If you were in their position, I expect that you would do this as well. I have raised you that way."
He recognized the pride in her voice, and could not decide how he felt about it.
"Leaving you in that school is a risk I am not willing to take. After they left, I spoke to the other parents. Not all of them share my views, but they are not in our position." She hesitated. "I did hear from some that Slytherins have not been wholly exempt from their punishments."
He closed his eyes and remembered the screaming. "Usually we are. We’re smart enough not to attract their attention. But some of the First Years haven’t been around for very long."
Her grip tightened, and he realized that his mother and Bellatrix had the same hands.
"He’ll know why I’m not there," Draco muttered. There was no need to ask to whom he referred. "He won’t even need Legilimency to see why."
"Let him," Narcissa said brazenly. She bent down and wrapped her arms around him, holding him with a possessive air that would have frightened him if he’d had the strength. "Let the Dark Lord know what I will risk for my son."
-----
Once he’d finished his breakfast, Draco made the now routine trip down the dungeons. In light of Luna’s condition, he’d added a few extra items to the tray outside of the watchful eyes of house elves. He’d been expecting to find Luna still curled up on the floor of her cell, but the Sixth Year continued to defy his expectations. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Luna, amazingly upright and walking. He watched her move back and forth over the same small patch of ground and noted that her limp had gotten worse and that each action seemed to cause her pain.
"Must every woman in my life seek to drive me to my wit’s end?" he muttered darkly, deciding not to dwell on the realization that Luna Lovegood was officially "a woman in his life."
Hearing his voice but obviously not what he’d actually said, Luna turned to him and waved. "Good morning, Draco."
"I won’t ask how you managed it," he drawled, gliding forward. "I will ask why, though I suspect I’m going to regret it immensely."
She sank to the floor, tucking her legs underneath her as she always did while Draco sent the food through the bars. "I was doing a walking meditation."
He arched an eyebrow and sank into a crouch. "I thought you needed to sit for meditating. You know, make that funny hand gesture and say ‘ohm.’"
"It can be like that," Luna answered. "But there are many kinds of meditation. I decided to walk to try and work out my muscles a little. Yoga would have been far too intense." She gazed down at her tray, her eyes widening slightly. "You’ve added things."
"Yeah," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "I shrunk down a few blankets. If you get caught with them, just blame it on a house elf. And I’ve added some chamomile and peppermint tea packets; I’ve heard they help with pain. That tea cup is spelled to refill with hot water once you’re done. Don’t worry; it’ll stay hot if you’re not ready for it."
It wouldn’t be true for him to say that he’d never seen her smile before. He was quite familiar with that strange expression, as if she was forever dazed and caught in some pleasant living daydream. It would have been equally untrue to say that she smiled at him now; she beamed. It was as if the moon turned into the sun. "Thank you. That’s very sweet."
In addition to driving him insane, it seemed Luna had the talent to embarrass him as well. "Yeah. Well. Don’t mention it." He paused. "Really."
"I inferred that already," she said pleasantly, ripping open a packet of the chamomile and dipping the bag into the piping hot water.
He could have gone. Really, he should have gone. But if he did, he had a choice between seeing his mother, who he was angry with, coming across his aunt, who terrified him, or sulking alone in his room. Even visiting with Luna Lovegood seemed to be a better alternative.
"How do you meditate while walking?"
His nonsequitor did not faze her. "The same way you would sitting. You try to empty your mind of extraneous thoughts and worries and give yourself some time to recover from your own life."
Draco sniffed with some derision. "I can’t imagine that working for me."
She nodded. "I found it difficult myself when I first started. I like thinking."
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. "Bloody Ravenclaw."
She ignored him. "I finally decided to begin reciting a mantra in my mind. It’s a phrase you repeat to yourself over and over again so you have something else to focus on."
"Like what?"
"It changes for me," she explained, taking a bit of burnt toast. "Sometimes it’s a line from a song or something nice someone said to me. That doesn’t happen often." She swallowed, allowing time for him to hide his embarrassment by proxy. "Lately it’s been ‘Sabbe Satta Sukhi Hontu.’"
"Er."
"It means ‘May All Beings Be Happy.’"
He pondered this for awhile. "Seems like a waste of energy to me."
She tilted her head to the side. "In what way?"
"Wishing the whole world could be happy," Draco explained, wrapping his arms around his knees. "No matter what, someone’s going to be sad. It’s just the way things are."
Luna stared at him without blinking. It probably didn’t last longer than thirty seconds or so, but it felt like hours. Hadn’t anyone ever mentioned to her how creepy that was?
"I think that’s a valid point," Luna said in her faraway voice. "But I don’t think that’s the point of the mantra. It’s not like prayer or asking for something to happen. The act of wishing is important. It’s about the words, not the results."
He spared her a small smile. "Is this how it is in the Ravenclaw common room?"
Luna’s eyes grew wistful, and he regretted the question. "Sometimes. Most days it’s quiet since a lot of students do homework there after the library’s closed. But there are debates every now and again." She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears. He noticed she only had one of her radish earrings in. "I don’t usually participate. When I offer my opinion, they tend to stop."
This came as no surprise to him.
"Should you still be here?" she asked suddenly. "Won’t your family miss you?"
Draco closed his eyes. "My aunt’s still sleeping, and my mother and I had a bit of a spat. She’s not letting me go back to Hogwarts."
"Did you really want to?"
In all honesty, he hadn’t considered this. "I don’t know. Maybe I just resented being ordered. It’s not as though I’m popular right now, but… I liked being able to watch out for my friends."
"I understand." Her tone somehow made this statement more profound than it really was.
"Thanks."
"What about your father?"
The mention of Lucius Malfoy made Draco’s hand convulse reflexively into fists.
"He’s out working for the Dark Lord again. He left early this morning."
Her hand reached out through the bars to cover his own. He stared as if her fingers were completely foreign to him, and he supposed they were. She was cool, no longer freezing cold to the touch.
"I’m sorry," she said. He didn’t doubt her sincerity, but he did wonder at how she managed it.
"Why?" he croaked.
"Because you miss him."
He continued looking at their hands and then chuckled, feeling strangely repentant. "I never knew you were this perceptive."
"You didn’t know me at all," she reminded him.
"No. I didn’t." He took a deep breath and worked to relax his hands. Once he managed it, she pulled her hand away. Part of him wished it would return. His recent downswing in esteem among his classmates had left him a glutton for physical contact. Ginny Weasley’s slap did not count for obvious reasons. "Anyway, no one will miss me if I stay down here." He paused. "I almost prefer to be here right now."
She smiled at him again. He found it was growing on him. "I’m glad to have the company. Mr. Ollivander isn’t exactly a stellar conversationalist."
Draco looked askance at the eternally prone wandmaker. "No, I don’t suppose he is."
"And Draco?"
"Hm?"
"I’m a little glad you’re not going back to school."
He snorted. "Something else you and my mother agree on. What is the world coming to?"
December 31, 1997 - January 1, 1998
The next few days passed in much the same way. Draco continued to deliver food and various odds and ends for Luna (and Ollivander too, though only because she asked him to and he didn’t much feel like alienating the only person left in the Manor he actually wanted to speak to). He usually walked in on her latest meditation technique, but she always stopped when she saw him and they would talk. More often than not, he’d leave when he couldn’t suffer her nonsensical ramblings anymore. She still hadn’t caught on that the moment she mentioned Nargles, he remembered something he had to do.
On December 31st, Draco made a late-night trip down to the dungeons. For once, Luna’s look of surprise seemed genuine.
"I’m glad it’s you. I was afraid it was your aunt with a New Year’s Cruciatus demonstration."
Draco shook his head. "No. She’s out."
"Another Death Eater party?"
Draco thought back to bidding his aunt and the other resident Death Eaters goodbye a few hours before. She’d told him exactly what her plans were for that evening. Listening to her talk, he could almost hear the shrieks of agony that were likely to fill the night, masked by the sound of Muggle fireworks, noisemakers, and drunken renditions of Auld Lang Syne. He’d been sure if he went to bed, he’d awake with the taste of blood in his mouth.
"Probably."
He thought Luna could tell he wasn’t being entirely truthful, but for once, she didn’t call him on it.
"I didn’t know Voldemort’s followers were so festive."
He didn’t bother to hide the flinch at the sound of the Dark Lord’s name. "As far they’re concerned, it’s the last New Year. Bellatrix has decided that when the Dark Lord wins the war and kills Potter, they’ll make that the new New Year. We’d start over at Year One."
Luna frowned. "But then no one will be able to party in 1999."
"Err… no?"
"There’s a song where you’re instructed to party like it’s 1999," she explained. "Muggle music, obviously. I did a report on popular music for my Muggle Studies class, you see."
Draco flashed back to six months earlier. He saw Professor Burbage spinning above the assembled Death Eaters on a tilted access. He saw the flash of green and the light go out of her eyes.
"Anyway," he said a bit too loudly, "I thought you could do with a bit of festivity yourself." He enlarged the spelled champagne bottles and held them up for her inspection. "Not the best, but it’ll do the job."
"Of?"
"Getting us plastered."
Luna never giggled, but she came very close then. "Did you bring any for Mr. Ollivander?"
"I don’t think he needs any."
"Probably not," Luna agreed as Draco popped the cork on the first bottle. She took it from his proffered hand, stepping away from the overflowing fizz that spurted from the neck. Then she took a quick swig and passed it back to him. "It’s nice of you to come down here. I know you’d rather be out with your friends."
He knew better than to deny that, but he took a long drink from the bottle to give himself time to contemplate his next statement. "I don’t think they’d have me."
"Did you ask?"
He shook his head. "I didn’t want to see the look in their eyes. They want us to be all right, you see. They want to forgive me for what happened, for letting the Death Eaters in. It’s just hard right now."
Luna leaned her cheek against one of the bars. "I’d wondered if the Slytherins were having a difficult time as well. Everyone said I was crazy, but they always say that, so I didn’t pay them any mind."
Draco frowned. "Bloody idiots. They’re not the only ones suffering."
"You don’t make it look that way."
He scoffed and took another drink before handing it back to her. "It’s better for us if we act like we’re going along with it." He hesitated. "Sometimes we are, but not always. Some of the younger ones don’t know when to keep their mouths shut." He wrapped his fingers around another of the bars, watching as his knuckles faded to parchment white.
She touched his hand again. He’d never have guessed Luna was so physically affectionate, but then he supposed she was in a similar position as him, being stuck somewhere alone. In that aspect, he supposed they were kindred spirits, even if he was her jailer. "They’ll forgive you. It just might take awhile."
"What makes you say that?"
Her eyes were so blue, so wide, but not the least bit naïve. She looked at him not with the earnestness of a child who still believed in Father Christmas, but someone who believed things whole-heartedly, with faith like a sane zealot.
How odd that he’d compared her to a sane anything.
"Friends are friends," she said assuredly. "No matter what house they’re in."
As was so often the case, he had nothing to say to that. He simply raised his bottle in a mock toast. "Cheers, Luna."
January 20, 1998
When Draco was not dealing with the insane girl in the basement and her comatose cellmate, he spent most of his time wandering around the upper floors of the Manor, trying to avoid his aunt. He’d moved on from being frustrated with his mother and would have been happy to spend time with her, but Bellatrix had decided that she wanted to engage in some sisterly bonding. It left Draco hiding from his mother just to hide from Bellatrix.
He would have attached himself to his father to give him some small comfort, but his father wasn’t at home. No one knew where he was. Or if they did, they refused to tell him.
Draco couldn’t understand this reasoning in the slightest. As far as he was concerned, the only reason to keep him in the dark about his father’s whereabouts would be if they expected Draco to go after him. What did they take him for? A Gryffindor half-wit who would serve as little more than cannon fodder in their war for supremacy? Did they think he’d turned into Potter when they weren’t looking?
They should have known better. No matter what the danger, Draco would have never gone to his father. After all, Lucius was the adult. Certainly he could take care of himself. Maybe he was a little fragile, a little ragged, but he wasn’t helpless. There was nothing Lucius couldn’t accomplish in the end. It made no sense for the son to ride out and rescue the father; the father was supposed to rescue the son.
And Draco didn’t intend to need saving. He’d keep his distance from danger. His mother was correct. She’d raised her son to be the sort of man who kept his head down and lived. The Malfoys were survivors.
Not heroes. Not saviors. Not brave men.
Survivors.
Stupid of them to expect anything else from him. Stupid of them not to know him by now. Even bloody Luna Lovegood knew him better.
It’s all right. I know you’re not brave.
Idiots.
Then again, perhaps they were just being cruel.
Suddenly, Draco felt overwhelmed by the stench of something rotting. He inhaled the remnants of dried blood, and Draco knew this cologne of violence in an instant. He wanted to run, he wanted his mother, his father, even his aunt, anyone but a Death Eater more wolf than man. It was panic and not courage that led Draco to reach for his wand, whirl around, and aim it between a pair of nightmare eyes.
Fenrir Greyback just smiled. Bellatrix smiled like a knife, and his mother like thawing winter. Fenrir always grinned at Draco and at everyone else as if they were his next meal.
The werewolf batted the wand hand away, foolishly reminding Draco of a kitten and a ball of yarn. But when Fenrir grasped both of his shoulders to pin him against the wall, it seemed far more like a lion pinning down his prey. And Fenrir kept grinning at Draco as if he were the wounded gazelle.
"If it isn’t the littlest Malfoy," Fenrir crooned in his rasping, snarling timbre. Draco could smell human decay on his breath, and he swallowed bile when he realized bits of flesh must be caught between those pointed teeth. "Pulling wands on me?"
"I-I didn’t kno-know it was you," Draco stammered, hoping Fenrir lacked the intellect to see through this lie. No one in the world carried the same scent as Greyback. By smell alone, he could never be mistaken for anyone else.
The wolf-man growled, leaving Draco cold and trembling with fear. "I reckon it’s odd, you pulling your wand out in your own house. Who are you thinking of running into to duel with in the grand Malfoy Manor?"
Draco’s mind reeled desperately and landed on only one possibility. "We’ve prisoners in the basement. The house elves have been caught helping them before - giving them blankets and things. If they helped them escape, they’d attack me. I’ve been their caretaker."
Even in his hysteria, Draco had to commend himself on the excellent lie. Even someone driven by the mind and not by bloodlust might have mistaken it for the truth. And Greyback was dull enough to believe this without question. Draco began to release a breath he hadn’t realized he held as the werewolf relaxed his grip.
"Your aunt had mentioned something. Said she had a bit of fun with one of them." His dry, cracking lips split open into that same smile and a tiny river of drool fell from the corner of his mouth. "A little blond girl."
What happened next, Draco would later put down to some kind of psychotic break.
"No!" he snapped, shaking off Greyback’s loose hold. "She’s not one of yours."
Greyback let out what could only be described as an enraged howl, and it was made all the more horrifying by the mixture of human and lupine noises. He lunged for Draco, and the first time, Seeker reflexes kicked in, allowing Draco to dance out of reach. The second time, Fenrir grasped his left forearm and squeezed. The bones threatened to crack.
"What’s this, then?" he hissed, jaws snapping. "The little cub thinking he can lay claim?"
"I’m not in your bloody pack," Draco wheezed, longing for the strength to pull his arm free. He suspected if he tried, he’d wind up with a broken arm or a dislocated shoulder. He didn’t do well with pain.
A horrible, rumbling sound bubbled up from the recesses of Fenrir’s barrel chest. "But you could be."
"She’s not to be harmed," Draco spat. "Those are my orders."
Fenrir’s laugh was as awful as his howl. "And who’d be giving you orders? ’Sides, I don’t put much stock in orders. Sometimes I get carried away…."
Draco remembered the stories of the Montgomery boy. He’d been five. He’d never be anything but five. Draco fought the urge to be violently ill.
"Who do you think y’are anyway?" Fenrir rasped. "Seems I recall you trying to tell me something I didn’t like before. Remember how that turned out?"
His grip on Draco’s arm tightened. It trembled between his dirty fingers.
Draco swallowed again and looked Fenrir in the eye. "Not. Her."
The moment it was said, Draco knew it had been a mistake. Fenrir’s eyes dilated and his tongue began to slip out of his mouth. Draco wondered for a moment if he’d be as lucky as the oldest Weasley, and then remembered that Billius hadn’t been lucky at all.
"Greyback!"
Draco’s and Fenrir’s heads both snapped to the sound, and for once, Draco was thrilled to see his aunt.
She clicked her tongue at Fenrir, sounding for all the world like a disappointed professor scolding her brightest pupil. He imagined Fenrir squeezing into a desk in Bellatrix’s torture dungeon classroom, and he let out a hysterical laugh.
"I’ve told you before. Draco isn’t one of your toys," she said, ignoring him.
Fenrir growled. "I don’t take orders from cubs."
Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "My nephew is not and never will be in your pack. You may not take orders from him, but you do take them from me."
It was a standoff between bloodthirsty titans. Draco pictured the battle that could play out between them. Bellatrix with her favorite Unforgivable, Fenrir with teeth that sank into flesh and bone. He imagined the floor growing slick and crimson, heard the high cackles and the baying rage.
He did not think of who would be the victor. Even now, he didn’t know who he’d want to live.
Thankfully, he did not have to find out. Fenrir released his arm, and though it sang with pain, Draco realized it appeared to be intact. He cradled it to his chest, letting the warmth begin to work against the ache and throbbing.
"There’s a good puppy," Bellatrix teased, heedless of Greyback baring his teeth. "Come. Narcissa and I have things to discuss with you."
Draco’s heart sank like a stone in standing water.
Greyback lumbered away from Draco, still gnashing the teeth he had filed sharp at the start of the first war. He cast one final look over his shoulder, snarling, "Just wanted to play with his little poppet."
Draco saw Bellatrix’s eyes bulge horribly, her eyes wrenching from the wolf to the boy. He felt her measuring him and this piece of information. He remembered the shrieks that had echoed up and down the manor’s halls while she tortured the house elf who had been blamed for providing comfort to the prisoners. Even a creature conditioned for servitude and bred to bear pain had begged for it to stop.
"It was my understanding she wasn’t to be harmed," Draco said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "He only knows how to harm."
Bellatrix continued to stare, and he felt pinned more by her eyes than Greyback’s brute strength. The struggle to keep his body taut and steady felt like his own private war. It seemed like an eternity before his aunt nodded and then swept out of the hall, Fenrir following at her heels.
Draco waited until they rounded the corner, and then collapsed to his knees. He shook so violently he could have been mistaken for having a fit. He curled in on himself, still clutching his wounded arm to his chest. Then his mouth fell open and he emptied his stomach into the nearest house plant.
Finished, he toppled so that he lay on the floor, letting the marble floors cool his feverish skin. He remained there, breathing heavily, tears pricking at his eyes, which he blamed on his burning throat. Then he pushed back the left sleeve of his robe and stared at his arm.
When Potter had grabbed him in Madame Malkin’s robe shop over a year ago, Draco knew the sod had immediately assumed that he was marked. After the invasion of Hogwarts, Draco suspected that most students agreed with him. A few people in his house knew this was not true, simply because he’d told them that he would be rewarded with the mark on completion of his mission. Since he hadn’t fulfilled all of the parameters by allowing Snape to kill Dumbledore, the mark had not been bestowed on him. After witnessing the mark given to several others since then, Draco couldn’t say he was disappointed.
Draco may have technically been a Death Eater, but he was not so prized as to wear the skull and snake. So Potter had been wrong about that much. And no one - absolutely no one - knew what the real cause of his pain had been that day.
He stared down at the crisscross hatching of scars that stood out against his white flesh, still angry and inflamed as they had been the day Greyback had given them to him. He’d mauled Draco’s arm with teeth and nails thick as claws. No one had been there to stop him. Draco still didn’t know how he’d emerged from that disastrous meeting alive. But after a full minute of Draco crying and begging, Fenrir had released him. Then he’d given Draco a horrible pink smile.
"Just a warning," he’d said. "With my mark."
A warning, given only when Draco had told Greyback he doubted he could get the cabinets fixed in the original timeline set by the Dark Lord when he had been first given the assignment. And because he was nervous and apt to say things he shouldn’t when he was nervous, he made a bad joke that he might not be able to fix it at all. For that, he’d been given cursed wounds.
Well, he’d gotten the cabinets to work, hadn’t he?
Draco whimpered, hating the sound of it echoing across the vaulted ceilings. He wanted his parents so badly to tell him it was all right. His father was gone, and now his mother was caught in Bellatrix’s spider web. Before long, she’d be tangled up, stung, and trapped in silk stronger than steel. Then she’d never be able to get free. None of them would if the Dark Lord won. They’d be tangled up with him and Bellatrix and Fenrir for the rest of their lives if Potter and his sidekicks failed to win the war. And just how long could the rest of their lives possibly be?
He didn’t want to be alone in the face of his own stark fear. He couldn’t stand to listen to himself, couldn’t stand to envision a future for himself, couldn’t stand himself. And he knew there was only one person in the whole manor left for him.
Without weighing the decision, Draco clambered to his feet and hurried away from the hall. He half-walked, half-ran from the scene of his latest humiliation, retracing the now familiar steps through the manor all the way down to its prison cells. He threw open the door, nearly fell down the steps, and emerged in the dimly lit stone chamber.
Luna was there because she was always there. She sat with an erect spine, legs beneath her and hands folded against her ribcage. He wondered if she was this reliable when she wasn’t trapped. He let out that stupid, mad laugh again, and her eyes flew open, instantly alert.
"Draco?" she asked, rising to her feet in one fluid movement. She hardened her distant gaze, and for just a second, he could have sworn she met his eyes head on. The moment passed, and the dreamy look returned, but she was no less focused. She held a hand out to him through the bars, beckoning. "Come here."
He didn’t hesitate. He stumbled forward, tripping over his robes and then falling against the front of her cell. He grabbed the bars to hold himself upright. "I let him in."
"You let who in?"
"I didn’t know he was coming," Draco whispered in a high, manic voice. "But if I’d known he was coming, what would I have done differently? Nothing! I couldn’t have changed anything. I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was fix that stupid bloody fucking cabinet to let them in. But I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know Greyback would be there."
"Draco-"
"Don’t tell me it’s all right!" he bellowed. "It’s not all right! Do you think he would have cared what color the robes were? Do you think he would have even noticed? All he’d see was a child, a child to turn or to kill or violate. He would have torn them apart just for being young."
He squeezed his eyes shut and felt hot tears fall down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. Let her seem him cry, let him tell all the Ravenclaws like Potter had certainly done with the Gryffindors. Or let her just tell Ollivander, let that be the thing that would rouse him just so he could laugh at his pitiful jailer.
"They hated me for it. They still hate me for it," he rambled. "Ginny Weasley wasn’t the only one who hit me. Pansy nearly ripped me apart once she heard he’d been there. She kept screaming at me, furious that I hadn’t asked her for help. She said she would have thought of something better than letting a fucking werewolf into a school. She just kept screaming and crying and no one pulled her off, not even Crabbe and Goyle. They let her do it, and I can’t even be pissed at them because they were right to let her.
"But what was I supposed to do?" he shouted, pounding his fists against her cell. "They said they’d kill my mother and father. I couldn’t let that happen." He pushed his forehead against the steel, and it bit him back with cold. "And it didn’t even matter. My father’s alive, but they keep running him ragged. He’s sick, and they know it, but he’s always on a mission. He’s never home, and if one of yours doesn’t kill him, he’ll kill himself for the Dark Lord’s sake.
"What will my mother do when he’s gone? She’s already turning to Bellatrix because she’s her sister, she’s blood, but she’s mad! There’s madness in my blood; how is that supposed to be pure? How can anything be right when my father’s dying, my mother can’t help me, and I’m left crying to a girl from school I don’t even know I’ve got locked up in the fucking basement!"
He had no more words. Spent, he kept standing there, his face pressed against the bars and tears coursing down his face. He felt like he was choking, drowning in the open air, and there was no one to save him.
Luna’s hands smoothed away the wetness from his skin, her touch light and cool. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into her own. They were the softest blue he’d ever seen. Then she pulled away only to gently extricate his fingers from her cage. She pushed her flat palm against his and then interlocked their fingers, holding his hands with tender strength. She sank to the floor, and he followed, mirroring her movements unbidden. He sat like she did, kept his back straight like she did, and closed his eyes when she did.
"Just focus on your breath."
And so he did. He thought of each breath as it wheezed in and out, striving to think only of the air filling and exiting his lungs. After awhile, it became easier. And bit by bit, the urge to cry went away, the weight in his chest lifted, and he no longer felt afraid.
After the better part of an hour, he opened his eyes. She smiled at him, but she didn’t let go of his hands.
He was surprised to find that he didn’t want her to.
January 24, 1998
"Draco."
He looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at his aunt. She’d been gone for several days on some errand with Fenrir of all people, allowing him some time with his mother. He’d been expecting her back that day, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated her seeking him out.
"Yes, Aunt Bellatrix?"
Her thin red lips curled like a wilting rose as she made her way over to him, taking the seat next to him by the window. She wound her arms around him in an embrace that left him feeling as much of a captive as Luna. In a way, he supposed he always had been.
"I wanted to apologize on behalf of the little feral pup," Bellatrix said, pushing his hair out of his eyes and scraping the skin with her nails. "Sometimes he doesn’t know when to heel."
What was he meant to say to that? He could hardly say it was fine. He settled for, "Don’t worry over it."
"But of course I worry over my darling little nephew," she crooned. "No matter who his father is."
Draco held on to the book more tightly, but said nothing.
"Though I do wish you’d told me about the girl right off."
He froze and hoped he was pale enough that she didn’t notice the blood draining from his face. "What?"
"Granted, I should have guessed it, seeing as you spend so much time in the dungeons, and it isn’t as if you can do anything with that wandmaker."
Panic set in like an infection, spreading up from the base of his spine. He hadn’t been careful enough. He’d assumed no one would pay attention to him, the son of a fallen Death Eater. He’d been stupid, so stupid to think that Bellatrix would not see, that she wouldn’t notice. Now someone else was certain to die for his weakness. Perhaps this time there would be two.
Bellatrix pinched his cheek so hard he thought she’d punch a hole in his flesh. "Just remember, we need to keep her breathing. We do need to send her father proof of life on occasion to keep him cooperative." She rolled her eyes at what she obviously considered to be a great inconvenience. "But you’re welcome to do what you like with her otherwise."
Draco’s mouth went dry. Now he understood, and for the first time, wished he wasn’t so clever. "Of… course, Aunt Bella."
"And don’t forget that casting Imperius too much can make them hollow after awhile. I know one’s needs must be satisfied, but the girl was already addled."
He bit his tongue and prayed for divine intercession.
But Bellatrix just pat him on the cheek, hissed, "My little prodigy," and went on her way.
The next time he saw Luna, she asked why he couldn’t look her in the eye.
February 9, 1998
"Tell me again how you talked me into this?"
Draco looked down at his attire, which was so Muggle that he felt rather like a blood traitor just by wearing it. Luna assured him that "work out trousers" as she called them were far from the epitome of non-magical clothing, but Draco was not convinced. Besides, he doubted his aunt, family, or the odd Death Eater hanging about the house would see the difference. His eyes swept the corner for a rat with a shiny appendage.
Luna finished wiping at her skin with the cloth and basin he’d snuck down for her, wringing out black water. "Because you feel guilty for something you won’t tell me about, and it’s made you amenable to a great number of my requests."
"Ah."
She straightened and pushed the bowl over to Ollivander. Not surprisingly, he didn’t acknowledge it. She fluffed her damp hair and looked at him with her characteristically wide gaze. "I’m only teaching you some basics to help you deal with the stress. The meditation worked for you once, but all other attempts have failed spectacularly."
Draco’s frown edged near a pout. "I don’t know about spectacularly…."
"As I told you then, the point of silent meditation is to be silent."
"I only asked you for a mantra suggestion."
"After ten minutes of pointless babbling. And then when I gave you the suggestion of using a song lyric-"
"I still contend that you brought that entirely on yourself."
"-you began working all of Prince’s lyrics into your sentences."
"Boo hoo. "Is this what it sounds like when the doves cry?"
"I regret teaching you those songs more than I can possibly say."
"I never meant to cause you any sorrow. I never meant to cause you any pain. I only wanted to one time see you laughing. I only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rain."
"Enough," Luna said, her inflection momentarily reminding him of Flitwick’s squeaking instructions. She then stood with her feet together and her hands hanging at her sides. "We’ll start with a Sun Salutation. This is Tadasana or Mountain Pose. It looks like you’re only standing there, but the first step of any sequence is to get your body into alignment. Bring your weight evenly onto all four corners of both feet. Tuck your tailbone under and draw your stomach in. Elongate your neck."
Draco did his best to follow these instructions, hoping that she didn’t notice the furtive glances he cast of his shoulder to make sure no one would see him in this position.
She swung her hands out to the sides and then upwards, extending her arms until they were straight. "Urdhva Hastasana." Then she brought her hands down until they rested in front of her chest folded like a Muggle child in prayer, fingertips pointing at the ceiling.
‘Bloody Muggles and their unpronounceable nonsense words,’ Draco thought.
"Bring your arms out like you’re swan-diving," Luna continued, "and fall forward from the hips, keeping your back flat. Bend as far as your flexibility will allow." Draco winced as his hamstrings stretched to accommodate his position and wondered in what alternate universe this was supposed to calm him. Then he noticed that Luna had her palms flush against the floor on either side of her feet. His hands hung somewhere near mid-calf.
"Now push your right foot backwards," she said, moving into a lunge. He noticed now that she’d closed her eyes, which meant she couldn’t track his movements at all. He straightened, rubbing his lower back as he watched her go through the rest of the sequence.
She went through the movements gracefully and with ease, the mark of a well-versed practitioner. There was something impressive about all of this, even if it did stem from a culture he wanted nothing to do with.
"Then you go into Downward Facing Dog."
Draco’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline. Clearly, he had not given Muggles enough credit. Luna was essentially bent over with her hips lifted high into the air. He was beginning to enjoy yoga a great deal more than he would have thought possible.
"Come forward into plank."
Draco silently mourned the loss of the dog pose. For about ten seconds.
"And then you go into Moving Cat, into Low Cobra, and into Up Dog."
Draco felt quite certain that he popped a blood vessel watching her. He could only describe her actions as ‘undulating,’ bringing her chest and chin to floor and pushing forward. The rest of her body followed through, a snake writhing. Then she straightened her arms and pushed off, leaving only her legs below the calf touching the floor. And because he was a seventeen-year-old boy, he really only noted her arched back and the resulting chest.
Which of course was a signal for Luna’s eyes to open.
"Ah," she said, still holding her pose. "There’s a euphemism for this." For the first time, she gave him a different smile altogether - she smirked. "Draco Malfoy, you are checking me out."
She may as well have lit his face on fire. "I am not!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Really? I’m quite sure you are."
Draco, who prided himself on his ability to articulate, stammered for a full minute without once stumbling upon a verb.
"Granted, I’m not what you would call well-versed in this situation," Luna continued, apparently seeing no reason to come out of her current position. "When most people look at me, I rather suspect they’re wondering if I’m ‘all there.’ If they’re not embarrassed or afraid, which I think is rather silly. There’s nothing frightening about me, is there, Draco?"
"You’re doing this on purpose," he snapped, trying his very best to maintain eye contact. "I was not… I am not attracted to you." He flashed back to a similar incident with Daphne Greengrass at the Yule Ball that had ended with him getting a bowl of punch dumped over his head. "I mean! I mean, you’re attractive, just not… to… me. Because that would be inappropriate, all things considered."
They both shot a meaningful look towards her cell door.
"I wonder if there’s such a thing as Reverse Stockholm."
He frowned. "That’s a Muggle thing, isn’t it?"
"Stockholm Syndrome refers to when a captive becomes emotionally dependent on his or her captor because of the physical dependency that results from such imprisonment," Luna explained. "I think you have the reverse, though I don’t see what you’d be dependent on me for." She paused. "Perhaps company?"
His entire body launched into one giant twitch. Then he reached for his robes and threw them around his body, making sure any evidence of Muggle was covered. "You’re. Insane."
"And you’re a breast man," she said, finally emerging from that blasted pose. "Which is surprising. I would have assumed leg."
Draco swept out of the room with a flourish and a particularly nasty curse, punctuated by the sound of her laughing.
Part Three