FIC for: apricot_bath
Title:The Dragon That Couldn't Breathe Fire
Recipient: apricot_bath
Rating: PG, I think. A couple of naughty words and a teensy bit of blood.
Characters: Draco-centric, with guest appearances by: one very irate magical creature, Mr. Lovegood, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape, and Neville Longbottom
Summary: Snape and Draco's flight through the Forbidden Forest takes an unexpected turn when Draco comes face to face with an animal only Luna and her father believed existed.
Warnings: nasty sharp Nargle teeth, Luna's looniness, and an extremely spoiled pureblood.
Disclaimer: I don't own. You don't sue.
Beta: J is ♥. For serious, she's fabulous (even if she does have a vendetta against commas :D). Thanks also to S, C, and C for their support and feedback. I LOVE YOU ALL (and shall give you credit by name after the reveal).
Request: Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, Charlie Weasley, Severus Snape, and Hermione Granger. Humor would be wonderful. Plot twists, any kind of mystery, intriguing plot, would be great, preferably set during the war. No unrealistically happy, post-war reunions, no stories including specially made children of any of the main characters, please. I would rather not receive a fic including Hagrid or a post-HBP Snape who's completely redeemed.
Author's note: This was surprisingly hard to write, even though I got the idea fairly early on. Still, I think I covered all the prompts (with the exception of Hermione) fairly well and ended up with a story that I can be proud of. I hope you enjoy it, apricot_bath!
If you were willing to listen, Luna would be happy to tell you all about Nargles: small, dragon-like animals that like to live in mistletoe, feeding off the small parasitic plant while it feeds off of the trees.
She could tell you that their scales can be ground up and used as a wonderful fertiliser for Fanged Geraniums, or boiled into a tincture that is very good for sore throats. That she has one under her pillow, one that her father gave her after her mother's death, to ward off bad dreams.
She could tell you about how they can't breathe fire because their inner organs are too delicate to withstand such high temperatures, without the extra tummy space of, say, the Hungarian Horntail, but they would have been much better guardians of certain golden eggs used in the Triwizard Tournament.
This is because Luna knows that just because something has a surface area smaller than a lover's favourite Christmas decoration, just because it doesn't do flashy things like breathe fire, doesn't mean that it's harmless. Just because it looks cute doesn't mean it doesn't have a bite worse than the scariest cobra, Acromantula, or three-headed dog.
Charlie Weasley, on the other hand, likes the big, flashy creatures, the real dragons. He especially likes the scars and the way women gasp when he tells them where he got them-- only slightly exaggerating the circumstances, of course.
He likes the thrill of just barely dodging a huge, breathy flame, so hot it singes his eyebrows as it rushes past, and the constant threat of those absolutely gigantic claws that could rip him in half like a piece of parchment. Not to mention the tail that could crush you if the dragon so much as turns around to go to the bathroom.
But this story isn't about either of those kinds of dragons. No, this story is really, technically, about a human dragon, caught somewhere between good and evil, black and white, harmless and harmful.
This story is about Draco Malfoy.
.:.
Draco was never a big fan of creatures in general, even magical ones. Elves, of course, were made to be servants, and he could hardly respect them for that. Hippogriffs were absolutely horrid. Dragons were okay until Potter managed to defeat one in fourth year, and it was just not on to be named after something that Harry Potter could defeat. By that logic, even snakes were out.
In one fell swoop, literally, Draco's namesake was reduced to something worse than a Muggle, and a few simple words reduced his house mascot to a slithering slave. But that was alright, because at least it fit into the carefully ordered hierarchy of Draco's world, and names didn't mean everything.
It was really his last name that mattered most, anyway. Draco was not a dragon, he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were far more dangerous. First names were temporary and not attached to much, but last names meant blood and kin and legacy and belonging.
If you told Draco that all legacies must come to an end to make way for another legacy, he might agree with you. For example, he'd love to see Potter's legacy fall to ruin, or anyone else's on the list of people he despises (which is far too long to fit into one simple story).
If you told him that his legacy would be torn to shreds, however, he'd spit in your face.
Not breathe fire. Spit. Saliva, mixed with gourmet food and the most expensive toothpaste money can buy. Remember that.
Remember, too, that we are talking about a seventeen year old boy. An adult by the standards of the wizarding government, but hardly full grown. Barely even out of school, without even graduating. It wasn't supposed to happen that way.
Draco was supposed to finish school with a record number of OWLs, more than his father or his mother, and maybe, finally, make them proud. He was supposed to be the captain of the Quidditch team, to lead their team to victory, though his parents wouldn't admire that nearly as much. He was supposed to marry Pansy and get her pregnant, have little heirs that would follow in his footsteps. He was supposed to grow up like a normal pureblood, for Merlin's sake.
He was not supposed to be alternately huddled on the damp, organic forest floor and then trekking over it for hours, trying desperately not to look back.
He was not supposed to grow up in the middle of a war.
.:.
While we're on the subject, forests don't particularly agree with Draco, either. They're cold, with winds that love to slip under his cloak and chill him to the bone, and he can't cast a spell to ease it for fear of tiring himself out and finding himself defenceless when they run into something far scarier than a bit of a draft.
Because forests have creatures, too. Creatures that Draco can feel crawling on the back of his neck, into his beautiful, perfect hair, until every once in a while he has to take his numb hands out of his pockets and try to swipe them away. Creatures that he can see out of the corner of his eyes, ducking behind trees when he tries to look at them directly, that surely have slobbering mouths and poisoned claws and scales thick enough to withstand the strongest Stunning Spell.
But it's the ones that he can't see or feel that are even worse. The ones that he can hear, howling their anger and hunger and loneliness to the night sky, that could could be anywhere and there's not a damn thing he can do about it.
When he starts dozing off, it's Snape's robes that wake him up, the soft rustle and billow of cloth that startles him back to consciousness. He's nodding even as he walks, vision slowly descending from the back of his godfather's head-- raven black and nearly invisible in the darkness-- to the ground, where he could be walking on air for all he can see the dirt, and that's the other thing that Draco hates.
Dirt. Dirt on his clothes and under his fingernails, clinging to his robes and forming nasty clumps in his hair, and it's complaining about this to himself that keeps him awake.
Not awake enough, though, because suddenly Snape is pushing him to one side, telling him to hide and crawl and get the hell away because their lives are in peril and Narcissa will have their hides for breakfast if they don't come back alive.
If Narcissa is still alive.
But Draco can't let himself think about that, not when he's got to move, to run as fast as he can. Straight into a tree.
Somehow, this was actually a good thing, because even though trees are made of damp bark crawling with all sorts of insects, they are also quite good for climbing and up high and out of sight generally means being safe.
Until Draco's hand accidentally grabs onto a clump of leaves growing on one of the tree limbs, and he finds himself face to face with a Nargle.
.:.
If you were willing to listen, Luna would be ecstatic to tell you all about fate. She could tell you about the lovely world held up in the sky by the soft fluff of clouds, where mothers don't die in horrible accidents and leave their husbands heartbroken. Where, instead, they're alive, and they've got the warmest arms imaginable, just waiting to wrap around the daughter that's been missing them horribly and longing to ask them the simplest questions, like how to cook for a father that gets so wrapped up in his writing that he forgets about things like food.
She could tell you all about the sugary stars, and the way they rain down intricate crystals like the spirals of a Snorkack's horn. About the wonderful lack of gravity that lets you go flying through the air without any effort at all, like a Hovering Flunkle (only less colourful).
She could tell you about how we're all going to die, one way or another. It's destiny, it's the way nature works. Even creatures far surpassing our meagre human intelligence die every day, for a multitude of reasons.
Professor Trelawney might tell you about Inner Eyes, about how if yours were only clear enough, there'd be nothing to stop you from controlling your future.
Professor Snape might tell you that you'd be far better off controlling it through your own wiles and cunning, but he'd have to have a very good reason for doing it.
You might be inclined to think that Lord Voldemort would agree with him, but if you were ever in a situation in which he was telling you about fate, it would be horribly, terrifyingly clear what yours was going to be.
But none of that matters, not now. Draco Malfoy's fate is in the paws of a small creature that he never believed existed, a creature that under normal circumstances would sooner take a nap than do you any harm.
Normal circumstances, however, do not include having your home nearly ripped from its foundations by a tall, blond, human colossus.
.:.
"Bugger off," the human colossus hissed, reaching for the next branch, but the Nargle was not to be intimidated. It let out a shrill whistle that Draco was sure could be heard for miles, so he did the stupidest thing he could possibly have done, which seemed entirely logical at the time.
He straddled the branch that the Nargle was sitting on, leaned over, and put his hand over where he thought its mouth was.
It wasn't until after there was a large, gaping wound in his palm that the events of the last few seconds caught up to him. He had talked to an animal. He had touched an animal, of his own free will.
And now he was bleeding profusely, without Pansy to nurse it and his father to have the creature executed.
"You're lucky," Draco snarled, but his snarl was far less intimidating when he was whispering to prevent being overheard and nursing an injury. "You're getting off light."
The animal snorted, and Draco was about to protest that it was not allowed to laugh at him, when there was a crashing noise not too far away and Draco nearly fell out of the tree.
Footsteps sounded in Draco's ears, almost as loud as his heartbeat. He cowered on the branch, trying to make himself as small as possible, and looked around carefully, but all he could see was the glowing orbs of the Nargle's eyes, staring at him.
"Turn them off!" he pleaded in a whisper, sure that they were illuminating him like a spotlight. "Turn them off!"
The Nargle seemed to consider this, and then decided against it, whistling rebelliously.
"Oh, please, in Salazar's name, shut up," Draco whispered, too terrified to realise that he had just pleaded with an animal, and closed his eyes. "You're going to lead them right to me..."
There was a small rustle, and a very small, scaly foot brushed against Draco's head, combing through his hair. He looked up in surprise, sending the Nargle skittering backwards, hooting indignantly.
"Fuck," Draco cursed, and pressed himself against the branch, trying to listen for more noises, but it was eerily quiet. He raised his head the slightest fraction, and chanced a short glance around him.
Nothingness. Absolute darkness around him as far as the eye could see. It surprised him, though he wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting-- Snape, perhaps, and maybe even a werewolf or five-- but the more he looked around, the more nothingness there seemed to be.
He sat frozen for a moment longer, until something with very sticky feet tried to clamber up onto his hand from the tree. With a very loud noise of distress, he flung it away, causing the Nargle to jump as the thing flew right by its head, and tried to climb down as fast as he could.
But Draco was not particularly used to being in trees, and he soon found-- as he lost his grip on the mossy bark-- that reaching the ground by way of his own hands and feet was quite different from landing a broom.
And as his head cracked sharply against a rock and everything faded to black, he thought, no one will ever find me out here.
.:.
It was a rather nice day, by Luna's reckoning. The clouds were a pure, fluffy white, and the wind smelled sweet. Of course, her father was wrapped up in his writing again, and she had no interest in staying inside the stuffy house when she didn't have his company, so she moved outside to sit on the doorstep and watch the world go by.
There was a rhythm to it, Luna decided. She knew that the world spun through space, and had always imagined that it would make a sort of whooshing noise, but it was indiscernible above the noise of all the Earth's creatures going about their lives.
She had begun to tap her fingers against the step, closing her eyes to hear it better, when there was a sudden pause. Her fingers stilled, perched over the small cracks and ridges in the wood, and she listened hard.
Moon lady. The words came in the form of a soft whistle, and Luna's eyes flew open, blinking for a moment at the brightness before settling on the creature sitting at her feet.
Moon lady? she asked wonderingly, and then raised a disbelieving hand to her mouth to find that it had formed a sharp, tiny O of its own accord. Why did she hear words, and not whistles, even when it came out of her own mouth?
The Nargle hooted in agreement. You walk on the Earth, but your mind is on the moon.
Luna smiled, but before she could answer, the whistling continued. I have a human that needs your help.
Where? Luna asked, getting to her feet. The Nargle made a clicking noise, and Draco's body appeared, sprawled in the tall grass of her front lawn. She clasped both hands over her mouth to prevent the small shriek of surprise from leaving her tongue. She started to move towards him, cautiously, and then stopped, half-expecting him to jump up and shout 'surprise!'
But he didn't. He didn't move a muscle-- he didn't even appear to be breathing-- which Luna found comforting and very worrying at the same time. What if he was dead?
She hesitated for a long moment, unsure whether she was allowed to use magic in this situation, even to disarm a potentially dangerous (albeit unconscious) fugitive from the law. Then she took a deep breath and held it, knelt beside him, and felt carefully in his pockets for his wand, watching him for any sign of alertness.
Because her eyes were on his face, it took her by surprise when his hand closed around her wrist. She had just found the telltale bump in Draco's trouser pocket, but curled her fingers away from it immediately, hoping that he was still too drowsy to know exactly what she was doing, and held her breath.
A few seconds went by, and still Luna didn't breathe. She was afraid that even the softest woosh of air might flutter his eyelashes just enough to cause them to fly open, and he would think her a threat. Luna wanted to avoid conflict if at all possible, no matter what the boy in front of her had done.
Finally, finally, the hand around her wrist relaxed as Draco slipped back into unconsciousness, and Luna let out a little sigh of relief. She waited until the pale fingers fell back to disappear into the long grass, and then slid two fingers into his pocket, carefully retrieving his wand.
That accomplished, Luna was once again uncertain of what to do. She looked at the Nargle, which was watching her patiently, and then back at Draco. Her DA coin was in her pocket, but even if she could have programmed it to say "Found Malfoy" or something to that effect, she wasn't entirely sure that anyone else was still carrying theirs.
She idly twirled a lock of hair around one finger as she thought, and then looked at the Nargle again. Can you watch him for a moment?
The Nargle hooted, and Luna took that as a yes. She flew up the front steps and into the house, ignoring the door as it crashed against the wall, and skidded to a stop right in front of the door to her father's study.
"Daddy?" she called softly, and turned the knob. There was a small grunt of greeting from the other side of the door, and she pulled it open with a smile. "Daddy?"
"No, I don't want any tea, thank you," Mr. Lovegood said absently, without looking up from his parchment. His quill scratched away, and he gestured at the teacup on his desk with his free hand. "I've already got some."
Luna barely spared a glance for the cup, and the teabag slowly growing crusty on the lip. "I was wondering if I might use the Floo."
At that, Mr. Lovegood looked up. "Now, Luna, you've been using that thing quite a bit lately," he said sternly, looking at her over his glasses. "You know what happens when you're around fire too much, don't you?"
"I'll turn into a Heliopath," Luna said promptly, nodding. "Just once more this week, Daddy? It's important."
Mr. Lovegood peered at her for a moment, as if expecting to see flames shooting out of her ears, and then nodded. "Alright. But if you notice any burning, especially in your hair..."
"I'll be careful," Luna promised, smiling up at him. He smiled back and returned to his writing, leaving Luna free to use the fireplace on the other side of the room. She flounced towards it, pausing to pick up her wand when it fell to the floor, and stuck it back behind her ear.
"Neville!" she exclaimed immediately when her head appeared on the other side. It had always amused her, this way of fire calling, and she liked to bob her head up and down in a way that made it look eerily disconnected enough to leap out of the fire.
"Stop that bouncing, girl, you look very silly," Neville's grandmother snapped. Luna was not at all inclined to see this as a bad thing, but she stopped, and smiled at the older woman.
"Is Nev--" she began, and then spotted him over in the corner. "Neville! You've got to come quick, I've-- I've--" she hesitated, trying to think of a way to describe it. "Caught a snake!"
"That's, uhm," Neville said nervously, "That's really nice, Luna." He attempted to smile, but Luna saw his eyes flick towards his Gran.
"No," Luna insisted, eyes wide as if she could make him understand just by staring at him. "It's really very bad. You see, it's one of the blond snakes, the dangerous kind..."
She trailed off suggestively, and was rewarded to see a light of comprehension flare in Neville's eyes. "Oh," he said slowly. "Oh, uhm. I suppose you need help getting rid of it?"
"Yes, yes," Luna agreed, probably far too cheerfully for someone who had supposedly found a very dangerous snake. "Yes, I definitely need your help."
His grandmother looked very suspicious, and she seemed to be about to say something, but Neville stammered out an excuse and hurried through the fire.
"I didn't know what to do," Luna said, before Neville had even finished appearing. But she didn't say anything more, because there was a snapping sound from her father's desk and he spun around to look at them.
"Bloody Blibbering Humdingers on a stick," Mr. Lovegood exclaimed. "You two are so loud, I think you might actually wake the Dream-Eating Darkies I've got trapped in my inkwell, and--"
"Sorry, Daddy," Luna interrupted, whispering to Neville as they left: "He's really very nice, except when he's got a deadline." Neville nodded in understanding.
She had left the front door open when she came inside (which was probably not the smartest idea in the world, she realised upon seeing it) and they moved towards it carefully, with their wands out. Neville stayed a step behind Luna despite his rather Gryffindor-ish urge to protect her, simply because he had no idea where they were going and didn't want to get in her way if she needed to turn suddenly in his direction.
"He's right over--" Luna began in a stage whisper, pointing her wand at the grass, but she cut herself off almost immediately. There was a small dent in the grass, as if a body had recently been there, but it was not there any longer. Luna raised her head to look around, and met silver eyes swirling with anger, confusion, and desperation.
Draco was awake.
.:.
If you were willing to listen, Draco would be happy to tell you all about that git Potter and his bloody followers. About how they're all exactly the same, how they see the world in terms of Death Eaters and Aurors. It was really quite like a child's game of Cops and Robbers, but that was far too plebian for Draco's taste. (He, of course, had been much more interested in Purebloods and Muggles.)
There are, of course, many things to be said for black and white. It would make Draco's life a whole lot easier if there was simply his family on one side, and everyone he hated on the other. Which was how it had been, up until that fateful night on the tower, when suddenly it had been the other side offering to keep his family alive and the side he'd chosen threatening to kill them.
He was therefore very confused when he suddenly found himself back in civilisation and face to face with the two weakest spawn of the light. Really, they were so pathetic that he wanted to laugh in their faces, and at another point in his life he very well might have. Longbottom and Loony were supposed to keep him from getting home? No fucking way.
It was very tempting to attack, to throw a hex that would turn Longbottom's face as green as his toad's and detach Loony's head even farther from reality, but for once, he stopped and really thought this through (he did, however, keep his wand pointed threateningly at their faces in case they tried anything funny while he was pondering). If he took a shot at them, that would make him 1) more likely to be hexed as well and 2) easier to trace.
Of course, if it was Potter, the Mudblood, or the Weasel, he wouldn't even have hesitated for a millisecond. But it wasn't, so he cast a shield charm on himself and made his escape, leaving the two idiots open-mouthed and uncertain on the stoop.
He didn't notice the small, scaly animal bounding along the sidewalk beside him, but it was just as well. Draco Malfoy was no dragon and he was no Nargle, and he had only a very small concept of gratitude.
It certainly wouldn't do to be in debt to an animal.
Recipient: apricot_bath
Rating: PG, I think. A couple of naughty words and a teensy bit of blood.
Characters: Draco-centric, with guest appearances by: one very irate magical creature, Mr. Lovegood, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape, and Neville Longbottom
Summary: Snape and Draco's flight through the Forbidden Forest takes an unexpected turn when Draco comes face to face with an animal only Luna and her father believed existed.
Warnings: nasty sharp Nargle teeth, Luna's looniness, and an extremely spoiled pureblood.
Disclaimer: I don't own. You don't sue.
Beta: J is ♥. For serious, she's fabulous (even if she does have a vendetta against commas :D). Thanks also to S, C, and C for their support and feedback. I LOVE YOU ALL (and shall give you credit by name after the reveal).
Request: Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, Charlie Weasley, Severus Snape, and Hermione Granger. Humor would be wonderful. Plot twists, any kind of mystery, intriguing plot, would be great, preferably set during the war. No unrealistically happy, post-war reunions, no stories including specially made children of any of the main characters, please. I would rather not receive a fic including Hagrid or a post-HBP Snape who's completely redeemed.
Author's note: This was surprisingly hard to write, even though I got the idea fairly early on. Still, I think I covered all the prompts (with the exception of Hermione) fairly well and ended up with a story that I can be proud of. I hope you enjoy it, apricot_bath!
If you were willing to listen, Luna would be happy to tell you all about Nargles: small, dragon-like animals that like to live in mistletoe, feeding off the small parasitic plant while it feeds off of the trees.
She could tell you that their scales can be ground up and used as a wonderful fertiliser for Fanged Geraniums, or boiled into a tincture that is very good for sore throats. That she has one under her pillow, one that her father gave her after her mother's death, to ward off bad dreams.
She could tell you about how they can't breathe fire because their inner organs are too delicate to withstand such high temperatures, without the extra tummy space of, say, the Hungarian Horntail, but they would have been much better guardians of certain golden eggs used in the Triwizard Tournament.
This is because Luna knows that just because something has a surface area smaller than a lover's favourite Christmas decoration, just because it doesn't do flashy things like breathe fire, doesn't mean that it's harmless. Just because it looks cute doesn't mean it doesn't have a bite worse than the scariest cobra, Acromantula, or three-headed dog.
Charlie Weasley, on the other hand, likes the big, flashy creatures, the real dragons. He especially likes the scars and the way women gasp when he tells them where he got them-- only slightly exaggerating the circumstances, of course.
He likes the thrill of just barely dodging a huge, breathy flame, so hot it singes his eyebrows as it rushes past, and the constant threat of those absolutely gigantic claws that could rip him in half like a piece of parchment. Not to mention the tail that could crush you if the dragon so much as turns around to go to the bathroom.
But this story isn't about either of those kinds of dragons. No, this story is really, technically, about a human dragon, caught somewhere between good and evil, black and white, harmless and harmful.
This story is about Draco Malfoy.
.:.
Draco was never a big fan of creatures in general, even magical ones. Elves, of course, were made to be servants, and he could hardly respect them for that. Hippogriffs were absolutely horrid. Dragons were okay until Potter managed to defeat one in fourth year, and it was just not on to be named after something that Harry Potter could defeat. By that logic, even snakes were out.
In one fell swoop, literally, Draco's namesake was reduced to something worse than a Muggle, and a few simple words reduced his house mascot to a slithering slave. But that was alright, because at least it fit into the carefully ordered hierarchy of Draco's world, and names didn't mean everything.
It was really his last name that mattered most, anyway. Draco was not a dragon, he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were far more dangerous. First names were temporary and not attached to much, but last names meant blood and kin and legacy and belonging.
If you told Draco that all legacies must come to an end to make way for another legacy, he might agree with you. For example, he'd love to see Potter's legacy fall to ruin, or anyone else's on the list of people he despises (which is far too long to fit into one simple story).
If you told him that his legacy would be torn to shreds, however, he'd spit in your face.
Not breathe fire. Spit. Saliva, mixed with gourmet food and the most expensive toothpaste money can buy. Remember that.
Remember, too, that we are talking about a seventeen year old boy. An adult by the standards of the wizarding government, but hardly full grown. Barely even out of school, without even graduating. It wasn't supposed to happen that way.
Draco was supposed to finish school with a record number of OWLs, more than his father or his mother, and maybe, finally, make them proud. He was supposed to be the captain of the Quidditch team, to lead their team to victory, though his parents wouldn't admire that nearly as much. He was supposed to marry Pansy and get her pregnant, have little heirs that would follow in his footsteps. He was supposed to grow up like a normal pureblood, for Merlin's sake.
He was not supposed to be alternately huddled on the damp, organic forest floor and then trekking over it for hours, trying desperately not to look back.
He was not supposed to grow up in the middle of a war.
.:.
While we're on the subject, forests don't particularly agree with Draco, either. They're cold, with winds that love to slip under his cloak and chill him to the bone, and he can't cast a spell to ease it for fear of tiring himself out and finding himself defenceless when they run into something far scarier than a bit of a draft.
Because forests have creatures, too. Creatures that Draco can feel crawling on the back of his neck, into his beautiful, perfect hair, until every once in a while he has to take his numb hands out of his pockets and try to swipe them away. Creatures that he can see out of the corner of his eyes, ducking behind trees when he tries to look at them directly, that surely have slobbering mouths and poisoned claws and scales thick enough to withstand the strongest Stunning Spell.
But it's the ones that he can't see or feel that are even worse. The ones that he can hear, howling their anger and hunger and loneliness to the night sky, that could could be anywhere and there's not a damn thing he can do about it.
When he starts dozing off, it's Snape's robes that wake him up, the soft rustle and billow of cloth that startles him back to consciousness. He's nodding even as he walks, vision slowly descending from the back of his godfather's head-- raven black and nearly invisible in the darkness-- to the ground, where he could be walking on air for all he can see the dirt, and that's the other thing that Draco hates.
Dirt. Dirt on his clothes and under his fingernails, clinging to his robes and forming nasty clumps in his hair, and it's complaining about this to himself that keeps him awake.
Not awake enough, though, because suddenly Snape is pushing him to one side, telling him to hide and crawl and get the hell away because their lives are in peril and Narcissa will have their hides for breakfast if they don't come back alive.
If Narcissa is still alive.
But Draco can't let himself think about that, not when he's got to move, to run as fast as he can. Straight into a tree.
Somehow, this was actually a good thing, because even though trees are made of damp bark crawling with all sorts of insects, they are also quite good for climbing and up high and out of sight generally means being safe.
Until Draco's hand accidentally grabs onto a clump of leaves growing on one of the tree limbs, and he finds himself face to face with a Nargle.
.:.
If you were willing to listen, Luna would be ecstatic to tell you all about fate. She could tell you about the lovely world held up in the sky by the soft fluff of clouds, where mothers don't die in horrible accidents and leave their husbands heartbroken. Where, instead, they're alive, and they've got the warmest arms imaginable, just waiting to wrap around the daughter that's been missing them horribly and longing to ask them the simplest questions, like how to cook for a father that gets so wrapped up in his writing that he forgets about things like food.
She could tell you all about the sugary stars, and the way they rain down intricate crystals like the spirals of a Snorkack's horn. About the wonderful lack of gravity that lets you go flying through the air without any effort at all, like a Hovering Flunkle (only less colourful).
She could tell you about how we're all going to die, one way or another. It's destiny, it's the way nature works. Even creatures far surpassing our meagre human intelligence die every day, for a multitude of reasons.
Professor Trelawney might tell you about Inner Eyes, about how if yours were only clear enough, there'd be nothing to stop you from controlling your future.
Professor Snape might tell you that you'd be far better off controlling it through your own wiles and cunning, but he'd have to have a very good reason for doing it.
You might be inclined to think that Lord Voldemort would agree with him, but if you were ever in a situation in which he was telling you about fate, it would be horribly, terrifyingly clear what yours was going to be.
But none of that matters, not now. Draco Malfoy's fate is in the paws of a small creature that he never believed existed, a creature that under normal circumstances would sooner take a nap than do you any harm.
Normal circumstances, however, do not include having your home nearly ripped from its foundations by a tall, blond, human colossus.
.:.
"Bugger off," the human colossus hissed, reaching for the next branch, but the Nargle was not to be intimidated. It let out a shrill whistle that Draco was sure could be heard for miles, so he did the stupidest thing he could possibly have done, which seemed entirely logical at the time.
He straddled the branch that the Nargle was sitting on, leaned over, and put his hand over where he thought its mouth was.
It wasn't until after there was a large, gaping wound in his palm that the events of the last few seconds caught up to him. He had talked to an animal. He had touched an animal, of his own free will.
And now he was bleeding profusely, without Pansy to nurse it and his father to have the creature executed.
"You're lucky," Draco snarled, but his snarl was far less intimidating when he was whispering to prevent being overheard and nursing an injury. "You're getting off light."
The animal snorted, and Draco was about to protest that it was not allowed to laugh at him, when there was a crashing noise not too far away and Draco nearly fell out of the tree.
Footsteps sounded in Draco's ears, almost as loud as his heartbeat. He cowered on the branch, trying to make himself as small as possible, and looked around carefully, but all he could see was the glowing orbs of the Nargle's eyes, staring at him.
"Turn them off!" he pleaded in a whisper, sure that they were illuminating him like a spotlight. "Turn them off!"
The Nargle seemed to consider this, and then decided against it, whistling rebelliously.
"Oh, please, in Salazar's name, shut up," Draco whispered, too terrified to realise that he had just pleaded with an animal, and closed his eyes. "You're going to lead them right to me..."
There was a small rustle, and a very small, scaly foot brushed against Draco's head, combing through his hair. He looked up in surprise, sending the Nargle skittering backwards, hooting indignantly.
"Fuck," Draco cursed, and pressed himself against the branch, trying to listen for more noises, but it was eerily quiet. He raised his head the slightest fraction, and chanced a short glance around him.
Nothingness. Absolute darkness around him as far as the eye could see. It surprised him, though he wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting-- Snape, perhaps, and maybe even a werewolf or five-- but the more he looked around, the more nothingness there seemed to be.
He sat frozen for a moment longer, until something with very sticky feet tried to clamber up onto his hand from the tree. With a very loud noise of distress, he flung it away, causing the Nargle to jump as the thing flew right by its head, and tried to climb down as fast as he could.
But Draco was not particularly used to being in trees, and he soon found-- as he lost his grip on the mossy bark-- that reaching the ground by way of his own hands and feet was quite different from landing a broom.
And as his head cracked sharply against a rock and everything faded to black, he thought, no one will ever find me out here.
.:.
It was a rather nice day, by Luna's reckoning. The clouds were a pure, fluffy white, and the wind smelled sweet. Of course, her father was wrapped up in his writing again, and she had no interest in staying inside the stuffy house when she didn't have his company, so she moved outside to sit on the doorstep and watch the world go by.
There was a rhythm to it, Luna decided. She knew that the world spun through space, and had always imagined that it would make a sort of whooshing noise, but it was indiscernible above the noise of all the Earth's creatures going about their lives.
She had begun to tap her fingers against the step, closing her eyes to hear it better, when there was a sudden pause. Her fingers stilled, perched over the small cracks and ridges in the wood, and she listened hard.
Moon lady. The words came in the form of a soft whistle, and Luna's eyes flew open, blinking for a moment at the brightness before settling on the creature sitting at her feet.
Moon lady? she asked wonderingly, and then raised a disbelieving hand to her mouth to find that it had formed a sharp, tiny O of its own accord. Why did she hear words, and not whistles, even when it came out of her own mouth?
The Nargle hooted in agreement. You walk on the Earth, but your mind is on the moon.
Luna smiled, but before she could answer, the whistling continued. I have a human that needs your help.
Where? Luna asked, getting to her feet. The Nargle made a clicking noise, and Draco's body appeared, sprawled in the tall grass of her front lawn. She clasped both hands over her mouth to prevent the small shriek of surprise from leaving her tongue. She started to move towards him, cautiously, and then stopped, half-expecting him to jump up and shout 'surprise!'
But he didn't. He didn't move a muscle-- he didn't even appear to be breathing-- which Luna found comforting and very worrying at the same time. What if he was dead?
She hesitated for a long moment, unsure whether she was allowed to use magic in this situation, even to disarm a potentially dangerous (albeit unconscious) fugitive from the law. Then she took a deep breath and held it, knelt beside him, and felt carefully in his pockets for his wand, watching him for any sign of alertness.
Because her eyes were on his face, it took her by surprise when his hand closed around her wrist. She had just found the telltale bump in Draco's trouser pocket, but curled her fingers away from it immediately, hoping that he was still too drowsy to know exactly what she was doing, and held her breath.
A few seconds went by, and still Luna didn't breathe. She was afraid that even the softest woosh of air might flutter his eyelashes just enough to cause them to fly open, and he would think her a threat. Luna wanted to avoid conflict if at all possible, no matter what the boy in front of her had done.
Finally, finally, the hand around her wrist relaxed as Draco slipped back into unconsciousness, and Luna let out a little sigh of relief. She waited until the pale fingers fell back to disappear into the long grass, and then slid two fingers into his pocket, carefully retrieving his wand.
That accomplished, Luna was once again uncertain of what to do. She looked at the Nargle, which was watching her patiently, and then back at Draco. Her DA coin was in her pocket, but even if she could have programmed it to say "Found Malfoy" or something to that effect, she wasn't entirely sure that anyone else was still carrying theirs.
She idly twirled a lock of hair around one finger as she thought, and then looked at the Nargle again. Can you watch him for a moment?
The Nargle hooted, and Luna took that as a yes. She flew up the front steps and into the house, ignoring the door as it crashed against the wall, and skidded to a stop right in front of the door to her father's study.
"Daddy?" she called softly, and turned the knob. There was a small grunt of greeting from the other side of the door, and she pulled it open with a smile. "Daddy?"
"No, I don't want any tea, thank you," Mr. Lovegood said absently, without looking up from his parchment. His quill scratched away, and he gestured at the teacup on his desk with his free hand. "I've already got some."
Luna barely spared a glance for the cup, and the teabag slowly growing crusty on the lip. "I was wondering if I might use the Floo."
At that, Mr. Lovegood looked up. "Now, Luna, you've been using that thing quite a bit lately," he said sternly, looking at her over his glasses. "You know what happens when you're around fire too much, don't you?"
"I'll turn into a Heliopath," Luna said promptly, nodding. "Just once more this week, Daddy? It's important."
Mr. Lovegood peered at her for a moment, as if expecting to see flames shooting out of her ears, and then nodded. "Alright. But if you notice any burning, especially in your hair..."
"I'll be careful," Luna promised, smiling up at him. He smiled back and returned to his writing, leaving Luna free to use the fireplace on the other side of the room. She flounced towards it, pausing to pick up her wand when it fell to the floor, and stuck it back behind her ear.
"Neville!" she exclaimed immediately when her head appeared on the other side. It had always amused her, this way of fire calling, and she liked to bob her head up and down in a way that made it look eerily disconnected enough to leap out of the fire.
"Stop that bouncing, girl, you look very silly," Neville's grandmother snapped. Luna was not at all inclined to see this as a bad thing, but she stopped, and smiled at the older woman.
"Is Nev--" she began, and then spotted him over in the corner. "Neville! You've got to come quick, I've-- I've--" she hesitated, trying to think of a way to describe it. "Caught a snake!"
"That's, uhm," Neville said nervously, "That's really nice, Luna." He attempted to smile, but Luna saw his eyes flick towards his Gran.
"No," Luna insisted, eyes wide as if she could make him understand just by staring at him. "It's really very bad. You see, it's one of the blond snakes, the dangerous kind..."
She trailed off suggestively, and was rewarded to see a light of comprehension flare in Neville's eyes. "Oh," he said slowly. "Oh, uhm. I suppose you need help getting rid of it?"
"Yes, yes," Luna agreed, probably far too cheerfully for someone who had supposedly found a very dangerous snake. "Yes, I definitely need your help."
His grandmother looked very suspicious, and she seemed to be about to say something, but Neville stammered out an excuse and hurried through the fire.
"I didn't know what to do," Luna said, before Neville had even finished appearing. But she didn't say anything more, because there was a snapping sound from her father's desk and he spun around to look at them.
"Bloody Blibbering Humdingers on a stick," Mr. Lovegood exclaimed. "You two are so loud, I think you might actually wake the Dream-Eating Darkies I've got trapped in my inkwell, and--"
"Sorry, Daddy," Luna interrupted, whispering to Neville as they left: "He's really very nice, except when he's got a deadline." Neville nodded in understanding.
She had left the front door open when she came inside (which was probably not the smartest idea in the world, she realised upon seeing it) and they moved towards it carefully, with their wands out. Neville stayed a step behind Luna despite his rather Gryffindor-ish urge to protect her, simply because he had no idea where they were going and didn't want to get in her way if she needed to turn suddenly in his direction.
"He's right over--" Luna began in a stage whisper, pointing her wand at the grass, but she cut herself off almost immediately. There was a small dent in the grass, as if a body had recently been there, but it was not there any longer. Luna raised her head to look around, and met silver eyes swirling with anger, confusion, and desperation.
Draco was awake.
.:.
If you were willing to listen, Draco would be happy to tell you all about that git Potter and his bloody followers. About how they're all exactly the same, how they see the world in terms of Death Eaters and Aurors. It was really quite like a child's game of Cops and Robbers, but that was far too plebian for Draco's taste. (He, of course, had been much more interested in Purebloods and Muggles.)
There are, of course, many things to be said for black and white. It would make Draco's life a whole lot easier if there was simply his family on one side, and everyone he hated on the other. Which was how it had been, up until that fateful night on the tower, when suddenly it had been the other side offering to keep his family alive and the side he'd chosen threatening to kill them.
He was therefore very confused when he suddenly found himself back in civilisation and face to face with the two weakest spawn of the light. Really, they were so pathetic that he wanted to laugh in their faces, and at another point in his life he very well might have. Longbottom and Loony were supposed to keep him from getting home? No fucking way.
It was very tempting to attack, to throw a hex that would turn Longbottom's face as green as his toad's and detach Loony's head even farther from reality, but for once, he stopped and really thought this through (he did, however, keep his wand pointed threateningly at their faces in case they tried anything funny while he was pondering). If he took a shot at them, that would make him 1) more likely to be hexed as well and 2) easier to trace.
Of course, if it was Potter, the Mudblood, or the Weasel, he wouldn't even have hesitated for a millisecond. But it wasn't, so he cast a shield charm on himself and made his escape, leaving the two idiots open-mouthed and uncertain on the stoop.
He didn't notice the small, scaly animal bounding along the sidewalk beside him, but it was just as well. Draco Malfoy was no dragon and he was no Nargle, and he had only a very small concept of gratitude.
It certainly wouldn't do to be in debt to an animal.