Between Ruin and Salvation by Kihin Ranno

Part Three: Burning Pale

This story contains adult material. If you are not of legal age, leave this page now.

Luna had wanted to go straight to Dumbledore, but Draco insisted on seeing Snape first. They arrived in his office just as he was finishing a fire call. With his eyes lowered and Luna’s hand ever-present on his shoulder, Draco told the Potions Master everything. Predictably, Snape was neither surprised nor terribly moved.

He then led them to Dumbledore’s office and deposited them there for safe-keeping, presumably. Draco and Luna sat in silence as they waited for Snape and the Headmaster to return. They would undoubtedly have to wait until Dumbledore was finished with the Weasleys.

After what must have been hours, Dumbledore and Snape swept into the room, and Draco told the story all over again. Luna never moved her hand.

Finally, Dumbledore heaved a long sigh, tenting his fingers beneath his white chin. Draco tried not to look at the withered arm. “For obvious reasons, Mr. Malfoy, I wish you had come to me sooner.”

Draco’s stiffened, immediately on the defense. “Well, I didn’t, for equally obvious reasons.”

Those blue eyes that so many saw as benevolent hardened to steel. “Did you not think I could have protected you? And your mother? I could have even plucked your father out of Azkaban and hidden him elsewhere, if only you had come to me the moment you were threatened. Now Katie Bell is in the hospital, and two people are dead.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I’ve done,” Draco snapped.

Dumbledore glared down at him, looking every bit the wizard the Dark Lord feared. Then he slumped forward, and he was a fragile old man again. “No. I suspect you don’t.”

Snape looked over at the sleeping portrait of Phineas Nigellus and said, “I would advise you to apologize, Draco, but I fear that would be woefully inadequate.”

Draco bowed his head and marveled at how low he had become that Luna Lovegood’s hand on his shoulder was something he felt grateful for.

“You do realize I will have to tell the Weasleys and Professor Slughorn’s family what really happened?” Dumbledore asked. “I can hardly lie to them because the truth is uncomfortable.”

“Of course,” Draco murmured. Then he looked up and scowled openly. “Will you also be telling them that you knew about me from the beginning and that you did nothing?”

“Draco!” Snape spat. “Watch your tongue!”

“Why?” Draco demanded. “Sir, I know my mother told you what was going on, and judging by Professor Dumbledore’s reaction, he knew as well. I can only assume that you told him, in which case, I believe your loyalties are a bit more mixed than the Dark Lord is aware.”

Snape’s nostrils flared, his eyes violent and dark, but he had nothing to say. He couldn’t defend himself against the simple truth.

To everyone’s surprise, perhaps even Luna’s, Dumbledore chuckled. “You’re right, Severus. The boy is bright.”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, drumming the fingers of his good hand against the armrest. “Very well, Draco. I’ll lay it all out for you. You’re quite right about Professor Snape telling me about Voldemort’s plans to use you as revenge against your father. I know you have been tasked with letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts by the end of the year. I also know you are meant to kill me, and that Katie Bell, Ron Weasley, and Horace Slughorn have been unfortunate casualties of this pursuit. Have I missed anything?”

Draco continued to glare, but decided there was no need to hide now. “Madame Rosmerta is under Imperius. She gave the necklace to Katie so it wouldn’t be traced back to me.”

Dumbledore arched an eyebrow. “An Unforgiveable. Who taught you how to work that?”

“No one,” Draco ground out. “I saw my father do it enough to know how to make it work.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore murmured. “I’d be impressed with your aptitude for such complex spells if they weren’t employed for such dark purposes.”

“And I’d be more impressed by your Slytherin way of handling this situation if I weren’t going to take the whole of the blame for Weasley and Slughorn,” Draco hissed. “Maybe I deserve it, but I don’t see it that way, sir. As far as I’m concerned, you can share some, if not equal blame with me.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, a surprisingly conciliatory gesture. “And perhaps you are correct, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps I even should take more of the blame, for you are a scared child and I am the responsible adult. But do not forget that Professor Snape, and it seems Ms. Lovegood here, offered you assistance, and you refused.”

Draco shut his eyes tightly. “My parents—"

“I will do my best to help your parents,” Dumbledore promised.

He snorted. “What for?”

Dumbledore rose from his seat and strode over to Snape by the fireplace. “Do not question my motives, Mr. Malfoy. Simply benefit from the results.”

This was logic a Slytherin could not argue with. “Do you want something in return?”

Snape turned his sneer in Draco’s direction. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end, and he didn’t much like it. “Considering your… mysterious aptitude for Occlumency, the Headmaster and I once thought you might aid me in, yes, spying for the Order.”

Draco felt the blood from his face drain away as if weighted by stones. “No. No, you can’t—"

“Do note the past tense,” Snape continued, pursing his lips. “Considering the fates of Professor Slughorn and the Weasley boy, we are of the opinion that it is too risky. Clearly, you are not… reliable. It is too much to leave to chance.”

Draco nearly sang with relief. “So what then? Am I to stay here?”

“No, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said, readjusting his half-moon spectacles. “This is also not a cautious move on my part, and considering today’s events, I must err on the side of caution. You will likely be targeted by both sides. Therefore, I believe it is most prudent that we get you to a safe house immediately. Your best option is likely the former home of the Blacks, Grimmauld Place. I believe you visited in your youth?”

Draco remembered nothing about the place except for its bad lighting. “Yes, I did. Unplottable, isn’t it?”

“And the technical headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix,” Dumbledore continued. “However, with Sirius Black’s… absence, using the building has become somewhat difficult. He willed the building to Harry Potter, which helps matters not at all. From there, it would pass to a blood relative. The nature of certain enchantments have kept this from becoming general knowledge, but by all rights, Mr. Malfoy, you have some measure of claim over the property, and as such, I can think of no better place to keep you.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying he was no one to be kept. “On the condition that I let the Order back in?”

Dumbledore gave him that irritating, twinkling smile. “Clever indeed.”

Draco felt his hands shake. “You said I’d be wanted by both sides.”

“Members of the Order of the Phoenix are not the people I am concerned about, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Oh, are the Weasleys not in it?” Draco snapped. “You say you’ll hide me, but in a den of lions – literally! Bloody Gryffindors. You may as well kill me now!”

“Draco, please. You verge on hysterical,” Snape drawled.

“I have bloody good reason to be hysterical!” Draco yelled, rising to his feet. “I don’t want to die!”

“I can assure you—"

“Of nothing. You can assure me of nothing,” Draco hissed. “If the Weasleys have access, they can kill me. And part of me wouldn’t even be able to blame them for it, though it pains me to admit it. So… lie to them, find me somewhere else, or—"

“What if I went with you?”

All eyes turned to Luna Lovegood.

“Er,” Draco said. She was the only one who inspired such inarticulate responses in him.

She stood at his side and said, “You’re afraid of being around the Order, but isn’t that mostly because you’d be alone? If I went with you, I could help keep you safe.” She swung her saucer eyes around to the adults in the room. “Couldn’t I?”

Dumbledore gave her one of those baffling looks of his. Draco felt convinced they were made for each other. “Yes, Ms. Lovegood. You certainly could.”

“I would point out the ludicrousness of this suggestion, but I feel that should be apparent,” Snape deadpanned.

“Wait a moment!” Draco snapped. “You said you’d help my mother as well. Doesn’t that mean putting her into hiding? Wouldn’t she be with me?”

“Unfortunately,” said Snape, “in the interests of keeping both of you safe, it’s best if you’re housed at separate locations. We’ll most likely move Narcissa out of the country and then do our best to put your father somewhere safe as well.”

Draco’s heart sank. He’d been so looking forward to seeing his mother. “Oh.”

“So you do need me,” Luna said, her voice eerily bright.

Snape looked as though he had a migraine, and Draco sympathized entirely. “Really, Headmaster, are you sure this is wise?”

Dumbledore held his hands out. “Our resources are limited, Severus. Unplottable locations do not fall into our laps often. Our only other option is to turn to the Ministry, and I find myself doubting that Minister Scrimgeour would offer us anything other than Azkaban for the boy.”

A chill ran through Draco’s body that went all the way down to his bones. He’d once heard that many wizards could not decide which was worse: death or Azkaban. His father had picked the latter.

“Are you certain you want to go with him, Ms. Lovegood?” Dumbledore asked.

Draco felt light-headed. “My God, you’re considering this.”

“I feel I must protest, Headmaster,” Snape said, curling his lip.

“Noted, Severus,” Dumbledore said in that offhand way people had of saying that though the objection was acknowledged, it meant absolutely nothing.

“I’m sure, Headmaster,” Luna assured him in her dreamy way. “Is that all right with you, Draco?”

“It will do me no good to say no, right?”

“Not especially.”

He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Loony and I can be roommates then. Merlin, what has my world come to?”

“We’ll go pack,” Luna informed the professors, grabbing Draco’s wrist and pulling him out of the room, utterly heedless or perhaps willfully ignorant of how much Draco was not looking forward to this.

-----

After Luna shut the door, Dumbledore turned to Snape, one eyebrow raised. “Funny. I don’t recall ever saying that housing him and his mother in the same location was a security risk.”

Snape stared straight ahead, cold as an arctic winter. “Draco is of no use to us in the war now,” he muttered, “but he could be one day. If his mother and later his father are around, they will keep him from aiding us. Apart, we have more chance of influencing him.” He smirked. “Especially with Ms. Lovegood of all people at his ear.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “I see. So you still think he could be useful as a spy?”

“I urged you to leave him be for a reason, did I not?”

“Yes, you did,” Dumbledore admitted. “But I wonder, Severus, if Draco is safe at Grimmauld Place, and if Ms. Lovegood can keep him… otherwise occupied, what possible reason could he have to help us against Voldemort?”

Snape looked down at his right hand, the one that had clasped Narcissa’s so many months ago while Pettigrew cast an Unbreakable Vow.

“You never know what could happen.”

-----

Living with Loony Lovegood. It sounded like one of those bad serial comics Goyle was so fond of. But it was no work of fiction, no strip of paneled artwork with poor continuity and a sweat drop hanging over his forehead. It was his life, such as it was, in Grimmauld Place. And there was nothing to do but interact with her.

Well, there was Kreacher too. Draco looked into what he assumed was the House Elf’s favorite corner and found him there, slouching away. The little creature had been overjoyed when he’d realized that Draco was a descendant of the Blacks. Draco had never been hugged by a House Elf before that day, and it was not an experience he cared to repeat.

Luna seemed to be under the impression that the little grunt needed physical affection and had taken to offering it to Kreacher. She seemed to be oblivious to his reactions.

“BLOOD TRAITOR! CORRUPTING BITCH! HOW DARE YOU COME INTO MY HOME! YOU ARE NOT FIT TO BREATHE MY DUST!”

“Good morning, Mrs. Black.”

“FILTH! USURPER! DEFILER!”

“Have a nice nap.”

Draco groaned, rubbing his temples. It was a rare day when the portrait of Great Aunt Wally did not scream at Luna. He was beginning to suspect that Luna was alerting the portrait to her presence purposefully. Maybe she entertained some notion that all the Black matriarch had to do was work out her aggression properly, and she’d be pleasant as pie.

Luna appeared in the kitchen, a red beret perched jauntily on her head and her arms laden with the day’s groceries. “Hello, Draco.”

He merely grunted in response. He wasn’t up to talking to her just yet. Apparently, before he fell through the veil obviously, Sirius Black had become addicted to coffee. Draco had made a cup from the leftover grounds upon moving in, and subsequently became addicted. He was now useless in the mornings until he’d had it, and they’d been out of it that morning.

“I think Walberga is in a better mood today,” Luna mused, unloading her bags. Draco watched greedily for his precious caffeine. “She didn’t accuse me of having improper relations with Professor Lupin.”

Draco snorted. He may have been the only one who found his great aunt’s more colorful ravings amusing, but even Lupin would eventually admit that the woman’s detailed depiction of his fictional liaison with Luna was comedy gold.

“Oh,” Luna said, waving her wand at one of the bags. A cup of coffee from the local shop floated out. “I figured you wouldn’t want to wait, so I picked it up. Two creams and all the sugar in the shop, right?”

“Bless you,” Draco said as he fell upon the concoction. He felt ready to join the living just smelling it. He cupped the brew between his hands and took a long sip, reveling in the pleasant burn as it traveled down his throat. He settled back into his chair with a contented sigh.

Luna laughed, and he had to admit, the sound wasn’t altogether unpleasant. There was something musical in her variation of pitch when she laughed. It reminded him of wind chimes.

“I know I’m enabling your addiction, but you’re such a bear when you’re not caffeinated,” she confided, pulling out her own cup of tea. Lately she had been favoring Mandarin Orange Spice, but today, he caught a whiff of chamomile underneath the citrus. “Clementine Chamomile,” she offered once she saw him looking. “New flavor.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Fruit teas. Not natural.”

“Not British, you mean.”

“I fail to see the difference.”

She finished putting away the food she’d gotten for the day, patting Kreacher on the head like a puppy when she passed by. He nearly snorted coffee up his nose when he saw the horrified look the House Elf gave her.

“Draco.”

“Loony.”

She momentarily dropped her gaze. He knew she didn’t like the nickname, and he couldn’t say it had the same zip it had once had. But calling her by name indicated some sort of closeness, or that he had completely accepted her into his life. Considering the fact that she’d forced her way in, he wasn’t ready to allow that just yet, if ever.

“I’m going through more books in the library today,” she said, taking a sip of her horrible fruity tea. “I don’t suppose you want to help.”

“Have I ever done?”

“No, but I’m asking anyway.”

Draco shrugged, swallowing the last of his coffee. He rose to make his preferred breakfast – toast and blackberry jam. “I’ve no reason to go looking for ways to get Potter out. Assuming he can be retrieved, I much prefer him where he is.”

“I know that’s not true,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. They had a variation of this conversation nearly every day. It had been nearly a month since they’d moved in, and it was beginning to wear on him. “I don’t miss him.”

“Maybe not,” she said, “but I think you miss having someone to argue with. I know it’s no fun fighting with me.”

“Certainly not,” he mumbled, slicing his bread.

“I don’t suppose I could bribe you?”

Draco paused. This was new, or she’d never asked post-coffee before. It would have been positively un-Slytherin of him not to take her up on that sort of offer. The problem was, he couldn’t think of a thing she had that he wanted.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking,” he snapped. “You can’t just spring that on a person. Bribes must be well thought out.”

“I see.”

“I have to ask for something good, or else what’s the point?” he informed her blithely. “Not to mention, I have to come up with something that’s worth the price. A day looking through books is not my idea of a good time.”

She came up beside him, tilting her head into his peripheral vision. “What do you do to have a good time now? Aside from order Kreacher to do things he can’t do and then have him punish himself for it when I’m not looking.”

“Er. Well. That’s essentially it.” He cleared his throat. “Sometimes I go dance with the furniture, if I’m over-caffeinated.”

“The murderous chairs, you mean?”

“They don’t try to murder me. And they let me lead. Pansy always had problems with that.”

“Don’t ask me to dance,” Luna said. “For your bribe. Unless you enjoy having your feet trodden on.”

He made a sympathetic noise. “Nargles trip you up?”

“No. They don’t like the loud music. I’m just clumsy.”

He rolled his eyes. “God, you are lunatic.”

“So you tell me several times a day.”

She watched as he finished going about his business, buttering and toasting and slathering with jam. It wasn’t until he was about to take his first bite that he realized he’d been moving the beat of a song she was humming. Come to think of it, she hummed rather a lot. He thought it sounded pretty.

“Sing me something.”

She stared, confused but never clueless as he had once assumed. “Why?”

“I think you have a good voice,” he posited.

“Based on?”

“You hum all the time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your line of reasoning is extremely flawed.”

He took a bad-tempered bite out of his toast. “Sometimes I wish they’d given me a Hufflepuff babysitter.” He paused. “No. No, I don’t. Take it back. Anyway, I don’t care if it’s flawed. I want to hear you sing. If you do, I’ll help you, but just for today.”

She still seemed a bit taken aback by his sudden request, but although Luna’s eyes seemed constantly widened in shock, she didn’t surprise like most people. “Any requests?”

“Whatever you were humming before.”

“Are you sure? It’s Muggle.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled around his toast, a little surprised that he didn’t think it did. He’d heard some Muggle music from Malcolm while he was in Hogwarts, and he hadn’t altogether hated it. “Sing it.”

She shrugged. Then she opened her mouth.

He very nearly dropped his toast on the counter. He’d been expecting a mildly pleasant soprano voice, breathy but not grating. Nothing special. As it turned out, he was right about the soprano and little else. Her voice seemed to soar in the cramped kitchen, flying to the heights of the scale with an ease Celestina Warbeck – who was a mezzo on a good day – would salivate over. But despite the high notes, her voice remained full-bodied and strong. Her tone was clear and bright. He imagined she was singing starlight.

“Is it a kind of dream,
Floating out on the tide,
Following the river of death downstream?
Oh, is it a dream?

“There's a fog along the horizon,
A strange glow in the sky,
And nobody seems to know where you go,
And what does it mean?
Oh, is it a dream?

“Bright eyes,
Burning like fire.
Bright eyes,
How can you close and fail
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes.

“Is it a kind of shadow,
Reaching into the night,
Wandering over the hills unseen,
Or is it a dream?

“There's a high wind in the trees,
A cold sound in the air,
And nobody ever knows when you go,
And where do you start,
Oh, into the dark.

“Bright eyes,
burning like fire.
Bright eyes,
how can you close and fail
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes.”

When she was finished, she looked at him expectantly. He realized that she wanted his assessment.

“I was right,” he murmured. “You do have a nice voice.”

She beamed at this praise. “Thank you. I normally get yelled at when I hum or sing in Ravenclaw tower. Always disturbing someone, you see.” She suddenly hooked elbows with him. “Come on then.”

He stared at their conjoined limbs as if one of her invisible creatures had appeared above them. “What?”

“You promised.”

Crap. He had. “Fine. But just this once.”

She smiled at him again and said, “Do you know what I think?”

“Thankfully, no.”

“You’re starting to be friends too.” She slipped from his grasp and practically skipped into the Black’s library, filled to the brim with books she hoped would hold the secret to releasing the precious Potter.

“I’m getting used to you,” Draco called out after her. “That’s all.”

He told himself this every day following that, when he asked her to sing him a song for his help.

-----

“I was wondering when you’d call me here,” Hermione called out as she stepped into Dumbledore’s office.

The Headmaster turned slowly, as if his bones were no longer pliable enough for the movement. Hermione narrowed her eyes, seeing lines she had not noticed before and a more pronounced stoop in his shoulder. She knew Dumbledore was very old, but he seemed to be aging all the more rapidly this year. She wondered if his black hand or Harry was to blame.

“Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore murmured, his voice creaking like rotting wood. “If you expected I would want to see you, why did you not simply come yourself?”

“I wouldn’t presume to impose upon you, Professor,” Hermione said smoothly. “Besides, I’ve been busy.”

He frowned. “Not with your schoolwork.”

Hermione winced, the familiar pang erupting in her chest. This was brought to her so often by concerned Gryffindors, fretting professors, and salivating Ravenclaws thrilled at the chance to finally overtake her. Once upon a time, she would have risen to their challenges. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t even be in this position.

“There are more important things,” Hermione answered, though it still left a sour taste in her mouth.

Dumbledore looked down his nose at her. She thought his eyes seemed dull. “You’re a student, Ms. Granger. This shouldn’t be left up to you. There are others who have been—"

“And they have made about as much progress as I have,” Hermione interrupted sharply. “Which is to say, none. Not to mention, sir, that Harry is a student too. It doesn’t preclude who he is and what he’s meant to do.” She swallowed and struggled to keep her voice even. “Ron’s… Ron was also a student. It didn’t stop you from going to him for a favor that he died for.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes, hanging his head. “So he told you about that.”

“I worked out most of it myself,” she said, forcing air through her constricting throat. “Just as I’ve worked out that you didn’t call me here to talk about my marks or my mental health. You want something from me.”

Dumbledore swayed on his feet. She may as well have actually struck him. “Ms. Granger—"

“Please, spare me, Professor,” Hermione hissed. She kept her back painfully straight as if to exert her power through her physicality. She would never have presumed to think she might be able to defeat this man a year before. She never would have thought to give it any consideration. But she was no longer the child who looked at Dumbledore with shining eyes, sure that he would protect them all. He had failed her, and she would not let him forget it simply because of his frailty.

“I know you sent Ron to his death. I know you drove Harry half-mad staying away from him during Fifth Year, and that meant he didn’t go to you when he should have, and we lost him and Sirius. And I rather suspect you knew what Draco Malfoy was doing long before you told us. Katie Bell may never recover. Ron definitely won’t. And though I will never give up hope, I may never be able to work out how to bring Harry home. So do not offer me excuses or platitudes or promises. Tell me what you need, and then I will decide whether or not I want to help you.”

And so he told her about the Horcruxes, though she knew most of it. He showed her the relevant memories of Merope Gaunt and the origins of the Dark Lord in Tom Riddle. And then he asked her if she would go with him to retrieve the locket. He asked her to help him destroy another part of Voldemort’s soul.

She said yes, but only because Harry and Ron would have told her to.

-----

“Do you suppose Dumbledore knows about the veil?” Harry asked loudly, blocking out the whispers that carried dark suspicions to his heart.

Sirius smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s possible. When I was a kid, I was convinced Dumbledore knew everything. Always caught your dad and me during pranks, you see.”

Harry clung to that image of a youthful Sirius and James, perhaps accompanied by Remus without scars and even Peter before the resentments took hold. He saw them laughing and falling over one another, heedless of the future that awaited them, of a road paved with skulls and snakes.

“Then maybe Remus and Tonks and the others are waiting for him,” Harry suggested. “Once they’re through with the Death Eaters, he’ll be able to work it out. If he already knows so much about it.”

Sirius looked set to agree with him, but in that brief hesitation, the voices rose.

“Maybe not, Harry,” Sirius murmured, his voice cloaked in shadow. “There are some things that even Albus Dumbledore fears.”

“Death?” Harry asked, incredulous. “He told me that death was the next great adventure.”

Sirius shook his head. “I’m not talking about death.” He looked out to the grey distance, his eyes unfocused on a horizon they could not chase. In that moment, he seemed to move beyond where Harry could go, beyond places he could fathom. And all the while, a million souls pleaded.

“I’m talking about the dead.”

-----

Draco awoke to the sound of slamming doors and running footsteps. He yanked his wand from underneath his pillow and pointed it in the dark, gasping air for fear of running out of it. He listened for a few moments, and determined there was only one person moving about the house. He relaxed, though only slightly, and rose from the bed, staggering into the hallway and the blinding light that poured from Luna’s room.

She ran about like a harried rabbit, her blond hair floating around her head like a dust cloud. She hopped around yanking her shoe on while attempting to simultaneously fasten her skirt. Draco was thankful caution had kept him in bed for modesty’s sake.

“What has possessed you to make such a bloody racket at this hour?” Draco grumbled.

“It’s Hogwarts,” Luna said, her voice groggy from being roused from bed herself. “It’s under attack.”

It felt like a thousand needles were driven into his spine. He might no longer be in danger, but his friends were still at the castle. “But they’re in Slytherin,” he muttered. “Surely they’re safe.”

“I don’t know,” Luna said, apparently having heard. “Draco, it was Neville who called me, and he said…”

Draco felt the needles twisting, driving in deeper. “Luna. Tell me.”

“He said there’s a werewolf with them. I think it’s Greyback.”

Draco grabbed the doorframe to keep from hitting the floor. Any other Death Eater would have respected the boundaries of Slytherin House. Even with in-fighting, even with the possibility of weeding out the few half-bloods or Mudbloods in the house, they would have left the dungeons alone for fear of accidentally harming someone’s child. But if Greyback was there, he wouldn’t care. He’d tear apart all the children in the world for his pleasure, and he wouldn’t care who their fathers were.

“Pansy,” Draco whispered in horror. “Crabbe, Goyle… Oh, shit. Fuck! What is he doing there? What are any of them doing there?” Rage suddenly threatened to bubble up and overwhelm his fear. “They told me the castle was safe as long as I left! They said that no one would get in!”

Luna ran forward, pressing her palm to his face. “Draco, I know. I know what they said. But Neville told me that somehow they’ve managed it, and what’s worse, Dumbledore’s not there.”

Draco trembled. He hated Dumbledore, but he respected him all the same. As long as Dumbledore was at Hogwarts, the students were safe. He could protect them. But if he wasn’t there, then all bets were off.

“Bloody old idiot!” Draco hissed, slamming his fist against the wall. “How could he leave them?”

“He thought there was no danger,” she reminded him. Her other hand came up to hold his face. “Draco, listen, I know this is hard for you to process, but I need to go now.”

Draco stared at her, uncomprehending as usual. Go? What did she mean go? Where did she have to be at this time of night?

It took some time for his sleep-addled mind to go through all the information he had been given. When he arrived at the only possible conclusion, he grabbed onto her wrists, wishing they were hooks like that pirate in the children’s story Luna had told him about. “No.”

She slipped out of his grip. It was like trying to hold onto water and light. “I have to. They need my help.”

“You can’t,” he insisted wildly as she pushed past him. “Please, you can’t go.”

She turned, raising both eyebrows. “Why not?”

Anyone else would have petulantly maintained that it was none of his business and that he couldn’t order them about. Even now, Luna was different. She gave him the opportunity to give her a good reason to stay.

He didn’t have one.

“You just can’t,” Draco snapped.

Luna gave him a look that edged dangerously close to pity before she turned to descend the stairs. “I’ll be all right.”

“You don’t know that!” Draco shouted, running after her. “You can’t predict the future, Loony. Don’t lie and say you can.”

“I never meant to imply that,” she said, pulling her rucksack from the banister and rummaging through it. She yanked out a blue hair ribbon and started to pull her hair back. “I just assume that there are one of two outcomes: I’ll either live or die. I know we can both agree that surviving is the best ending, but if I don’t, I know there’s something else for me.”

Draco reeled at her glib attitude, but he decided now was not the time to appeal to reason on that front. “And what if you’re hurt? Or if they capture you? Or if Fenrir….” He pictured the last in his mind – dirty fingernails slicing through her pearlescent skin, crimson slipping from the wounds as his teeth tore at her neck, and her eyes, forever widened in that look of surprise. “Luna, you can’t.”

She blinked as she finished tying the ribbon. “You said my name.”

He clenched his hands into fists and suddenly remembered that he still had his wand. “I won’t let you.”

She smiled sadly. “It’s not up to you.” She turned to leave him.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Luna’s body seemed to snap to attention once the spell landed. Her joints locked so hard he thought her bones might break. Then she began to fall forward. He dashed to her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back. Unfortunately, he overcompensated in strength and then neglected to remember that she had no control over herself. They both toppled backwards and his head hit the floor hard with her added weight.

He felt dizzy, and it took him awhile to refocus his eyes. When he did, all he could see was the crown of Luna’s head resting against his chest. It might have made a pretty picture, aesthetically. Then he readjusted, levering himself up so that he could see her eyes. There was nothing attractive about her fury. Seeing it on her face repulsed him; she was not a girl who should have ever been angry. It didn’t suit her. He found himself hating that he’d made her look that way.

“I’m not sorry,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her. “I know that’s what I’m meant to say, but I’m not. Even if I was, I’m crap at apologies.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I told you before that I’ve been getting used to you. I wasn’t saying that to be patronizing…. I meant it. I’ve gotten accustomed to waking up and going downstairs, knowing you’re going to be eating breakfast and reading your Quibbler. I know that every time I yell at Kreacher, you’re going to be there a few minutes later to try and make him feel better… though you do tend to make it worse, you know. He rather likes it when I yell at him. I like watching you read all those books in the library and write back to Hermione to tell her what you’ve found. I even like it when you bounce your ridiculous theories off me, because mad as they are, there’s a logic to them that I can almost perceive. I like hearing you hum. I like that you’ll sing to me when I ask. I like the little sketches you make on the margins of your notes. I like that you can at look me in spite of everything I am. I like that you don’t hate me after everything I’ve done. I like that I can see a second chance for me in your eyes. Hell, maybe I’m even beginning to like you.

“Either way… you’re all I have left,” he whispered, holding on to her tighter. “My father’s in jail, and I don’t think he’s ever coming out. My mother’s…. God knows where that old man put her, and I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to see her again. My friends are at Hogwarts, and I know they’re in danger just being there. But even though we’ve been together for years, I don’t know if they can forgive me for not doing as I was told.

“People are wrong about Slytherins. We’re not all Death Eaters. We’re not all children of Death Eaters. But the ones who matter to me are. And I don’t know who’ll come first: me or their parents. I don’t want to know for that matter.”

Draco took a long, shuddering breath. “And frankly, Luna Lovegood, that leaves you. Just you. And depressing as that may be, I’ll be damned if I’m going to risk losing you just because you’re a better person than I am.

“That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll put you to sleep now.” He lifted up his wand, pointing it between those furious eyes. “Can’t stand to look at you anymore.”

-----

“Avada Kedavra!”

A jet of green light shot from the end of Snape’s wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest. Hermione’s scream of horror never left her: silent and unmoving, she was forced to watch as Dumbledore was blasted into the air. For a split second, he seemed to hang suspended beneath the shining skull, and then he fell slowly backward, like a great rag doll, over the battlements and out of sight.

Hermione gaped at the empty space Dumbledore had once occupied from underneath Harry’s invisibility cloak. The Headmaster had insisted she bring it; Ron had kept the cloak when Harry disappeared, and she had taken it for herself once Ron didn’t need it anymore. He’d forced her underneath it while they flew to the castle after seeing the Dark Mark. He’d immobilized her once the Death Eaters crashed through the doors that led back down to the castle proper. And now she couldn’t even call out to him as he fell to Earth, struck down by a Killing Curse issued by none other than Severus Snape.

“Out of here, quickly,” said Snape, turning away with a flourish of his midnight cloak. She stared at his retreating back, opening her mouth to call out. It wasn’t until the last of the Death Eaters lumbered out of the door that she realized she had moved. She knew only one thing could have broken Dumbledore’s spell, but she had no time to mourn.

Seizing her wand and throwing the cloak off her body, she shot out the first of what she suspected would be a great number of spells. “Stupefy!”

The Death Eater fell, and Hermione chased after the rest. She knew better than to expect that they wouldn’t leave a trail of blood in their wake. She had no idea what they had done before she and Dumbledore returned; there may have already been too much carnage for her to mend. But she could do everything in her power to prevent any more.

She raced down the stairs, her chest immediately aching with effort. She cursed her lack of athletic prowess and leapt down the last three, emerging into the battle. Her eyes sought out some touch point, some ally to watch so that she could make sense of it all. But the first thing she saw was a flash of red hair, being crushed beneath the full weight of a man who seemed less human than any she had ever seen. Something about him made her remember the sound of Remus Lupin howling into the night three years earlier.

For a desperate moment, she thought it was Ron and thought she was going to be ill. Then she saw the ponytail and remembered the guard Dumbledore had set around the castle and that the Order had been on high alert. Hermione ran to him, wand raised. “Bill!”

“NO!” a familiar shriek cut through the night like a serrated blade. Hermione turned to see another streak of red flying through the air. Ginny landed on Fenrir’s back, pummeling him with her fists. She was still clutching a broken wand in her hand. “You promised! You said you’d leave them alone if I helped you!”

With a great roar, the wolf-man pulled Ginny off and slammed her against the wall. Then he fell upon her, and Ginny screamed as he took a chunk of flesh from her cheek.

“Impedimenta!” Hermione cried out, sending the man flying away into an opposite wall. Ginny slipped to the floor, her tears smearing the impossible amount of blood on her face. She crawled over to her oldest brother, reaching forward to shake him awake.

Hermione knew it was useless. His carotid artery had been cut. Bill Weasley was dead.

Just like Ron.

Hermione let out a cry of rage and ran forward, catching sight of Snape’s cloak billowing behind him as he ran. She passed McGonagall, Lupin, and Tonks each dueling with a separate Death Eater. She passed Neville barely dodging a Cruciatus Curse and then falling upon his opponent with a boar-like cry. She passed a group of bewildered Hufflepuffs led by Ernie Macmillian, who tried to ask her what was going on. She paid none of them any mind, chasing after Snape because she was the only one who knew. He’d betrayed them. All those times she’d thought Harry was holding a grudge. All those times she’d scolded Ron for being unfair to a man who, while insufferable, was brilliant. All those times she’d told herself that if Dumbledore trusted him so implicitly, surely that must mean something. That man had turned tail and killed a man while he pleaded for life.

She had to catch him, though she didn’t know what she’d do once she did.

She burst outside of the castle, unsurprised to find there were still more wizards dueling in the courtyard. She followed Snape’s harried footsteps, pushing herself to her limits. She choked on each breath she swallowed, she nearly stumbled, and there were times she didn’t think she could go on, but she did. She knew she had to catch him before he got beyond the gates; if he did, he could Disapparate, and then there’d be no catching him.

“Stupefy!” she shouted, watching as the jet of red light shot past his head. She’d missed. But he stopped all the same, turned to face her with his familiar doleful expression.

“Funny,” he snarled, “this doesn’t seem like a part you should play.”

“How could you?” Hermione asked, surprised to find she was crying. She’d sworn to herself she would never cry for the Headmaster who had betrayed her, but she’d expected him to die defeating Voldemort. She hadn’t expected to watch him drink that horrible stuff at the cave, hadn’t expected to see him weak and begging her to kill him, hadn’t expected to feel sorry for him and to have someone as low as Snape do him in. “He trusted you! Harry never did, but Dumbledore always told us we could trust you!”

Snape curled his lips horribly. “Do you think I care what your little Potter said? He was a fool to go running before he knew where he was going.”

“I know that!” Hermione screamed at him. “I know he’s an idiot, but I don’t care. He’s my best friend, and… and I hated Dumbledore for what happened to Ron, but he didn’t deserve what you did to him. He didn’t deserve to be betrayed!”

Snape seemed to soften a fraction, and for a moment, Hermione thought he almost looked… disappointed. “Cleverest witch of your age. I do wonder sometimes.”

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you’ll be smart enough to figure it out one of these days,” Snape said scornfully. “Until then, I’m going.”

She raised her wand. “Pet—"

He deflected with a flick of his wand. “Sorry, Ms. Granger. Your mind is open as Potter’s ever was. You’ll never be able to win a duel against me.”

Knowing he was right, Hermione threw her wand down. “Fine. Then just kill me. Harry’s gone. Ron’s dead. You’ve just murdered our last hope for defeating Voldemort.” She clutched at her aching chest, gripping the fabric just above her heart, and a hole in the fabric. “I’m Muggle-born! What do I have to live for now except to die? What!”

The way he looked at her made her think that maybe he had an answer for her. Then she saw his eyes widen in fear at something behind her.

“Ava—"

She whirled at the unfamiliar voice and for a split second, saw a Death Eater charging her, his wand pointed directly at her chest.

She knew she should dodge, but she couldn’t make her feet move. She knew she had to live on to save Harry and because Ron would have wanted to. But that intellectual assurance could not seem to override the shock or terror that left her rooted in place.

Suddenly, something hit her from behind that carried her away from the scene. She twisted and spun before she crashed to the ground. Then everything went dark.

She came to some time later in Hagrid’s arms. He didn’t believe her when she told him about Dumbledore. Then she had to listen to him cry when he did believe. She told everyone what she’d seen, what she knew, where they’d been before. Remus Lupin pulled the locket from Dumbledore’s robes and read the note aloud. It wasn’t Slytherin’s. They’d left Hogwarts vulnerable for nothing. Dumbledore and Bill Weasley had died for nothing.

She’d lived through it, but no one could tell her if it was worth it.

-----

Luna and McGonagall had left Draco in the Headmaster’s – well, he supposed Headmistress’s – office while Luna went down to the infirmary ward to check on her friends. She hadn’t spoken a word to him since he brought her around. He had waited until Neville contacted Luna again via the coin to ask her why she hadn’t come. Then he’d ended the spell and followed Luna out the door. Together, they had journeyed to Hogwarts. It wasn’t the smartest of moves, but he felt it was unlikely death would visit the castle again any time soon.

Draco looked up at the wall littered with portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses, his eyes immediately falling on that of Albus Dumbledore. He was surprised to find that the old man was not sleeping. It was his understanding that most new portraits were borderline narcoleptic to make the transition easier. But there he was, eyes twinkling and smiling that ever so irritating smile.

Draco stood and crossed to the opposite wall. “I cannot even begin to tell you how annoying you are.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore asked.

Draco arched an eyebrow. Apparently new portraits were not stunning conversationalists. “Would you like me to try?”

Dumbledore simply kept smiling.

He scoffed, folding his arms. “No sense in it. You wouldn’t understand me anyway.”

“I’m a portrait, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore reasoned. “I’m not touched.”

Draco laughed sharply. “Please. You were always more than touched.”

“Well, no sense trying to change your opinion,” Dumbledore said. “Do you know, I won’t be able to change any of my opinions now? I’m not even really alive. I’m just an imprint.” He frowned. “I think when I was alive, I didn’t want to be a portrait.”

Seeing his earlier assumption about the portrait’s speaking abilities were wrong, Draco wished he could somehow gag it. “After listening to my Great Aunt Wally shriek every time Luna comes in with the groceries, I’m also not seeing the appeal.”

Dumbledore chuckled. Draco found this version of Dumbledore far more amiable than the one he had dealt with in life. “The girl who left you here seemed a bit upset with you.”

Draco frowned. Apparently, he didn’t recognize Luna. “We had been getting on.” He paused. “She sang to me when I asked her.”

“Oh?”

“Nice voice.”

“Splendid!” Dumbledore smiled like a stupid child.

Draco looked away, unable to handle the disparity between the Machiavellian headmaster of memory and this cheap imitation. “She’s rather cross with me now.”

“Why? Did you say something racist? I remember you were somewhat known for that.”

Draco’s eye twitched. How did the portrait remember him and not Luna? “She’s more or less able to tune that out. She’s angry with me because I… kept her from coming last night. When you… well.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, catching the drift. “I see.”

“She wanted to come,” Draco murmured bitterly. “She wanted to be a bloody hero, get herself killed like some sort of… Gryffindor.”

Dumbledore tutted at him. “Now, now. That was my house.”

“I know,” Draco drawled.

Dumbledore made a ‘harrumph’ noise, which made him sound like most of the other portraits Draco had dealt with in his life. The familiarity was a relief. “Well. What gave you the right to stop her?”

“I didn’t have it,” he said, pushing off the wall. “I just took it.”

“Not a wise move there, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco shrugged. “She’s alive. That’s wise enough for me.”

Just then, the door to the office opened and in walked none other than Luna Lovegood. She was still looking at him with those horrible eyes, the ones he couldn’t stand. They were someone else’s eyes, not hers. He started to duck his head so that he wouldn’t have to see, but then she seemed too tired to uphold her anger. It drained away, leaving nothing but exhaustion and sadness.

“Well?” he asked. She’d promised a full report.

“It was Ginny,” Luna murmured, leaning against the door and then sinking to the ground. She hugged her knees to her chest. “Ginny let them in.”

“Shit,” Draco said with feeling. He slowly moved towards her, allowing her plenty of opportunity to send him away if she didn’t want him. “Why would she do that?”

Luna took a deep breath, pressing her forehead to her kneecaps. “She was threatened. Fenrir Greyback found her alone during Easter Break. She was sneaking out to meet some boy probably… and he asked if she missed Ron. He wanted to know if she’d be just as sad about losing her other brothers.”

Draco had always believed the Weasleys had too many children, but it was hardly a problem that could be fixed retroactively. “But didn’t… didn’t I see—"

“Bill Weasley’s body?” Luna finished, although Draco’d had no idea which Weasley it was, and not just because his face had been unrecognizable. “Yes. Fenrir killed him.”

Draco sank to his knees before her, the cold truth settling in the pit of his stomach. “It didn’t matter. They promised, but it didn’t matter.”

Luna looked up at him. She looked sorry. “Did you really think it would?”

“I had to,” he muttered, hanging his head. “So did she.”

Luna nodded, and then continued. “Ginny saw him attacking Bill. He’d just finished mauling the neck. She jumped on him, and now her face is ruined.”

Draco winced. He’d heard stories of maimed children Fenrir had gotten his hands on. The wounds were cursed and never healed. Ginny Weasley would be marked forever for her crime. “How did she do it? It wasn’t… the cabinet, did she—"

“No,” Luna assured him. “I think that was destroyed when we left. Nobody knows how she did it yet.” She took a moment and swallowed. “You see, when she woke up, she knew what she’d done. Sometimes you wake up and for a minute you forget or you think it was a dream. She didn’t. She knew. She ran into Madame Pomfrey’s office and just… started swallowing potions.”

“Fuck,” Draco whispered, reaching for her. He paused, his hand hovering over hers. He didn’t know if this was allowed, and Luna didn’t seem to notice his movement.

“Tonks stopped her, dragged her out. She’s on her way to St. Mungo’s now. They think she’ll be all right. But she’ll probably be committed or imprisoned. Azkaban has a psychiatric ward, you know.” She looked up and saw Draco’s hand hanging in their air. He was shocked when she took it. “Thank you.”

“I’m still not sorry,” Draco told her. “After hearing all this, I’m not sorry.”

Luna nodded. “I didn’t expect you to be. I know you think you did the right thing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“You were wrong.” The coldness in her voice felt like ice cracking underfoot. “It wasn’t your decision to make.”

“I know,” he acquiesced. “I just don’t care.”

Luna looked as if there was more she wanted to say, but knowing that it was useless, decided against it. “I told them what I knew about Snape,” Luna continued, her voice not quite thawing. “Hermione saw it happen. She says Dumbledore was pleading with Snape at the end. She assumed it was for his life; now she’s not sure.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, casting a look over his shoulder. Dumbledore’s portrait was now fast asleep. “He wanted to die?”

“Maybe,” Luna said, apparently following his gaze. “I don’t suppose we can ask him?”

Draco shook his head. “He’ll only know a fragment of whatever Dumbledore knew at the time that was painted, which was probably years ago.” He paused, smirking. “Remembered me though. Said I have a tendency to be racist.”

“Are you sure he didn’t mean your father?”

Draco paled. “Oh. Hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t know who you were…. He must have thought I was my father.”

Luna gave his hand an extra squeeze, and he thought it was to do with Lucius until he heard her speak. “Draco, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He turned back, knowing this was not the lead in to a conversation he would enjoy. “What?”

“Hermione and I spoke for awhile,” Luna began, her blue eyes wide and looking close to normal. “She told me that Dumbledore had shown her memories about Tom Riddle – the man Voldemort used to be. It led him to believe that Voldemort’s made Horcruxes for himself. Do you know what those are?”

“Not a word flung about the manor, sorry to say.”

Luna shrugged. “I thought maybe since it turns out a book your father gave Ginny was probably one.”

Draco frowned. “A book my… what?”

“I’ll explain later,” Luna said, plowing on. “Anyway, Horcruxes are objects containing a fragment of your soul. Every time Voldemort killed, he tore his soul, and he placed the piece into an object. Dumbledore and Hermione were going after a locket. It turned out to be gone already, but… Dumbledore told her what he thinks the other ones are. We don’t know an exact number, but he’s made a few guesses, and his guesses tend to be correct.”

Draco was now very sure he would not like where this ended. “And?”

“She needs help, Draco,” Luna said, taking his hand into both of hers. “I know that Ron was worried about her when Harry first disappeared. She was so focused on finding a way to get him back that she barely slept. But after Ron and now this… Draco, I think she’s on the verge of breaking. She’s not well. She’s also determined to see this through to the end because it’s what Harry and Ron would have done. I can’t let her go alone.”

Realization spread through Draco like paper set aflame. “No.”

“As we have already established with last night’s events and this morning’s fallout, that is not your decision to make.”

“You can’t!” he snapped, knowing how ridiculous he sounded and refusing to care. “Someone else can go.”

“Who?” Luna demanded, her voice sounding both distant and fierce, a combination that left him ill at ease. “Ginny’s going to be locked up for what she did, even if they did force her into it. And Neville needs to stay here.” She held up a hand when Draco started to protest. “Draco, if it hadn’t been for him, more people would have died last night. Hermione warned him something might happen, so he was watching out. He saw the Dark Mark. He grabbed the 7th Year Gryffindors and Seamus and Dean and they all fought last night. People listen to Neville now. They follow him. And if they choose to leave the school open next year, he has to stay here and protect them.

“That leaves me. I’m all that’s left.”

Draco felt his hand curling into a fist in her grip. “If that is all the friends Granger has, then I am almost sorry for her. Also, are there not adults in this world who can do these things?”

“She always thought it would be Harry, Ron, and her,” Luna said. “She thought they were going to save the world together. She’s going to do it again for as long as she can, and I can’t let her go alone.”

Draco’s mind felt poised to fly apart. He had to stop her of course. Draco couldn’t miss the irony of Luna Lovegood being worried about someone else’s sanity. The idea of letting the two of them go off alone was paramount to madness in and of itself. He was going to have to stop her. Maybe he could get rid of Hermione somehow – without her, Luna wouldn’t know where to go. Or perhaps if he just petrified them both and kept them locked up at Grimmauld, it would be enough. Or maybe until he could come up with a better plan. Hell, he could use Imperius to hold them. They’d thank him one day when they realized it had all been to save their lives.

Draco was pulled from his reverie by the door opening again. He pulled Luna forward to keep her from tumbling back, and both of them rose to their feet in tandem. They turned to see Headmistress McGonagall standing there. Her face had been drawn and pale ever since Draco had laid eyes on her, but there was something different in her gaze now. Something that was directed at him and only him.

He stumbled backwards. It could only be one thing. He had only one thing left to lose. “No.”

“Mr. Malfoy—"

“No!” he shouted, pointing at McGonagall. “No, they told me she’d be safe! They told me they were sending her far away, where no one could get to her!”

McGonagall clenched her jaw. “I know what they told you, Mr. Malfoy, but I’m afraid—"

“I don’t believe you,” he hissed, covering his ears. “They told me! They promised!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I’m so sorry.” McGonagall looked at him with disgusting sympathy, her voice only slightly muffled by his hands. “They’re dead. Your parents are both dead.”

Draco let out a horrible sound and rushed at her. To his surprise, Luna intercepted, throwing her arms around his neck and dragging him down with her weight. He tried to yank her off or set her aside, but she may as well have used a spell to lock her arms around him. Finally, he stopped trying to remove her and just held on, burying his face in her shoulder. He dimly heard McGonagall offer one last condolence before she left them.

Draco whimpered once she shut the door on them again, and Luna brushed her fingers against the back of his neck, muttering soothing sounds into his ear. He couldn’t say how long he stood there, leaning against Luna as if he could not hold himself up without her. He couldn’t tell time by the tears he shed for his parents or for the way she hummed Simon and Garfunkel over and over again. He could only think that it must have taken him days to stop crying, and even then, it didn’t seem like enough.

“I was wrong,” he murmured hoarsely.

She tried to shush him. “Don’t worry about it now.”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, extricating himself. “I thought… I said you were the only one left when I stopped you before. But you weren’t.

“You are now. And I’m not letting you go alone.”

She blinked so much more slowly than other people. “What are you saying?”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against her eyes, praying they would never show him such cold rage again.

“I’m saying Granger’s going to hate it, but I’m coming with you.”


Coming Soon - Part Four: Two Years Later

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