The Hunter And The Haunted

Part 7

The bowl vanished just as Hermione finished the last of her broth and a small clear glass of water appeared. Hermione downed it in one go and was disappointed she did not relish its cool, clean taste.

The glass also disappeared from her hand, and she sighed, looking over at Luna in the cell opposite hers.

The girl looked miserable. Alone and cold.

"Luna..." She whispered, pressing her hand on the cold metal of the cell bars.

"Hermione... I don't know if I can take another hunt. I don't know if I can force myself to try. And I'm not sure if you're really here ... or if I'm being Looney as usual." Luna's blueish-grey eyes, stormy with the war waging within her, met Hermione's own. A silent tear ran down Luna's face.

"Luna..."

"Hermione, we were never meant to be happy, were we? We were never deserving of peace. Maybe Death wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe Death would be kinder than Life. At least I will get to see Daddy and Mummy again..."

Luna choked on a sob and her body began to shake, her head hung between her legs and her arms wrapped over her head, as if trying to keep out the pain.

"I hope we're happy when we meet again. I hope I'm not alone. I'm tired of being alone. Alone. All alone!" She moaned, weeping silently.

But you are not alone, Hermione wanted to say. I'm here. But guilt gnawed her whole. She'd barely thought of Luna ever if she was being entirely honest with herself. Not once since she left Hogwarts all those years ago.

For once, Hermione realized that monsters do not simply lurk under the guise of other people. How hypocritically would she be if she did not acknowledge the monster that existed under her very skin?

Wickedness makes the world and its people.

For in the absence of wickedness, none could comprehend the true value of the good.

The answer lay in the balance.

The equilibrium.

Hermione did not want to see Luna fall any more than she already had. She would not let Luna die. No.

Luna was once a... Friend.

Some part of her buried soul sang out for the scraps of friendship she had left. To protect it, cherish it. Cling to it. The world had never been friendly to Hermione; always threatened by her brain and her smarts. Friendship had mattered to her, above all.

And as much as she hated to admit it to herself, she still believed it.

With all that had happened, perhaps she was never the cleverest witch herself.

Maybe she was as delusional about her smarts as Neville had been about his rememberall, hoping a glowing ball would help him remember what he'd forgotten.

She would do anything for a glowing ball now.

Just to have light, some light.

A miracle.

...A wand.

She had a wand.

Hermione fumbled through her tattered robes and felt the wand she'd sneaked in earlier. There it was, tucked into the waistband of her pants.

A chance.

She had a fair chance, a fighting chance.

A flame unfurled in the pits of her stomach and she took a deep breath, shutting her eyes. Count to five.

Exhale. Slowly.

The Hunter and his Hounds will have to pay.

She will survive.

She would save Luna.

She had a wand.