The Moon Girl | Druna

Chapter One

The floor beneath her was rigid and wet, doing very little the sooth the chill in her bones. Her skin ached to feel the kiss of the sun, the warming of a ray of light and the smell of fresh air. The dungeons in Malfoy Manor were as far away from her dreams as they could be. There was no warmth here, no visible light other than the swinging lantern that hung haphazardly beside her cell. Luna could no longer tell how long she had been there. It could have been weeks or months; she knew it had been a long time, so long that her days and nights had merged into one monotonous blur. How she longed to be free of captivity, to stretch out on a bed of soft grass and feel her toes dig into the fresh earth. Tears welled in her eyes at the thought. Luna sniffed quietly wiping a shaking hand under her nose and blinking the tears back from her large, blue eyes. Now was not the time for crying.

A creak from overhead made her willowy frame jump in fright; the stairs groaned under heavy footsteps. Luna held her breath hoping one of the less horrible Death Eaters was descending the stairs. She didn't think her body could withstand another attack from Greyback or the Lestranges; the thought of her last encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange left a burning sensation in her veins. Shuffling footsteps echoed throughout the cavernous dungeon as a figure stopped in front of her cell. Not a word was said to her as a metal plate was thrown under the bars, half of the contents spilling onto the filthy stone floor. Grabbing the tray once the figure had lumbered up the stairs, Luna separated the stale bread from the questionable slop on the tray. She pushed herself up onto wobbling legs walking to the corner of the cell where Mr. Ollivander was curled up, his thin grey hair wild with matted dirt and blood. Placing the tray next to his diminishing figure, Luna wished for the millionth time since her abduction that she had her wand if only to cast a warming charm on the rapidly cooling food-like substance they had been given; at this point in her life, warm food seemed like a luxury.

Tearing off a small piece of stale bread, Luna placed the provision delicately on her tongue. She pretended it was pudding, rich dark chocolate and topped with a hefty dollop of whipped cream and black cherries. Another piece was warm mashed potatoes with chives. Then it was sweetened oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon, vegetable soup, a treacle tart, sweet potato pie with toasted pecans on top; with each small bite, Luna pretended she was back at Hogwarts piling her plate full of delectable food at the welcoming feast or in her childhood home where her father cooked unconventional meals only the bravest of souls dared to try. She would give anything for a morsel of one her father's concoctions at this very moment or anything other than stale bread to be quite honest.

The thought of her father nearly brought the tears back into her eyes. Luna often thought of her father and hoped he was doing well, though she knew he was probably a mess knowing where she was; that is, if he knew at all. She knew he would do his best to aid Harry Potter and have her returned safely. Her eyes started drooping from exhaustion; life in the dungeons was not befitting to Luna or any human for that matter. She could feel her body weakening and breaking down. Her once soft blonde hair was brittle and breaking from the lack of nutrition, her skin was always peeling and cracking from the harsh conditions, and she knew that she had lost weight causing her normally thin figure to resemble a skeleton. Her clothes, which she had been wearing on the day of her abduction, no longer fit properly. The red turtleneck hung loosely, the once snug neck wilting pathetically towards her jutting collarbone while the dress she wore over it seemed to weigh her down, as the fabric was always somewhat soggy. Luna closed her eyes unable to fight against the exhaustion as she dreamed of an overflowing, warm bubble bath.

Two floors above, Draco Malfoy was pacing in his room; the tapping of his shining shoes against the dark wood floor echoed impatiently throughout his cavernous dwelling. His wand was in his hand twitching nervously at his side as his other hand clenched his white blonde hair in frustration. He contemplated his life and how it had ended up being such a catastrophe. It was never supposed to go so far; people weren't supposed to be dying in his home staining the floor he'd played upon as a child in blood. No matter what room he was in, he could feel the blood running through the veins in the wood floor; it pulsed beneath his feet nearly bringing him to his knees on several occasions. It was sickening. His home used to be his haven, but now, he wanted nothing more than to escape.