The Moon Girl | Druna

Chapter Four

A week passed by in a blur; Luna lived her life in the darkness of the dungeons while Draco lived in the light of the day, surrounded by dark magic performed by himself and others. He was commanded to torture Luna once more, her screams tearing him apart piece by piece. Though she was a blood traitor, muggle lover, and overall repugnant to Draco, he couldn't find a reason she should have to suffer so severely. She was so emaciated and physically weak, so near to Death's door. Was her existence not torture enough? His nights continued to be spent in the dungeons where he pointedly ignored the whimsy blonde and her constant humming and talking. She spoke to him occasionally, never pushing for information or asking for favors; she would only say hello and ask him of his day as if they were friends at Hogwarts instead of prisoner and jailer.

The morning after Draco had healed her ribs, he had a panic attack in the confines of his room. He kneeled over, gripping the plush, fur rug in both hands, his fingers tearing at the soft texture as if it were the only thing that could save him. His lungs heaved uncontrollably as his mind raced with a million possibilities. If he was figured out, if Bellatrix or Rodolphus, his father or the Dark Lord found out what he had done, he would be severely punished, possibly even killed. He had helped a traitor, an opponent to the Dark Lord's grand plan; he had helped the enemy. In some ways, he could also be seen as a traitor; he went against everything he had been taught. He showed compassion, weakness, when he should have been strong. He had given in to those wide, misty blue eyes and dreamy voice not because he liked her or cared about her, but because he knew she was good; he knew she was in need of help. He couldn't fight the urge to do good, to help. His entire life had been built around destruction and violence, and Luna offered him an opportunity he had never been granted. Bellatrix was right after all: he was weak.

When Bellatrix summoned him, her dark, mad eyes alight with joy, he knew what he was going to be asked to do before Luna was dropped before his feet. She was still as bruised and skeletal as he remembered; the cut above her left eye remained as did the dried blood that had not flaked off. His stomach churned at the sight of her, white skin, blue veins, and black bruises; she was repulsive. He wanted her out of his sight. He used the Unforgiveable curse against her, sending fire through her bones and eliciting screams of anguish from her swollen, chapped lips. Bellatrix had danced around her convulsing form again, though when she was taunting the young girl, to Draco's relief, Luna kept quiet. Though he nearly missed it, he saw her large blue eyes flick to him when Bellatrix teased her about her father, her family's reputation in the wizarding world, and her love of Harry Potter. He felt his mouth form into a thin line as if he were warning her to keep quiet, which, thankfully, she did. However, her answer remained the same when she was asked about Potter's whereabouts: she didn't know. Draco wasn't sure if she was lying or not, but he knew she would never give up the information if she possessed it. She didn't have a bone of betrayal in her body.

He had paced more in the last week than he had in his entire life. If it weren't such a ridiculous idea, he would think there would be a hole in the floor from his constant, compulsive tracing of steps occurred. With his left hand tangled in his hair while his right clutched the hawthorn wand, the one he bought from the man locked away in his basement, Draco attempted to think of what to say should it be discovered that he assisted a prisoner. He could say she was dying; it wasn't entirely a lie. He could say he wanted her well enough to torture again. The possibilities were endless, yet he knew they were all a lie. He feared the Dark Lord would be able to see through his blatant lie no matter his skills in Occlumency.

As soon as he had placed the apple in her lap, Draco regretted his decision Not only had he healed her, but he had also fed her, given her more than she deserved. Yet, he couldn't rid his mind of the way her eyes filled with gratefulness and awe at the sight of the green fruit; he had never seen such a genuine, honest expression meant for him. He was accustomed to looks of jealousy, fear, and fury; he knew the filtered looks of disdain, scorn, and arrogance, but never had he witnessed such an innocent reaction. Draco sighed as he crumbled into the leather chair situated before the crackling fire. His head fell into his hands, elbows propped on his knees, and scratched his scalp, tearing at his hair. The stress of it all was becoming too much, the confusion, the disgust. It was all entangled in his mind in a treacherous web he could not escape or decipher.