Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters. There are direct references to .Charles Perrault's fairytales, particularly about the wolf's feeding habits Also the quote 'Management won't be happy' is from the movie Ghost Ship, and Luna's solution to get past the wolves is from an old Xena episode. References to mythology through out.

Author notes: This was written for the Dark Lord Wishfest on darklord news, the lj community. For assimbya.

The wish: Voldemort has taken Luna Lovegood prisoner, but gets a bit more than he bargained for. Either gen or Voldemort/Luna would be nice.

I hope this fulfills your wish : )

-Many thanks to Mistress Siana for the awesome beta-ing. I appreciate your help and input so much; it brought the story together. Thanks!

Ouroboros

Luna Lovegood wondered when journalism became such a dangerous occupation.

She was curled up in the throne room, listening to the rabble outside with one eye cracked open lazily.

She had believed this would be the last place they would look for her, and so far she had been correct. Despite You-Know-Who's other failings, he had delightful taste in cushions. She pretended that she was a Dark Lady, running her hands along the edges of the chair.

"Lowly minions of no particular significance," she said to the empty room. (Oh, that had a ring to it!) "You must be honored to be in my presence. That must be nice, actually. I wish could change places with you, or split in two…does anyone know how to do that? Look it up when you have time, really, no rush."

It was an enjoyable exercise, plotting the end of civilization, though she had to quiet down when someone passed by the room. They were starting to get a bit upset. After all, they had been searching for about five hours.

"I almost pity you," a harsh voice said outside the room, and Luna tilted her head. "Invisible creatures, indeed. When the Dark Lord hears of this debacle, you'll wish one had burrowed into your head."

"You don't understand. You didn't have to guard her cell, she was…"

"Oh no, I only guard Aurors."

"Listen, she wasn't of any importance to our Lord. I don't think we should trouble him with such a trivial matter."

"Well, I'm not telling him---…" Their voices drifted away. Luna sighed. She was in a bit of trouble. She had been captured at her father's office; he had taken her out of the school despite her protests. Luna enjoyed the irony and smiled. Oh, if only her father knew where she was now! Here, she had made a friend out of the guard, and when he started showing signs of the Twitchy-Glibber syndrome that the Ministry had unleashed upon the population, she really had to inform the poor fellow of his condition. She was quite right for he had some sort of fit. He left his wand behind too…

She was wondering whether to prolong her stay, though. She had never seen You-Know-Who before, and this was her chance. He might even offer an interview. If his Death Eaters were any indication, however, she would resort to the most trustworthy, steadfast journalism technique in the bag: eavesdropping.

She would follow the Eaves as soon as possible, collecting its trail, but first a little rest was in order. She borrowed a cushion and set up her camp behind the large chair. They would never think of looking for a spy here. Such unnecessary things would be his downfall, she was sure. One could never look behind themselves properly.

&&&

His voice woke her.

It didn't sound…right. As if someone was speaking from very far away and yet…it seemed vibrant, and if she had to paint a voice like that, she wouldn't know where to begin. Luna moved slowly to peek in between the legs of the chair except there was now a drape in her way. Oh.

"…I daresay you expected to surprise me with your confession, Severus. You've always overestimated your ability to guard your mind. Have you forgotten?"

In the first few minutes, she had stumbled upon gold.

"I could not, my Lord. I bear a constant reminder."

Luna blinked. That didn't sound entirely truthful. Could is not would, after all, or no bridges could be built. So…there was a weak link here. Did You-Know-Who sense it?

"You believe yourself to be singular in your burdens. Good. Revel in them. They will lead you to him in the end."

Her former professor sucked in his breath against his will. Ah, Luna thought. Very weak. And You-Know-Who knows. That was the worst part. He didn't hate Professor Snape. He just didn't care about him; Luna didn't know if it was the same on the other side of this game. Not at this stage.

"The others, your equals, are arriving. Your mask. I don't wish to see your sniveling."

Luna doubted that mattered. Everyone knew Snape. The parting move: to take his face, his singularity as he put it. It was cruel but entrancing. Luna wondered if the masks were merely to hold his reflection.

Round, and round we go…She poked holes into the cushion, and placed it in front of her eyes. There, now she was covered. Luna happily poked her head from around the back of the chair. He was in the center of the room, now, and she couldn't quite glimpse him. Snape, or Severus, was to the right, in the circle of people in dark robes and masks. She still recognized his stance, the nervous way he would clench his hands and stoop slightly forward.

Actually, they were like children in the way they stood before him. It was similar to bullying. That's what this was, except that they asked for it. Honestly, what odd people.

"I've heard your thoughts, your whispers. About the man who killed Dumbledore, my most trusted. Some of you have not yet seen him with your own eyes. Some of you know him very well. I see no reason why I should keep his face a secret any longer. Come forward, Severus."

Snape seemed very small then, and Luna felt a twinge of pity for him. But this was the game. He moved only slightly in front of the circle, and removed his mask. Several Death Eaters muttered.

"You are disappointed. Don't be. To all appearances, he's undesirable, unimpressive, but it would be a mistake to forget his abilities, as latent as they may be. And yet…and yet you may ask how such a man could kill Dumbledore, the one many say earned my fear…the answer is quite simple. Severus did nothing."

Snape twitched.

"It was Dumbledore who did everything himself. It was his sentimentality; it was his belief in a power he thought was greater than any other form of magic that killed him. I have proven him wrong. I take no pleasure in it, as it was obvious to me from the beginning. Severus acted as the catalyst to end this foolish delusion. And it is finished. Return to your place."

Luna couldn't imagine how Snape managed it, but he did, re-masking with some urgency. Then he looked in her direction. And looked again. How? Luna thought. Does he see me?

She noticed his hand flickered, waving only just, back and forth. Hmmm…Then Luna realized. The wand from the Death Eater; the one still tucked behind her ear. She quickly ducked behind her shelter.

"…I can sense your complacency. Nothing is hidden from me."

She laughed behind her hand; obviously, she was. This was just a person after all. She felt like she knew his secret.

"That is how our world is in this state. Complacency. Dumbledore's death is only the beginning. To become complacent now is to rot. Simply to hand victory to those who would forsake what magic is, forsake what it has always been, would be our end."

He moved back towards his chair and she covered her mouth to stop her laughter. This was obviously the signal for the meeting to end. With an end. She held her ribs.

"Go, fight, or be forgotten."

"Actually, don't you mean, fight for you?" she whispered quietly to herself, to calm her giggles, and he paused. Surely, he couldn't have heard her. He was too busy listening to himself talk.

"Bella, Fenrir. You shall remain. Something has just come to my attention that requires your talents."

Luna froze, clutching the cushion wildly.

"My lord," a woman echoed, followed by…oh, that voice. That woman who screamed all the time and talked funny. Oh, she didn't want to hear her again, that would be torture.

"Ah yes. My two most efficient servants. Bella, you are my warrior. You would sacrifice your very flesh for my being, or my whim."

"Your words are my life, my artery, my lord, and I-."

"Yes, yes, and Fenrir. You are the very element in my hands. Your prey never escapes, and you could find any heart that I would not have beating, correct?"

"I'm not complaining."

"Then tell me—explain to me, how the girl concealed behind my chair escaped your notice?"

There was a moment of silence that spiraled horribly.

Then Luna felt nails digging into her arms, and turned to see an unpleasantly familiar, shrieking face.

She did the only thing that suited the occasion, and that was to smother the noise so she could explain the situation. The only weapon was the cushion, and she hit the woman in the face with it again and again. The effect was an intermittent burst of squawking, sounding like a quaint little tea kettle. A pleasurable difference, Luna thought, and continued to swing the battered cushion to high heavens. Her arms were half raked by now, a nicely groomed field, but she kept at it. Feathers flew everywhere, and all present in the room were caught in the storm.

The pair traveled a full rotation around the room. She was bumped against armor and against walls. She caught a tapestry with a skull on it and tore it down. That, too, floated about the length of the room. She thought she heard a howl of rage, but decidedly ignored it. There was a fascinating play of cause and effect at the moment. The more she hit, the faster they spun.

Lestrange had drawn her wand and there was a drizzle of stones and a candle chandelier fell to its doom as a spell glanced it. However, her curses could not reach Luna, not with the pillow in her face.

"I don't care for dancing," Luna said, getting dizzy. "I'll stop if you will."

"Enough."

The command was issued so softly she almost missed it. The talons were removed from her arm and she stumbled backwards into what was left of the wall.

Well, this is rather terrible, she thought. The wand was within her reach. She surveyed the damage.

The banshee seemed disoriented, and the werewolf was trapped under the tapestry, struggling to get free. Two down. However, the last one among them would prove too much for her. She wanted to see him clearly before she died, after she had written so much about him, she believed she had given a part of her in the pursuit.

I will escape him that way, at least, she reasoned with triumph. She heard someone coming towards her through the rubble, and she turned towards him calmly.

Luna had many ideas about the You-Know-Who's appearance: scarlet eyes were not among her mental portraits. Actually, her imagination had failed her in this regard. The sight that greeted her took her by rare surprise. Somewhere, a rule had been broken. He was pure white, almost purged, almost sacrificial, and almost endless. His very presence was not as much impure as unnatural. Despite his appearance, or perhaps due to it, he had an aura of control and heavily guarded chaos. One wrong move and it would set off infinite reactions and Luna believed she had found one of the greatest mysteries in the world. Even in this guise, there was an air of imperfection.

Before she knew it, she had met him halfway, and she could feel everything becoming focused. Her gaze was sharp; the rest of her countenance was serene.

"Hello. My name is Luna Lovegood. I know you, so no need for an introduction. Where on earth—or not—are you from? And, if you don't mind, what you have done to yourself?"

His eyes narrowed. Then some force trapped her arms by her sides.

"All this." He motioned to the destruction. "Over a senseless waif of a girl."

"Excuse me? I'm not senseless. I can see you quite clearly."

Then there was pain. An encompassing bath of pain, and she fought and flew into the rafters of her mind for relief. The rest of her mind was all his, if he so desired. He averted his eyes, letting her mind go. Again, she smiled; now that the pain was gone, she would know how it felt to be free. He could not hold her in that way. In fact, when she smiled, she knew he had fled.

"This girl is familiar to you?" he asked the banshee.

"My lord, she was with Potter at the Ministry that night," Lestrange said slowly, as if not wanting to remind him.

"Harry is very nice. He took me to a party once," Luna recalled. "You really shouldn't try and kill him anymore. It's not at all nice."

Both Death Eaters gaped, apparently at a loss for words. You-Know-Who was stoic.

"Speaking of which," the werewolf growled, licking his lips, his eyes feral. "Your heart would taste very nice. I can-."

"Ah, but I haven't offered you even a pound of her flesh, Fenrir. As tempting as the notion is, I will keep this one for myself," his master said. "Leave us."

Lestrange hesitated at the door, but did not dare disobey. Under his gaze, it was hard not to shake. It was much different being alone with him.

"Keep me?" Luna said. "Oh, I'm sorry but that won't work. I'm only here to watch for a bit, is all. I couldn't see anything locked up."

"What is there you could wish to see here, if you are a friend to Potter? Surely there is nothing I could offer you. Or am I mistaken? Tell me the truth. What do you desire?"

Remembering her former eagerness, she nodded at him.

"Don't try my patience," he murmured, moving so swiftly she missed his hands. He held her face, gently, but his fingers felt her heart beating she was sure of it. "Your eyes betray you. I saw that time. Your emotions showed me that place." She shifted. "You don't think you have them any more, those memories, those emotions, I daresay. I assure you do. The past becomes the present at my whim, and you will relive every second. Now answer me."

She was afraid, and she had never really been afraid, and again, like the pain, it made her know the difference.

"You'll do."

He stepped back, and raised his wand. He appeared slightly upset.

"Well, you could let me go," she continued. "That's the next thing I want, if my first choice bothers you too terribly. I don't want to keep you, by the way. This is just for observation."

"I've had my fill of spies, girl."

"No," Luna laughed. "No, it's not for them. It's for me. It's what I desire. It's the only way I can escape you. That's why I was waiting for you."

"Under a chair? No matter," he held up his hand to silence her. "You only want to observe to satisfy your curiosity, to banish any regard concerning me from your consciousness…I am right."

"You are."

"And you would have no inclination to interfere in what you witness. You would have to promise to take in everything with passivity, the perfect spectator, if I were to allow you to be my shadow."

"Yes. Your actions will take place with or without my presence, I suppose."

"True. It seems you do possess some intellect. Then, you know for your curiosity there is a price."

"I can help you," she offered. "But I can't be your shadow, as you said before. I see it," she clarified, pointing it out unnecessarily.

"As can I. As can the merest simpleton who isn't blind. What about it?"

"Well, did you see Harry there within it? I believe I did. It is most curious. I shall stay, to figure it out for you. I do think you don't want Harry behind you all the time, and he feels the same way, you know. I can't take his place. I'm sure I can watch from besides you for now."

"You dare to lie to me with such a pitiful fancy," he hissed.

"Oh. Well, I thought you knew. You did say that nothing was hidden from you. But I'm not lying. I'm helping you for your own sake. It's in repayment and for my friend. So I have no reason to lie. Now, shall we begin tomorrow?"

"We will begin now." Luna felt a tug on her pocket, and her DA coin flew out of her grasp. "It would be a pity for you to be tempted to break your promise. Since you made yourself comfortable here, this will be where you remain until I summon you. I do hope to see you well in the morning. One can never be too certain about werewolves."

He disappeared with a crack, taking Luna's only means of communication with her friends. With anyone. And when the wolves came for the sick and the old in the dungeons, she lay awake and listened from her place under his chair until she fell asleep.

&&&

"Good morning," she said, sensing his arrival. "I dreamt of you," she muttered in a sullen voice.

During the night, she had yearned to wander and explore and being inside a tight little room that seemed to shrink had made her restless. Still, he was in the back of her mind despite her nearness. Not, she wasn't bitter in the least.

"I see. Such distressing news at this early hour. Regretting your methods already, then?"

"No," Luna said. She stared at the edge of his robe, curious. "Not at all. You seem to be floating. Are you?"

"Not at all," he said, not moving his robe an inch to reveal any appendages. He didn't move naturally, that was for certain. Lithe, smooth refraction. "It is time to test you."

She blinked. "This place has grown smaller. I can endure whatever you show me. I know I can."

"I expect so. The body can only endure so much, the mind has other avenues. From what I've sampled of your mind, those avenues are well traveled. I don't consider that endurance. It's escapism. It's cowardice."

Usually, she wouldn't have cared about anyone's opinion.

"I've never claimed to be brave."

"But you claim you can endure me."

"The people around you do not strike me as brave, you know. Really, they seem afraid of you."

"Indeed. There is a thin line between self-preservation and bravery. They are my followers. They stand behind me, not besides me. Even if they think they do, they do not endure me fully. You are quite alone. Bring them in."

Luna did not mind being alone, she could think clearly. But when she saw the pair being dragged in with chains like wreathes, she questioned it for the first time in her life.

"Muggles?" she whispered. She stood near his chair. He watched her, and she felt it was wrong, opposite, no, he was not allowed to do that. She backed away a little further. "Is this a Muggle fashion style? I've seen the pictures."

"Someday it will be the style for them. It is not voluntary. Surely, you get the idea."

"Why?" she asked, and the Muggles seemed to share her sentiments. Their mouths were gone; wiped clean off their faces, and they questioned it.

"Why not?"

That wasn't fair.

"Because they don't understand."

"Explain to them."

She blinked, confused.

"Explain that they are here because you wanted to see what I was capable of. That they are the means to satisfy your curiosity."

"I did not believe it would be like this. You see, I thought you were powerful."

Luna had always been around the edge. It wasn't unpleasant, and the ravine that he had mentioned earlier provided a great view. There was a liberty in not caring. He would hurt her anyway, she was sure. These people would die anyway. And seeing the eventuality of the whole scenario made her laugh inside, and it echoed there briefly. This too would pass.

"Thought? I am much more than that. I am strong enough to seek power. The rest dare not to follow me. I am capable, and what you may think against it is your own frailties."

"Well, thought is a good half of it. Your followers think you are powerful, otherwise they wouldn't follow you." she added quickly. "Power is rather like being so large you can't help but step on the bugs below you. I've tried and I can't seem to miss them. So by this, I am more powerful than those I step on, sadly. If something inadvertently squishes me, well, I am that rare giblet that crawls along the ground, and I had a very bad day. Before I would be squished, I might think it a cloud. That would be a bit better."

His watchful, almost bored look changed into predatory gaze. More alert. More acknowledging. She wasn't used to it, so she shifted. Only from its presence, not from the observer. Not at all.

"Power is not evil to you."

"Nor is it good. That is entirely in the view of the lesser object. Subjective to the object," she said, and held back laughter. In an objective way, of course.

"If these Muggles had the power, what would the situation for this world be?"

"A dire one at that. That's why we keep our secrets."

"You are wrong. You've been consumed by the rhetoric of the defeated. We should not hide. They, as the lesser objects, should be the ones scurrying behind walls and shields and disguises."

She tilted her head. "A very good case. But are you so very sure that they the lesser objects?"

"They've lost touch with the natural power. Such a power would abandon the inferior vessels. That should be enough of an indicator for a witch such as yourself."

"When they lost touch with magic, they had to work harder to survive. I once imagined I was a Muggle and I kept slipping up. I almost got a cold, actually. Oh, during your speech: I listened, it was quite good by the way. You said complacency. Well, can't magic be a form of complacency? The older lot of Muggles had to struggle, and when they struggled, they got a fair bit stronger. They outnumber us, I believe, though I don't think on it often. Wouldn't the dominant surviving number be the stronger group? And they can fly without magic, I saw a plane one day, and fancied it was an extinct marley bird. I was disappointed."

"You would have magic lost forever, over a number? A number of people that grew on our mercy and could be significantly reduced if magical people reigned? You are a fool."

"Possibly. They do call me Loony Lovegood, you know. Really, I could be mad, but magic appears within the Muggles, so I don't believe magic could truly disappear. It would come back. Besides, a lot of old magic families used to kill each other quite often. About every two weeks, when Muggles and Wizards lived together. That's the ratio."

"And these Muggles slaughter each other daily over their regional differences. They would do the same instantly to us."

"And you torture them because they are Muggles."

"I do not intend on eradicating Muggles, if that is what you believe."

"Oh," Luna said. "That is very reasonable of you. You see, if they really are like the bugs of this world, we would still depend on them. We would be in a sad state indeed without bugs and such now."

But who were the bugs, and with such dependency, was there really any difference between them? She couldn't think so. They seemed like her.

"I am aware of that. You seem to have missed the point of this little exercise completely."

"Was there one?"

"I always have a reason for what I do, Luna. This is not about Muggles. It is about the ability to break down another's mind and see it, to understand it. It's similar to seeing the birth of a universe if you know how to look—and I do."

Luna could not find a counter for that, for it would be a sight to see. She could not do such a thing, and perhaps that was his point.

"How is that not a demonstration of power?"

"I suppose it is a demonstration. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I just thought real power didn't need a display."

His acute look dulled into anger. The couple in front of them, about the same age as her father, shifted. Waiting two (gods) people argue about their fate and their right (their worth) had made it much worse for them. Having some hope and snatching it away would break them, she knew. They were like rusted goods and two bargainers were chipping away at their price. She felt sorry.

What must they think of him? Do they, in their unawareness, think him a god if they look upon him? A demon, a myth, brought cruelly to life for what they have done wrong? Yes, Luna imagined that had to be what they were thinking at the moment. And she had referred to them as bugs: she hoped that they had kept up with the comparison so she wouldn't offend.

"Of course, there is no need. You asked for a demonstration. I obliged. These two were not in my possession until this morning. The lot fell on them. But…"

They still did not understand when they started screaming. She backed away quickly, the shrieks far too real. She had no means to stop him either.

"….You have spoken in their behalf. They have hope, don't they? They depend on you, Luna."

The man was still begging with his eyes for his mouth was gone, and the woman had tears in the near left corner of her eye that hung from her lashes like a bat in an old Halloween orchard. Hallow, she thought.

"On this rare occasion, I may spare them."

Their bodies relaxed visibly; he stood. They didn't realize what it meant when the wand appeared between his fingers.

He played their nerves like an instrument, and though they were missing their mouths, she could see down the red down their throats.

She commented. It was all she could do, for them as well. She heard several phrases.

Nothing to deserve this. Looks as if he's going to try and run, perhaps if he…perhaps if they didn't scream, it would stop.

He noticed her whispers, of course. It may have distracted him but he continued.

"Come, have your look." He beckoned her and jerked the woman up by the hair. Luna thought her neck had snapped, but the woman's breathing continued raggedly. Her eyes were similar to tinted glass. How long had they been…she blinked, and tried to look forward. She noticed the woman's mouth was swollen oddly. She shuddered, and she felt her body move against her will.

His voice was gentle. It had never changed or wavered. It was as if this was a generous favor. And wasn't it?

Luna looked, and wondered if it had been worth it. No.

In fact, she hadn't looked at all during it.

"Notice her eyes. Mark them well."

Empty. She marked something else though. Her hands were bloody. Her knees were red. What had happened? Had she done something?

"I will be disappointed if that was a waste. There was no challenge in it."

"Don't trick me. I didn't move."

"Exactly. You stood there doing nothing but a running commentary."

"Oh." She didn't understand.

"It's their blood that stains your hands. Take it as a lesson. The spectator is not absolved by distance."

After a moment, Luna nodded. She didn't flee. Not yet. Teaching. He had decided to…when? That hadn't been the case earlier, and these people…their families. Their lives.

"I'll keep them with me forever. You haven't killed them. I'll remember them."

"After while, their faces will fade in with the others."

Her mind sharpened once more. That sounded nearly human. Not the words; but the tone.

"You couldn't stand them to depend on you, so you placed their hope on me."

"Another miss. I took something from them, as worthless as it was."

"Well… I've had people hide my things at school. They need to hide my things. It's all they actually have left. The only reason you take hope away is because you have none."

The stain spread on her hands, and his eyes were worse than his victims'.

Marbles, I'll find them, and I'll help you find them, and put them back. I promise.

For once, he stumbled, and struggled to respond. She wasn't surprised at the next move on the chess board.

"I doubt those words will be on your lips when you drown in their blood."

"They've already been heard. I believe I can return it to her, her sanity. She's already posted her sign in the window, right." Luna traced the woman's relaxed brow. She left the tears on her face, to hang, to hold all their faces for the moment. Holding.

"You have three days."

&&&

It wasn't about the Muggle.

Or the Muggles. Or the Wizards that came in streams of ribbon pouring out of…was it ribbon?

In two days, there had already been several plagues. In two days, he had taken her. Hands cupping her chin, directing her sight with his, and he showed her how to see their last minutes. He pulled back, but she would remain until it was all colors and no reason. They were happy before they died. In the last, last second. It was over. They had peace with all the shouts and kicks and ridicules.

Lord Voldemort never noticed. Luna knew, and she would smile and speak.

I do believe he's lying, you know. It won't work, it's too late, he's cried into the ground and they know. They collect such things, you, you know, the first

Day was the hardest.

The woman merely stared at something Luna couldn't see. It made her quite nervous.

So she got closer.

The woman had really been a girl. She had freckles across her nose from too much sun…blindness, correct, and the pattern was like salt on a cracker. She counted them.

"I'm your age." She wrote the number into the open palm that held little half moons. "You should hate me. But I don't think you do. You hate yourself. For not being able to stop the pain. You think you deserve it, when bad things happen. I took a potion from my mother's room once. It was a bottle and I wanted to listen to it. Have you ever played a song on glass before?"

"…I chipped it. A little sliver about the size of a rat's two front teeth. I remember, I put it back, right where it belonged."

"What's your name?" she asked, tracing once more into her hand. The hand flinched.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I told you about the vial. You have a piece of me now. Do you want to hear about this world? It's not all bad."

Nothing greeted her. Luna let her hand go.

The second day, Luna came and found that the girl had marks on her chest, and her clothes were torn. Luna's arms were stained up to her elbows now.

She took off the string of corks around her neck and placed it around Maggie the Muggle's neck.

"That's yours now. It's all I have right now to give you. I don't have many friends. Is it wrong to think of you as a friend? I think it might be wrong but I do. We are friends because you showed me that…that there is still hope. Don't let him beat you, you're not helpless. As long as you can think, and feel, you are not helpless. If you survive, you will do more than you can imagine. More than wizards can do. I'm depending on you now."

Luna wanted to stay away from him during her task. But found it quite impossible, for she was by his side whenever she was not in the cage with a lifeless girl.

Now she was in chains near his window. It was winter, and the skin on her back prickled from the cold. She felt like an odd little bird and her body was doing odd little things in the weather. He, of all things, was reading the Prophet. Divine taste in cushions. Ghastly taste with reliable information. No wonder.

"I miss your arrogance. It served as a distraction."

She smiled. "From what?"

"From the epidemic of stupidity."

"I'm sure you're immune. I see no chance of a hibernating lurker getting into your head."

"You still believe the Muggle will speak to you. Why?"

"I'd rather her speak to you, actually. Has her hope run out?"

"If it did, I wouldn't notice. And yours?"

"Not yet. I do worry though. Do you want to share it? I can share it with you if you'd like."

The chains tightened and she was pulled up quickly. Her body hung like an map on the wall. She let the bonds hold her, watching his approach.

"I would advise worrying about yourself," he said. He touched her hip, at that hollow place, and she shivered. "The more I hurt you, the more you adore me. I've discovered an odd little pet."

"Help me, heal me, and according to your theory, I would hate you."

"Another who fancies themselves singular in their disposition. It is not so original, your paradox. Did you learn this from him?"

"You're remembering teaching him, is all."

He brought her forward by her waist. Her limbs protested. She was a lucky wishbone about to snap.

"You think I'm…I'm lucky. You don't want to break me."

"Oh, I already have," he said. There is a trace of disappointment. "Quite predictably."

"Wait one more day."

&&&

At the end of the third day, he appeared outside the bars.

Maggie the Muggle did not notice, chewing strands of the necklace between her teeth.

"I see no improvement. She's completely deaf to any reason."

Luna raised an eyebrow. "Wait, listen to her. She's humming."

"Like a child."

"Yes. If she can sing, she's happy. You're here, and she's happy."

"She hasn't sense enough to be afraid."

The girl took the necklace out of her mouth, and grinned at him.

"Oh, but I can see you quite well."

&&&

"Her cell is empty," Luna said, sitting at the base of the throne. "I do hope she hasn't wandered too far away."

Her Muggle friend had disappeared, without signs of a struggle, from the holding cell, and a particularly small holding cell. It could only mean that the Muggle was a) mugged or b) taken by the Pintsized Lollabouts. So…mysterious indeed.

"I had her killed."

Luna started. "I had a feeling about that. Kind of. She was the proof, and you wanted rid of her."

"Proof of your own madness. Whatever you did to her made the Muggle delirious. In the end, she was a mirror image of you."

She paused, looking at her hands. "She was singing. That's the first thing I ever really did. She was coming back, and you didn't want to be proven wrong."

"I admit my mistakes," he said, softly. "I don't delude myself with empty philosophies. I have tested every idea with action. I had been in the presence of madness before, touched it, and have been the cause of it. You couldn't detect it. You, for all your words, did not know the difference. Everything you do is tinged by lunacy. What keeps you free from me, from them, also traps you. It amuses me, you know, a living, dangerous set of contradictions."

He did something unexpected. That she should have expected with the…the presentation of…of her cage. He ran his fingers through her hair. His gesture held no affection. If it was gentle, then it was cruel. As it always was with him. Violence was clear, understandable. This was confusing.

And she was a pet to the Dark Lord. However, she bit her lip, allowing it, and found it was rather like a spare bit of yarn on finds buried under the sea, way, way below. Where did it go, where did it begin, and most importantly, where did it end. She would entangle him within his own web, it was only natural.

Pain with pleasure, reality with imagination. The perfect union, in her opinion.

"Dangerous?" Luna asked, dully (setting up the pieces). "I don't feel very dangerous. I depended on her. You know, to make you…understand just a little. You don't sing much, do you? Did you ever?"

His fingers traveled further down her neck, and Luna discovered a very fragile place, a slight indention, near her collarbone. She had never noticed it.

"Now you're guilty of not listening. The Muggles, the rest of them, this world, life…they are my instruments. I fancy I play them well. I have an ear for it, I can detect the flaws, the harsh notes, the discordant, strident elements of the piece. And as any aficionado of music would relate to you, it is my right to fix it. No, my compulsion. To make the notes transcend."

His voice, the way it was, and always is, coupled with his meaning put her in a place of awe. Despite agreement or disagreement or just structured chaos, she was fascinated. More so than she had ever been in her life. Her lips parted, imagining such a performance. Such a performance that would pick up those lost pieces, lost buried boxes full of sandstars and lights, and awake them inside of you. Like bursts of some sort, sparks, and slight twinges.

"That would be…" She wet her lips. "I would like to learn."

"Impossible," he said dismissively, letting go, withdrawing into their separate spheres.

"…That would be a burden," she finished. 'It must be. You've never heard the music, just played your own. And the world can make its own. Of course, you've heard."

"Magic."

"Well, yes. Other things. Like, like-like rain,' she continued, her eyes widening. "I love storms."

"I should have guessed," he muttered, looking past her. "You are in rare form tonight. This is the first time you've used any word besides like. Your moods are like the tides. Whenever an idea gets close to you, you pull back. Now, since I am uninterested, you will have to tell me."

Luna was determined to find a bridge to him. "I went out into a storm after mother died. Daddy hadn't come home yet, and so I went out to find my mother. She had left her body behind, forgot it, you know, after being so caught up in thoughts. That's like a storm, isn't it? It sang me to sleep."

He gave her no notice. But she could tell he was observing her now keenly. It was a bit of a game. Her hands and arms were still stained, and burning, and the chains (her leash) were suffocating. She couldn't really think on it long.

"You should try it," she offered. "Or I-."

Whenever she nearly understood something, another thing would ricochet into her path. The doors opened, and her former professor entered the room, slowly but deliberately. He didn't look at her.

"My Lord," he said, with a humble incline of his body. Luna had never seen him humble or inclined, so she was naturally intrigued. He reached for his mask.

"As I said before, I do not wish to see your face. Keep it on. I trust my servant wouldn't take up my time with trivial matters. I hope you did not appear before me to beg. I will not protect you from them any longer."

"I…I do not require protection. Their judgments are insignificant to yours. However, they may reflect your opinion of me, my Lord."

"You would assume it. By their mark, they are in my image. They despise you, Severus, you disgust them. You seek me out for confirmation of your worth, as you always do. To have your acknowledgment," he paused, and smiled a cold, thin smirk. "You were not bored with me, were you. I indulged your talents. Only I valued your true abilities."

Snape bowed his head again. Luna thought for a moment he would become angry. It may have been a blessing to wear a mask. But he didn't stir.

"I beg to be purged; I accept my punishment with gratitude. I could not stand for anything less, and I will not stand to forget."

Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "That will do. Anything else you wish to confide?"

"Yes, my Lord. The werewolves. They had received the old acquaintance among them again two days ago. The creature from Dumbledore's broken Order. I have informed Fenrir of his true alliance, and he has rebuffed me, accepting this half man, treacherous, fence-walker into their pack. I fear the worst will result from this blatant stupidity, and if I may add, outright defiance."

"Did you invoke my name?"

"I did. He is emboldened by your most generous tolerance. He plans on turning against us."

"I provide his supply of new blood and his freedom. And yet he refuses to obey. He's grown sluggish on his good fortune, Severus. The dog can not bite if he is choking, after all. Leave me."

"May I inquire most humbly, what is your intent, my Lord?"

"That pleasure falls to my new pet."

Snape started. Luna blinked.

"I must have had Lurkers around my face. For a moment, they made me think you wanted me to hide someone's ear."

"My Lord, please reconsider," Snape said loudly, clenching his fists.

"Of course, I considered that she means something to you. Why else would you go to such pains keep her hidden from my knowledge? Yes, I saw your gestures."

He tented his fingers, looking at Snape in a way akin to a disappointed parent whose child made them hurt them.

The last part was like silk. Painful, to the point of hissing out loud. Luna disliked dresses. And dolls. Snape was just a puppet. She could see the strings; he wasn't a real man.

"I intended to present her to you myself when the time was right. Your private guards have proven themselves sufficiently lacking in any intelligence or awareness."

Or was he?

This seemed to please his Lord, though by no means, blind him. Snape glanced at her, a sudden, unintended compulsion.

Then the pain came again, and she fled again to a place in her memory. She returned to her body crumpled and her arms were broken, but only on the inside through her nerves.

"You wonder why she isn't dead at my feet."

His robes brushed her arm. She couldn't see his feet. There's nothing for her to be dead at. The tragedy, the secret.

"This girl is not mad, as I had believed. She is in her way but… I have her. She's nearly as unpredictable as any magic can be. Any magic of the darker nature. And I have her. I can control this girl. I do control her."

"She's only a child, my Lord. It would be unwise to make her an enigma or symbol. She is unremarkable, besides from her beliefs. In that, she is her father's parrot."

"At her age, you call her a child. And there lies your mistake. You can not grasp what you do not comprehend. I am tempted to let you look in her mind, but I am not so unreasonable. For now, in her youth, I shall test her. If she dies, then it is of no consequence…"

"…I understand, my Lord."

He left rather rudely, she thought. And they were alone and for once, she was very afraid

"Would you like to see your father?"

"No," she answered quickly. "He's from before. From my life before. I've made my choice to cross that bridge and burn it. I do not wish to see him."

"Pity. He's been asking for you."

Her heart stopped, and his eyes were dreadful. They were truthful. He kneeled beside her, an unnatural motion for him, and she tried to turn away but her body was far too disconnected where it mattered. Looming. Looms string, cat-gut. Loons.

"You would do this…over Maggie?"

"I do this because to understand you, I have to break you."

He ran a finger down her side, and she shivered.

"His death is unavoidable. Mine is. Maggie's was. He told me himself when mother died. You can't hold his life over me, yew lord. I've been preparing for it since I was nine."

Her father would never want her to give in.

"Oh, I never said he would die. Now, you will kill Fenrir with your own hands. You will take that pound of flesh he wanted from you. You will take-." He touched her chest lightly, as brief as cobwebs from a rainbow. "-his heart and place it in a basket and give it to me."

"Because you are afraid your dog, after you feed him all your sacrifices, will come and finally eat you. Because you are afraid. Do you not know that?"

"Fear is a weapon to me now. You fear what you are to hate, and you fear what you are to love. It's the same idol they worship. They were afraid of you, weren't they, Luna? Such a small little bird, and they feared you. If you succeed, if you break your fear of ending a life, I will let your father live. A life for a life. A fair trade."

"I don't want you to be afraid," she said, meaning it even now. "All these deaths are your sacrifices. It's sad, you're watching the end so closely, and surrounding yourself with death, that you ended up not living at all."

"You're blind after all. I have beaten death. I have outlasted it. You claimed the foundation of my power was co-dependence. You were wrong."

She stared at him for a moment, entranced by this latest discovery.

"…I will do this for you without a price."

He drew back as if burned. "He takes children. Harry told me that. So it's best if I settle this matter. And you can wear his wolf skin since you are so cold all the time. It's my early Christmas gift to you."

"Christmas was last month."

"A late Christmas gift for you then, or rather a birthday gift. When's your birthday?"

"I'm told it was just before New Years," he said, the irony lighting his eyes to an almost feverish degree. "Since then, I've been reborn."

"Oh, wonderful, you have several birthdays. I'm probably even early!" she exclaimed, smiling. However, I would like one thing before I go."

&&&

Luna draped herself with the red cloak and smiled brightly, holding the basket with one hand. She now appeared to have matching gloves and robes.

A long time ago, or so it seemed, she had seen her name in the story. In that story. Luna, written right in the margins in an inky scrawl. The girl's name had been Luna. So this request, this challenge, was meant to be. Fate.

"I see you've dressed for the occasion," he muttered from behind her. Her chains were gone now. Or they were inside. Either way, she could move.

"Did you plan on the basket?" she asked, laughing. "You thought of the tale too, and it's just come to me. You'll have to help me in the end, you know."

"That was the revision. Sometimes the wolf will have its meal."

Luna paused.

"The reason these stories last is history. It always endures; a triad of repetition. Perhaps this time around, the girl will overcome the beast, her natural adversary."

She noticed all the mirrors in the hall were broken. Darkened. There were no reflections walking besides the pair. How odd. If she were to see them, the effects would have been surreal. Her, dressed in bright, garish, ghastly red, with her pale eyes and pale hair, and him, ghastly red eyes, pale skin, and shadows that clung to him.

"I don't know if I can do it. If it comes to that."

"If death is unavoidable, it should be a simple chore."

"I don't have the right."

"Face the challenge first. Then ask yourself again."

"You were thinking of the story," she chirped, happily. "It is similar to the beginning, or the middle."

" Pay no attention to either. It is the ending that matters, after all."

Elated, she nodded, and in her excitement, gave the impression of a small boat bobbing in a bay.

"I prefer the middle, but since it is a promise, I will make the ending have an impression."

He gave her a cold smile, and turned. She waved at his retreating form. The deeper she journeyed in, the heavier the basket seemed.

It seemed like forever since she had seen light between the trees. It was then she noticed that these woods were perpetually quiet. There were no birds. There was barely any real growth.

Suddenly she felt very alone. Her basket felt ridiculous. And in this role, she felt slightly…off.

The ground slopped, and the path started to become clear. Dry well, this place, and it had a monstrous grin. The path was clear due to its markers.

The markers formed a mockery of civilization. The markers formed a white picket fence. The markers were the bones of children. A white, quaint fence of death picked clean was grinning fiercely at her.

It had been waiting. All this time. From the margins.

Luna gasped, shivering. With anger.

He laughed, from the rafters of her mind, he laughed. Echoing down through the base of her spine and further in.

You, she thought. You came with me.

As if I would miss this. Little bird, my pet, when you are angry, it is similar to the beginning of pathos. I can't say I dislike seeing you angry.

How could you allow this? Even you wouldn't be so cold.

What he would have done by himself. It's in their nature. Rather like gods. Do you still hesitate to end his life?

Yes.

And all out of your goodwill towards me. Your father could be dead. In fact, he is dead to all external stimuli.. So…you continue?

Luna closed her eyes tightly, cornering him.

Yes. For you. Not your ideas. Not for your power. For you.

His laughter ceased, and the howling increased. Luna focused her attention just in time for the cloak around her neck to be jerked backwards, nearly strangling her.

Suddenly, her attacker hoisted her onto his back. His half crooked back and the spine was rather like a fence. An instrument, she fancied.

Another were-person of sorts grabbed the cloak again and held it in a parody of a regal procession.

"Oh, there's no need for formality," she cried out. Several figures darted alongside her, in a pack of half masked revelers. Their masks were old dried blood and hair and thick course skin like sand. Sand man for the children. Sleep well, sleep deeply. Each face held a grin. A searing, empty grin similar to their posts.

White and dry.

The hood flew back, and the wind brought tears to her eyes. She held out her arms, sideways, as if flying. The basket full of offerings swung like a pendulum. Then they reached the caves.

Fenrir Greyback sat on a throne as well. It was made from old clothes, stately cloaks and Ministry robes torn to shreds. Flesh. Everywhere.

In the corners, there were people, rocking back and forth, and Luna looked for a moment. This was an ancient court.

"I remember you," he said. "Your name."

He laughed and it sounded more like a chorus of a three headed dog. Small streams of water from the ceiling of the cave dripped down, forming small rivers. Styx, she thought fiercely, and she became elated again.

"Tonight," he cried out boastfully. "I will have the moon. Bruise it, eat it, swallow it."

His grin was wet, as opposed to the rest of his pack. The half-man was like a giant, and he moved to claim her. Her welcome party threw her to the floor of the cave suddenly, and her mouth hit the rocks. The basket flew out of her fingers.

Now would be a good time to speak.

"Wait. I have a message," she hissed through her bleeding mouth, sprouting apples and such. Invoke my name. "From your master," she continued stubbornly. "It may not be important at all, but you should still receive your guest with some manners. You have been terribly rude."

"What's he want?" Greyback asked. "I've taken care of the Minister's grandson already."

"Oh…oh." Do you crawl on your belly as well? How low can you go? she thought curiously. A cold silence greeted her. "He wants you to reap your rewards and accept this token as a symbol of the alliance."

"How generous. It's all sweet and wrapped up too."

"Really, the basket," she insisted. He picked her up by the neck and placed her over his shoulders. She hadn't realized his strength. In the presence of Lord Voldemort, he had seemed almost tame. Now the difference between them was obvious.

So you do see. Good. Very good. Now to wait for the next spark of intelligence.

Luna hung there like a freshly caught pixie, half blue from lack of air. She saw the beast had picked up the basket. She breathed out in relief.

The sound of water picked up. He was taking her to his lair, away from the others. To take his time to…

He set her down gently then struck her. The part of her mind where he remained stirred, like the first two bees that foreshadow the swarm from the disturbed hive. She knew what the feeling was, she just didn't understand it. Nor was there time.

"Please, the-."

"Don't speak. Let go of that part of you. Abandon it or you will die here."

Well, that's troublesome, she thought. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind. And if it was true, the myth, the wolf would indulge itself. And she should allow it. But some part of her, a part quite lost, began to stir angrily. But this was how it was supposed to be.

The wolf, part man, part child, as it was, grabbed her around the neck. Then his hands, calloused and as thick as paws, groped lower. She was pinned, like some sort of moth, and his hands were looking for something.

I haven't hidden anything, she thought wildly. I was only given a basket. What is he…

She gasped, against his palm, as his nails were drug across her stomach. Pain, this was pain, and she didn't wish to share it with him. She didn't want to share anything with him.

Yet she was sure being eaten alive, or cooked or the like, was never pleasant either. So she lay back, and kept her eye on the basket, expecting something grand.

He's going to kill you after this, slowly, or like a practical animal, save you for later. And you don't struggle?

She closed her eyes tightly. His smile was practically butteryellow, or buttermellow, or such. It's the marrow she was sure. Marrow of all things would stain terribly.

Beg. Beg for my help, and you will survive.

Luna looked at the basket persistently, willing it, and having the faith it would do something. It was when the wolf was tearing at her shirt, favoring and savoring the material, perhaps dreaming of his own myths (hands, always first, always the right. Left tasted bonny and weak), that he noticed her gaze.

"What's in it?" he asked, pulling her arm behind her shoulder and drawing a line across her neck with his tongue. The scent was slightly sweet, innocent and decaying from inside, having been spoiled or overcooked. "You are a determined little pet, to your master."

"That is your reward," she insisted. "But I certainly don't want you to have it if you're going to have me."

Inside, in the lair of her mind, something stirred. And there was pleasure, though she couldn't tell why.

"Rewards? They are for the tame and passive, like yourself. You were merely traded off, and I wanted you before. I could have taken you then, but I knew to wait, I have endless patience, for what they say."

"I wish to know what it is," Luna admitted, though her tongue had swollen when she had inadvertently bit down during the struggle. "It's in the quaintest little basket. Perfect for this scene, isn't it?"

His eyes shifted. They stared, captivated, and he moved towards it and brought it over to her.

"Open it."

She did so, and found to her surprise…food. Oddly enough, fish. So she was traded for a silver, slightly grumpy looking fish? She also discovered she was bleeding heavily through her top, matching her cloak.

She saw outside of herself for a moment, and found she had the basket in between her legs, and found that her knees was scabbed, and found that she was going to die, and found it did not bother her. But this fish was the last straw.

Fish? He'll be full in a moment. You plan on giving him heartburn?

A little more that that. You have to make him accept it. Depend on him. Struggle against him. Now.

She took the fish out of the basket gingerly, and offered it to him. He sneered.

"Hah, that's for you. Your last meal, Red."

She blinked, pushing out the image of Ronald in her position. Slightly worse. But she wasn't red, she was pale. Much too pale, and she grimaced.

She sampled it, not caring if it was raw, and played by the rules until the taste in her mouth was unbearable.

"I can't finish it. It's stringy. My teeth are not as big as yours are."

He laughed, enjoying himself immensely.

"Can you cut it for me? Your teeth will do," she said, out of frustration with the horrible salmon.

He did so, shredding the small body of scales with his teeth, and handed it back. She supposed he swallowed some. Because he started, inexplicably, to spasm.

Well, it hadn't been that bad, she thought. Then she realized.

Silver fish! It was a silver fish! I should have known!

…Not quite but close. You still have one part to complete. There is a knife in the lining of the basket.

He was dying silently, rather like a fish himself. Open and shut, every third count. And she did count. She crawled over to him, to feel his back while he died, and give…give something.

You poisoned him?

No, you did. Well done. This death is poetic, no?

Luna knew to prepare for the death of everyone she met. Planned her words for them, planned the flowers and wizarding fires, and when to see them next. She went to the basket and took the knife out of the lining.

"If I take your heart, will it make it better?" she asked, sliding over to him, her hands shaking. The handle of the knife was slick with her sweet, and her fingers felt like very heavy gloves. "You don't want a human heart when you die. It will be very quick."

She couldn't do it, and her hands trembling, she waited until he weakened enough to slip her fingers through his hand. She felt her first two fingers break, and she bit her lip. Tears were from the pain. Outside pain. Alive pain. Luna made herself breathe, willed herself to breathe. He stirred, uncoiling lazily. Oh, if you could see what was inside of me now, mother…

He almost had your life, and you comfort him…

He was similar to life and death, an interesting mix. Intensity and coldness…she shivered again, and could not explain. She felt that it was a flaw. He would to.

Mr. Greyback's eyes were curiously glassy, as that other part of him left through the iris or the ear. Like the beetles she had to transfigure. Their shells were shiny, collectable, and part of the Ministry's eavesdropping scare. Perhaps it was best he was gone.

She held the knife to his chest, and thought it best. Best that she did what she had promised to do. His chest cavity sprung up, with a snap, and she thought of his idea of music, and thought he must been enjoying this. But she was the one playing this particular chord.

Luna dropped her knife in surprise at this, thinking it was like a treasure box, or candy puzzle from the store. Nothing sprung out on a spring, or the like, so she peeked in and found his heart easily, nestled between his lungs.

She couldn't do it.

I really…it's so…it's comfortable there in its nest. It's his.

Well, it's not as if he needs it anymore. The worms will have it if you don't take it. And I want it.

Luna moved her hands, imagined that they were eagles and birds and hungry, and that there were apples on the ground, and she plucked the heart away. She put in the basket, turned to the side, and surprise, surprise, full of surprises, she was sick.

The fish must have been bad after all.

Odd. She wasn't out of the lair yet. She had been in the lair all along, and was to return. He wasn't the right wolf.

Luna grasped the basket, and moved across the threshold of tiny footprints and tiny struggles (against him), and felt the cave yawn. Distinctly. Werewolves gathered around her, their eyes glowing pleasantly against the damp. The whole cave had bad breath.

"You want to avenge your friend. The strongest should do it," she said, swaying from dizziness. "It's what he would have wanted."

She didn't know where he was, or where he went. She wasn't to see him again. Did that mean…what did that mean?

Several young wolf-persons moved towards her, apparently thinking the same thing, and there was a sudden disagreement. She waited as long as she could, bleeding like she was, but they couldn't decide, while tearing at each other and shouting and throwing bones and old, rusted pans, which was the strongest. She was sure one was the fastest, and one was the fittest, and another was the finest hunter. But she couldn't wait, and she left, slightly tired as they sorted it out among themselves.

It seems I have underestimated you..

The feeling was…

&&&

… backwards.

Luna thought he was quite backwards himself as she awoke from her sleep, still adorned in the cloak. The heart was near by, in a quaint place by the window, and she didn't have time to think on it. The red stain was gone from her skin which now processed a different tone from the rest of her arm. The red stains were in the form of gloves, folded neatly. She imagined his white fingers peeling off her stains

Her mind accepted it, and she smiled, learning.

Instead of being pleased with her proof, he hated her. More than she had ever been hated.. It was acknowledgement.

If only he knew, she hadn't eluded capture nearly as well as she could have. If only he

knew, instead of running to the portkey her father had given her, she had waited for the Death Eater's to take her.

"I want to say your name," she told him. The chains held her fast. She didn't mind. There were marks on her, running back and forth, and she couldn't see the forest for the trees. Against.

She suspected there were chains under her skin. Her victory had only pushedhim further to bind her.

"Please," she added, arching forward. There was power behind the words. If she could only say them, she would have him as her own.

"Does this hurt?" he asked instead, dragging his hands along her bonds. She withered.

"I think it does."

"Let me see you." She opened her eyes.

He was inside her mind. Behind her eyes played scenes and worlds, and it was magic, and she screamed. Strapped to an altar, it didn't matter if it was real. Every morning her body would bear the evidence.

In the overabundance of cause and effect, in the midst of her triumph, the experiment was far from over.

"It's time to let him go."

"Death is the only release for Potter."

Luna sighed against her bonds.

"Actually, there is another way into death."

&&&

The legendary door was old and decrepit.

"This is the room, my Lord?"

The appearance is meant to deceive you. The Ministry lets the power within it rot away. It is the room.

"Pure love…" she whispered.

He moved her hands and raised her wand. She interrupted.

"Don't take the door. It would let out leaks. Yes. The wood inside should be enough to hold what I need. I will have to cut a little from the inside."

Ah, there is only one door to this room. You can't escape.

You should keep your distance. I'm not sure how…potent this will be.

He withdrew, and it was odd to be alone with herself. The door swung open, and the Death Eaters moved quickly aside. And she was alone as can be, in her mind, as she entered the room of pure undiluted love.

In the eye, that's where she was. The pupil, the iris, she should say, was expanding. And it looked at her with mirror images, upside down, around, it was brilliant, and she stared back, unblinking. Of course, it was painful, this place, and if the force within ever turned around to focus on her without restraint, she wouldn't be able to withstand it. The world, as it once was, is in this room. But with such purity, it would make you raw, she knew, and she turned away. With love, there was need, too; a co-dependence.

If you accepted it, it could twist you as easily as hate, so she turned and saw the wooden panels that lined this room. The tiny fragments were lined with old sacrifices, willingly given, in memory, in sickness and in departing health, like freshly bruised apples.

It was also to be noted that this place was very alive. There were things fluttering inside of these hearts, little cocoons to keep the hearts beating. These things did not die. She would go to that room shortly. Using the dagger, she moved around the fragile shapes and blossoms and took the pieces of wood. Soon she had enough for the transfiguration.

Luna left the room, having enough of the affection to last for several lifetimes, and with her old wand, she transfigured the piece into a jar.

I have it. It's in my hands, can you feel it?

Only the container. You have yet to fulfill your promise…Don't be so pleased with yourself.

You will hold me, right?

He didn't answer; she hadn't expected him to. It was easy finding her way back to the Veil. Her hands left red marks on the jar, from the blood on her hands, and they resembled birds taking flight in the dessert.

Love is brutal, she thought, showing him the scars on her hands where the skin had been rubbed raw.

That's all in your mind, the need to be needed. It's not brutal, it's a figment of the weaker part of you. All in the reflection of it, isn't it? I underestimated it once, and will not do so again. But in terms of power, I will not respect it.

The doors chose to open smoothly this time around, and soon, the Veil held its whispers fiercely. It knew what was about to happen.

They are afraid. They have never, in that state, had anything taken from them. You know, we've made death feel vulnerable.

Yes. I have.

Luna realized he could let her go, and indeed she would go, and she knew power for the first time. Need, for one, and reliance, and she couldn't quite stomach hate very well. Awareness meant giving him that power. Besides, at the moment, there was hardly any separation between the two of them.

She moved the veil aside, and it wrapped around her like a lover, like he does. She fell from the sky, it seemed. At first, her mind did try to bolt, and it was to her shame that he stopped her from her flight. Not wanting to lean on him, she forced herself to look and kept her grip on the jar.

Below her, right below her, just below her, was a path. Nothing too astounding, at first glance. Unless one noticed it was a branch, leading to a tree that never ended. Plain, white, and stark, it was utterly hollow. The darkness curled up, and then the birds came from the tree. They bloomed and gathered under her feet. In the distance, she saw millions of people, things with names, through she couldn't think of a one now, and the land of death had no time to waste, nor spare, nor use as there was none to speak of. There were no rivers or lavish dogs, but there was a quiet. A peaceful quiet.

She was flying.

Can you believe this, do you see? It's real. Really real.

His hands made her heart beat, she knew, but she was the one here.

If you stray too far, you will be lost. The connection is becoming strained…

They can't touch you, I won't let them. Don't be worried.

Her heart threatened, and burned, and screamed at that moment, but in the pain, she was truly and finally free. She did notice her hands were starting to show signs of rot and were curling up like leaves in a fire, but he held on still. Co-dependent, the both of them, and she laughed.

Something hung from the basin of the white whale, and it was also a bit bird like, but then not. It was a Notting Ham, you know, and it shook its head at her laughter, its azure eyes greeting her with welcome.

"Excuse me, sir or lady. I am a little lost at the moment. Very distracting, this place. Can you point the way to…to a…"

Lily Evans Potter, you dolt-

Very distracting. She was slowly becoming numb. Then she felt him again, and she knew her time, her pulse, was running up thin.

Come back, you are too weak to last.

"To a Lily Evans Potter," Luna continued, ignoring him. Something wet was sliding down her cheek, and she wondered what it was. The fruit, the ash, was there none here?

"I'm not in the mood for that, she's in the line over there, you see, and there is always a line in this place, it seems. I notice you are alive. Poor dear, should I help you along?"

"No, none of that, please. I have a message to give her. It's her son. I need her help."

"Management won't be happy," the Notting Ham commented, but winked, and someone stood to her left, not her right, and it used to be a person.

One with red hair, and green eyes, but her eyes were elsewhere now. Her son had her eyes, Luna realized, and now, she was certain of what to do.

Is this her? She was very pretty.

Your death is spreading to me. He warned her, and the connection was flailing about like a spider web in a storm.

Don't go. Please. One moment is all I need.

One moment there are days here. Hurry.

"I, I am sorry," Luna said, her voice muffled and honeyed, the stinging in her ears almost unbearable.

"These lively things aren't very quick on their speech. It's when you don't have a tongue in your mouth that you realize how much you had to say."

"Your love for your son. I need to borrow it. You still love him in this place, and that remains in his skin. I can't wash that away, no one can, but I can dilute it. Please, I've made a bargain, and your son has friends, true friends who love him desperately. If I sever this, he can live, if only for a moment. They are linked in death, and through your sacrifice. If one dies, the other could be dragged along. Your son can live, if only for a few minutes, truly as himself. Please, help me."

Luna spied the heart behind the spirit, and knew that they had an understanding. Half blind, she made her way back to the edge of this place, tilting ever so, and he pulled her through the Veil.

It was on the other side she realized one of her eyes had gone blind. The liquid on her cheek had…she struggled for the Veil, ripping it down.

I'm blind. Did you notice?

Hard to miss. Fitting, considering the context. It is mend-able. I heard your little speech. That is hardly as mend-able. I should leave you.

But you won't. Not until you have this. I would say, it's a charming trophy. The love of a mother.

She took the portkey, bringing along her own trophy.

&&&

Hermione didn't notice at first. It was dark, and they were hungry. Hiding in the Muggle house, they had already dealt their losses. She hadn't expected another. It was when Harry stood in the firelight that she gasped.

"Harry, your eyes…the color-."

Ron shook his head. He had already seen. They fell into silence.

&&&

Luna came to him with the Veil wrapped loosely around her wrists.

One thin piece of the veil was looped around her wound. Eye for an eye. Honestly, she should have been completely blind if it was fair, but was it ever?

"It is done," he said. "He's no longer in my shadow."

"You sound disappointed. Do you miss him?"

"It's the absence that is bothersome. I let myself become accustom to it these long years. It was a mistake."

Then Luna was making a similar one. She smiled.

"It's funny. You haven't realized it yet." She held up the jar. "This is your drop, my lord. Remember?"

To his credit, he remained composed. She circled the top lightly with her finger.

"I think I'm beginning to understand what you mean about power," Luna said. "Lord Voldemort."

&&&

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