Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns HP and Lewis Carroll owns Alice in Wonderland.

Please do leave a review in the end :) I'm sorry in advance for the grammatical errors.


He knows he has to do this. He has to win.

She wasn't supposed to be there, but she was. Through the deep shades of dark blue passing through the slits of the high, suffocating walls, she stood underneath them- almost as if she was sent by the heavens to destroy his malicious deeds.

Cladded with a soft looking night gown beneath her fragile looking body, her halo was invisible from his sight. Subconsciously, he thought it was because monsters do not have the orbs that angels posses.

He does not have the ability to see colors, only black and the annoying, heroic white. And she infact loves things with yellow, green and other bizarre hues. Not that he cares because people like him-creatures like him do not posses weak gestures such as caring. He shrugged off his confusing thoughts with a single sneer, reminding it that it was merely an observation that everybody seemed to know.

Her cupid bow of rubies raised on the end, and as if it was a spell that freed him, he finally gathered his senses.

The little angel was still onto her spot; calm and collected.

The huge monster strode with his shadow; vicious and accusing.

"You are sent to spy on me, aren't you Lovegood?" He spatted, his ever so cold eyes turned into sharp slits.

"Here to make fun of me? Oh I know! You are here to tell brilliant little Saint Potter that Malfoy has finally lost it for certain!" His two huge hands grabbed her two soft arms, squeezing her flesh just as how he did to that fragile little bird. He felt her veins beating rather loud underneath his thumbs; threatening, relaxed, calm- her fragile little heart alive and functioning, he is sure as hell his was probably beating, but not how hers does.

He's alive, isn't he?

"No, I happen to sleepwalk you see. Somehow, I ended up here. Maybe, perhaps you need my help Draco?" He scoffed. Even her voice sounded holy. Chaste. Pretty..


"Need?-" he laughed cruelly right to her little hopeful face, his icy eyes trapped and wishing. Begging. Ugly..


"-What could you possibly help me Lovegood? I do not need anything from anyone, particularly, you" He was dangerously close to the angel now; her nose an inch away from his own one. His outer demeanor was dominating her, trying to suffocate her into nothingness, but then-

Truthfully, he was mortified by her.

He was caught off guard as her cold fingers touch his wet skin. He did not even realize that his ugly tears were apparent. But as if stuck fazed, the ugliness inside him went frigidly still. His eyes, his always so accusing eyes stared confused upon her face. The first thing he noticed was her pale, pale, but oh so soft fingers brushing against his own pale, pale wet cheek. Unafraid of his thick and boiling skin.

"Maybe a friend, especially comfort" he sneered despite the thrill that erupted inside his system. Monsters do not posses weak feelings, they do not hope.

"Leave me alone, I do not need your pity-" he warned, his voice trailing with vile and command. He tries to search for names to make her bleed but then, he never actually thought Loony is something he would ever address her.

Not when she is so good and chaste and believes in him

What a fool.

He pretended it was because she was a waste of his time; he pretended her touch did not leave a sizzle upon his thick and unfeeling skin. No, not at all.

Her skin was pale as her name and her eyes were as dreamy as the night. She looked more of a ghost than that annoying one who resides in Hogwarts' abandoned girls' loo. Sickeningly, she looked like she could almost fit in in the cold and harsh manor.


He took his slow steps, his head reclined a bit too high, his arrogance could be felt all over the place. But despite this, he felt himself shiver and it was not because of the eerie air surrounding the cellar. Angels hold such power, even if they do not realize it. But she doesn't need to hear that from his filthy, lying mouth.

Infact, truth is something that he despises

Her eyes, her wide set of wondering eyes were watching him, transfixed to his every move. Guessing, asking, waiting, anticipating.

She waits, and he lets her-

Even if he knows she is fighting a losing martyr liked act.

"Good evening Draco. You don't look well, are you alright? Perhaps you would want me to make the wrackspurts go away?" her voice lingered in the air; eerie, chaste, good, but he felt threatened. Trapped, hopeless.. Her words, her face, her situation was a big smack right across his face.

He looked at her as if she had just grown another head. Maybe she did, that would not be bizarre to a girl like her.

There was a pregnant pause that he created between them. It would be too dangerous to let her hear him. Nevertheless, near him. She's a big threat, he could not earn anything but could definitely lose alot if she would come crawling right in. He is not allowed to- to what exactly?

He is not permitted to show his weaknesses. As soon as he lets her in, she would make him hope. And that would be the most destructive thing anybody could ever do to anyone who believes they do not own a living, beating, feeling heart. Monsters become more ugly if they scratch their wounds and let them bleed.

Sooner or later, she will leave him alone.

He is always alone

Slowly, he disappeared through the shadows of the stairs, the plucking sound of droplets dropping to the rough ground reminds him that there were living humans trapped inside 'his' cellar. Humans who were forced to live and wait, wait, wait, just for their saint Potter.

Potter with pure heart and good intentions.

Much like her

He pretended his knees weren't shaking as he ascended the stairs; he pretended he didn't feel the guilt churn inside his system. That night, he didn't think about her. No, not at all.

The next day at dinner, his platter was brimful of different varieties of meat and a side salad that possess his exquisite taste. Try as he might, although his nostrils savored the smell of the chunks, his tastebuds cannot seem to enjoy the phenomena that enter them.

The shrieks and grunts of pain that he had heard a while ago made him dizzy. His thick skin shivered with fright, paranoid thoughts entered as thought after thought were darker than the first.

Maybe hers were one of them-

He went pale as his paler hand went soft beneath his fork. The spikes of his utensil penetrating the flesh underneath, making it splutter a bit of oil to it's surface.

Useless, struggling meat.

His inside squirmed, the bile pushed itself up to his throat.

Coward, coward, such a useless coward

He grabbed his platter with shaking hands. It is not good for him to stress this much.

He is doing this for his own good.

He is selfish and manipulative and cowardly and-

"Thank you Draco, but you didn't have to. Your mother makes sure the elves feed us well. After all, your aunt had went insane with her tortures. Draco, she's chaotic isn't she?" He kneeled infront of her, his face leveled to hers. He noticed raw scratches upon her cheeks, her fresh slits pouring out ruby red blood.

Black, white, red. He only noticed he could see red. They seemed to be symbolic against her pure huge eyes.

And he felt the need to touch her mark.

As if those liquid were his Holy Water; they look as if they could replenish the dirt that he cannot scrub from his thick skin.

Look, but not quite. No, not at all.

Nothing can save him

"It is not as if I wanted you to have those. I am too full for that garb; besides, I do not eat cold food anyway" he stood up before her gleaming eyes could reach his confused ones. He could feel the delight that radiates from her skin. They were yellow, like the halo that he imagines she probably has.

He could not let himself see the different light that changed from her dreamy eyes. This could not mean something.

He could feel the different shift of her thoughts nagging him, dressing him with a halo that do not probably belong at the top of his head. Anything, anywhere, but him.

"You're wrong, Lovegood. You'd be surprised of the things I'm capable of doing" He slithered inside the shadows of the stairs, the back of his head facing her smiling face.

He could not turn around, this could not mean something.

"I do know, and that could not make you any less human"

He pretended he did not dream about her that night. He pretended her happy eyes did not lure him to a comforting sleep. They did not mean anything. No, not at all.

"Curiouser and curiouser, aren't you?"he decided that Luna Lovegood always say the most random things. She entertains him alot, and somehow, it became obvious to the both of them that she became a daily routine of his. To his luck, she haven't pointed it out to him.. Just yet.

Or maybe she doesn't want to acknowledge that undeniable fact. A huge part of him thinks it was because she was forced to socialize with him; he was her predator and she was his prey.

Much like that little bird that he unintentionally killed.


"I was bored as well as I am also hiding from Aunt Bella, she's on a roll tonight, bossing us around as if she owns the place. I swear, sometimes she forgets she doesn't even live here. The nerve!" Usually, he just lets her talk and babble and her, him; letting him nag and rant to his utmost content. She has this some sort of eerie vibe in her, she floats, waits and smiles, as if she was just a figure of his imagination. And somehow, he feels as if he is actually going mad.

Maybe she's not real. Nobody could talk to him like this.

She cannot be real.

Dear Merlin, he will smother her.

Pale white neck was craned as laughter echoed against his ear shells. Her laughter sounded charming, enticing, fairly different from the chaotic ones his aunt possesses. White, she is all white and pure. She was beautiful and untainted.

She doesn't belong here.

He's dark.

Everything's dark.

She cannot willingly talk to him. Why would she?

She was forced, probably.

"Draco, are you alright?" he stared at her, his sneer as sharp as his rugged breath.


She wouldn't care, why would she?

"Please don't do that" she stared back, her eyes gleaming with bold emotions that he was surprised to see. She looked as if she cares, and it was frightening how he feels as if she really does. He cannot be manipulated. He cannot hope.

Monsters do not hope

"Do what?"

"Walk away as if you think I am forced to acknowledge you. The world isn't made of just black and white, Draco" Her pale collarbones were rising and falling with the rhythm of her heaving chest. He felt as if her own words backfired her. She does not know what she was talking about. Merlin, she was even described to never seem to be in her right mind to begin with.

Perhaps they both went a little bit insane.

He will also suffocate her

He saw that she was the epitome of all the things a monster is frightened about. She is the definition of the word 'Hope' itself. She was the contrast of the monster that he became. Why is it so hard for her to understand that?

The shadow slithered closer to the pale ghost, his cold hand touching the warm cheek of the latter.

"I am not your darling Potter, Lovegood. Why can't you open your foolish eyes and see that you cannot save me? I am a death eater for Merlin's sake! I could kill you even before you could utter his name" His shadow overlays the ethereal light that seem to surround her. But still, she held her ground. She stood still as if his threatening form do not shake her. It was as if his touch was nothing but a sweet caress of a lover's soft musings.

The thought of that made him ache.

She was oh so gentle underneath his palm.

"Silly Draco, you do not need any saving. Sometimes, we just have to paint the roses red, you know. And it's okay." Without any warning, she wrapped his chest inside her warmth, cooling him down as his vital organ tug erratically against the thick layers of skin. He inhaled the smell of faint jasmine against her golden mane, strangling himself inside the chaste intentions of the angel beneath him.

He had never felt his weird vital organ for so long, he thought he lost it. Pain was the only thing that reminds him that he was still alive.

And perhaps, she was this new kind of pain.

He will smother her..

but not before she would suffocate him

The thought frightens him.

He pretended she did not make him ache. Perhaps, maybe, he was just lonely. But she surely 'did not' make him feel something. No, she did not make him feel hopeful. Not at the slightest.

The day before Christmas, he presented her with parchments, quills and ink. She would not realize it but he often sees her doodling peoples' faces upon strokes of dusts to the cold rough ground.

She once told him she paints her friends faces on her ceiling.

Vaguely, even if they are not close to being friends, he wonders if she sometimes pass a moment to think about him.

He smiled bitterly onto his thoughts; that would be ridiculous, even for someone as dotty as the angel locked inside his cellar.

"Are those for me?" she asked, but he knows it was out of instinct since she knows he barely even talks to the other prisoner inside the cellar.

"I figured it would be boring in here" His cheeks flared up as she looked at him as if he did the most heroic deed anybody could ever do.

Then he scoffed at himself.

Hum, how ironic

"I do love this very much. Thank you Draco"

"It is not as if it took me alot of trouble to do that"

"Still, you have thought about me, Draco" She lit one small candle on the space between her and him. The fire from the tip erupted with soft glow, dominating the light that seeps through the cracks of the high walls. The yellow flame focused itself to their faces, making each other only see the other.

"I do not know why you make such a big fuss over this. You could hire someone to do this for you, don't you know that?"

He begrudgingly grabbed one fresh parchment as well as his own quill and bottle of ink.

"Yes, but I live for the feeling. Every stroke requires an honest emotion"


She requires him to work for honest and emotion

Those two words were basically the opposite of what he does just to live.

Just to breathe.

He looked up at her as he strokes his quill, his hand trembling as he fought the urge to admit certain, terrifying things inside every line and curve. Her face was too bright against the dark cellar; perhaps too bright, he could've sworn she probably has the face of that angel who guides lost souls inside the In-between.

But this time, she was the one lost and trapped.

He caged her unwillingly and forced her to dance life for him. He was selfish and she seemed too naive to care.

Her slim fingers reached up and tucked her wild strands behind her ear, her eyes looking back at him as if trying to scavenge the parts of what is left in his soul.

He shifted his eyes upon her lips and suddenly, he craved for a territory he is not allowed to take.

But he was selfish. Always so self centered.

He leaned in and she met him halfway. His lips touched hers- and they were gentle. But the pressure he planted on them was rough and needy.

Quite in character, if he says so himself

She wasted no time but to kiss back, gentle and soothing. It was so different from his feisty treatment, he felt himself torturously ache. There was a painful tug that erupted from the left side of his ribcage. Pounding, clenching, reawakening; deep and raw.

He stared at the their shadow on the wall and he saw how significant it was to what he is doing to her. He saw his shadow smother her inside him, her own little friend disappeared inside his bigger figure.

He ached because he kissed her as if she was his lover. He ached because he kissed her as if she was no prisoner and he was no monster.

He ached because she responded to him. Careful and oh so trusting. She could not see how bad he is for her.

Oh how wrong it is to crave for something as forbidden as her.

He was the first to pull back, his eyes wide and his brows frowning.

"We're not too different as you think we are, you know" Through dazed eyes she wrapped his jaw inside her hands, smoothing the tired skin as if he was the one broken and frightened. As if he was the real prisoner all along.




"Like hell we are" He scoffed in disbelief. He cannot believe she would ever partner herself with him.

Of all people

"We go a bit mad for the things we believe in, don't we?" Her lips were an abused red but she said those words as if she did not mind.

"Merlin, I think-" His hands wrapped themselves around her pale neck, her cold flesh producing goosebumps from the touch of his thick and unfeeling skin. "-I think I might have inhaled you" he pressed his thumb against where the tugging of her heart lies. There, he was then reminded of what he was made of, and it was not to let things like those beat and thump erratically. But the sound of hers thudding and functioning, his own one followed lead, trying to catch pace of the heart that is obviously so much different from his.

"Keep on doing it then" she said faintly, her calm structure holding no sign of fright with her vulnerable state. She looked implicitly inside his eyes, trying to find clues of what is still alive in the coat of a monster that he created for himself.

"I could kill you" he warned, squeezing her neck to show his dominating power. "I know, but I know you wouldn't. I believe in you Draco Malfoy" And then she held both of his wrists inside her hands, squeezing back as his body shivered with fighting back a certain frightening realization from coming out.

"No, you don't understand. You can't"

Before he could, she did it first.

Droplets of sad tears poured out from her kind eyes. She tore apart heart brokenly from the pain he might've felt. And he knows, deep down in the conscious part of his thoughts, he knew she was crying for him.

He shuddered at the thought of rubbing a bit of himself onto the pristine angel. There, inside his hands, she sat with a kind smile upon her face but covered with red and gray. She was no longer the angel he saw her as. That one was pure, serene and ethereal. But the angel infront of him was tainted. She looked weary and sad for him.

Coated with blood, sweat and exhaustion.

In that moment, Luna Lovegood looked so human.

"Then, make me understand"

She has no idea how badly he was fighting himself from giving in. But he had caused quite a scar onto her that she haven't realize yet. He was using all of her strength, drinking her in, inhaling all of her empathy. He was certain one day she will wake up losing all of them for a monster who was not even worthy. Then, she will curse herself for ever letting him destroy her.

He will not let her see him look so vulnerable.





just like her

That night, he pretended he was not human and that, he did not let himself imagine what it would have been like if he dropped all of these just for her. The thought did not make him long for things he should have had-No, not at all.

"Draco, why is a raven like a writing desk?" she asked as soon as she heard his presence enter the confines of the cellar.

Looking at her, he saw the same expressive eyes gleaming with blunt emotions. She's waiting for him to address it, he could tell- but he knows that she knows he's much of a coward to initiate something about it. And being her, she would never stop waiting for him.

For what?

"Well, there are certain things that we don't have to answer don't we?-" He stood infront of her, his hands itching to grab her pale, soft neck. But he knows he couldn't. Not when her certain smell plugs in his nostrils and caress his mind with throbbing intentions. No.

Nothing goes right with addictions anyway.

Monsters and their raw hunger

"-Nevertheless, ponder into" In some sick way, the fragile little human-yes, she is now a human; more dangerous, more fragile- reminds him too much of the caged bird that trusted him with blind eyes. In the end, he killed it didn't he? And then he threw it away with it's head missing from it's body.

Much like her..

Broken, insane, fragile.

He did not care. He cannot care.

She opened her mouth but there were no words that came out. Instead, she pressed a parchment to the space between their heaving chests. Pure glee shone upon her ethereal face, and for a moment, he felt the side of his own mouth turn.

But he quickly recovered from it and sucked in a huge breath.

"You're right. Sometimes, we leave it to the realizations of our hearts" he could've told her off, tell her she's wrong because he does not feel. But the smile upon her face told him to seal it off. And besides, it's Christmas.

"Merry Christmas Draco" she said once his hands pulled the folded parchment open.

Upon his hand was a sketch of his face, the end of his mouth was raised up to form a half smile. His eyes, his cold, dark, melancholic pair was looking back at him with so much gleam, he felt as if he was looking at that young Draco Malfoy who haven't thought he has his own pair of horns.

He caressed the hard strokes of ink, his thoughts battling for dominance.

The sketch reminded him of what it would have been like if he was human, and it actually made him feel sick. Because, if he could have seen himself now, he knows he was not that man from her imagination.

She was living, imagining a lie. A fake Draco Malfoy instead of the destructive monster who could rip her off to pieces.

"Who is this man?" he asked.

Because honestly, he doesn't know who's face she might've imagined.

Just to cover his

"A silly man I know named Draco Malfoy" her voice sounded alarmed, maybe she felt him shift away from her.


"A man? he is merely a man, Luna. He is a monster." Why can't she just listen to him?

"I don't see it. Insecure, lonely, and lost, sure. But not a monster" He chuckled cruelly. His thoughts snapped and it decided to let the whispering basilisk win.

He cursed a student just to save his sorry arse. He always wanted Potter humiliated, he went to the extremes of letting prisoners get tortured inside his own damned house. He saw kind eyes, offering him freedom, but he just watched as he fall helplessly from the balcony. He had watched a professor die and he did not do anything. He saw pleading eyes begging for him to help them, but he had his fair share of watching with cold eyes as they writher.

As they expire.

He was hated all of his life. He had his horns planted onto his forehead ever since he opened his cold eyes and learned how their world should be operated.

He knows his position in this.

But she-

She's making it hard

His hands were fidgety but he captured her shoulders and pushed her roughly to the pillar. There was a resounding thud, and he felt her body quiver under his heavy limbs.

"I hate you" he said. And by the time his statement come out from his mouth, his head dived in and smothered her lips with his. He screwed his eyes tightly shut, his muffled screams blocked out from the softness of her lips.

His hands forged their way to her neck, gripping the undersides of her jaw as he pulled her up from her feet. Immediately, he could feel her struggle inside his mouth, her squeals of protest obvious as weak tears pour down from her squeezed eyes. Her hands blindly reach out and grabbed his shoulder blades, her grip strong and forcefully tries to carry her weight. But he ignored them. Instead, he pushed roughly, his tongue diving out to swallow all the remaining breath away from her system.

This is how he always wanted her to react to him.

Frightened. Displeasured.

In any moment, she could die with just a flick of his quivering hands.

"I hate you" he whispered, not trusting the clog that seemed to settle in his throat. Her mouth opened and pants harsh intakes of breath, trying to find a passage as her throat was being blocked by even receiving a small amount of them.

No, I don't

He stared emotionless to her writhing body, his hands quivering against her pulsing red skin. She looked like a rabbit trapped underneath his claws. Her always so calm eyes were squinted half lidded, and her brows frowned in displeasure. She looked far from the little angel who only speaks flowery words about him.

He lives for this.

"Draco, you're hurting me" she said through harsh voice. He chuckled painfully, his shoulders sagging as he fought the tears from falling.

"You have to know-" the hands pulled back, and she fell helplessly inside his chest. "-Merlin, what's wrong with you?"

He gripped her arms, clenching the boiling flesh inside his limbs. "You don't belong here" he spatted, and with an amount of force, he slammed her again to the abused pilar. She gave out one strangled grunt, her eyes opening wide as they looked helplessly in search for his.

He stared back and all he saw was a deranged doll, finally seeing her state for the first time.

Maybe, she resents him too now.

Once, twice, he saw red liquid trickle down to her neck, cascading smoothly from the back of her head, down to the valley of her collarbones.

He reached out one weak finger, dipping it to the boiling crimson that seemed to look so left out from the paleness of her body. She was silent, still and pale. A restless corpse with a betraying trust.

Her blood was poison beneath his finger. It was burning and hot; tingling like cleansing water as it seeps through the pores of his skin, burning his flesh that were already rotten with foul death.

She was water,

He was toxic

He had finally hurt her. He couldn't have done it if she had done what he told her to do in the first place. She could have been angry with him, taunt him like how the others did, but she was blinded with her empathic mind. He was a monster, incapable of feeling remorse- incapable of feeling anything at all.

But she made him feel human

And that was horrifying. Nobody could feel that utmost peak unless they give themselves up so willingly.

"I'm sorry Draco" her voice broke the silence, her searching eyes desperate to look for his'. But he doesn't seem to have the courage to look right back.

Oh the mess he made

Because, no matter how hard she might try, he will always end up pushing her back with two times of force. He already made his bed, thus he has to lie on it. He could not wish for anything to make this ache go away, to wish is to tell the truth, and he knows nothing about truth.

"I'm so sorry" Despite her situation, she still has the courage to understand the Draco he had already lost. His pounding core throbbed with shame and exhaustion. Suddenly, the thick skin around him felt too itchy and heavy to bear. His fingers were itching to touch her cheek, to stop the hurt he have thrusted onto her- to stop the agonizing screams inside his own messed up head.

But he cannot.

If only-

"Hold still" He pulled out his wand from the confines of his trousers. Watching his body language, he ignored her hot breath on his neck and leaned in more closely to the side of her face, his wand angled to the gash on the base of her head.

"Vulnera Senatur" he felt her gasp against his neck, the tip of his wand tracing the gash with feather liked force. His voice was awkwardly soft, but she seemed to like it. It would probably be the first and the last time he would use it

Just for her

Slowly, the blood that drips from the split climbed their way back to where they came, entering the gash and erasing the trail. But he of all people know haunted memories do not simply go away.

"Draco, I think-" he caught her off by murmuring the same spell, this time, the slit became dry red.

He knows, by the look inside her eyes, she was to say something he does not want to hear. As hard it was to admit, she was more than the little dotty girl from Ravenclaw. She was the fallen angel the Heavens must have sent to him to deepen the invisible trace of bruise Potter had designed upon his torso. She was the puddled water underneath his body, trapping him in a cold trace as he wished he could've just close his eyes. It kept him alive.

But his blood was the toxic.

She was both a blessing and a curse

"Draco-" the last incantation sealed the slit shut. Afterwards, he leaned his forehead to the cold pillar behind her, seemingly tired and restless. He felt her body shift beneath him, her cold arms circling around his chest.

"-I think I love you" she confessed, the bluntness of her voice was in contrast of the soft comfort of her arms. Yet, he became still, a huge wave of shiver travelled on his spine.


The most forbidden feeling a monster could ever have

There is a thin line between love and obsession. Much like good and evil. Mad and Sane. The Dark Lord and Potter.

He pushed himself off roughly. His eyes wide and desperate as they stare right to hers. There was something, probably his ego or, maybe something else, something deep and scary, rejoicing inside his system. But he had already pushed it far behind the confines of his mind. Looking right at her, he saw the devotion written across her hoping face.


He consumed her and he knows he cannot give her chastity back.

There's nothing left to give

It must've been the cruelest thing he has ever done.

"Draco-" she seemed to feel him inching away from her. And so she pulled him off of his abyss and revived him with her resurrecting lips.

She was moving oh so surely beneath his own lips. Behind his eyes, the hidden depth weeped with relief. He felt light and soft caresses, as if angel wings tickling him softly without any further judgement. Her ministrations stopped his train of thoughts from progressing, instead, it halted for a moment, trying to process what this unfamiliar feeling might be.

She tasted nothing in particular but she reminded him of Heaven, and what it must've felt like not to worry about anything. They were dancing underneath the coldness of the Malfoy Christmas as if they were lovers-

They were kissing as if he was no monster and she was no prisoner.

He kissed back with equal amount of tenderness, angling himself to explore this Heaven that he wasn't permitted to go to.

She smiled against his lips and immediately, he knew he dug his grave deeper.

She was trying to raise him up from the quicksand that had became his life. But he knew he willingly planted his feet onto the sticky ground. She couldn't weigh them up, the longer she tries, invisible sharp edges cut her white wings.

He has to let her go.

Begrudgingly, he reminded himself he cannot let go of things that he doesn't own.

He pushed back rather silently, causing her head to tip back in alarm. She looked back in confusion, her hand laying atop where her heart lies as if she knows what would happen next.

"You can't seep through me, I'm not allowing you" he spatted, as cold as he could. "Stop this nonsense Lovegood. I couldn't return that devotion. You're-"

Different, beautiful, whole.

Her wide set of eyes were waiting, anticipating, watching him. She was strangely silent the whole time he was struggling with having to confess or choose to drop it all instead

Worth so much more

"For Merlin's sake. I hate you, I loathe you in every fiber of my being Luna Lovegood" he tried a sneer which he hoped would look pleasing. But despite it, she only blink back a response, her lower lip bitten by her front teeth- she might be preventing any word, any disappointment from coming out.

The parchment felt heavy inside his trousers, the face in it was mocking and taunting him. He waited for her to say something, anything, just to clear his battling mind. He wanted her to hate him, or see her go out of control, just to comfort his deranged self. But instead, she only breathe back.

And her silence was too violent for him to take.

"Merry Christmas Luna"

His steps were fragile, his hands itching to claw his own heart out. It was pounding and hurting, he never felt such strange feeling. It was a new kind of loss, and immediately, he knew that it was her own damn fault for corrupting him.

He inched himself inside the darkness, wrapping his thick skin with the night's embrace. Trying to find comfort in knowing he saved himself from a risky fall.


He just has to live with the new kind of pain inside his system; something with her name written onto it.

He threw her one last glance, and what he saw might probably haunt him for the rest of his sorry life.

There was a lonesome tear fall from her pretty face. Her eyes and hands were stuck with the parchment on which he recognized was his own sketch. Her eyes were all knowing but her lips were turned down to an unfamiliar frown. Before he could've closed the cellar's door, he swore he had heard her say:


That night, he pretended he did not care if Potter had already rescued her. He pretended he did not feel a sense of ease and that he did not care whether she was happy or thinking about him. He pretended it was just because he doesn't have a clue as to where he could put her sketch that's why he slipped it and glued permanently unto the table of his writing desk-

He pretended it was pure coincidence when she looked alot like the woman in his own parchment. He pretended she did not evade his mind, why would she? She's non of importance. Non at all.

She wasn't supposed to be there, but she was. Underneath crumbling walls and the distinct feeling of death, she was very much alive. She was standing behind him with kind eyes boring through the back of his head. She was a porcelain angel who fearlessly tried to understand him.


Done for

The cruel dark leader of the monster ushered him to come. Behind the said being, the monster's parents were nervously trying to coax him. Wandless and powerless, they squeezed their way inside the crumbling school, with almost every single one inside wanted to claim their blood, just for their son.

The monster felt the angel's hand ghost upon his claws, ever so slightly caressing the cold blooded digits. The latter's gentle musing brought ache upon his throbbing heart, his ugly head knows he could not risk her fragile life.

Then, he stepped closer to the demon. It was the most safest bet he could ever do. He had already made her see his atrocious inner skin, what else could she possibly see that could still have made her love him?

Monsters do not have the orbs angels possess

He was trapped. Trapped inside the demon's choking trap. But he reminded himself of what he truly is. Didn't he violated her like how the demon did to him? He should atleast give her the right to struggle free.

Because why on earth would an angel love a monster?

Whatever, he does not feel.

Nothing at all.

He hates her.

He loathes her with every strand upon his hair, he swore he hates the smell of her own golden mane.

Infact, he loathes her too much, he raised his eyes just to prove it to her own blunt ones.

Her cupid bow of rubies raised on the end, and as if it was a spell that freed him, he finally gathered his senses.

The little angel was still onto her spot, her fragile demeanor shines with bravery and wisdom; calm and collected'

The huge monster stood silent, his thick skin felt like a heavy weight against the veins underneath; vicious and accusing.

He won and he doesn't even regret not telling her that perhaps-

He somehow, loves her back.

And then he wondered when he ever started to sound so unbelievable in lying.

He knows he had to do it. But in the end, he lost.

He inhaled her,


She consumed him