Prisoners in Malfoy Manor

BSummary: /B He was a prisoner in his own home. She was a prisoner in his basement. Will they somehow be able to find comfort in each other? Or will his hardened heart prevent it? Draco/Luna

BSet Up: /BChristmas Break during Book 7: Harry Potter & the Deathly Hollows.

BAuthor Notes: /BThis has been a plot bunny for months because I have ALWAYS wondered what it must have been like for Luna and Draco during those months at Malfoy Manor. While trying to get in Luna's head for an upcoming chapter in my other HP story (Willow's Thief) I felt compelled to write this. This was partly inspired by the story a href=" .org/Story-21676/scriptificus+Volume+II+" Volume II:Burn/a so I feel that deserves some recognition. Thanks to those lovely authors over there ;)

BDisclaimer: /BJK Rowling is amazingly awesome and created these people and this situation. I do not own this – Because if I did I'd be a bazillionaire and hire the pretty male actors of Harry Potter to be my cabana boys for my pool filled with gold Galleons.

He had just arrived home for the Christmas holidays and Malfoy Manor certainly had its share of decked halls, but it lacked a sincerity of holiday spirit. His mother, poised and proud in spite of their current circumstances, refused to allow her son to miss out on Christmas. When he had arrived home from the Hogwarts Express he had shrugged off her vehement desire to string up ever piece of tinsel they owned and have the house elves bake every scrumptious holiday favorite treat of his youth.

But really, he was incredibly comforted by her actions. Even if they were all just a prettily-dressed lie.

Because this Christmas holiday was like none other – that was jarringly clear. His lips curled up in distaste at his overwhelming ianger/i that nothing had turned out like Father had promised. When Voldemort had returned Father had vigorously assured his family that soon a new world order would come about underneath the Dark Lord and that the Malfoys would be at his right side.

What a load of rubbish that was.

Ever since Father's capture at the Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore's murder, by that ridiculous ass kissing Snape instead of him – not that Draco had truly wanted to go through with it regardless, the Malfoy name had fallen in the eyes of the Dark Lord. Now Father was little more than a servant to the Dark Lord and Mother was the caretaker of his domain.

Yes – the Dark Lord now called Malfoy Manor home, along with Aunt Bellatrix. Indeed, this Christmas would be like none other.

Immediately after speaking with his parents – thankfully the Dark Lord was gone on some business – Draco went straight to his room. If he could, he would become an Animagus and live as an animal for a while. Anything to avoid being noticed by the Dark Lord.

The image of the Muggle Studies Professor, Charity Burbage, being murdered in front of him still haunted his dreams. Memories of torturing Thorfinn Rowle after he let Potter escaped crept along the back of his mind, occasionally popping up to deliver a biting acidic taste of guilt in his gut.

He hoped he could make it through Christmas break without resorting to being the Dark Lord's lapdog again. It was a horrifying combination of guilt and shame that he didn't realize he could feel.

He heard a commotion downstairs and his name being called. Draco sighed. It appeared he wouldn't get his wish after all.

It was the Snatchers – crude wizards who were low on the totem pole but ambitious in their attempts to receive a coveted Death Eater robe. They had arrived with a girl from Hogwarts who they had captured off the train in order to punish her father. Draco dimly recognized her. She had a pale face that was pinched with worry, light blue eyes, and long blond hair that swung as Fenrir Greyback jerked her down to the basement. Luna Lovegood was her name – he remembered her hanging out with Potter's crew that met in the Room of Requirement last year. In fact, he had also heard of some exploit she was involved in with that Weasley girl and Longbottom when they tried to steal something from Snape's office.

As Greyback dragged her to the basement door her head caught the doorframe and her mouth elicited a painful yelp that made him cringe.

There was a part of him that was outraged by the way the werewolf manhandled the girl but Draco did what he did best – he took that anger and stuck it into a box in the back of his mind. It was foolish to show emotion or even, really, to care. After all, what was the point anymore?

That first night his mother had ordered him to feed Lovegood and that crazy wand maker Ollivander. He had crept down into the basement with tense, hunched shoulders. When he was a kid this basement was used as a source of entertainment for him, Pansy, and Blaise – whether it was playing hide and go seek or something else silly. While the Manor was large his parents had disliked the sound of noisy children so the basement had become their secret hideout – his parents were barely able to hear their screams of laughter down there.

But now the tone and reason of the basement had changed. Now the only screams it heard were ones of pain.

Many times the Dark Lord had tortured the wand maker and many times over the summer Draco had heard the old man alternate between screaming and sobbing. The memory of his childhood place had become stained with darkness.

Again he found himself compartmentalizing that pain. It would do him no good to dwell on it.

He eyed the two figures in the wrought iron cage. Ollivander was rocking back and forth in the corner and Lovegood was talking to him gently from the opposite side. He froze; curious as to what cold comfort could be spewing from her lips.

"Well, I suppose at least we are together, Mr. Ollivander. At least you are not alone anymore," her soft voice drifted over to him

Draco had to bite back a laugh at her naïve words. She would find out soon that the Dark Lord rather preferred to have witnesses to his torture.

"You know, it is a pity that we do not have a cat with us. If we did, there may be a chance to escape him."

Luckily, Ollivander took the words right out of her mouth. "A cat? And just how would a cat allow us to escape the most powerful wizard alive?" His tone was clearly scornful of the witch's idea.

"In Ancient Egypt they used cats to protect the living from the dead. Since You-Know-Who once walked the spirit plane, I think the powers of a feline may prove helpful against him. Or at least startle him enough to give us a moment to run."

Draco couldn't help it. That was clearly the most absurd thing he had ever heard. The mental image of the Dark Lord cowering before a cat lapping up a bowl of milk made him snort with laughter.

Immediately he saw the two figures still; aware that they suddenly weren't alone.

Discarding with his plan to listen in the shadows, Draco approached them with two trays. Ollivander gave him a wary look as he slid closer to the wall but Lovegood gave him a frank assessment that startled him. He did not like the way her eyes trailed over every part of him and he suddenly felt quite exposed. It bothered him. And really, just who did the Blood Traitor think she was looking at him like that?

He slammed open the small gate and slid the trays through roughly. "There's your dinner," he said with controlled anger. A part of him wondered why he was suddenly so angry, but he just was.

Ollivander said nothing, just quickly snatched the tray and began eating fervently. Luna, strangely enough, gave him a bright smile that seemed to shine in even this darkest corner of the basement.

"Thank you, Draco."

His spine stiffened at her use of his first name. They had never even spoken before – who was she to be so informal with him? It didn't matter that a part of him iliked/i that she called him Draco – iliked/i that maybe he wouldn't be quite so alone this Christmas break.

No, that didn't matter.

"That's iMalfoy/i to you, Lovegood," he spat. Her irises widened at his tone and her smile evaporated from the heat of his gaze. Ollivander paused in his eating to glare at him.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she said in a quieter voice with downcast eyes; fingers tracing the pattern on his mother's silver tray.

He wanted to scream at her – Was she stupid? She was their prisoner! Why in the bloody hell would she thank him?

Instead, he said nothing and stalked heavily towards the stairs.

BA/N: /B

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