Luna's forget-me-not eyes desperately searched for something to focus on through the heavy sheets of grey rain.
But there was nothing. Nothing to look at but the grey.
It was the only colour she could see after the Great War. She had lost her dearest friends, her father, her class mates, her professors… All were gone- and Voldemort only left the grey.
There were no more passionate reds, innocent whites, velvet purples, youthful greens. They had perished… Only grey.
Faces flashed through her mind- Hermione cursing as she ripped through her hair with a measly hair brush. Harry zipping through the sky on his new broom. Neville talking to her of the importance of herbology through every witch's and wizard's life. Ginny laughing in the warm Great Hall as Ron sank his teeth wildly into a thick piece of chicken, grease trickling down his face…
Luna's stomach growled. She had not eaten in weeks. She had not slept in days. How could anyone sleep where she was? To hear the torture of the children. To hear the begs of mercy before a ruthless flash of green sped through the dungeon's corridors…
Of course she could not sleep. To sleep would mean to follow the nightmares. Some may call them dreams- after all, they surrounded her happy, healthy early years of Hogwarts-but they were nightmares. They would taunt her with hope and laugh as she would awake on the stone, cold floor of her cell.
A loud clank of metal against stone awoke her from her daydream and Luna tore herself away from the rain illusion she had enchanted. She quickly stashed the Elder Wand into her back pocket before cautiously crawling forward.
A black, tarnished cup had been thrown in through the small compartment in the door to her cell. Her locked door to freedom. The cup lay on its side, most of its contents splayed across the floor. She leant forward and peered closely. Water. Water marked the beginning of a new day. Luna ran quickly to the corner of the cell and etched in a straight line with her muddy, broken, bloody nails. Thirty seven other lines stood solemnly next to it. Thirty seven days. Thirty seven sessions of agony and torture. The rescue team-now constructed of children-was due to arrive on the fourth day. Luna did not expect to see them again. But she could feel nothing. Could not mourn or weep. The grey had crept into her very soul.
It was Bellatrix. In the next cell. An ear splitting scream erupted from the other side of the wall. She flinched. It would be her next.
Luna sucked in a deep breath that burned her dry throat. Had she really thought that? Had she heard a child being tortured, then thought of her own welfare?
She was a monster. She was worse than Bellatrix.
Enough was enough.
Luna gently slid a silver chain off her neck. A time turner. A gift from the late Dumbledore. A small, wrinkled piece of parchment dangled from the time turner with rushed, but nevertheless elegant script
"For my dearest Luna,
I bestow upon you my Time Turner. It is my deepest fear that Voldemort is to win the battle I know will soon arrive. If Harry fails, all hope is diminished. Apart from you, dear Luna. If you have ever trusted me, you will travel willingly to 1942's Hogwarts and befriend Tom Marvolo Riddle. You need not know anymore, except that there is, nor there ever shall be, anyone else who could carry out this mission any better than you.
Luna lightly traced his writing slowly. Of course she had trusted him. She still did.
She twisted the time turner.