Twelve Dark Moons

Chapter Nine

Balance of Power

When Luna was left on the altar, she wrapped the thin cloak about her naked self and fell back, exhausted, blank. She must have passed out. After some amount of time, perhaps an hour judging by the position of the moon, Smiley and Yorkie had appeared and called her name but had not touched her. Perhaps they were under orders not to touch things that belonged to the Dark Lord. Perhaps they found her repulsive. In any case, Luna shuffled back to her own room with its round stained glass wall and had fallen into bed and a dreamless sleep.

It was just yesterday. Luna now went deep into meditation, practised her Occlumency, explored the flights of fancy and bird-like notions that flitted through (the starry blue Ravenclaw common room, her happily cluttered bedroom at home, she always seemed to live in towers...) She thought about the Order of the Phoenix, and of the small hot coin of the DA that used to live in her pocket. This last she clung to: she knew that somewhere out there, the Order was fighting the good fight. They would not have given up on her. Luna was a balloon, a black one, floating through room after room of her mental home. Her skin tingled but she didn't notice.

Her imagination took off. It soared like Abacus on a sunny day. She was dark but thin; she was stained. She had tasted death and its personification had penetrated her last night. Now more than ever she felt commonality with her Thestral. The world would despise her for what she was but Luna had to go through the clouds and believe there was blue sky on the other side.

In the future of Luna's imagination she was Voldemort's mistress, sleeping in his bed, watching his moods. She learned from him. She observed everything he did, everything he said: once in awhile, he would talk to himself. His guard came down. Luna knew that Voldemort was cool, poised, dignified, utterly in control of himself. He only lost his temper where Harry Potter was concerned. Otherwise the man was a fine-tuned machine of power and desire and ambition. But in her imagination, Luna watched for his weaknesses.

It was not her natural tendency to find weakness in others. She wanted to find their strengths, their good points. With Voldemort, however, she could turn her intensity of perception the other way. She would insinuate herself as a harmless body, a broken spirit, a toy that was his to play with. Voldemort might get careless with his toys. He might say something or do something that gave him away. He might accidentally give Luna the means of delivering him to the Order.

Her body hummed with excitement. This was something she could do. Get close to Voldemort, become his intimate, know his mind. Be ready. A voice echoed in her head: 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' She did not know to whom the voice belonged. She would keep Voldemort close beside her; in fact, she would make him part of her. She would absorb him and taste him and envelop him with her light.

Light always destroyed the shadows, didn't it?

Her original resolution reasserted itself with full vigour. She could do this. The worst was behind her. The tears behind her eyes suggested otherwise, but she could not pay attention to that. Not right now.

Seeking strength in her appearance, Luna threw open the door of her new wardrobe. She chose a dress made of dark indigo silk with white goring up the skirt, spikes and shards of light. The bodice was corseted and set off her wasp waist to perfection. She put on a necklace of chunky garnets to match, big stones that were so dark red they looked black. Her hair was pulled up into a half-frozen waterfall of blonde.

She wore her favorite red high heels, no longer caring that they made her legs look good. Ready for the Dark Lord was she, prepared to take her ideas as far as they would go. He called for her that night as she'd known he would.

***

For the first time Luna was taken to Voldemort's bedchamber. He was staring out one of the tall windows when she entered; he'd called his usual 'come in' but did not turn to look at her. Luna glanced around the room. She wanted to find something that made it a place of power for her. Her eyes first rested on the bed.

It was a magnificent medieval edifice, Voldemort's bed. It looked like it belonged to a king, with its ornate carved back and top canopy with a gathered radius of black velvet. Strangely, the bedcovers were white and silvery and of a fine brocade. Luna would not have expected that Voldemort would choose white, but the man was full of surprises. If he hadn't been so evil Luna might have enjoyed the task ahead of her of learning his secrets.

In the heavy seconds before the Dark Lord spoke to her, Luna made a cursory inventory of the rest of the room. Large Chinese mahogany armoire. Bookcases, three of them, presumably filled with favourites. Persian carpet of finest quality and colourful, too. Twin wingback armchairs flanking a wide fireplace of black marble. Several standing candlestick holders with seven flames apiece and dripping wax to create fantastic, alien sculptures.

Luna was aflutter when it crossed her mind that Voldemort's room was rather to her own tastes.

The creature himself then spoke. 'Sit down,' he said.

She made for one of the armchairs.

'On the bed,' he interrupted her movement without turning.

He's not wasting time tonight, Luna thought. She obeyed and crossed her legs, flung her arms back, and waited as he turned around to regard her.

Voldemort was pale tonight, yet his appearance spoke of humanity. In the smooth expanse of white skin on his face, a high flush appeared on the cheekbones as a mockery of true feeling. She wondered if he was angry about something. His black shining hair was thrown back from his forehead. If it were not for the terrible warp of his nose and brow, he would have been a dish, Luna decided. She held the thought. It would take her far. If she closed her eyes just a little - there - she could imagine he looked different to her.

The half-closed eyelids were a look of lust in most parts of the world. Luna wondered if this was because most people imagined themselves with perfect lovers, rather than the imperfect partners they were stuck with. A laugh bubbled up from within her. 'I'm ready if you are,' she said, unable to hide the amusement.

There was silence from Voldemort. She expected him to speak but when he did not, her eyes came open again so she might see what ailed him. He stood in front of her, not too close, his head tilted as he regarded her. Serpentine curiosity flickered across his face, the kind of curiosity reserved for the snake whose prey is acting in a baffling fashion. The little mouse doing a little jig, perhaps, or a bird trying to swim.

If there was one thing that could describe what Luna was attempting, it might have been that: a bird trying to swim in dark waters. And she laughed aloud this time. He must think I actually want him, she realized. And he can't figure out why. Well, good. For effect she let her knees come apart just a fraction, not much, but the intention was clear.

When Voldemort spoke, his voice was quiet, smooth, cold, though somehow charming. 'You turn so easily,' he said. 'None of the stubbornness of your fellows. How refreshing.'

'What makes you think I've turned?' Luna asked. 'Maybe you're a bit of sport for me.' It was ludicrous to suggest it, but that was the point. She had to, had to, keep Voldemort intrigued by her.

Her words incited the reaction she wanted. A flash of anger, annoyance at her impudence perhaps, but entertainment flashed in the red eyes, too. So Voldemort liked to play games; that was not surprising.

'Do not try to provoke me,' he said.

Luna gulped. It was exactly what she had been trying to do. That small ever-present dart of fear that pinched her heart grew more painful still. It made it difficult to breathe, or to focus on anything at all. Drowning in his presence, she was. 'I'm sorry, My Lord,' she whispered.

Voldemort leaned toward her. 'I think,' he said softly, 'I will kill you in the morning. You've outlived your usefulness.'

Through quivering eyelashes she met his gaze. 'That would be a mistake, sir.'

'Oh? How so?'

'Because I am your servant. Surely you do not kill servants just on a whim. There must be a reason to kill me, rather than a reason to keep me alive.'

Voldemort laughed with that high, cold laugh. 'A twisted logic, to be sure. You assume that it is less effort to keep you than to kill you.'

'Isn't it?'

'For now,' he said, and he reached out to grasp her shoulders, yanked her up to her feet, murmured a charm. Luna got that dizzying sensation again that she was way out of her league, that she was stupid to try to control the situation. She felt tugged in a million directions and strung out.

He hurt her again, of course. The idea of Voldemort as a gentle lover was daft. He bruised her and knocked her around and forced her to do things that made her cheeks burn in shame. But it was not all pain that second night.

Luna wondered how the already-tenuous reality of her own body could distinguish between pleasure and pain anymore...Yet she could.

It went late into the night and then Luna slept, exhausted, with sheets tangled around her waist. He allowed her to sleep in his sacred chambers and she was not sure why. She would not complain about it, however. When she awoke it was past nine in the morning, judging by the light, and Luna sat up, blinking her eyes. She was amazed that she was still alive. Perhaps Voldemort was a better actor than she knew; perhaps he'd only been taunting her with threats of death.

The Dark Lord was not to be found in the room, thank Merlin. There was only so much of his company she could take and still keep up her façade. She stretched her arms and felt soreness everywhere. The imprints of his hands were all over her skin. And Luna felt cold inside, as though his inhumanity was contagious, and he'd poured it into her and soon she would look like Nagini.

Her white and indigo dress from the night before lay in a dreary puddle on the floor. She leaned over the bed and brought it up to cover her. This meant she would have to do the walk of shame with Smiley and Yorkie, probably. How dreadful. Sighing, she stood up, naked flesh with goose-bumps against the cool morning air.

'Missus needs clothes!' squeaked a voice, and a small dark shape jumped out from the shadows.

Luna let out a little shriek of alarm. Instinctively she held the dress up to shield herself from the eyes of whatever this new thing was; she relaxed when she saw it was just a house-elf. 'Oh,' she said. 'Who are you?'

'My names is Birdy,' said the elf. It bowed in a sad gesture of humility.

Luna felt sorry for the elf; it looked bedraggled and overworked. The simple cloth rag it wore was dark, not quite black, and tattered. Its ears drooped and it looked thin, even for a house-elf. Her stomach felt a pang of disgust at the thought that she'd been eating food prepared for her by such poor things as Birdy the elf.

'I'm Luna,' she said. 'Were you sent here by Vol--by the Dark Lord?'

'I's told to come when you is awake,' said Birdy with a curtsey. Must be a female elf, then. 'To bring you some clothes to wear and break-the-fast.'

'Oh,' said Luna. Her stomach gave another pang, this time of genuine hunger, and she tried to silence it in her guilt of taking food from this sad house-elf. But she was not Hermione Granger with her house-elf liberation ideas; Luna did not know what else to do so she treated the creature on its own terms. Elves wanted to serve, so she would just have to let Birdy do her job and be courteous to her.

So when Birdy conjured up a simple dark dress for Luna to wear on her walk back to her room/cell, she was grateful. Smiley and Yorkie were waiting for her when she emerged from Voldemort's chamber and Birdy followed a few feet behind. Luna was surprised to find more items inside her room: there was a nice little wooden screen, behind which was a water-closet, a clawfoot bathtub, and her washbasin. A floor-length mirror stood off to the side, as well. The round room was spacious before but now it started to look full.

Birdy did even more for Luna after the Death Eater guards left them: the elf drew some hot water for a bath and left out a towel. As Luna stepped gratefully into the steaming water, relishing the idea of burning off Voldemort's touch and essence, she chattered to herself and to Birdy. For some floating cloud reason, Luna wanted to make friends with the elf. If she was of a more practical bent, she might have remembered that it paid to be friends with house-elves, based on all of Harry's stories about Dobby. But Luna did things just because she did them.

In return the elf was overwhelming in her deprecation to Luna. In the days after their first introduction, Luna learned that Birdy had been assigned to attend to Luna's health and toilette and apparel. One by one, Luna thought, the creatures would come to her.

November, the Tree Moon

By the time the next full moon ascended in cold night glory, Luna was allowed views out the windows; one of the larger pieces of glass in her round rose cathedral window was charmed to transparency so she could press her face up against it and look out. The view was bleak and dark but at least it was something. The fog was permanent around Voldemort's home, fog full of Dementors old and young, guarding the premises. The weeks had whittled away at Luna's defiance of her situation; horror was beginning to feel like habit.

From Luna's side of the building she could see a graveyard with a forest of headstones growing from the slight roll of a hill. A large yew tree loomed there with branches splayed and twisted to disappear into the fog. Luna knew it must be the graveyard that Harry Potter had described after his first duel with Voldemort (Luna had been only thirteen! How long ago it was). It made her feel better to think that one of her friends had seen that very yew tree, silvery in the moonlight, sentinel of the restless dead.

Voldemort did not call for Luna every night. It was more like every three or four nights, though these held no particular pattern in time. It was done, like everything else with the Dark Lord, on his whimsy. Every time she met him he threatened to kill her.

'If you do not perform well,' he would say, 'you will be dead in the morning.'

'Then you will be missing out,' she would reply. 'I'm still holding back from you.'

It became a game like that. Luna began to realise that Voldemort relished not the killing itself, but the wielding of his power over her. He liked to have absolute control over whether she lived or died, whether she suffered or laughed. What he did not know was that the source of true happiness came from within. It was a tiny flame that she kept sheltered through the torturous hours with him. It became the source of her intrigue; she knew that Voldemort sensed the inner light within her and like a destructive, malefic little boy, he wanted to snuff it out. Not by killing her, but by breaking her.

'Little Luna Lovegood,' he whispered one night into her cold ear. 'You have become my puzzle. A relief for my mind.'

Some men liked to do crossword puzzles, or read mystery novels, or play with Chinese trick-boxes, or take apart machines. Voldemort liked to unravel people, string by string. Luna was the Gordian knot.

Conversely, she learned things from him and about him. He muttered to himself a lot, as crazy people under stress are prone to do, and Luna had listening ears. She gathered that Voldemort was unhappy with the general competence level of his Death Eaters; only Snape and a few others he seemed to hold in any kind of regard.

There were other, smaller things that Luna picked up. The Dark Lord had a habit of clenching and unclenching his left fist when he was worried, upset, or reigning in his temper. He was an astute judge of human nature; his focus was, naturally, on using his acuity to find weaknesses and exploit them. He was merciless and Luna had yet to see Voldemort do anything for a reason other than manipulation.

Yet there were other things, too. Voldemort had a sense of humour. Luna might have guessed this from her first meeting with him: he wanted to be entertained by her, that was why he'd let her live. That meant a capability of amusement. But as she spent more time with him, more nights, she learned about him. If Voldemort was in a talkative mood, the stories he told about his Death Eaters could be downright hilarious and have even Luna breaking into unwitting laughter. He took himself very seriously, and his own self was a subject that could not be mocked, but all else was fair game.

Luna, whose perceptions ran beyond appearances, sometimes thought she caught a glimpse of what she called the 'real' Voldemort: a man who was brilliant, ambitious, and scared to death. Scared of death.

These were mere hunches on her part, intuitions guided by dreams and vague energetic senses when he was off-guard. But it was enough to give her hope that somewhere, Voldemort had an Achilles heel, a break in his monster ego, and she might exploit it and widen it and give the Dark Lord over, trussed up like a holiday bird for Harry Potter and the Order. Fantasies. But Luna wondered if Fate had not set up her current situation for her so that she might learn that life was not all ideas. Sometimes you had to take an idea, an intuition, and make it tangible. Reality was not Luna Lovegood's strong point, but she was learning. She learned it from Voldemort himself, ultimate realist that he was.

When she lost confidence in herself or got distracted, she imagined the look she wanted to see on Voldemort's white face when she betrayed him. Then she locked away her imaginings so that Voldemort would not find them as a Legilimens. He did not pry deeply into her mind as he did during her first interrogation. Luna had been a prisoner for months and thus had nothing she was trying to hide. She also never lied to Voldemort. If he asked her a question, she answered in her forthright manner, never giving him a reason to think her suspicious.

Because of Luna's non-threatening behaviour over the weeks, she was allowed little privileges. She had Birdy, who attended to Luna as her permanent house-elf and cleaned the room. She had ample reading material, much of it on the Dark Arts; Voldemort probably wanted it to seep into her mind and corrupt her. That was how much he knew.

With most of the Dark Arts books, Luna read them backwards looking for the 'uber-text' that her father said was in most books. You had to count every fifth letter, or every seventh, or whatever the author chose, and then there were hidden messages. Luna knew it was the case with the Daily Prophet, so she tried the theory on the books Voldemort gave her to read. So far she'd discovered that 'Mother Maid hype on lotus King.' That was from 'Vampirism through the Ages.'

When Voldemort gave her a book on demons, with a special section on something called a succubus, a female sex-demon, Luna wondered if he was trying to tell her something.

Some days she was allowed to dine with her ex-professor Snape on days when neither were called by Voldemort. It was one of these days in late November that found Luna sitting across from Snape in the big dining-room. The great shining wood table held about twenty people but it was set for just three tonight, although Voldemort did not show. His place at the head of the table loomed empty; Snape was seated on the right of it and Luna on the left. They ate in silence until Luna mentioned that wizarding Christmas crackers actually contained prophecies put out by the Ministry of Magic.

Snape sighed at her. 'No, Miss Lovegood, they don't. That's ridiculous.'

'My father discovered the conspiracy,' Luna said. 'They use old prophecies, ones that can be taken off the shelf because the subjects have died, and put them in the crackers. That's because history always repeats itself.'

Snape twisted his mouth but did not contradict her further. Instead he took some of his wine, a rather large gulp, and swallowed it. 'How are you?' he asked.

'I like this fish,' Luna said, spearing a piece of perfect flaky white meat with her fork. 'It's good.'

'I don't mean the fish. How are you?' Snape raised his eyebrows and glowered at her. Luna felt like she was a student again and had answered a question incorrectly.

'Oh,' she said. 'I'm all right, I suppose.'

'I've no right to ask, but - you have a certain look. I recognize it. He's not making you entertain him by playing board games all evening, is he.' Snape said it as a statement, not a question.

Luna shook her head. She was a little surprised that Snape did not already know about her role, but she'd only begun contact with the shifty former Potions Master a few weeks ago. Prior to that she had not seen him since their Occlumency lessons; she wondered if he had been off on some errand or mission for Voldemort. It was too awkward, talking about this with Snape, but her heart did yearn for a confidante. 'No,' she settled for saying. 'No, it is not that sort of thing.'

'I'm sorry,' Snape said quickly, then masked it by wiping his mouth with a napkin. 'He is becoming more human, of course.'

'I know,' said Luna, and oh, did she know. Voldemort was more of a man than he'd been in years. She had the bruises in some out-of-the-way places to prove it.

'He will not be joining us for dinner this evening,' Snape said. 'Something's come up.'

Luna waited, hoping Snape would elaborate. When he did not, she asked him. 'Do you know where he is?' A tone was hidden in her voice at the query, a tone she did not like, a tone that was almost concern.

Lowering his eyes to his fine black brocade napkin, discarded off to the side of his finished plate, Snape sighed again. He looked old beyond his thirty-something years. 'The Order of the Phoenix,' he said in a quiet voice. 'The Dark Lord has set a trap for them.'

Luna's eyes fluttered wide. A battle, raging in places unknown, and the outcome could change her life one way or the other. She closed her restless eyelids. If only she had the Sight! For the first time in months she yearned for a duel, to take a stand, to shoot curses from her wand. And she had learned some wicked new curses in her time within the Dark Lord's custody that would knock the socks off the Death Eaters if they were turned against them. Luna knew she could do it. Even Hermione would be surprised.

But, no good. Luna could not fight for the Order from here. Her wand was Merlin-knew-where, and then another feeling invaded her heart, a perverse wish that she might see Voldemort again. If Harry Potter killed him this time, then she would be - inner disgust rose up like a thick blob of gelatin - she would be lost. Her self-appointed task of seducing Voldemort into complacency and then betraying him would be made impossible. All of Luna's sacrifices and mental training would have been for naught. A deep, twisted part of her wanted Voldemort to win this battle of his, to justify everything she had done. If he was that dangerous, then Luna could rest well knowing that she'd had no choice in letting him use her as he did.

If Voldemort was defeated this time around, Luna would be left standing and haunted and forever unredeemed. The unpleasant and unfamiliar inner conflict was like two great weather fronts colliding inside Luna's airy head. Well, at least she was with Snape, who must be even more conflicted.

Two peas in a pod, they were, sitting at the Dark Lord's table in the absence of their master.

Following the course of fish, a salad appeared, but neither Snape nor Luna was hungry anymore. They sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts, but both skirted around the main subject, Voldemort, in spite of themselves. Voldemort was a black hole, attracting all things to him, unable to be avoided. His pull over the minds he touched was inexorable.

Then Luna could not hold it in anymore. 'Who do you want to win the battle?' she asked. 'Are we bugged?'

'What?' Snape said, confused by her double-barrelled question.

'Sorry. Are we being listened to? Does he spy on his own house?'

'Not in this room, as far as I am aware,' Snape replied. 'He's grown complacent about his home territory.'

'Yes...' Luna said. 'He has.' She licked her lips. 'So who do you want to win the battle?'

'Is there a question about it?' Snape said. His black eyebrows knitted together as he gazed at her. His eyes, blacker than his hair, looked puzzled still. 'I do not risk my life for nothing. Why, Miss Lovegood? Do you have mixed feelings about the outcome of this battle?'

'Of course not,' Luna said, automatically guarding her mind against Snape's potential intrusion, seeking the truth of her response. Yet Snape was the only one she could talk to about mixed loyalties, the one who had been there himself. The one who walked the fine line of trust. 'It's just - sometimes I - I can't imagine life without Voldemort anymore. If something happened to him I would be glad, but it would be disorientating. I'd feel all adrift.'

A shadow passed over Snape's face. 'I know,' he said. Luna was shocked at the gentle understanding in his tone. It was the last thing she expected from her acerbic professor-Death Eater-spy. 'He affects us all.'

Luna nodded, feeling that she was understood by Snape on some level.

Snape surprised her further by standing abruptly from the table and excusing himself. 'I don't like to sit around waiting,' he muttered. 'Good luck, Miss Lovegood.'

She barely had time to echo her thanks before Snape swept out of the room, leaving Luna alone in cold grandeur, wondering what would become of her lord and master.