𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼: ǟ ʀɛǟʟɨȶʏ ֆɦɨʄȶɨռɢ ȶǟʟɛ ✤ ֆɛʋɛʀʊʂ ҳ օƈ

ȶɦɛ ȶɦɨʀɖ ʀǟʋɛռƈʟǟա

"Do you still believe in miracles?"

Niamh held a shred of her sleeve to Luna's bloodied knee. Luna pushed herself up, wincing as her raw callouses scraped the thawing floor.

She dipped the makeshift cloth into the chilly water, then immediately pressed it back against Luna's wound. A weak smile graced her lips. "I do."

Luna squeaked in pain, a spasm drawing out her body in a rough jerk.

Niamh broke into a sob or cruel laugh to the world. She didn't know at this point.

The Death Eaters had tired of her strength. And turned to what she feared most.

". . . No! She knows nothing!" The shouts and screams rang in her ears continuously throughout the weeks. ". . . nothing! I shared nothing! You must take me in her place . . ."

Struck down, Niamh had fallen onto her bony hips. "Ah!" They dragged away my best friend . . . Extracted a handful of her beautiful hair . . .

"Nn-n-Felicity!" Luna had cried out, choking on her own words as the gates latched. Niamh gazed a puffy eye at the ceiling. Too exhausted to startle with every hit, with every curse and scream above.

The Malfoys were essentially absent. As if tolerating acrimony in their orderly household as they retreated their lives to other, peaceful outings.

It was tragic for their sanity, really.

In the spare times of her presence, Narcissa had gazed a sharp jaw, but dull, defeated dark eyes. A sadness in them, as she turned, and left the two to Bellatrix's clutches.

Lovely and stressed, Narcissa was. A beautiful---and in the times of clouded mind---a spoilt, helpless beauty. Powerless against the disorder taking her house, but escaped easily, shielding her son from the ghastly cries of his classmates.

She had assisted them none but once---expressing gratitude, it seemed.

"It would've been nice to get C.C. a girlfriend," Luna rasped her muse.

"Shhh," Niamh managed, drawing a palm to Luna's forehead. It was sweaty, chilled. But torrid within. Like a fever. Instinctively, she dove a hand into her holed pocket---to find the interior of her fabric. Then she recalled how all her potions great and small lay safely tucked away in the Room's nook. Unused; unseen.

"No, I was really planning for it," Luna continued in spite of herself. "Expanding those tubes you gave me into a park for them. Hearing them sing their duet together on Boxing Day. It would've been so romantic . . ." Luna trailed off, looking at her best friend.

Tears streamed down Niamh's cheeks. Drop by drop they wetted Luna's homemade bandage. Luna's eyes wandered in the silent, stillness of the cold darkness. Months of it.

"Felicity?"

Niamh kept sobbing quietly, her small gasps confined to the space they lived in. Eventually, she looked up. And if Luna could see her, they were inflamed and glassy.

"I'm just afraid," Niamh gasped, her voice quavering. "I've known all along this is real. But now, it's as if I'm finally understanding it. It'll be a miracle to exact everything at once. And now---"

"Believing in miracles is to be afraid," Luna whispered, her voice hoarse as the veins in her throat swallowed tainted air.

"I know," Niamh mused, curving her palm around Luna's bandaged knee to keep the wound warm against the drafts. "I just---Severus's life. Your life. It's on the edge. If they broke your Occlumency, we'd all be dead. And with it Harry and the future of peace. But look what they'd done, they'd done just because they can!" She tenderly gestured to Luna's broken, limp arm.