Characters and Pairings: Luna/Draco, others
Warning (highlight to view): For a goblin tale involving death, a brief moment of violence, and an unforgiving Luna.
Word Count: 2052
Summary: Inspired by a goblin legend, Luna restores the balance of her heart.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling, and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made from and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by the posting of this fic.
Author's Note: Thank you, arynwy, for beta'ing. This fic follows Meeting the Moon.
It is, perhaps, odd to be thinking about goblin tales after making love to a wizard, but Luna's thoughts have been very much taken up of late by concerns unusual to her. It seems only natural that she might reflect upon unfamiliar stories while feeling unfamiliar things and after having worked unfamiliar magic. The goblin story she is dwelling on now was told to her by Griphook while he convalesced at Shell Cottage; it concerns revenge. Luna remembers it now, happy that she was able to share it with her father before his heart gave out after the stresses of the war so weakened him.
We goblins may not be permitted to carry wands, but we do possess magic of our own, particularly connected to the making of things.
The story that you have asked me to tell is not a complex one: Among my kind, there was one known as Grapplegore, who desired the beautiful Breaktree. As is customary, Grapplegore sought his friend Irontwister's assistance in the wooing of Breaktree, only to be betrayed by him. Enraged and grieving, for there is no divorce among goblinkind, Grapplegore set about creating a mighty ax. Into the creation of this ax he poured his great longing for Breaktree. When he had completed it, he found in his hands an ax to be coveted and sought to ease his suffering by seeking the praise of the goblins of his hall.
When Grapplegore displayed his mighty ax, all fell silent and stared, including Irontwister, who confessed to having never seen so fine an ax. His longing for it was so great, in fact, that he left Breaktree's side to entreat Grapplegore to make him a wedding present of it. Grapplegore did more than refuse his once-friend. He revealed Irontwister's deceit to all present. Rather than cringing in his shame, Irontwister fell to begging before Grapplegore, and when his pleas went unheeded, and the mocking of him became too clamorous, he followed Grapplegore from the hall.
This unseemly behaviour continued for days, days during which Irontwister did not eat, did not drink, did not sleep—and most importantly to Grapplegore, during these days, Irontwister did not visit Breaktree. Grapplegore, who had remained silent all this time, grew bored with listening to Irontwister's entreaties; to escape him, Grapplegore led him down into the deepest depths of the underhall until Irontwister was too weak even to crawl after him. This was when he again deigned to speak to his once-friend.
"Do you wish this ax?"
In a hoarse whisper, Irontwister said, "You know I do."
"Then you have only to claim it, and it's yours." With these words, Grapplegore placed the ax high upon a stony outcropping and left Irontwister grovelling on the ground before it—where he died, longing for something that he could not have.
And so, balance was restored in Grapplegore's heart.
Grapplegore's true creation, Luna reflects, as Draco stares down at her, was that of a killing longing, rather than a murderous ax. She likes the thought of it, even if she's not entirely accepting of Griphook's notion of a balanced heart.
"What shall we call him?" Draco asks, stroking her hair.
Oh, that's right. We were speaking of names. Luna likes the name Hyperion. In myth, his father was the sky and his mother, the earth. The implied balance—and she supposes that balance is everything—of his creation appeals to her.
Luna smiles, thinking of how she's tipped the scales in her favour that evening. "You're so certain of a boy?"
Draco smirks. "Of course, and I like the name Scorpius for him."
"Of course you do," Luna says. "I like the name Scorpius Hyperion for a boy."
"Scorpius Hyperion Lovegood-Malfoy?"
Luna is sceptical and raises an eyebrow.
"No, I suppose I'm not keen to hyphenate, but I thought you'd want to."
"I'm not Ginny. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy will do nicely—if we do have a boy, of course."
"Agreed," Draco says, and his grin is breathtaking, but Luna finds breath enough to celebrate their decision with him.
Later, watching Draco sleep, Luna feels certain that he'll be an excellent father to their child. She only wishes that "Hyperion" could be a direct descendant of Draco's. She sighs and tells herself, again, that the fact that their child will be of Draco's bloodline will have to suffice. Tracing a path from Draco's brow to his fingers by way of a Markless arm, she's glad that her rituals have been successful in spite of their dangers.
Undoing the Morsmordre had almost killed Draco, but he had been willing to do whatever she'd wished to prove his love to her.
It was worth the risk, Luna thinks, twining her fingers through Draco's and smiling again as she drifts off to sleep.
"I don't understand why Father was so disturbed by our news."
"It was rather unexpected," Luna says, embracing Draco.
"He seems happier about the Snapes' pregnancy—"
"Oh, that really should be 'Hermione's' pregnancy, shouldn't it be?"
Luna kisses Draco's cheek and sets about peeling vegetables. As she knew he would, he leaves off complaining about his father and comes to help her.
Domesticating him was a breeze.
Hermione's expression is thunderous when she visits Luna not long after having seen Draco's bare arm.
"I've done the research. Removing Draco's Mark would have necessarily rendered him infertile."
"Oh, yes. It did."
"But . . . but you're pregnant."
"I am, yes."
"How?" Hermione demands, and Luna is certain that Severus and Lucius have been rather more forthcoming about their ritualistic behaviour in the Forbidden Forest than she'd expected—not that this matters, of course.
A pregnant witch in love with two men is hardly going to allow herself to believe more than she has to.
Beaming, Luna says, "The texts cautioned against allowing a pregnant witch to be a part of the ritual. I was very fortunate that things worked out the way I'd hoped, and so was Draco. Isn't it wonderful? Our children will grow up together."
Hermione's frown eases from her face. "That . . . that was an awful risk you took," she says, assuming, as Luna has meant for her to, that Luna was pregnant before the reversal ritual.
They pass the remainder of the afternoon shopping for baby things.
Malfoy is not so easily gulled, and from his gentle treatment of her, she knows that she's guessed right: Lucius has always wanted more children.
"You really must allow me to care for you," he tells her. "We both know the baby is mine."
"You're a very strange sort of grandfather," is Luna's only reply.
Severus comes to her next. He says nothing, only glowers at her while she's tidying up her sewing things.
Luna smiles pointedly at him and asks, "Are you excited about becoming a father?"
She feels the slight push of his mind against hers and thinks thoughts about babies, imagining, in particular, how interesting Severus and Hermione's twins will look.
"I do hope that nothing goes wrong. Perhaps you should make Hermione rest more. You know how she is."
Severus leaves her without a word.
Narcissa is next. She's immune to Luna's charm having never liked her.
"What have you done to Lucius?"
"Lately, only been grateful for his help." Luna actually means this, which Narcissa can clearly discern.
She's confused by it.
"He isn't eating. He doesn't seem happy about our grandson."
"Granddaughter," corrects Luna.
"Oh, how could you possibly know that?"
Luna smiles. It isn't a sweet expression, but it's enough to drive Narcissa to her husband's side. Joining Draco on the sofa by the window, they begin a discussion about the best placement of the tree house they've been envisioning.
"He's not even born yet," snaps Malfoy.
"Oh, but children grow up and leave you before you know it, or so I'm told, so I want to enjoy every moment."
It's not an ax that Luna is envisioning but a knife; as she twists it, Malfoy winces.
She's becoming bored with his letters and glances and comments, and she feels as though Narcissa requires a distraction because her child, Luna decides, will have only the one mother.
"I'm so happy for you," she tells Malfoy and Narcissa, with Draco by her side. "How wonderful that you're expecting, too!"
Rudolpho is a wonder. He's been well worth every Galleon. That he had Narcissa's largesse as a bonus was just icing on his cake.
The slightly haunted look about Narcissa's eyes is lovely, Luna decides, but she likes the pain that she reads in Malfoy's expression so very much more.
I wonder what Grapplegore would have thought of it?
Draco is on his way home and Narcissa is with Rudolpho—Luna has made time to write to him about his impending fatherhood—when Malfoy finds Luna alone in the library.
"This is your doing," he says, his wand at her throat.
"As I recall, you participated freely in the fucking." She does not struggle.
Malfoy puts his hand on her belly. "This child is mine. It cannot be my son's—just as Narcissa's child cannot be mine."
Luna frowns. "Your logic doesn't work. If you can't get Narcissa pregnant, then how could you possibly—"
"It was the Dark Lord, a punishment!"
"Really?" Luna asks, although she knows about the curse.
Hermione is terribly indiscreet after drinking, and Luna never forgets anything.
"Luna, why are you doing this to me? Do you even love my son?"
"Father! What the hell do you think you're doing? Let her go!" Draco shouts.
"Stay out of this, Draco. You don't understand."
Luna turns to her lover and wills her eyes to fill with sadness. "Oh, Draco, it's so awful. Your brother isn't your father's child, and what with all the wine," Luna stops to gesture at the bottles on a small side table, one of which she artfully spilled so that the wine bled all over the books before Lucius arrived—"I think he's gone a little mad in his grief." She turns back to Malfoy. "It's all right, you know. Your grandchild is yours."
She doesn't know the spell with which Draco defends her, but it takes almost an entire day for the sensation of Malfoy's hands around her throat to dissipate.
"We can't leave. He'll follow us," Luna tells Draco later.
They're at the Ministry in the DMLE and surrounded by high-ranking Aurors. She's somewhat surprised by all the fuss; she never imagined that Draco would be so public about matters.
He loves me, I suppose.
"Well, if he's not sent to Azkaban for this, we can't stay, either. I won't have him hurt you."
"I won't leave."
"Luna," Harry says, "Malfoy's—"
"Draco," Luna interrupts. "Oh, oh, I'm sorry. It's just that I want you to be friends," she says, laying a hand on her belly, "and friends call each other by name."
They're smart, her boys; in a matter of moments, they're shaking hands.
Beaming at them, Luna thinks about names, particularly his name. There is no "Lucius" to her; there's just Malfoy. Evil men don't deserve names of their own; this principle is one that Griphook taught her by way of another rather enlightening story.
Goblins without names are as good as dead in the underhalls.
It's the worst sort of revenge, really, to steal a man's name, and Luna has seen to it that Malfoy's name will not be given to Narcissa's bastard; it's amazing how interested in other people's affairs Rita Skeeter continues to be.
A killing longing would have been more poetic, Luna thinks, as she watches Draco and Harry, but Malfoy isn't half the romantic he believes himself to be.
"Betcha can't wait to give this one a little brother or sister," says Harry, in an obvious attempt to make nice with Draco.
"Oh, I don't know," Luna says, "I quite like the idea of a small family, don't you, Draco?"
He leans down to kiss her. "I want what you want, Lu."
Luna smiles, and her smile is sweet as she considers the little moon child growing inside of her.
It was necessary to undertake unfamiliar magic to ensure the sex of her child; her revenge would not have been complete had she borne Draco a son—and Draco's hopes notwithstanding, she knows that he'll dote upon their daughter.
After all, what could be more natural?