The Witching Hour (Harry Potter/Twilight Crossover)

Prologue:

PROLOGUE:

It was cold and damp and the air was stale. A thin girl was huddled in the corner, hugging her knees. The overalls she wore were dirty and torn, and her long hair was knotted. Even when the cellar door crashed open, the girl didn't move, didn't even jump, just continued to sway from side to side, her eyes half closed and dreaming, not quite all there, off somewhere with the wrackspurts.

A tall, pale boy with rather pointed features approached. His wand, lit at the end and held tightly in a bony, trembling hand, was carefully trained on the girl. "You need to get up," the boy hissed at her. His voice was harsh, but the expression on the boy's face was terrified.

The girl stirred, her large, clear eyes blinking owlishly. "Up!" The boy demanded, again, and the girl stood, her face almost eerily blank. The boy prodded her, gently, and she started moving towards the cellar door. She walked in a slow, floating fashion, like a weed swaying underwater, drifting along at a pace that obviously upset the strained, scared boy, and he kept trying to prompt her to move faster.

The boy led her to a large dining room where a serpentine figure lounged upon a massive throne. The pale boy bowed hurriedly, his actions serving to hide his bleak, terrified expression. The girl stood straight, looking around at her surroundings with an admirable calm, only the careful working of her throat betraying her fear.

"How nice of you to join us," hissed the monster on the throne, a smile curling on his lipless mouth. The girl didn't respond, and the Dark Lord's smile grew more sinister. "You were a member of Potter's little club... Tell me- do you have any idea where Harry Potter is, or what he is doing?"

"No, I haven't," the girl's voice was dreamy, her words slightly lisped. The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, his crimson eyes fixating on the girl's, and her serene expression scrunched to one of pain as he plundered her mind. When he retreated, she sagged to her knees, looking shaken and lost for the first time since entering the room, and she pressed a thin hand against her temple.

The Dark Lord scowled down at her then waved a hand in the direction of the pale boy. "Draco," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "see if you can't... encourage her to remember something."

The boy, Draco, assumed a look of twisted self-loathing as he turned to face the girl, raising his wand. "Crucio," he basically whispered, and though the intent behind the curse wasn't strong, it was enough to make the girl fall to the ground, ear-splitting screams tearing from her throat.

The time the girl was under the torture curse seemed to stretch forever, and when her screams finally stopped, Draco had to carry her limp, twitching body back down to the cellar, placing her on the hard ground with a surprising gentleness. Draco was halfway to the cellar door when the girl spoke.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice hoarse from screaming. A surprised, insecure expression flickered across Draco's face, though he schooled his face into a blank mask before he turned slightly so his eyes could meet hers.

"You're welcome... Luna."