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Draco paced the dungeon as the light from Bellatrix's wand faded from the stairwell. His hands, knotted into his hair, pulled hard at the roots as he fought to keep himself from being violently ill in front of the pale wisp of a witch who was slowly picking herself up off the damp floor. Draco could already see the residual tremors in her arms and legs, a twitch in her face— the results of prolonged exposure to the cruciatus curse.
"Well…" Luna rasped, catching herself on the bars of her cell as she stumbled toward Draco. "We held our tongues throughout it, but one day we'll laugh about it."
Draco whirled on her, his eyes wide and full of anguish. "Lu, how can you possibly say that? I just had to stand by and watch you get tortured! By my aunt, of all people! How could you possibly consider ever laughing about this?"
In the dank gloom of the dungeon, Luna's hair nearly glowed as she hummed a nonsense tune, leaning her head against the bars as she reached through to catch his hand in hers. Draco accepted the touch, wrapping her tiny and trembling hand in his and willing his own warmth into her. She was always so cold, and now he couldn't offer her any comfort except for this.
"The war won't be forever, my dragon." Luna whispered. "We'll make it through to the other side, and one day we'll laugh about how it took you until long after this moment to admit that you love me."
Draco's grip tightened on Luna's hand even as he paled even further with panic, his mouth gaping as he scrambled after his lost thoughts for a believable contradiction. Luna just smiled at him, pulled her hand out of his gently, and retreated to the far corner of her cell just as Draco's mother called down the stairs.
"Draco, come quickly. The snatchers have brought someone to us, and they claim it's Potter. You're needed to positively identify him."
As Draco backed away from Luna, not breaking her gaze, she smiled at him sweetly.
"You'll do the right thing, Draco. I'll see you on the other side of the war, so we can laugh again."