inspired by the song piledriver waltz by arctic monkeys, for no apparent reason.
i don't own harry potter, or the song, props to j.k. rowling and alex turner.
piledriver waltz.
harry/luna.
"I etched the face of a stopwatch on the back of a raindrop, and did a swap for the sand in an hourglass.
I heard an unhappy ending, & it sorta sounds like you're leaving.
I heard the piledriver waltz, it woke me up this morning."
The sky overflowed with pinprick stars and obvious despair, and it seemed all the beauty in the world fell through the surface and settled on the dank ocean floor.
A boy with black hair – untidier than usual – and eyes the color of trees that haven't yet succumbed to the sorrow stood on the shoreline, water rushing between his toes and soaking the lower legs of his pants. He felt like everything was flashing amber, he hadn't a clue of what he was doing, what he would do next. He wished it was December so he could feel as cold as he wanted to.
A girl, with long, stringy, pale blonde curls walked slowly and serenely towards him. Her eyes were large and silver like hope on Christmas morning, the reflection of a smile on a holiday bauble hanging from a tree.
He wasn't quite aware of what was going on around him, he lived hell today.
He lived hell every day.
"You could use some sleep, Harry."
She spoke in relaxed, dulcet tones, and he turned slowly.
Perceptibly fatigued, yet awake.
"I tried to."
"Daddy always told me that boiled seawater was quite calming, though you have to watch out for the Gulping Plimpies."
Harry smiled. It was a strained, tired, painful smile, but he smiled.
Quite possibly for the first time in weeks.
"You should be resting too, Luna." he said, stifling a yawn. "I can't imagine you got a comfortable sleep while you were staying at that place."
She took a deep breath, her big silver eyes glinting in the jittery moonlight.
"It wasn't that bad. I got everything I needed, and they only used the Cruciatus Curse once. Ollivander got the worst of it, poor man."
She smiled at nothing in particular, staring out at the crashing waves. She was strange, but her mind was her mother, nobody had filled the position for years.
She always chased shadows nobody else could see, and smiled at jokes nobody could hear.
Clandestinely, Harry loved it.
"How's Hermione?" she asked, a bit of concern in her peaceful face.
Harry frowned indirectly, and looked up at the stars.
"Better, I guess."
He felt a warm, soft hand slip into his.
"Feel better, Harry. It's not your fault."
He relaxed slightly. Luna was always so unperturbed; he thought he should take lessons.
"I think the affection Ronald has for her is quite lovely, don't you?" she said quietly, smiling longingly into the breeze.
Harry took another deep breath. "I s'pose. Yeah, it is."
She let go of Harry's hand, and stepped a little further into the surf. The gentle, briny breeze danced with individual tendrils of her hair insipidly, as if the wind had two left feet.
"Love is a curious thing." said Luna, turning her head slightly. "I know it's real though, because Daddy still talks about my mother like a boy on Valentine's Day. For a while, I didn't think it existed."
Harry moved towards her, water drowning his dirty old trainers completely.
"It hasn't got time for me, not with everything going on."
Luna turned around, her white dress swirling around her like crowding snowflakes in January.
Harry loved snow.
"I don't think there are exceptions to it."
Her voice was quiet, but just loud enough that he could hear it. He took both of her pale hands in his.
"You think?"
"No, I'm sure it's more of a fact."
It felt like she had unravelled the universe into smoke, the humid April night dissolving around them.
"I think people are like meteors," she said, her voice suddenly much more mellifluous than ever, "They crash into one another until they collide with someone they can't separate from."
Harry looked into her ocean eyes.
"Harry, I don't want to spiral away from you just yet."
He breathed in her scent.
Sea salt, clean linen, roses.
He wanted to love her – but could he?
The mild twelve o'clock air pitched thoughts in the wind – it almost sounded like it had whispered something to him.
Something like 'it's possible', though there was no way out of life – the boy who lived had a busy one – but maybe once, just for tonight, it sounded nice.
And it was nice, when Luna found her way over to Harry's lips, kissing him in quiet and slow motion. She wished for him to spin her around like the princesses at the balls in Muggle fairy-tales, and for everything to be beautiful, with pumpkins turned into carriages and lovely gowns. She liked the waltz, when she had heard about it.
Though, as dreamy as she was, she knew better. Harry didn't have time to be a prince.
His fingers snaked their way through her pale hair.
Etching the faces of clocks onto windows and raindrops was never quite enough to slow down time.
She wanted to sink deep – deep – deep – deeper down into the ocean she was standing in.
If only she knew, he was wishing the same thing.
Because both of them, with plastic-covered hearts and strange & unfortunate lives, had learned that sometimes things only last for seconds.
Happiness being one of them.