Luna has never been at such a colorful funeral. She is on a hill belonging to the Malfoy estate, and the sun has begun to set. Soft hints of pink and orange follow the rising sun, and peacocks prance around showing off their feathers a few feet away. As she watches the casket being lowered to the ground she thinks of how interesting the wood carvings are. She is not quite sure what the Celtic like knots etched into the wood mean, but she is sure it is of a traditional nature.
One word Luna would use to describe this scene would be beautiful; a perfectly beautiful funeral for the perfectly beautiful Narcissa Malfoy.
One word Luna would not use to describe this scene would be elegant. She would not use this word, because the people who are typically known for radiating elegance are too raw with emotion to radiate much of anything.
Lucius Malfoy stands in a trance over Narcissa's grave, and his grey eyes are dull in the morning light. Luna wonders if she has ever seen them sparkle, and then she remembers she had. Every time Narcissa Malfoy would enter a room Lucius's eyes would light to life. She remembers the dark cellar; she remembers him broken and throwing her bowls of food. She remembers him sobbing; she remembers the only time Lucius ever seemed anything but a mess was when Narcissa was down in the cellar with him, a comforting presence. Luna was never afraid of the man unless he stood with his other half. They were quite the team and one without the other always seemed incomplete. Narcissa lies in a coffin now, and Lucius is undone. She can tell in his rigid state, in his sunken bones, in his limp hair, in his dying eyes, in the way he crouches over the casket.
Draco stands next to his father. He is not crying, Luna did not expect him to; not in front of people that is, not in front of her. But, for all the effort Draco uses to keep that indifferent mask on tight, she can still see the red that lines his eyes. She imagines him curled in a tight ball alone in his room with tears lining his face. Draco is not the definition of spoiled brat as many of her friends would believe. She knows he feels pain, she knows he is feeling pain now. Professor Snape stands beside Draco, and Draco is as skinny as he is. This concerns Luna.
She supposes she will have to feed Draco as well.
The prospect of conversing with Draco, of handing him apples, scares her. She remembers his face during her questioning. She remembers his impassive expression, the expression he wears now. She remembers him flying curses, she remembers the sneers.
"Go on Draco try it, it's fun to watch them squirm."
She remembers, she remembers, she remembers.
This does not define him. His actions during battle do not define him. They are actions of survival. Yet, Luna still flinches in the hallway when he comes near. She still hides in bathrooms when she sees the glint of his blond hair. It had sent her into shock when she first saw Draco in her charms class. She couldn't understand why he was there, why he was at Hogwarts. Later she realized that he could not repeat year seven with Hermoine or Harry or Ron because he was standing trial. He must repeat the year now while Luna only has Neville and Ginny for protecting. But Luna does not need protecting. Luna does not let fear win.
She supposes that is why she is here.
She heard of Narcissa's death, and the thought of the Malfoy's had sent shards of hot ice into her gut. So she decided to pay her respects. Fear would not stop her from honoring the woman who saved Harry's life. She loves Harry, and so she will love Narcissa. She will try to love Draco too, and Lucius. Luna tries to love everyone.
Snape is continuously giving Luna odd looks.
She imagines he is confused as to why she is here, since she is the only one present other than Lucius, Draco and the Professor himself. She decides to clarify her reason and skips up to him, dancing around puddles as she makes her way.
"Good evening Professor."
"Lovegood, following me now are you?" His eyebrow forms a perfect arch of inquiry.
"Oh no, nothing like that. It would be a bit silly of me, since I'm to see you for detention later on."
"Quite," He looks her up and down in a very condescending manner, "may I ask what you are doing then?"
Luna wonders what her professor means by his question paired with his assessment of her current wardrobe. Perhaps he is mocking her choice of clothing? Luna looks down at herself. She is wearing a dress of deep blue, covered in silver stars. Her hair is down and drapes to her waist. She has dandelions in her hair and dragonfly wings hanging from her ears. She tried to look elegant for Narcissa's funeral, because Luna wanted to pay tribute to Narcissa who had radiated elegance. If she deciphered Snape's look correctly, then she has not pulled elegant off as well as she thought she had.
That's alright, she thinks, it's the thought that counts.
Luna loves muggle sayings, they are very inspirational.
"Miss. Lovegood?"
Luna forgot to answer his question. Luna does this frequently: "Oh, I'm here to thank Mrs. Malfoy for saving Harry's life. Harry is a dear friend of mine and it was very courageous of her."
"I hadn't noticed," Snape deadpans, "Where is the golden boy? Off gallivanting no doubt."
Luna wrinkles her nose, "Harry? He's very busy. He's training to be an auror you know?"
"You don't say."
"He paid for mother's funeral." Suddenly Draco is before them and it gives Luna such a fright that she jumps. His eyes are grey as steel and his cheek bones could cut through metal. He seems taken aback from Luna's reaction, and a bit hurt. Snape seems curious.
"What is it Lovegood? Did the Nargals get you?" Snape sneers. Luna is more offended by his lack of knowledge than by his jab.
"Nargals more inspire confusion rather than fear, Professor. Hello Draco." She acknowledges Draco because she is afraid of Draco and Luna has no more room in her heart for fear.
"Loony." It takes Draco a moment to realize what he has said, but by then it is too late. Luna sees his cringe and forgives him.
"I am very sorry for your loss, she was a remarkable woman." Luna reaches across and squeezes Draco's arm in comfort, because the idea of touching him makes her skin crawl and her skin should not be crawling at the prospect of something so silly.
Draco stiffens from the contact and furrows his brow, "Thanks."
"When your father's back to being your father again, tell him the funeral was lovely. I've got to be off now. Neville said he'd help me with my herbology project. Screechsnaps are ever so moody aren't they? I can never put in the correct amount of dragon manure. I always send the poor plant into a tizzy I'm afraid."
"Uh, yeah. Right, well, I wish you luck with that then." Draco shuffles his feet awkwardly.
"Why thank you Draco. Luck is such a rare entity these days, it's very sweet for you to wish away luck only to give it to me." She smiles brightly, and this interaction is not forced. Luna has always appreciated the gift of luck.
She waves to Draco, and then her professor, before she turns to apparate.
"Lovegood."
Luna pauses. "Yes Professor?"
"Detention tonight. Eight sharp, and do not be late."
"I would never dream of it sir."
Luna is off with a flip of silver stars and a resounding pop. /p
Luna loves the dungeons. The walls hum and the floors whisper. It is talking to me she thinks Hogwarts is speaking. True the message isn't always a happy one, nor altogether nice, but it's a message none the less and if Luna is good at one thing it's listening. She likes to run her fingers over the cobbled stone, she likes to press her ear to the floor. She likes to press herself against the wall. Before she understands what she is doing, she finds herself in a handstand. At first she is baffled at herself, but then she realizes that this way she can feel the walls buzzing and hear the floor speaking at the same time. Of course she will never be able to make out words. Hogwarts does not speak in any specific language. Hogwarts speaks through emotion. The dungeons feel lonely, Luna thinks. They are much like her potions professor.
Suddenly the dungeons groan as a door is slammed open and Snape is growling. "What on earth are you doing?"
From Luna's point of view the professor is upside down in his classroom doorway. His scowl is a smile from this angle, and Luna finds herself enjoying the view.
"Hello Professor."
"Stand on your feet when you address me."
Luna throws her legs over her head and gracefully lands on her feet. "Hello Professor."
Snape places his thumb and index finger over the bridge of his nose. "Do I want to know the reason for your tardiness Miss. Lovegood?"
"Am I late?"
"You are."
"Oh dear, I do apologies Professor. The walls were extra talkative today and I couldn't help but listen. I do believe time slipped away from me."
They are at a standstill now, Luna looking ever innocent and Snape quite perplexed. He is unsure on how to handle the situation. He could always take away house points, but that never seems to ruffle the girl. Nothing does. He sighs and steps to the side.
"Do come in, if you're quite done with your conversation."
It is sarcasm, but Luna smiles anyway because Snape's comment means he is listening. She skips into the classroom and Snape sweeps in behind her. The classroom seems darker than it usually is, and yet warmer. Candles that line the walls are lit and glow a soft orange, casting shadows on desks, on chairs, and on her Professor— her Professor who walks into his supply closet, digging for something he deems horrible she imagines. Luna is excited for whatever he dregs up, sure she will find whatever it is very interesting and not gross at all. Luna enjoys the uncanny, the odd, the decrepit, the weird.
She enjoys Snape.
There is something about his presence that comforts Luna. She has always felt safe when he is near, even when she was a first year and he barked at her house mates, even when he was headmaster and sent her into the forbidden forest for detention, even then. In her second year, when the bullying had reached an all-time high, she used to follow Snape in the hallways whenever she could, because the other students would not dare torture her in front of 'the bat.'
Luna never saw Snape as a bat.
Bats are small, they are eerie, they are harsh. Snape was none of those things to Luna. Snape is sly, he is quiet, he is soft; especially in this light. His harsh lines seem to fade in the candlelight, the scar on his neck is less shiny and pink, his hair less greasy and his body less lean. Snape is soft, he cares, and he loves. He loves more than Luna could ever hope to love. She wants to learn how to love like Snape does, like Ginny does, like Ron does, like Neville does. . .
Suddenly a large glass beaker full to the brim of frozen eggs is placed on the table in front of Luna. Luna slowly looks up at her Professor who flicks his wrist causing many other, smaller, glass beakers to materialize in front of her eyes. Luna immediately applauds.
"Wonderful Professor."
Snape frowns, "What are you on about now Lovegood?"
"I have always loved wandless magic, and you do it ever so elegantly. Professor, you wouldn't suppose you could teach me?"
Snape opens his mouth, and then closes it. He once again cannot tell if the brat is making fun of him. She stands there in his cold, dark classroom with a dreamy smile on her face. Her eyes are full of hope and her hair radiates more light than his candles. She never changed out of that dratted dress, and the flowers are still placed in her hair. She looks like a woodland creature, and she certainly does not belong down here with him.
He decides she is not making fun; he also decides to ignore her.
"These are called Ashwinder eggs. Your class is to use them in their next potion. They need to stay frozen, or they will burst into flame. Do attempt to place two in each of the smaller glasses without melting them if you'd like to keep your hands from burning."
Luna ducks her head down to get a closer look at the eggs, and from the other side of the table the beaker makes her eyes look even larger. She is full of curiosity, and Snape wonders how he is to make this child fear him. He has given up on the concept of hate, because he does not think Luna can hate. At least she did not bring him food this time.
"What potion are we to make Professor?"
Snape sneers, "I guess you'll find out, won't you?"
Luna stands once more with a look of understanding, "Yes, I suppose I will. I've been meaning to work on my patience, thank you Professor."
Again, Snape believes he should detect a note of sarcasm where there is none. He is done talking to Miss. Lovegood, he gets nowhere with her. Or maybe he gets somewhere; he is just not sure where that somewhere is.
With a sweep of his cloak he makes his way to his desk where he conjures a cauldron and ingredients. He is working on a new version of sleeping draught. Ever since the war Snape dreams of snakes, of harsh flashing spells, of fading red hair, of dulling green eyes. He cannot sleep, and he no longer has a purpose to pour his nights over. The Potter brat is no longer in need of him, and after seventeen long years of dedicating his life to nothing else, Snape is at a loss of what to do.
"Find a new hobby." Dumbledore's portrait had advised
Yes, because protecting Potter was merely a hobby.
To placate the dead old man, Snape began to create a non-addictive substance that allowed him to sleep, or at least attempted to create. But he had the rest of his life to figure it out, he was in no rush. Sleep was a faraway concept to him now, something he had been without for years. A few more wouldn't hurt. He was numb to it all anyhow.
"Oh dear." It is a light, feathery, and unconcerned 'oh dear' yet Snape's head still snaps up.
Luna's table has burst into flames and she is cupping her hand. A cold feeling ice's his veins and immediately Snape disperses the fire with a quick flick of his wrist and is making his way to Miss. Lovegood. He grabs her hand in his and inspects it. It is red and a blister is starting to form in the middle. Snape begins to curse under his breath.
He should have known this would happen. She does not concentrate like his other students, her mind drifts, of course she let the bloody egg defrost. She is incapable of anything that requires an attention span.
"I'm sorry Professor. I was trying to see what the egg was exactly and then it— time got away from me again sir. I'm not so good at time."
Snape is startled because he realizes he is not angry with Miss. Lovegood, he is angry with himself.
"Sit down." He barks and she does. Snape then kneels before her and tries to heal her hand with his wand. Wandless magic is his specialty, but burns are tricky and he is meticulous in his craft. He refuses to leave a scar, to leave her in discomfort. The burn looks more irritated, more red then it ought to on her ivory skin. It makes him all the angrier that he let it happen, which startles him once more because when did Snape start blaming himself for other's stupidity?
"It smells familiar, like sleeping draught, and yet altogether different." She announces which breaks him from his inner tirade.
"Pardon?" He does not stop in his process of healing her fragile, confounded, small, dainty, nuisance of a hand.
"The potion you're brewing. It smells of sleeping draught, but different."
Once he has made sure that he has healed her hand entirely, he stands and brushes off his robes.
"Very astute of you, you may go." She vexes him, and he is frustrated that her foolishness does not concern her. He is frustrated that she was hurt under his watch. He is frustrated that he is so frustrated. Snape vanishes the rest of the eggs and turns to continue with his potion, but before he reaches his desk Luna is speaking once more.
"I want to help."
Slowly he turns, baffled. "You want to help me what, Miss. Lovegood?"
"I want to help you brew."
"I don't need your help," he sneers.
She smiles, "I know you don't need it, I only want to give it."
He is pinching the bridge of his nose for the second time this evening. "Miss. Lovegood, I am brewing a new brand of sleeping draught. It is very temperamental, and I don't need you in line of fire."
Luna stands, pats the Professor on the hand, and skips over to the potion. Before he can stop her she sticks her nose in the cauldron, breathing in deeply. When she emerges she is crinkling her nose. Her hair is sticking up on end from the heat of the brew, and her eyes shine. Snape is now stunned and standing still. What on earth was the twit doing? He is too curious to stop her. She is looking at his ingredients, and now his notes. She smiles as if she has affirmed something in her mind, and then she is taking off her dandelion crown, and then she is throwing the dandelion crown into the cauldron.
He sees her throw it in the cauldron, into his cauldron, into his potion, into his sleeping draught in slow motion. Snape grabs Luna by her wrist and is pushing her behind him before he knows what he is doing. The potion could react badly—she could get hurt.
The potion seems fine. In fact it has turned a lovely shade of yellow and smells of honeysuckle. He is furious.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor," he growls and turns on her. This is the first time Severus Snape has ever seen Luna Lovegood caught off guard.
"I'm not in Gryffindor sir," is her reply.
"Your friends are."
She makes an 'o' with her mouth and smiles. "That was very clever of you Professor. Much more effective than taking it away from my house. I'll think on my actions more next time 'round."
He stops and stares. She is the most infernal thing he has ever had to deal with, and he has taught Neville Longbottom for seven years.
"May I help with your potion now?"
He bangs his fist on the table in frustration and has the pleasure in seeing her jump. So Miss. Lovegood can be surprised he thinks.
"Leave."
She is frowning at him. He cannot handle it.
"Off with you, before I lose my patience." He hisses through clenched teeth. The mantra of she could have been hurt pulsates in his mind. He imagines her unconscious on the floor, her skin the color her hand had just been, blisters bursting. The image of this this creature who offers him food and help dead on his dungeon floor is clawing at him.
He is shaking.
"I— thank you Professor, for healing my hand."
He does not hear her leave, but he feels it. She is gone and Snape runs his hands through his hair, goes for the fire whiskey, and continues to brew.