A/N: In honor of Lyra, some pure Linny cat lovers fluff.
Written for R7, S9 of the QLFC.
SEEKER: Write about a magical invention that doesn't work as expected.
TW: N/A
Word Count: 1,079
"It's a what?"
"A self-operating fur vacuum." Luna says, waving the strange tubular object practically under Ginny's nose.
"For cat hair." She replies, cracks a grin.
"Of course! You're as tired as I am about the ridiculous amount of hair Hera leaves around. Not to mention, Ziggy's catching up these days."
"Does it work?"
"I have no idea."
There are days when Ginny marvels at the ideas her girlfriend has. Most of the time, Luna's innovations are heartfelt and clever and turn out far better than expected. This odd shiny black tube is not one of those innovations. Ginny can't quite put her finger on exactly why a wave of unease swells in her chest at the sight of it, but she refuses to let Luna know of it.
"Where does the hair go?" She asks. There is no obvious bag at the end of the tube like the typical Muggle invention.
"Nowhere. And everywhere. I'm not entirely sure myself…" Luna shrugs, her grin still bright. She rarely senses Ginny's apprehension about these things.
"Well, I suppose the best place to try it would be the parlor." says Ginny.
Luna bounces a little where she stands and begins to leave the kitchen, headed towards the parlor. A loud meow stops them in their tracks. Hera has planted her ridiculously fluffy body directly in the doorway.
"Someone wants you to leave her hair right where it is, thank you very much." Ginny laughs.
"Hera, darling, you must let me through! You wouldn't want to forgo dinner, would you?"
"You'd starve her because you can't clean up her fur?"
Hera gives another loud cry as if she knows exactly what they speak of. Ginny bends down and gathers the short-haired dilute calico in her arms, nodding to Luna to go ahead. She whispers to the cat as they follow the blonde woman into the parlor.
"You're going to be very happy to re-cover the area with fur, Hera, as soon as she's done." The cat bats her in the face with a paw in response.
Ginny arrives in the parlor to see Luna standing triumphantly over the chair. The strange object is held just above the surface of the brown loveseat, and for a moment there is silence. Then -
A loud buzzing sound emits from the object. A blast of cat hair comes out of the end that is aimed at the chair. Hera scrambles to free herself from Ginny's arms, scurrying out of the room with an incredibly puffy tail as she leaves.
"What is it doing?" Ginny calls over the sound of the machine, rubbing her arms where the cat has left long scratches.
"I don't know!" Luna replies. The machine is hurriedly switched off.
The chair is buried under a mountain of cat hair. It is all different colors, fur that has not come from either of their cats - Ziggy spends most of his days outside anyway, Ginny doesn't know if he even gets the chance to shed indoors anymore. Luna is glaring at the tube in her hands, as though being strongly disappointed in her creation might make it better.
Ginny makes her way over, places a gentle hand on Luna's shoulder. She is struggling not to smile or laugh about the mess when her lover looks so frustrated about it.
"So…" She starts.
"I thought I'd created it correctly."
Luna's slumped a little where she stands. Ginny has to take a few gasping breaths to push the laughter away again and again, tempted as it is by the insane amount of hair now residing in their parlor.
"Maybe it needs a few adjustments?" Ginny suggests. She knows next to nothing about inventing. (They have a joke that it's why she works in sports and Luna works for money.)
"I've prototyped it a million times. I suppose it's not meant to be." Luna sighs.
"Hera was horrified. Maybe if you turn it on whenever she's around, she won't have the chance to shed." She says, still trying for some levity. Luna finally smiles a little.
"Yes and then we will be swimming in fur."
"At least it won't be her fur!"
They stare at it for another minute or two. Luna is clearly deliberating about whether or not it's worth attempting to recreate, and while Ginny wants to argue that such an object isn't actually necessary when they can get rid of cat fur with a flick of a wand, she won't. Sometimes it's easier to let Luna come to these conclusions by herself.
"Perhaps I should start some tea." Ginny says, touching Luna's hip softly before she heads for the door.
"What will we do about all of this fur?" asks Luna.
"Build another cat."
Luna's magical tinkling laughter follows Ginny to the kitchen. She smiles as she flicks her wand and starts boiling water and assembling tea materials. Hera is seated on the counter, eyes slightly narrowed in anticipation of another attack.
"You're quite safe now, I promise. I very much do not expect that machine to make another appearance, your highness." Ginny says to the cat. She lets Hera stay on the counter, a way of apologizing, she thinks.
"I think I'll trash it." Luna announces as she flounces into the kitchen. "It's hardly worth my time at this point. I was going to ask Hermione if she'd like to try it out, I'm certainly glad I didn't take that risk."
"I'm sorry it didn't work." She says.
"I think there's more to be invented than something that takes care of pet problems."
Ginny pours the tea into their mugs and carries them to the table, sitting down next to Luna. The afternoon sun makes the room warm enough that Hera is curled up beside the sink now, white and grey paws tightly folded over one another.
"Really?" Ginny asks.
"Yes, although I know someone who might be grateful for an improved feeding system." Luna waggles an eyebrow at Hera. "She wants to be served hand and foot, after all."
"That feeder is already perfect." Ginny says, "You're perfect."
"Today's mishap proves otherwise." Luna replies.
"Oh," Ginny shakes her head, "I don't believe so."
She leans in to kiss Luna very gently on the lips.
Some days are built for magnificent adventures and wonderful discoveries. Some days are simply made for sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea and being in love, while several pounds of cat fur sits on the loveseat of one's parlor.