Through the Eye of the Moon
People called it staring. I never stared. In all my life, I have never stared at any one. Staring is pointless, rude and shows lack of interest. I never lack interest in anything. I never stared.
I watched.
Watching is different; you learn things, see things and register them. That's what I do, and I pride myself on it, though others don't think of it as highly as I do. That's how I got the nickname Loony Lovegood, I guess; but I do not mind. They wouldn't understand if I told them.
But I was a watcher, and the best I have met, if I do say so myself. Everything I have ever seen or read I remember and everything I have seen or read I believe. It's not hard to think this way; children do it all the time.
But at Hogwarts, I know everything. I have seen everything. I watch. People don't understand that I understand them. They wouldn't have known unless they lived a day through my eyes.
Every morning I wake in my dorm room. I pull back the royal blue hangings of my bed and walk over to the window next to my dresser. I stand there for an hour as the other girls in my dorm wake up as well and get ready for the day. They're all used to it now, that I can stand by the window and say nothing and not move, like a statue. It's habit for them. But no one knows why I stand there. They wouldn't know why.
Today I can see them clearly in the window and I watch them as I watch the grounds come to wake in the morning. The flowers near the gamekeeper's hut slowly open their petals as Aurora takes the wilting rose from its tiny vase on her nightstand and hangs it with the dozen others over her bed. Then she sets the vase down on the floor of her bed post and leaves the dorm. Outside, a great eagle owl swoops down behind Hagrid's hut. I turn to look at Aurora's vase on the floor. Only I know why she does this.
Aurora's father left her when he found out his wife was a witch. He loved them both, but he was forcibly against magic and the like. He used to always bring Aurora a single rose when he got back from work, saying that they were the closest things that could compare to how beautiful and wonderful his little girl was. Now, at school and every morning, she sets her vase down on the floor because by next morning, another rose might be there. She thinks it's her father, and it reminds her that he still loves her. She has told no one these things.
Only I would know these things because I watch. I know her story because her father's picture is always next to the vase, and it is always facing away from the window; away from the horizon that separates them. She does not want the picture to face the window, because I can see in her eyes that she thinks he'll want to leave again if he sees the outside world.
Then Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, steps out from his hut, stretches, and walks around to the back of his cabin just as Diana comes walking into the dorm for the first time this morning. Her hair is windblown and she has a bit of straw clinging to her skirt. Then she quickly walks to her dresser, brushes her hair, dusts off her clothes and leaves for breakfast. No one asks her where she has been, and no one cares that she wasn't in bed when we all woke up. But I know why, though I never asked.
I watched.
Then, once everyone was finished fixing themselves and left, I would shower and change, not paying attention to what I was doing to myself but paying attention to how the room looked after everyone left.
Aurora's bed is perfectly made, with the bouquet of wilting roses hanging on the wall over her headboard. Diana's bed is made but messily, as she had done it early in the morning when the sun had not yet given her light to see by. And Artemis's bed had the covers turned down and the hangings shut on all sides expect one. Artemis is Diana's twin sister, though they are not identical. No one realizes that they're twins, only that they share the same last name. No one knows, except one person.
Me.
On my way to the Great Hall I meet Ginny Weasley at the foot of the marble staircase. We didn't arrange to meet there, but we did. We said good morning and walked into the Hall together, and then go our separate ways. She was always the kindest person to me, and so I watched her more intently than others.
I sit near the end of my table, never looking down at my plate but always looking up. I needed to only single out the one, luminescent head among the sea of darkness, and then Draco Malfoy, sworn enemy to Harry Potter, would spring to my sight. I never really liked watching him, as he was more of a bumbling, arrogant little git; but today seemed like a special day, and so I took the time to watch him as well.
When the post comes he looks up, almost as if he's waiting eagerly for his eagle owl to land on his shoulder. The owl does come, and it has a package with him: a manila-colored envelop and a single red rose. He takes the letter and puts it into his pocket, but momentarily glares at the rose before giving it silently to Pansy. She stares at it, then at him, but takes it without question. It gets stuffed into her bag before she even gives it a second thought.
When it is time for everyone to leave, I'm one of the last to get up, sitting very still with my eyes very wide, so as to see everything. Draco Malfoy gets up from his table rather quickly and slings his bag over his shoulder. He stalks to the doors and out of the Hall with a swish of his robes, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle close beside him.
I could always tell when Draco Malfoy was frustrated about something; and he was usually frustrated when he received that envelop everyday. His walk was more pronounced than in his second, third and fourth year. He scowled only when people were watching, as if it were too hard to do when he thought people weren't. I knew he would be exceptionally difficult today. Today he'd gotten a rose, and he did not appreciate it. He was not fond of flourishes, this boy.
But by this time I am one of the last ones left at the table, having fallen into my own world and hitting that moment in what people called a 'stupor'. I guess I would get this strange, faraway look in my eyes and they would become very wide and people got the word 'loony' from it.
But then the bell rings and I rise to go to class. And on my way to the marble staircase, I cross paths with three very interesting people: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley.
I don't like Ron, if that is what everyone thinks. He isn't someone who would be able to accept me, whether he knew me or not. And it would be for terms of prejudice or plain dislike. He wasn't meant to be rational. He was meant to take the rationales of the world and replace them with vague glimpses of hope.
But I always watched him with more of a misted look. Why? Because he never got his due. He was one third of the famous three, yet his one third was overlooked only to see Harry and Hermione as two halves to a whole. I had decided, long ago, that I would give him his due. I'd appreciate him.
But none of them looked my way, and we pass each other without a word said between us. At that same moment, Pansy brushes past me, overlooking me as she usually does with most people and heads for the marble staircase. I look to her bag, with its flapping hanging open. The rose is already gone.
The remains of the morning proceed like any average school morning would. Professors preaching, lessons being learned, detentions distributed; nothing out of the ordinary. Oh, but you must know that Diana is late to Charms class! And even into the afternoon her hair is strewn with hay. 'Why the mess?' I ask her. But she looks at me with concealed dismay and only answers politely 'Nothing, Luna. I was just in the owlery'. And no more is said.
By the time lunch descends people are already anxious to get to the Great Hall and chat with friends. I pass the third floor corridor on my way. Filch is standing there, fussing over a vase set in an alcove in the wall. Next to the vase is a rose petal. Just one.
Everyone rushes into the Great Hall. Not I. I linger in the doorway. People are laughing, having fun and what not. But Dean Thomas, the very same Gryffindor as Harry, Ron, and Hermione's, walks in with a rose in hand, beaming slightly at the prospect of such a beautiful gift. The supposed first recipient of the blooming bud is Ginny. Their courtship is common knowledge by now.
He gives the flower to Ginny, and she takes it with a smile and a flip of her hair. Ron leans over to interrogate about the flower. I go over to talk with them.
Hullo, I say. All four of them look up at me, Harry, Ronald, Hermione, and Ginny. Green eyes, brown eyes, and two pairs of clear, blue eyes.
Hullo Luna, Ginny answers.
Good afternoon, Hermione says, smiling.
Hi Luna, Harry replies.
Ron grumbles, eyeing the rose suspiciously.
It is a glorious day, I tell them. The perfect day for Quidditch.
Harry's eyes lighten. Hermione looks out the window, taking my words into account. Ginny shrugs.
Have you ever actually played Quidditch, Luna?
That's Ron speaking. When I look at him he recoils a little bit. I mean to look sympathetic. I guess I look slightly crazy.
I've never been on a broom in my life, I tell him. He doesn't seem to understand.
Then how do you know it is a good day for Quidditch?
I look out the window. The owls are out, I say. And then I say no more.
Hermione has long since retreated to her book bag, rummaging inside it for something. Harry nods approvingly towards me, because he understands a little bit, at least. Ron is at a loss for words.
Okay, he says.
I notice that Ginny is still holding the rose. It's blossom is in perfect bloom, having just opened from its bud without looking too young and feeble. But it is slightly unbalanced.
Where's the other petal?
She frowns at me. What other petal?
I shake my head and walk over to my table. I sit down and watch them from a distance.
The four of them proceed with their conversation, their words too hard to hear over the hum of tête-à-tête echoing around me. The doors open, and Hagrid walks in for the first today. People from all the tables wave and say hi to him, their voices scatter across the hall. But it is silent on the Slytherin's end. They say nothing.
Hagrid stops next to Ginny and Ron.
How yer doing, Weasleys? he booms, clapping each one on the shoulder. But no one answers and I can tell why. Hagrid is not in a good mood today. He looks like it, but his beady, black eyes look haunted rather than joyous. It is Harry who addresses the problem.
What's wrong, Hagrid?
Nothin', Harry. Nothin' at all. Just a bit 'o dry spell for me.
What do you mean?
That was Hermione. She has found the book she was looking for and it lays open on the table in front of her. But her attention is not on its pages, but on her giant of a friend, his feux smile now gone from his beard.
Bin feelin' a little down fer awhile. Nothin' seems to be happening around here, does it?
Harry gives off a cynical laugh. Just wait for the end of the year, he says. Something always happens at the end of the year.
Can't disagree with that, can I? Ah well, life goes on. How about yer DA, Harry? Ya still keepin' with the times, ain't ya?
I reach in my pocket for the gold galleon Hermione Granger gave the DA last year for meeting purposes. Its still cold as ever, after a lull of not being changed. I watch as Ginny taps Hermione on the shoulder, asking her something under Hagrid's arm.
We just haven't had the time lately, Harry tells him. But we'll try.
Good ter hear. Good ter hear. Good news finds its way ter me, don't it? I mean, jus this mornin' a little eagle owl comes flying into me yard, tired as can be. Didn't do nothin' to no one; jus picked 'imself a budding rose as was off.
Harry smiles and Ron shrugs. Putting two and two together really is Hermione's job, but she's talking to Ginny at the moment, and does not hear.
Well, I'll be off then. See ya three later. And Hagrid is gone.
Hey Hermione, do you mind if I use your book? Ginny is saying. I can't hear Hermione's response, but she hands over the great tome to the redhead. Ginny takes it in her hands and takes one more sniff of the aromatic blossom before placing it in the book and closing the heavy cover onto it.
What do you think your doing? Ron cries. I didn't mean for you to kill the thing!
I start to laugh. No, not giggle uncontrollably behind my hand, but really laughing. I caused quite a raucous at the end of my table, for other Ravenclaws sitting near me had stopped talking and were staring at me. I stopped and looked back at them. I returned to watching the Gryffindors.
I'm pressing the flower, Ron. It makes it last longer. But I don't have a book heavy enough, so I asked Hermione if I could use hers.
You're helping her?! Hermione!
Oh, shut up Ron. Your making a mountain out of a mole hill.
Ron says nothing and the bell rings for class.
As I walk down the corridor I find that I am replenishing the steps that Hermione has already taken five seconds before me. She is taking a different route today, and I wonder why. Her next class is Arithmancy, and that is no where near the Divination room. Nonetheless, she is walking swiftly, holding the tome she had out in the Great Hall because it no longer fits in her bulging bag.
And as she hurries on she does not notice Parkinson coming towards her, holding the same great tome in her arms; the Arithmancy textbooks. They knock shoulders in the crowd. They both drop their books, not noticing the other through the sea of black robes. I come up just behind them, as each one bends down to grab the other's book, on accident, of course.
I guess smiles are considered odd as well, because now people stare at me as if being happy is wrong. Oh well. Their loss is my gain.
But look, that's Diana running down the hall. With all those books and things in her arms you'd probably think she was running to class. But no; she may be a prefect, but she is not going to lessons at this time of day. She is going to the library to organize a thousand different things at once, from school events, to Quidditch games, to teacher conferences, to Quidditch strategies. She's no genius, and she is in no running for Head Girl; that spot belongs to Hermione. But her unlimited tasks keep her occupied. Volunteering at all the prefect meetings, becoming teacher's assistants, teaming with Lee Jordan for school matches, and being nominated and chosen for Ravenclaw Keeper and Captain. We hardly ever see her in the dorms anymore. She never even gets to spend time with her twin. We will meet her later; surely we will.
But the bell rings and I'm going to be late for class. I don't even know where I am now. I haven't noticed where my feet have taken me, but I am not in the corridor that I need to be in. It seems that my feet move to what my heart desires, because I have been following Pansy Parkinson for some time now.
I look around wildly as the remaining students flutter about, making it into the classrooms at the last moment. Among them is the dark head of Pansy. She is waiting just outside the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, looking around as if waiting for someone. Just before I have the time to wonder who, Blaise Zabini, the red-haired, green-eyed lass of the emerald isle, comes bounding up the corridor.
Cold-hearted and determined, the girl is the unexpected shadow of Slytherin. No one seems to pay her much attention, and she never seems to draw any to herself; but she is there, she has always been there. People know her by name yet not by face, and yet she is a gorgeous nobody that one can't help but stare at. Today she walks swiftly through the hallway, heading purposefully towards Pansy waiting anxiously near the Dark Arts classroom.
You're late, Pansy hisses as Blaise levels with her. I fail to hide my person, standing fully exposed in the middle of the empty corridor. But neither girl sees me; they are far too absorbed in each other.
Since when are you early? Blaise asks. She reaches forward with one perfectly manicured hand, motioning for the Arithmancy textbook in Parkinson's hands.
Pansy pulls her hand back a little bit. Why do you need it? she asks, pulling up her defenses. She has always been a bit paranoid with her things. She just hated when others honed in on her property. Blaise sighs.
I need it for study hall.
You don't need it for study hall.
Blaise rolls her eyes. I already went over this with you; I do need it for study hall.
Why? You don't take Arithmancy.
The sound of crunching leaves echoes in from the courtyard. I look over and find that Hagrid is strolling across the grounds, a large bucket of mandrake leaves swinging from his hand. I wave over at him and yell out his name, calling a great raucous in the otherwise quiet scenery. Both girls glare at me, but proceed with their conversation. Hagrid looks over and waves back.
I was going to help Macmillan with his homework. That's Blaise, sounding as innocent as can be. But Pansy snorts disapprovingly.
I can't believe you're spending time with a Hufflepuff. You're disgraceful.
Blaise disregards this remark and simple reaches over for the book, closing her nimble fingers over it's thick sides. I am disgracing no one, she says. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.
Then you do that, Parkinson answers, hands on hips and brow wrinkled in disapproval. My father says furrowing one's brow is bad; your face freezes in such a way and you get headaches. Pansy looks like she has a lot of headaches. She really is a good-looking girl, but the way she screws up her face in anger all the time makes her look cruel and misshapen.
But she's gone now, retreating into the confines of her classroom. And Blaise is already headed for the library. Who do I follow now? Hagrid across the courtyard, Pansy into her classroom, or Blaise to the library? Or maybe I should return to class...
But that wouldn't be much fun, now would it? So I trail behind Blaise, watching as her flaming hair bobs up and down in her excitement. I actually am ready to just walk up and talk to her; it probably would be interesting. But the time has passed, because we have reached the entrance to the library. The day seems to be looking up for me. I've had loads of homework from Professor Snape, and I do need some time to catch up. So I settle in a table at the center of the library, a table in perfect view of Blaise and her destined study buddy Ernie Macmillan. He was always an odd sort of ball, as I have thought since I met him on the first meeting of the D.A. I never really favored his overly-enthusiastic mood.
And now he bubbles with joy at the sight of Blaise Zabini. Most boys do not get to study with a forbidden Slytherin. Seems strange that he is not holding a grudge against her, as so many others do towards that house. Maybe the fact that she's pretty has something to do with it. Or maybe not. I'm not exactly sure.
For the entire period I work diligently on my homework. I need to get it done sometime, and now seems the most appropriate time. I'll glance up every now and then, but I only hear laughter between the two, the Arithmancy book set aside, forgotten in the joy. It looks lonely. I would have paid it some attention were it on my table.
When the bell rang I began to pack away my things. For a while I forgot about Blaise and Ernie. But as I passed by their table I noticed that it was empty save for the Arithmancy book that had been left behind. Now see, that isn't a very good thing. The book did not belong to the library, but to Pansy Parkinson. I thought it very careless of Blaise to have left it behind. Pansy would have missed it.
But then again, my things go missing all the time, and they always turn up sooner or later. So I voted against the urge to pick it up and walked out of the library. Madam Pince passed me by and I was about to say 'hello' to her but she told me 'shh' and walked past me. Maybe she was in a bad mood today. The last thing I saw of her was her lanky frame hovering over the Arithmancy book and tutting loudly...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Oh dear, you did not reach the branch in time. Shame too; that story was an interesting one. But no matter. We can try another time. We have all the time we need here in the garden...
But time is of the essence, and doesn't that holly over yonder look simply divine? The shade of it's branches looks cool and welcoming, and the shadow traces a jagged line around the edge. Let us sit back against its cool bark. Now look up. Do you see it now?
From far away it looks sweet and welcoming, speaking of protection and loyalty and the promise of sanctuary from the sun. But here, where you can see past the shield of leaves, is a different story. Here you can see the disorder and confusing array of stray branches and twisting vines mixed with an assortment of living and dying leaves. Here is the confession of the holly. Here is the confession of Harry.
People called it staring. I never stared. In all my life, I have never stared at any one. Staring is pointless, rude and shows lack of interest. I never lack interest in anything. I never stared.
I watched.
Watching is different; you learn things, see things and register them. That's what I do, and I pride myself on it, though others don't think of it as highly as I do. That's how I got the nickname Loony Lovegood, I guess; but I do not mind. They wouldn't understand if I told them.
But I was a watcher, and the best I have met, if I do say so myself. Everything I have ever seen or read I remember and everything I have seen or read I believe. It's not hard to think this way; children do it all the time.
But at Hogwarts, I know everything. I have seen everything. I watch. People don't understand that I understand them. They wouldn't have known unless they lived a day through my eyes.
Every morning I wake in my dorm room. I pull back the royal blue hangings of my bed and walk over to the window next to my dresser. I stand there for an hour as the other girls in my dorm wake up as well and get ready for the day. They're all used to it now, that I can stand by the window and say nothing and not move, like a statue. It's habit for them. But no one knows why I stand there. They wouldn't know why.
Today I can see them clearly in the window and I watch them as I watch the grounds come to wake in the morning. The flowers near the gamekeeper's hut slowly open their petals as Aurora takes the wilting rose from its tiny vase on her nightstand and hangs it with the dozen others over her bed. Then she sets the vase down on the floor of her bed post and leaves the dorm. Outside, a great eagle owl swoops down behind Hagrid's hut. I turn to look at Aurora's vase on the floor. Only I know why she does this.
Aurora's father left her when he found out his wife was a witch. He loved them both, but he was forcibly against magic and the like. He used to always bring Aurora a single rose when he got back from work, saying that they were the closest things that could compare to how beautiful and wonderful his little girl was. Now, at school and every morning, she sets her vase down on the floor because by next morning, another rose might be there. She thinks it's her father, and it reminds her that he still loves her. She has told no one these things.
Only I would know these things because I watch. I know her story because her father's picture is always next to the vase, and it is always facing away from the window; away from the horizon that separates them. She does not want the picture to face the window, because I can see in her eyes that she thinks he'll want to leave again if he sees the outside world.
Then Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, steps out from his hut, stretches, and walks around to the back of his cabin just as Diana comes walking into the dorm for the first time this morning. Her hair is windblown and she has a bit of straw clinging to her skirt. Then she quickly walks to her dresser, brushes her hair, dusts off her clothes and leaves for breakfast. No one asks her where she has been, and no one cares that she wasn't in bed when we all woke up. But I know why, though I never asked.
I watched.
Then, once everyone was finished fixing themselves and left, I would shower and change, not paying attention to what I was doing to myself but paying attention to how the room looked after everyone left.
Aurora's bed is perfectly made, with the bouquet of wilting roses hanging on the wall over her headboard. Diana's bed is made but messily, as she had done it early in the morning when the sun had not yet given her light to see by. And Artemis's bed had the covers turned down and the hangings shut on all sides expect one. Artemis is Diana's twin sister, though they are not identical. No one realizes that they're twins, only that they share the same last name. No one knows, except one person.
Me.
On my way to the Great Hall I meet Ginny Weasley at the foot of the marble staircase. We didn't arrange to meet there, but we did. We said good morning and walked into the Hall together, and then go our separate ways. She was always the kindest person to me, and so I watched her more intently than others.
I sit near the end of my table, never looking down at my plate but always looking up. I needed to only single out the one, luminescent head among the sea of darkness, and then Draco Malfoy, sworn enemy to Harry Potter, would spring to my sight. I never really liked watching him, as he was more of a bumbling, arrogant little git; but today seemed like a special day, and so I took the time to watch him as well.
When the post comes he looks up, almost as if he's waiting eagerly for his eagle owl to land on his shoulder. The owl does come, and it has a package with him: a manila-colored envelop and a single red rose. He takes the letter and puts it into his pocket, but momentarily glares at the rose before giving it silently to Pansy. She stares at it, then at him, but takes it without question. It gets stuffed into her bag before she even gives it a second thought.
When it is time for everyone to leave, I'm one of the last to get up, sitting very still with my eyes very wide, so as to see everything. Draco Malfoy gets up from his table rather quickly and slings his bag over his shoulder. He stalks to the doors and out of the Hall with a swish of his robes, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle close beside him.
I could always tell when Draco Malfoy was frustrated about something; and he was usually frustrated when he received that envelop everyday. His walk was more pronounced than in his second, third and fourth year. He scowled only when people were watching, as if it were too hard to do when he thought people weren't. I knew he would be exceptionally difficult today. Today he'd gotten a rose, and he did not appreciate it. He was not fond of flourishes, this boy.
But by this time I am one of the last ones left at the table, having fallen into my own world and hitting that moment in what people called a 'stupor'. I guess I would get this strange, faraway look in my eyes and they would become very wide and people got the word 'loony' from it.
But then the bell rings and I rise to go to class. And on my way to the marble staircase, I cross paths with three very interesting people: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley.
I don't like Ron, if that is what everyone thinks. He isn't someone who would be able to accept me, whether he knew me or not. And it would be for terms of prejudice or plain dislike. He wasn't meant to be rational. He was meant to take the rationales of the world and replace them with vague glimpses of hope.
But I always watched him with more of a misted look. Why? Because he never got his due. He was one third of the famous three, yet his one third was overlooked only to see Harry and Hermione as two halves to a whole. I had decided, long ago, that I would give him his due. I'd appreciate him.
But none of them looked my way, and we pass each other without a word said between us. At that same moment, Pansy brushes past me, overlooking me as she usually does with most people and heads for the marble staircase. I look to her bag, with its flapping hanging open. The rose is already gone.
The remains of the morning proceed like any average school morning would. Professors preaching, lessons being learned, detentions distributed; nothing out of the ordinary. Oh, but you must know that Diana is late to Charms class! And even into the afternoon her hair is strewn with hay. 'Why the mess?' I ask her. But she looks at me with concealed dismay and only answers politely 'Nothing, Luna. I was just in the owlery'. And no more is said.
By the time lunch descends people are already anxious to get to the Great Hall and chat with friends. I pass the third floor corridor on my way. Filch is standing there, fussing over a vase set in an alcove in the wall. Next to the vase is a rose petal. Just one.
Everyone rushes into the Great Hall. Not I. I linger in the doorway. People are laughing, having fun and what not. But Dean Thomas, the very same Gryffindor as Harry, Ron, and Hermione's, walks in with a rose in hand, beaming slightly at the prospect of such a beautiful gift. The supposed first recipient of the blooming bud is Ginny. Their courtship is common knowledge by now.
He gives the flower to Ginny, and she takes it with a smile and a flip of her hair. Ron leans over to interrogate about the flower. I go over to talk with them.
Hullo, I say. All four of them look up at me, Harry, Ronald, Hermione, and Ginny. Green eyes, brown eyes, and two pairs of clear, blue eyes.
Hullo Luna, Ginny answers.
Good afternoon, Hermione says, smiling.
Hi Luna, Harry replies.
Ron grumbles, eyeing the rose suspiciously.
It is a glorious day, I tell them. The perfect day for Quidditch.
Harry's eyes lighten. Hermione looks out the window, taking my words into account. Ginny shrugs.
Have you ever actually played Quidditch, Luna?
That's Ron speaking. When I look at him he recoils a little bit. I mean to look sympathetic. I guess I look slightly crazy.
I've never been on a broom in my life, I tell him. He doesn't seem to understand.
Then how do you know it is a good day for Quidditch?
I look out the window. The owls are out, I say. And then I say no more.
Hermione has long since retreated to her book bag, rummaging inside it for something. Harry nods approvingly towards me, because he understands a little bit, at least. Ron is at a loss for words.
Okay, he says.
I notice that Ginny is still holding the rose. It's blossom is in perfect bloom, having just opened from its bud without looking too young and feeble. But it is slightly unbalanced.
Where's the other petal?
She frowns at me. What other petal?
I shake my head and walk over to my table. I sit down and watch them from a distance.
The four of them proceed with their conversation, their words too hard to hear over the hum of tête-à-tête echoing around me. The doors open, and Hagrid walks in for the first today. People from all the tables wave and say hi to him, their voices scatter across the hall. But it is silent on the Slytherin's end. They say nothing.
Hagrid stops next to Ginny and Ron.
How yer doing, Weasleys? he booms, clapping each one on the shoulder. But no one answers and I can tell why. Hagrid is not in a good mood today. He looks like it, but his beady, black eyes look haunted rather than joyous. It is Harry who addresses the problem.
What's wrong, Hagrid?
Nothin', Harry. Nothin' at all. Just a bit 'o dry spell for me.
What do you mean?
That was Hermione. She has found the book she was looking for and it lays open on the table in front of her. But her attention is not on its pages, but on her giant of a friend, his feux smile now gone from his beard.
Bin feelin' a little down fer awhile. Nothin' seems to be happening around here, does it?
Harry gives off a cynical laugh. Just wait for the end of the year, he says. Something always happens at the end of the year.
Can't disagree with that, can I? Ah well, life goes on. How about yer DA, Harry? Ya still keepin' with the times, ain't ya?
I reach in my pocket for the gold galleon Hermione Granger gave the DA last year for meeting purposes. Its still cold as ever, after a lull of not being changed. I watch as Ginny taps Hermione on the shoulder, asking her something under Hagrid's arm.
We just haven't had the time lately, Harry tells him. But we'll try.
Good ter hear. Good ter hear. Good news finds its way ter me, don't it? I mean, jus this mornin' a little eagle owl comes flying into me yard, tired as can be. Didn't do nothin' to no one; jus picked 'imself a budding rose as was off.
Harry smiles and Ron shrugs. Putting two and two together really is Hermione's job, but she's talking to Ginny at the moment, and does not hear.
Well, I'll be off then. See ya three later. And Hagrid is gone.
Hey Hermione, do you mind if I use your book? Ginny is saying. I can't hear Hermione's response, but she hands over the great tome to the redhead. Ginny takes it in her hands and takes one more sniff of the aromatic blossom before placing it in the book and closing the heavy cover onto it.
What do you think your doing? Ron cries. I didn't mean for you to kill the thing!
I start to laugh. No, not giggle uncontrollably behind my hand, but really laughing. I caused quite a raucous at the end of my table, for other Ravenclaws sitting near me had stopped talking and were staring at me. I stopped and looked back at them. I returned to watching the Gryffindors.
I'm pressing the flower, Ron. It makes it last longer. But I don't have a book heavy enough, so I asked Hermione if I could use hers.
You're helping her?! Hermione!
Oh, shut up Ron. Your making a mountain out of a mole hill.
Ron says nothing and the bell rings for class.
As I walk down the corridor I find that I am replenishing the steps that Hermione has already taken five seconds before me. She is taking a different route today, and I wonder why. Her next class is Arithmancy, and that is no where near the Divination room. Nonetheless, she is walking swiftly, holding the tome she had out in the Great Hall because it no longer fits in her bulging bag.
And as she hurries on she does not notice Parkinson coming towards her, holding the same great tome in her arms; the Arithmancy textbooks. They knock shoulders in the crowd. They both drop their books, not noticing the other through the sea of black robes. I come up just behind them, as each one bends down to grab the other's book, on accident, of course.
I guess smiles are considered odd as well, because now people stare at me as if being happy is wrong. Oh well. Their loss is my gain.
But look, that's Diana running down the hall. With all those books and things in her arms you'd probably think she was running to class. But no; she may be a prefect, but she is not going to lessons at this time of day. She is going to the library to organize a thousand different things at once, from school events, to Quidditch games, to teacher conferences, to Quidditch strategies. She's no genius, and she is in no running for Head Girl; that spot belongs to Hermione. But her unlimited tasks keep her occupied. Volunteering at all the prefect meetings, becoming teacher's assistants, teaming with Lee Jordan for school matches, and being nominated and chosen for Ravenclaw Keeper and Captain. We hardly ever see her in the dorms anymore. She never even gets to spend time with her twin. We will meet her later; surely we will.
But the bell rings and I'm going to be late for class. I don't even know where I am now. I haven't noticed where my feet have taken me, but I am not in the corridor that I need to be in. It seems that my feet move to what my heart desires, because I have been following Pansy Parkinson for some time now.
I look around wildly as the remaining students flutter about, making it into the classrooms at the last moment. Among them is the dark head of Pansy. She is waiting just outside the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, looking around as if waiting for someone. Just before I have the time to wonder who, Blaise Zabini, the red-haired, green-eyed lass of the emerald isle, comes bounding up the corridor.
Cold-hearted and determined, the girl is the unexpected shadow of Slytherin. No one seems to pay her much attention, and she never seems to draw any to herself; but she is there, she has always been there. People know her by name yet not by face, and yet she is a gorgeous nobody that one can't help but stare at. Today she walks swiftly through the hallway, heading purposefully towards Pansy waiting anxiously near the Dark Arts classroom.
You're late, Pansy hisses as Blaise levels with her. I fail to hide my person, standing fully exposed in the middle of the empty corridor. But neither girl sees me; they are far too absorbed in each other.
Since when are you early? Blaise asks. She reaches forward with one perfectly manicured hand, motioning for the Arithmancy textbook in Parkinson's hands.
Pansy pulls her hand back a little bit. Why do you need it? she asks, pulling up her defenses. She has always been a bit paranoid with her things. She just hated when others honed in on her property. Blaise sighs.
I need it for study hall.
You don't need it for study hall.
Blaise rolls her eyes. I already went over this with you; I do need it for study hall.
Why? You don't take Arithmancy.
The sound of crunching leaves echoes in from the courtyard. I look over and find that Hagrid is strolling across the grounds, a large bucket of mandrake leaves swinging from his hand. I wave over at him and yell out his name, calling a great raucous in the otherwise quiet scenery. Both girls glare at me, but proceed with their conversation. Hagrid looks over and waves back.
I was going to help Macmillan with his homework. That's Blaise, sounding as innocent as can be. But Pansy snorts disapprovingly.
I can't believe you're spending time with a Hufflepuff. You're disgraceful.
Blaise disregards this remark and simple reaches over for the book, closing her nimble fingers over it's thick sides. I am disgracing no one, she says. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.
Then you do that, Parkinson answers, hands on hips and brow wrinkled in disapproval. My father says furrowing one's brow is bad; your face freezes in such a way and you get headaches. Pansy looks like she has a lot of headaches. She really is a good-looking girl, but the way she screws up her face in anger all the time makes her look cruel and misshapen.
But she's gone now, retreating into the confines of her classroom. And Blaise is already headed for the library. Who do I follow now? Hagrid across the courtyard, Pansy into her classroom, or Blaise to the library? Or maybe I should return to class...
But that wouldn't be much fun, now would it? So I trail behind Blaise, watching as her flaming hair bobs up and down in her excitement. I actually am ready to just walk up and talk to her; it probably would be interesting. But the time has passed, because we have reached the entrance to the library. The day seems to be looking up for me. I've had loads of homework from Professor Snape, and I do need some time to catch up. So I settle in a table at the center of the library, a table in perfect view of Blaise and her destined study buddy Ernie Macmillan. He was always an odd sort of ball, as I have thought since I met him on the first meeting of the D.A. I never really favored his overly-enthusiastic mood.
And now he bubbles with joy at the sight of Blaise Zabini. Most boys do not get to study with a forbidden Slytherin. Seems strange that he is not holding a grudge against her, as so many others do towards that house. Maybe the fact that she's pretty has something to do with it. Or maybe not. I'm not exactly sure.
For the entire period I work diligently on my homework. I need to get it done sometime, and now seems the most appropriate time. I'll glance up every now and then, but I only hear laughter between the two, the Arithmancy book set aside, forgotten in the joy. It looks lonely. I would have paid it some attention were it on my table.
When the bell rang I began to pack away my things. For a while I forgot about Blaise and Ernie. But as I passed by their table I noticed that it was empty save for the Arithmancy book that had been left behind. Now see, that isn't a very good thing. The book did not belong to the library, but to Pansy Parkinson. I thought it very careless of Blaise to have left it behind. Pansy would have missed it.
But then again, my things go missing all the time, and they always turn up sooner or later. So I voted against the urge to pick it up and walked out of the library. Madam Pince passed me by and I was about to say 'hello' to her but she told me 'shh' and walked past me. Maybe she was in a bad mood today. The last thing I saw of her was her lanky frame hovering over the Arithmancy book and tutting loudly...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Oh dear, you did not reach the branch in time. Shame too; that story was an interesting one. But no matter. We can try another time. We have all the time we need here in the garden...
But time is of the essence, and doesn't that holly over yonder look simply divine? The shade of it's branches looks cool and welcoming, and the shadow traces a jagged line around the edge. Let us sit back against its cool bark. Now look up. Do you see it now?
From far away it looks sweet and welcoming, speaking of protection and loyalty and the promise of sanctuary from the sun. But here, where you can see past the shield of leaves, is a different story. Here you can see the disorder and confusing array of stray branches and twisting vines mixed with an assortment of living and dying leaves. Here is the confession of the holly. Here is the confession of Harry.