Potter47
Old Friends
Sir James M. Barrie
Every Picture Tells a Story
"Bloody hell."
As Ron emerged into the attic, he saw that it was much bigger than he had first anticipated. It seemed someone had magically enlarged it, so that it would fit more...junk. He remembered, at the end of last year, Luna had said that her father had begun work on the cleaning of the attic. And Luna had been working since the end of term. But it was still the most...cluttered...attic he had ever seen in his life.
Boxes on boxes on boxes on loose stuff filled the entire room. He hadn't a clue, how some of the boxes balanced, and he thought it would have been a much better thought to put the loose stuff on top. But, alas, that wasn't how it was done.
"Luna," he said, "by cleaning, you mean...neatening it all up a bit, right? You don't mean--"
"No, we need to go through it all. That's why it's taking so long. Otherwise, Dad could've just magicked it all neat. Not that he'd do that, as he tends to prefer the Muggle way. No, we need to sort it out; what to keep, and what to get rid of."
Right, thought Ron. That wasn't what I was afraid of! No!
She shook her head. "How does he expect me to throw any of this stuff away?" She picked up a stuffed...something, and stroked it's head affectionately. Ron assumed it was supposed to be a Snorkack. It seemed as though someone had just opened the pull down ladder-stair-thing and tossed it up there, from the way it had been on the floor. "This is my childhood. Our childhood."
I don't know...some of these things probably could be thrown away...like that thing over there-- no way! Ron had just spotted, in one of the over-stuffed boxes, something he thought he would never see again. He had wondered where she had gone, for years. Apparently, he had left her at Luna's house one of the times he had come over.
"Luna, look at that!" he said, exited, pointing.
Luna looked up, and followed his finger. "Is that...Chessy?" she said, wider-than-usual-eyed. "She's been here, all this time? If I'd known, I would of given her back..."
Chessy was, basically, a chess set for toddlers. She taught little wizards and witches how to play. All the pieces had a little smiling face on them, and they told whoever was playing -- Chessy was nice to everyone -- the best move to make. Despite the fact that Ron had quickly outgrown her, and didn't need the help for very long, he had always felt sentimental about Chessy. He had thought Fred or George had done something to her. He'd have to apologise for that...er...thing he did to them.
"I am so sorry we kept that all this time..." said Luna. "That's the kind of thing you should cherish. It shouldn't be stuffed in someone else's attic...Bring her down, she's probably suffocating in that box."
Despite knowing quite well that chess sets can't suffocate, and also knowing that if a chess set could suffocate, it would have done it long before now, Ron moved so quick to get Chessy down, it was as if it was a matter of life or death.
"Ronnie--"cough,"--kins!" exclaimed the big, smiling face that adorned Chessy's box. "It's been so long! I thought I'd never see you again...Oh, you're so grown-up!"
"It's good to see you again too, Chessy," said Ron, smiling at the box he held in his hands. Her eyes looked around, being able to see for the first time in years.
"My Queen!" she exclaimed when she spotted Luna. "I know, you're not technically my queen, as both of them are safe in my tummy, but you just...look like a queen. And doesn't it have a ring to it, 'Queen Luna?'"
Luna had a rather peculiar look on her face, as she said, "Yes, I think it does have a bit of a nice sound to it....Of course, I'll never be queen of anything, unless I get trapped in a giant chess set or something like that, and have to play my way out. Then, I'd definitely be a queen. So much better a piece, than a bishop, or a rook."
Chessy seemed delighted that the talk had turned to chess. It was, of course, her specialty. "Don't let them know I said this," she whispered, so that the pieces within her couldn't hear, "as I'm not supposed to show favouritism. But I like the queens best as well. So much more you can do....So many more moves you can make....
"How 'bout a game?" Chessy asked hopefully. "For old times' sake?"
"Oh, we'd love to," said Luna, "but we have to clean out the whole attic..."
"But you hate cleaning!" said Chessy, horrified, remembering. "That's dreadful!"
"Maybe we could play later?" said Ron, wishing he could just sit down right on the attic floor, and play. "There's a lot to go through up here..."
Chessy frowned. "Yes, I suppose that's alright. But please, don't forget! I want to see how much you've learned. Can Luna still--" Chessy stopped talking, and her box tipped back in Ron's hands. Her painted-on black nose scrunched up, and she nearly toppled out of his grip. "A-a-a-choo!" she sneezed. "Oh, this attic is just horrible. You're right, it does need a good cleaning...I'd love to lend a hand, but, of course, I've none to lend. Would you like a pawn?"
"No thank you," said Luna, treating the suggestion with utmost seriousness. "I don't think it would help all that much..."
"No, I suppose not..." She looked hopefully at Ron. "Would you mind terribly to put me downstairs, maybe by a window? It's been so long since I've been able to breathe properly...honestly, you've no idea how many times I've wanted to throw a bishop at whoever said, 'Ooh, let's give Chessy a nose!' I mean, really! Why do I need a nose?" Her eyes tried, fruitlessly, to glare at her two-dimensional nose. "It's got no purpose, 'cept to give me allergies. I can't smell, or anything like that...."
"Sure," said Ron. "I'll take you downstairs. Luna, where would be a good place?"
"How about the back porch, Chessy? There's always a nice breeze out there." She looked at the chess set curiously. "You really can't smell? Not a thing? Oh, now that's dreadful."
"Isn't it?" Chessy sniffled. "And another thing; I don't have any bogeys! So why do I keep sniffling? What am I sniffling? If I had hands, I'd write a serious complaint to the GWC Workshop as soon as I could. They don't have a clue what it's like to live as a chess set..."
"...that was 'Eleanor Rigby,' by -- guess who? Right! The Beatles! And next up is, would you look at that... 'Yellow Submarine' by the Volkswagens! No, it's actually the Beatles, for you three clueless listeners who don't know who sung 'Yellow Submarine'. It was just a joke..."
"I love this one!" exclaimed London Lovegood, to the Muggle broom in his hands. "There was also a film," he informed the inanimate object, who was a very good listener. "I've never seen it..."
Just as he dipped the broom, the sound of rather large feet echoed down the steps. London looked up to see Ron Weasley carrying a box -- with a sniffling face -- toward the back of the house.
"Ronnie, where are you going?" He hoped the boy didn't mind being called Ronnie. Oh, well. He liked the name.
Ron stopped in mid-step, and turned around to face the man who was leaning over a Muggle broomstick, foot tapping to a...rather odd...song.
"Er, I'm just putting Chessy here out on the porch." He held up the box. "For some fresh air, you know. We found her up in a box in the attic."
"Chessy?" asked London curiously. "Not your first chess set...we've had her all this time? In a box, no less? How cruel. Well, apologise for me, will you?"
"I'm right here," said Chessy. "You can apologise yourself!" She hadn't really liked London all that much, ever since he'd stepped on her black, queen-side castle. It also didn't help that he had kept her trapped in an attic for several years. Of course, if he ever played -- which he hadn't done for many a year; and he'd never beaten Ron -- she had to be perfectly nice to him. It was in her satisfaction guarantee.
"I apologise, dear Chessy," he said courteously. "And I did apologise for that caniget, correct?"
"It was a rook!" exclaimed Chessy, with vigour she would not dare use during a match (or around one, for she was always quite flammable). "And it is pronounced 'night.'" But London would never change.
"Take me outside, Ronniekins, if you don't mind." She turned up her two-dimensional nose.
"Alright, Chessy. See you later, Mr Lovegood."
"You too, Ronnie."
London shook his head after the two of them. What had he done wrong?
He realised that, in the conversation with Ron and Chessy, he had completely missed the opportunity to sing along with "Yellow Submarine." Some other, not-so-well-known Beatles song was playing now, and he danced along without much enthusiasm. He hated it when people weren't nice. The world would be a lot better, if everyone would just get along...
He looked over at the mantle, where framed pictures stood, smiling and waving and dancing and laughing. One in particular, had a particularly bright smile. The world would be a lot better if she was still here...
He heard a call down the stairs. "Ronald, you'll never guess what I've found!"
"No, I probably won't! What is it?" called Ron back, trotting back up the stairs.
But London couldn't hear the reply. Either Luna had lowered her voice, or he had just blocked it out. Come to think of it, he couldn't really hear the music either. His face quirked into a smile, after Ron had left. But the world can't be too bad the way it is, he thought. If fate wanted it to happen this way, than so be it. Luna seems happy. He realised that tears had begun to stream down his face, and he was leaning on the broom for support. Yes, Luna seems happy. And she's cleaning! He never thought he'd see the day, when Luna was happy to be cleaning. He remembered when she was little, always trying to get out of cleaning her room.
But she's not little now, he thought. And she has help. Thinking of Ron...how he had seemed just to pop back into existence that morning, he realised that maybe...just maybe...there was a chance the world hadn't turned in on itself. That maybe...just maybe...everything was how it was supposed to be. I hope Luna realises how lucky she is...
The world seemed to come back into focus, and he could hear the music once again. He smiled at the stairs, one last time.
Yes, the world is just fine, how it is.
Ron emerged into the attic, wondering what Luna could have found. He knew he had no possible chance in a thousand years to guess. The attic was filled to the brim and more with boxes, and it wasn't as if he'd packed them. How was he to know?
"What'd you find?" he asked Luna. She held a book in her hands, with a handsome navy cover. She held it out to him, grinning. He took it, and saw that the cover also showed a picture of a crescent moon, smiling at two little children. Hermione would probably say something like, "If the moon is that big, the children shouldn't be visible. Like that, it looks as if they just levitated a giant banana or something..." But Ron, at that moment, didn't particularly care.
This isn't...no, it couldn't be....
He opened the front cover. In a neat script that would be entirely impossible for any child to read, was a note inscribed on the inside of the cover. He recognised it, despite not having been able to read at the last opportunity he'd had to look at it.
To my little Queen,
I know this is silly of me, and you'll probably laugh hysterically once you are able to read it. I mean, who writes a note in a photo album? Usually, parents write in STORY books, and such. But I couldn't resist. The inside cover was MUCH too blank. Of course, the rest is blank as well, but that's for PICTURES, not WRITING! Hopefully, your father lets me develop them the magic way...oh, well.
I won't be mad if you hate this...what little girl wants a PHOTO ALBUM, for a present, anyway? But I made it myself (the Muggle way!), and I do hope it's not too terrible.
All the love in the world,
Mum
When he finished reading, he held the photo album out to Luna for her to take. He received a confuzzled look in return.
"Aren't you going to look in it?" she asked him. "Do you normally just look at the inside-cover of photo albums?"
"Oh, right," he said, realising Luna probably hadn't intended for him to simply read the note. He opened the book once again, and turned to the first real page. He noticed that when holding a rather large book, it wasn't all that convenient to be standing up. He sat down on a not-so-dusty portion of the floor and leaned against one of the sturdier looking stacks of boxes. Luna moved to look over his shoulder.
The first picture was of Luna (surprisingly). She was sitting down, legs crossed, with a magazine open in front of her. It was (also surprisingly) a now-quite-old edition of the Quibbler. She looked at the pages seriously, as if trying to decipher the meaning of the universe from within it. Of course, she was very small, and couldn't read. So maybe she did indeed believe the meaning of the universe was written in the Quibbler. Ron shivered. I sure hope not... It seemed Luna's mother had indeed developed the photos magically, as every now and then, Luna-in-the-picture would turn a page, and squint at the new letters.
"Next," said Luna-out-of-the-picture.
Ron turned the page. The next picture was also of Luna, but she was with her father. She sat atop his shoulders, smiling and laughing, holding on to his hands and balancing. Luna (out of the picture) also smiled, and said, "I miss that. He always used to do that. Next."
Ron flipped once again, and as soon as he did, he wished he didn't. Someone took a picture of this?! he mentally screamed. How could they?!
For in this particular picture, Ron and Luna were both in the Lovegood living room, with a young Ginny laying on the couch. This wouldn't have been bad at all, had it not have been for the associated memories.
"Oh, this is that time we played house," said Luna, smiling with recollection. "And you--"
"You don't have to mention it again," Ron said, ears redder than Luna's (and she had the advantage, with scarlet vegetables dangling from hers). "You just did, not a month ago. I don't particularly want to hear it again. And we both know what you are going to say, so there's no need for it to be said. Can I burn this?"
"Of course," she agreed agreeably, "right after I send a copy to Hermione--"
"NO!"
"I'm joking, Ron--" Luna paused a beat before adding, "--ald."
They looked at the picture, silent, for a minute or two. Ron hadn't remembered that Luna's mother had had her camera out that fateful day. He also didn't remember the picture when he had looked at the album years ago. Of course, the key phrase would be years ago, and Ron wasn't known for his memory (though he wasn't as bad as Neville, of course).
"Next," said Luna again, after the aforementioned minute or two.
Ron turned the page. "Oh, I remember this," Luna said, smiling.
The photograph was cramped, with eleven witches and wizards and a rather large Christmas tree within its frame. Eight redheads, two blonds, and a dark-haired man. It had been taken...well, years ago.
Lined up by age, oldest in the back, youngest in the front, were the Lovegoods and Weasleys (save Ron's mum, who was behind the camera, unwilling to show her spot in the order). In the middle, the twins could be seen switching spots every few moments, arguing about who had to be next to Percy. At the bottom sat Ron, Luna, and Ginny, smiling at the camera and holding presents. Ginny was holding a picture book -- The Boy Who Lived (Children's Edition). Luna was holding this very book, with the bright crescent moon on the blue cover. And Ron was holding a plaque that read, RONALD'S ROOM.
This was of course, not his only present. The adults had said to pick "your very favourite" present. Luna had made it herself, and she had one on her door as well. Her father had, apparently, let her inscribe them with his wand. She had been six at the time, and him seven. Percy in particular had been outraged when she had told them she'd "made it herself."
"Do you still have that on your door?" Luna asked him, squinting down at the picture.
"Yeah," he said. He didn't feel like going into the details of the time when he had almost taken it off. It had been the summer before fourth year, when he was at the peak of his crush on Hermione (and she had been at the Burrow). Every time he looked at his door, he had been embarrassed; even more so when she had looked at his door, despite his knowing perfectly well she had no idea the history of the simple little plaque.
"Next," said Luna after awhile. He turned.
If he hadn't known better, Ron would've thought the picture on the next page had been taken very recently. None of the pictures were recent. This looked like it was even older than the others; as if it had just been placed in the album. In fact, it had; Ron could see the edges of another picture, (one of Luna's father holding an issue of the Quibbler proudly), behind it. This seemed to have been stuck in.
"That's Mum..." Luna said oddly. "When she was young. It's funny, I've never seen this picture before..."
Ron looked from the picture in the book to Luna, who was at his right. "You look just like her," he said. "But...you didn't look just like your mum. Not when we were little, anyway."
"It's the hair," she said, gesturing with a bit of her own between her fingers. "When she was my age, she had my colour hair, but then it got lighter for some reason. I always liked hers better. It got straighter, as well. Not straggly like this." She let a hair fall from her hand at a time, until she was holding nothing but air. "Hopefully, mine ends up like that as well."
"What?" Ron looked at her shrewdly. "I like your hair," he said without thinking.
Luna did something rather unusual. Well, for her anyway. She blinked. "What did you say?"
"What, 'What?'" he said, hoping she had indeed wondered if he had said 'what.' It would be much better. Better for what? Oh, nothing in particular. Just better.
"No," she said, crushing his hopes. "The other part."
"Oh, nothing," said Ron, oddly high-pitched. "Not at thing. You know, we'll never get anywhere in cleaning this place if we sit around looking at picture books...How about I start over there," he pointed, "and you start over there?" He pointed in the other direction.
Without waiting for an answer, he set off toward his indicated corner of the attic. Luna shook her head after him, a slight smile appearing on her face. Not nearly loud enough for him to hear, she said, "Whatever you say, Ronald."
To See the Wizard
You always get yourself into a fret over nothing."