Potter47
Part One
Old Friends
"This -- is London."
Edward Roscoe Murrow
Chapter Six
Good Eats
Hours passed. Many hours. Unbeknownst to Ron and Luna, the bright sun of midday came and went, and it was nearing four o'clock. Of course, as the term 'unbeknownst' typically refers to 'without the knowledge,' the two didn't have a clue. They likely thought it was still morning. You know what they say; time flies.
Ron had soon realised that he would have no idea what to do, if he wasn't with Luna, so after his ears had cooled down he had returned to her section of the attic.
They had gone through box after box. Bin after bin. Now, they were opening a large, cardboard box that Ron couldn't have moved an inch, even if he wanted to.
"What's in this thing?" he asked.
"Let's find out," said Luna. She snapped open her knife, and slit the duct tape sealing the top of the box. Ron had been surprised to see how useful that knife had turned out to be. It wasn't only for de-thumbing Dark Lords; it had practical uses as well.
The flaps flapped open. Inside was, quite likely, the largest quantity of tabloid magazines Ron had ever seen at one time. He doubted, for some reason, that it would be the largest he ever saw, however. He didn't know why.
Hundreds and hundreds of Quibblers were stacked and piled atop one another. Insane cartoons were displayed on their covers; anything from a skull in a bowler hat, to a goblin-shaped pie. The box seemed never-ending.
"Oh, we can't touch this one," said Luna. "Dad still adds to this. It's his collection. Every issue that's been printed in the last twenty-five years. He just sends the new ones up by themselves, 'cause of his allergy."
Ron found himself nodding, despite the lack-of-need for it.
Moving around a couple of issues, Ron saw the infamous one from last year.
THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED
AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN
But there were other headlines that jumped out at him as well.
FINANCES NOW BEING PAID IN COW BRAINS!
Bloody...urgh. It wasn't the name that made Ron think such thoughts; it was the illustration. This one depicted -- unpredictably -- a cow brain on a chess board. It looked...juicy. Ron wanted to throw up, but sensed Luna's father would not be happy. He could see the headlines now: WEASLEY SON VOMITS ON QUIBBLERS! DETAILS ON PAGE TWELVE! Once again: urgh.
Ron quickly covered up the cow brain story.
"You know," said Luna offhandedly, pointing, "that one turned out to be not true. It was a rival toy company that started the rumour. Parkinson Brothers or something to that effect."
Hmm...any relation to Pansy Parkinson? Ron didn't particularly care. It was just a thought that popped into his mind. Speaking of 'popping,' a popping sound announced the arrival of a visitor. "Luna? Ronnie? I made sandwiches!" The words were muffled, as if there was something covering the speaker's mouth.
Of course, as it turned out, there was.
"Dad? What are you doing up here?" Luna stood up and dusted herself off, as her father came into view. He was wearing a Muggle painting mask, which covered his mouth and nose.
"I could ask you the same thing. You've been up here for..." he looked at the watch on his right wrist, "...nine hours! What have you been doing all this time? And without even taking a break..."
Nine hours! Ron had had no clue (as aforementioned) that so much time had gone by.
"I guess time flies," said Luna, looking a bit surprised herself.
"When you're having fun?" suggested Mr Lovegood hopefully. "Please do tell me; are you enjoying cleaning? I could make this a regular chore..." He smiled optimistically. But he was wearing a mask...Ron didn't know how he could tell, but he was positive that the man was smiling.
"No thanks," said Luna. "But it hasn't been that bad." She smirked at her father. "But I'm still not cleaning my room."
"Whatever you say, my Qu--"
"Er, excuse me?" said Ron. He had just noticed; he was starving. He hadn't eaten a thing all day. Not one bite. He didn't consciously think of it, but this set the record for the longest waking period without food since he was seven. "Where are the sandwiches?"
Mr Lovegood was decidedly empty-handed. He squinted at Ron, confuzzled. "Sandwiches?"
"Yes," said Ron. "You just said you made sandwiches--"
"Oh those sandwiches!" said Luna's father cheerfully, clearly remembering the long-lost thought. "Oh, I ate those. I could make some more, I suppose. Are you hungry?"
He ate them? Then why did he say... Ron supposed that all the man had said was, I made sandwiches, not I made YOU sandwiches. He clearly had just been stating a fact. He had
made sandwiches.
"Yes," said Ron, trying to keep the utter lost-ness out of his voice. "I haven't eaten all day."
Mr Lovegood's jaw dropped to the floor. "Not a thing! But, you know, breakfast's the most important meal of the day! To go without it is bad for your health! By golly, Ronnie, you're coming with me!"
He reached out and forcefully grabbed Ron's arm, dragging him toward the attic's exit. He practically pushed him down (in the most kind and gentle way, however).
Luna was left, alone in the attic, with nothing but many, many boxes, bins, and a familiar blue chair for company. She gazed toward the stairway with a lost look.
"Ronnie?" she repeated in disbelief. She needed to have a talk with her father. Now.
"Holy Pop Tarts!" said London Lovegood, slamming open kitchen cabinets in his seemingly futile search. "Where are the Pop Tarts?"
"Erm, what are pop tarts?" said Ronnie, not pronouncing the capitalised 'p' and 't' at all.
"No, it's Pop Tarts," said London, enunciating correctly. "They are highly nutritional and tasty breakfast foods. Eleven essential vitamins and minerals, I believe." He opened the very last not-open cabinet. "Aha! And," he said, popping a tart into the Muggle toaster, "they come in a variety of delectable flavours."
"Oh no..." said Luna, sliding into the room on the highly polished wood floor, and hoping she heard wrong. "Please, Dad, don't tell me you started informing him of the nutritional benefits of Pop Tarts..." Notice the capitals: she has heard this spiel many times previously.
"No, I finished informing him of the nutritional benefits of Pop Tarts," said London proudly. POP! "All done!"
"I asked you not to tell me that..."
London pulled a set of tongs out of a draw, and tossed it into his left hand. He used the utensil to grasp the tart from the upright toaster. He danced across to the table. "Try that!" said London, slapping the hot pastry onto a ceramic plate.
Ron wasn't entirely sure as to the proper way of eating this so called "POP TART" (to be careful). But, as he was incredibly hungry -- not to mention that he didn't normally eat the so called "proper" way -- he just picked it up -- HOT! -- and took a bite.
London crouched down to Ron's eye level (the latter was seated). He watched the small changes in expression on Ron's face. As he saw the first signs of satisfaction form, he jumped up, crying, "He likes it! Hey Mikey!"
But, before Ron could enquire as to who this "Mikey" was, Luna's father was right in front of him once again.
"How do you like it?"
Ron swallowed. He looked down at the rest of the Pop Tart. "This is--"
"Good eats?" London guessed happily.
"I was going to say, 'This is cinnamon, right?'..."
"Yes, but that's another show!" said London, moving away from Ron once again. "I'll be back in a jiffy. Need to use the loo." He dashed away.
Ron stared after him, jaw somewhere around his ankles.
"I am so sorry!" said Luna apologetically. "He's not usually that...that. It's just that today is...close."
Ron, who had taken another bite, now swallowed. "Close to what?" he asked.
"You know," said Luna, looking out the door to be sure her father was not within hearing distance, "the day it happened."
"The day what--" Ron stopped, comprehending. "Oh. You mean the day your...mother..."
"Yep," said Luna. "Six years."
"I'm sorry..."
"Why?" she said, her voice rather odd. "You didn't do anything. It's not as if you could have stopped it."
Ron thought he might have seen a look of...something, cross Luna's face for a moment. A look that he wasn't used to seeing there. But it was gone just as quick as it came, and he was sure he'd imagined it.
"When...when is the day?" he asked. "You said it was 'close.' How close?"
"'Bout as close as you can get," Luna said. "My mother died six years ago, tomorrow morning at four-nineteen." Something in the way Luna had said 'nineteen' made Ron think the number held more than Luna was saying. He didn't know why. Just something.
"Ginny," said Harry curiously. "Where's Ron, anyway?"
They were in the Weasley garden, degnoming. It was odd, really. As soon as the movie had ended, Mrs Weasley had shooed them out of the house, saying that the garden looked despicable. Harry, having lived with Aunt Petunia for quite a long time, agreed that it wasn't the neatest garden in the world, but he wouldn't call it despicable.
Ginny, after letting a gnome fly a good fifty feet, turned to Harry, and said, "What?"
"Where's Ron?" repeated Harry. "I mean, I reckoned he was asleep, but now it's a bit late, even for him, don't you think?"
"Yeah," she said, suddenly bewildered as well. "I didn't even notice...," she said, looking up to her house. "I wonder where he is."
"AAHHH!"screamed Harry. A gnome had taken advantage of his lack of attention, and sunk its teeth into his right leg. He kicked wildly for a while, and Ginny tried to get the thing off too. Sadly, this was rather difficult with the aforementioned wild kicking. She took a kick to her own left arm, before giving up.
After another painful minute, the gnome's teeth had had enough. It went flying, at least three hundred yards, until it vanished in the distance. Harry looked down. The little thing had drawn blood.
"Ow," Harry said needlessly, calming down a bit. He noticed Ginny rubbing her arm. "Sorry 'bout that."
"It's fine," she lied. The truth was, Harry had a very strong kick. Also, very painful.
"Honestly!" said Mrs Weasley, bustling out to the garden. "Not one, but both of you get hurt degnoming! How can you manage that? Especially you, Ginny; you've been doing this for years and you've never hurt yourself before. Let's get you two inside. That doesn't look very good Harry...I'll have a look at it. And how did you manage to hurt your arm like that Ginny? It looks as though you were kicked!"
"Er..." said Harry, turning red. They made their way back to the house without incident (which is saying something, as the house was ten whole metres away!), with Mrs Weasley rambling, Harry limping, and Ginny rubbing.
"What happened to you two?" said Mr Weasley as they emerged into the living room. "Surely the little gnomes didn't beat you up so badly? They've always been such nice little buggers..."
"No, they haven't--" said Ginny, but he ignored her. It didn't much matter, anyway, as Mrs Weasley just pushed them straight through to the kitchen.
"Now, you two are going to sit still, while I look up the charms to help," she said, pulling them out two of the table's chairs. She went right back out into the living room, and came back in a few moments with a large tome. She set it down on the table.
"I never can remember that charm...," she said, flipping through the pages. "Cut sealing, cut sealing..."
After a minute or two of painful impatientness from Harry, she said, "Aha!" and turned around, wand at the ready. She pointed it at his leg.
"Sutura venae!" The blood that was flowing stopped. "Scourgify!" The blood disappeared from his leg. She consulted the book again. "Relashio!"
"AAHHH!" Harry screamed in pain, his leg felt like it was on fire--
Just joking. What she really said was: "Sutura dermis!" and his leg was as good as new. She murmured something else to relieve Ginny of her bruise, but Harry didn't pay attention. He was just happy to have his leg back.
"That better?" asked Mrs Weasley worriedly. Harry and Ginny nodded. "Next time you de-gnome, I suggest you be a bit more careful. What if I'm not here to save the day?"
"Still hungry?" asked London, returning -- bouncingly -- to the kitchen. "Do you want some sandwiches now?"
"Yes, please," said Ron. He was, however, rather worried about what Luna's father was going to put in the sandwich. Never assume, especially when it comes to London Lovegood. Or Luna, for that matter.
"Sure," said Luna.
"Too bad, as it seems I've run out of bread..."
Of course. Should have known.
"I'll just run down to the store and pick some up, eh?" he asked, putting on a raincoat, from the sliding-door closet, and placing a white fedora atop his head. He looked...there was no other word for it...odd.
"We could just eat something else--"
"Good-bye," he said, waving, and walked right back where he came from, smiling, presumably to use the front door. "Never liked bad byes..." they could hear him say as he went out of sight.
"But--" said Ron, still not quite used to London Lovegood. "But it's not raining--"
"Yes, well it is Tuesday," reasoned Luna.
"Yeah, I guess...what?"
Luna didn't seem to hear him. She narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, and walked out of the room, to the dining room. Ron followed.
"HELP...Someone, please! I've fallen and I can't get up!" the voice was high-pitched and low to the ground. Ron followed Luna out onto the back porch. Chessy was there, on the wooden floor.
"What happened, Chessy?" asked Luna, bending over to pick the little box up. "Why are you on the floor?"
"The wind," said Chessy miserably. "It blew me right off the railing...and it hurt." Her eyes darted from side to side. "My pieces! They're gone! My back snapped off--oh, dear..."
"We'll find your pieces Chessy," said Luna.
"Sure thing," said Ron. "'Course we will."
"They probably fell through the bars," Chessy said. "And you'll need to fix my back, as well--"
"Dad can do that," said Luna, walking Chessy over to the porch's glass-topped table, "we can't use magic out of school--"
"WHAT?" Chessy said, flipping upside-down before Luna could put her down. She faced Luna. "London Lovegood is not putting a wand near me. Spellotape'll have to do," she said.
Luna, looking rather hurt, put her on the table, and hoisted herself up and over the railing. Ron, on the other hand, took the time to go down the three steps.
"You look over there, I'll look over here," said Luna. "We'll work towards each other, and we're bound to find all of them."
"There're thirty-two," said Ron.
"Yes, I know that," said Luna.
"Oh, right."
Luna pulled two bags, seemingly, out of nowhere. She handed one to Ron, before moving off to her side of the lawn.
They worked, as Luna had suggested, towards each other. It took surprisingly long, as Mr Lovegood did not keep his lawn very neat; the grass was four or five inches tall, and there were numerous obstacles. Ron didn't exactly want to know what some of them did; they seemed notoriously Muggle.
Knights, pawns, rooks, bishops. They were scattered all over the lawn, and it made Ron wonder just how much wind had been blowing. And, as the air was still now, how long Chessy had been on the floor for.
Here's the black king, thought Ron. He saw, a metre or two away, Luna pick up the white king, and put it into her bag.
Just the White Queen left now, he thought. And then they would be done. Surely Mr Lovegood would be back by now. On the other hand, Ron had no clue where the nearest store was, nor whether London Lovegood typically shopped at the nearest store.
Ron had the mental image of the man skipping down the high street of Ottery St. Catchpole, swinging his arms and singing a merry tune.
The White Queen was a particularly pesky piece to place. The other thirty-one had obediently waited to be found. However, Ron had the feeling that the queen was hiding from them. He didn't know why, but it seemed what was happening. Perhaps she was taking advantage of her first bit of freedom in years.
In other words: they couldn't find her.
Searching beneath a small rusted tricycle for the twelfth time, Ron was beginning to get frustrated. He was sure she was right under his nose; he just couldn't see her.
Ron had his eyes on the ground. He was crawling along, on his hands and knees. He wasn't watching where he was going. He just kept sifting through the grass, looking for the queen. He didn't notice when a different queen was closer than either realised.
Whack!
"OW!" said both Ron and Luna, bouncing back. Their heads had banged into each other -- quite painfully -- and there was now a ringing in Ron's head.
"Oh, I didn't see where I was going--"
"It's okay," said Ron, rubbing his forehead with one hand, and his back with another. Hey, maybe I'll have a scar! No blood. That's a good thing.
It then occurred to him that hid back should not hurt quite so much. He turned around.
"Aha!" he said, triumphantly, picking up the little white piece of enchanted wood. "There you are, you little bugger."
Ron thought that if the queen had had saliva, she would have spit on him. This was not at all the chess set he remembered.
"You found her?" said Luna, standing up and brushing her pants off.
"Yep."
"You can put me down now," said the queen. "I do have legs you know."
"Yes, I know that very well," said Ron. "Why'd you run?"
The queen snorted. "If you were locked up in a box for years and years, what would you do? Just sit and wait to be boxed back up again? Or try to be free?"
"Hello again," said Luna. "How've you been?"
"I've been perfect," sneered the piece.
"You know," said Luna, "I thought you were supposed to be nice to people. Wasn't it in the satisfaction guarantee?"
"I'm supposed to be nice to children," said the queen. "And you two are no longer children. And you aren't playing, either, which is the other time I must be nice," she said, not very nicely.
Ron put her in his bag, mostly just to shut her up. He and Luna walked back over to Chessy.
"You found them all?" asked Chessy. "I could never do without one of them...they're all like my children. Of course, they're the closest I'll ever get to having children..."
"Yes, we have them all," said Luna, emptying her bag into Chessy's snapped back. Ron followed suit.
"Oh, thank you so very much, Ronnie, Queen Luna. How shall I ever repay you?"
"You don't have to--" began Ron, but Luna cut him off:
"How 'bout a game of chess?" she said.
"Oh, that's a splendid idea! But would you mind playing inside? It's terribly breezy out here. Your father won't be there, will he?"
If you find three (3), you will get the aforementioned wallpaper, along with an advance copy of the next chapter of "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince".
If you find all 4 (four), (which I doubt you will), you will not only get the wallpaper, the advance copy, (obviously with the title), but you will also get a hint about what is to come in the future of this story!
So, scan this chapter for references (and I'm sorry to say, if there are any I didn't notice writing, they don't count), and review or e-mailme with your responses. If you review, please be logical and leave your e-mailaddress, or it'll be a bit difficult to send you anything.
Be quick about it, however. You only have until the posting of the--
Next Chapter
Once a Pawn in Time
"'Tis all a Checkerboard of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays."
Omar Khayyam (Edward FitzGerald trans.)
Coming Soon