Potter47 Part Two
Crossing the Rubicon "Oh, what a beautiful mornin'
Oh, what a beautiful day.
I got a beautiful feelin'
Everything's going my way."
Oscar Hammerstein II Chapter Thirteen
Perihelion
"Can you see anything?"
"No. Can you?"
"Why would I have thought you couldn't, if I could?"
"I don't know, I was just asking."
Silence.
"Where do you think we are?"
"You and I both know where we are."
"I suppose. But why is it so dark?"
"I don't know."
"You've been saying that a lot lately."
"Let me think."
"You spoke first."
"And I regret that fact very much. Now shut up."
"Mum?" Luna said hesitantly, hardly believing that everything was indeed true, that everything was indeed happening. That her mum was alive.
"What?" said Cynthia Lovegood, with a puzzled look, at Luna's flabbergasted face. "You look as if you've seen a—"
"Mum!" exclaimed Luna suddenly, dashing over to her mother and enveloping her in her arms.
"Wha—" began Cynthia, both taken aback and taken backwards with the force of the hug. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," said Luna, shaking her head, but still clinging to her mother.
Cynthia patted her daughter's back lightly, looking curiously at Ronald over her shoulder. He evaded her gaze.
"It's a party!" said London Lovegood, bouncing into the room from the kitchen doorway. He, apparently, had come down the kitchen stairs, for some odd reason, instead of the main ones. Skipping over to where Ronald was standing, he asked, "Why are we having a party at this hour? I didn't even get to invite—"
"We're not having a party, London," said Cynthia, slowly disentangling herself from her daughter. "Luna was upset about something...what was wrong, baby?"
"Nothing, nothing," said Luna dismissively, wiping the 'dust' in her eye.
"Good, because there's nothing to be upset about," said London. "It's a party, after all, and who wants to be upset at a party? I think I'll put on the wireless!" And he did so.
"Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting...little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear..." said the wireless. "Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right..."
"Oh, I love this one..." said London, which was not a very big deal, as there was rarely a Beatles song he didn't like. He bobbed his head through the remaining notes.
"So who wants cake?" he continued, looking back at them.
"London, we're not having a party," said Cynthia, but it was no use, as London was already bouncing into the kitchen to bake individually coloured cupcakes. "I think your father might have a fever of some sort," she added. "He's acting rather funny."
"Doesn't he always act like that?" said Ronald.
"Well, I suppose you can say that, but he's usually not going on about parties and cakes, is he?"
"They'll be done before you can say 'Snorkack!'" informed London from the kitchen.
"So where have you been this summer?" Cynthia asked Ronald. "You haven't avoided us this much since before the World Cup."
"Avoided you?" he repeated. "I guess I've...just had stuff," said Ronald, not really sure what stuff he had had.
"Yes, I suppose you have. But honestly," she turned to Luna, "has he even sent you one owl? I'd dump this one, if I were you."
Luna blinked. "What?" she said in an odd voice.
"I was just joking," Cynthia said. "No need to take it to heart."
Ronald blinked. "What?" he said, and so did Luna.
"Joking." Cynthia looked at them as if there was something wrong with them. "Is there something wrong? Joke. You know, poking fun. Not being serious?"
"You mean Luna's my—we're—" began Ronald, wide-eyed.
"Are you all right, Ronald?" asked Luna suddenly, looking worriedly at him.
"What? I'm fine—"
"No, I think you need some fresh air. Excuse us."
She grabbed his arm and lugged the still-mouthing-like-a-grindylow-out-of-water boy towards the back porch.
"Right..." said Cynthia, clearly confuzzled, as they left.
"Maybe she fell asleep, and that caused it?"
"I doubt that that would have this effect. After all, isn't she usually asleep when she comes?"
"Maybe not. Maybe it's like us."
"I doubt it. But I've already told you how—"
"'How little you know of the situation.' Yes, I know."
"Then stop asking me questions."
"I didn't! I merely offered a suggestion of my own."
"Then stop offering suggestions of your own."
Luna sat Ronald down on one of the deck chairs on the back porch, and proceeded to sit in the one opposite.
"Ronald, I don't know how this whole thing happened, but it did, so I suppose we'll just have to live with it."
"But how did—when did—I don't remember—"
"I do," said Luna.
"You do?"
"Yes. We went together to the Yule Ball in my third year. We went as friends. At the end of the night, we were out in the rose garden, and you handed me a crumpled-up rose, which you'd pricked your hand on, so it had a bit of blood on it. You asked me if I'd like to go to Hogsmeade with you. I said that we always go to Hogsmeade together. You said that wasn't what you meant. We've been together since." She said all this very fast, as if when she took a breath, this new place would disappear.
"What—when—how—why don't I remember that?"
"I don't know. I can't remember much else, either. From this life, that is."
"This whole thing is so—does this look different to you?" Ronald's brow had furrowed, and he was looking round them, at the porch itself.
"What do you mean—oh."
The porch was different. At least, from how it had been before. It was now enclosed, with glass windows on all sides. It looked rather odd, it did. But Luna hadn't even noticed it.
"I suppose it must have been Mum's idea," she reasoned. Yes, that makes sense.
"Right."
"So we're like...boyfriend and girlfriend?" said Ronald uncertainly.
"Yes," said Luna, nodding. She inwardly jumped up and down.
Luna and Ronald....Ronald and Luna....Finally, finally, finally, finally....Ronald and Luna....Luna and Ronald....Finally, finally, finally, finally....she inwardly chanted, until 'finally' began to sound to her, in her head, like 'fine alley' and that didn't make much sense, so she stopped.
"Unless you don't want to," she hastily added. "We could just pretend or...."
"No, it's...fine," said Ronald awkwardly. "Yeah, pretend. Kind of. We don't know how we acted before, anyways. So we'd have to pretend. Right."
Luna and Ronald....Ronald and Luna....Ronald doesn't seem very enthusiastic...Luna and Ronald...damn it...Ronald and Luna....
"Let's go back in, shall we?" said Luna, pulling him up from his chair. She just now realised she had already gotten up from her own.
Dragging him inside, perhaps a bit too quickly as he was jogging to prevent the loss of his arm, Luna thought that pretending had to be better than nothing, right?
"Well, maybe we just have to wait. A light's bound to turn on eventually."
"Sadly, you may be correct."
Silence.
"Do you have your wand?"
"If I had my wand, do you really think this would be a problem? No. I was taken right out of bed."
"So was I."
"Yes, I needed to be told that. It is so vital to our predicament."
"Well, you told me!"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean I want to hear you say the same."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It makes a certain amount of sense, but under the circumstances, that's the best I can do."
"No it doesn't."
"Yes, it does."
"No, it doesn't."
"I told you to be quiet."
"No, you told me to 'shut up,' and 'stop offering suggestions of my own.'"
"Then shut up and stop offering suggestions of your own."
"There they are!" exclaimed London excitedly, wearing a purple "Kiss Me, I'm Eccentric" apron (which Cynthia's great-uncle had sent him the previous year, Luna remembered now) and matching oven mitts. He held a pan of individually coloured cupcakes, each one a different colour of the rainbow, as would be inferred from them being 'individually coloured'. "Cupcakes! There's enough for two each!"
Luna and Ron could see that, as there were four cupcakes left in the pan and four empty-yet-crumb-filled-cupcake-shaped spaces. Ronald took a blue and a orange-ish colour, and Luna took a red and yellow-ish colour.
"Now it's really a party! Who wants to watch 'Yellow Submarine?'" he asked elatedly. "It'd match your cupcake, Luna!"
"Not again!" said Cynthia exasperatedly. "I tell you, that was the worst idea I ever had, buying you that cartoon for your birthday. And I'll never get that song out of my head, either."
But London had already inserted the video tape and the film had started to play. He took a bite of the cupcake in his left hand (which he had saved especially) and began to watch.
"Well, that'll keep him entertained for a while," said Cynthia, as if her husband was a rambunctious three-year-old who could be mesmerised by watching his favourite programs. "Do either of you want breakfast? I'm not as good a cook as London, but I can make bacon pretty well."
"Yeah," said Ronald, who had just noticed that he was pretty hungry for something other than cupcakes.
"All righty then. You two can talk amongst yourselves while I cook." They walked into the kitchen, and Ronald and Luna took seats at the table.
Cynthia took what looked like a brand-new apron, never worn, from the sliding-door closet and tying it round her waist. "Now," she said. "Where does London keep the pans?"
"Somebody's coming."
"Yes, someone is coming... Is that wings I hear?"
"It sounds like it. Maybe it's—"
"I doubt it."
"Why do you keep saying 'I doubt it' to everything I say?"
"Because I doubt everything you say."
Silence.
"Whoever it was, they've left."
"Don't you mean 'he or she' left, Little-Miss-Perfect-Grammar?"
"There may have been more than one of them, Mister I-Must-Say-Something-Negative-Every-Chance-I-Get."
"That's Professor I-Must-Say-Something-Negative-Every-Chance-I-Get, to you."
"Yes, well you're not a professor right now, are you?"
"Once a professor, always a professor. Regretfully."
"Regretfully? Why would you regret being a professor?"
"Because I have to teach dunderheads like you."
"You're negative again."
"No, I'm positive I have to teach dunderheads like you."
Cynthia hoisted herself up onto the counter, opening the final unopened kitchen cabinets, which were far above her reach.
"Where is that pan?"
"Maybe you should ask Dad," repeated Luna, as she had already done again and again.
"No. I'm going to do this without your father's help," Cynthia said determinedly. She peered through the open doorway into the living room. "And he wouldn't help now anyway; he's too busy."
"Why don't we just have Pop Tarts?" suggested Ronald hopefully.
"Pop Tarts? We have Pop Tarts?" she said uncertainly. "No, I'd know if we have Pop Tarts. They're my favourite, after all. And how would you know what we have anyways, Mister I'll-Just-Leave-My-Girlfriend-Hanging-Over-The-Summer. Really, Luna, you should consider...No. I'm going to find this pan."
Cynthia dropped to the ground, peering under the icebox. "If I were a pan, where would I hide?" she wondered aloud. Then realisation dawned on her face.
"Or..." she said. "Where wouldn't I hide? That's where London would put it..."
Looking at all the different parts of the kitchen suspiciously, she pulled paintings to the side, opened drawers and even checked the underside of the table. Then she went "Aha!" and pulled open the icebox door.
"Right next to the bacon! I should have known..."
The rest of the preparation was a snap—literally. Cynthia very much preferred the magic way of doing things, opposed to her husband's Muggle ways. Ronald was devouring his bacon in no time.
Luna, who hadn't taken very much bacon to begin with (compared to Ronald's mountain, at least), finished rather quickly. Cynthia took her plate and put it in the sink. On second thought, she decided to say "Scourgify!" and place it back in its proper cabinet; much easier.
Watching her mother, Luna had a sudden thought: What else is different now? And with said thought, she stood and made for the kitchen stairs.
"Where are you going?" asked Ronald, though it sounded a bit more like "Wararoogong?" because his mouth was so very full.
"I want to look at something," she replied vaguely, and climbed the stairwell.
In the upstairs hallway, Luna looked round. The first thing she noticed was that the chair and mirror were not anywhere to be seen, though the desk was just where it had always been; Perhaps she just moved them into her room or something. Put them on a different desk.
Also missing were the yellow pinstriped walls, and thick orange round carpet over the hardwood floor. Everything had taken on a decidedly greenish-bluish-orangish colour, though it is rather simple to imagine not being able to imagine such a thing.
She wondered what her mother's room looked like now.
Walking slowly, Luna suddenly flashed back to when she was nine years old.
Finally, she could see the bottom of the door to her mother's room. No, not her bedroom. Her room. The room in which she did her experiments. Luna did not know why, but she now felt that her mother was awake, and out of bed. The only place she would go was her room.
Slowly but surely, Luna made her way to the door. She felt that there was a weight in her chest, something telling her to go back to bed. But she couldn't go back to bed, not now. Not when her hand was already on the doorknob...
Turning the knob, however, she did not see the inside of the room she remembered. She saw the inside of a nondescript room that she did remember, but it was not her mother's room.
"What is the Queen of Logica-Land doing in my chambers?" echoed a cold, icy voice.
The Wizard, thought Luna.
"I'm not sure," said Luna.
"Well I am," said the Wizard, popping into Luna's view. "You wished to know what else had changed. And I am to tell you."
Oh.
"But first," said the Wizard, holding up a finger, "I must tell you—there are those who do not wish for things to continue; they want you to change it back."
"Why would I want to change it back?" asked Luna. "My mother is alive now. Everything is perfect."
The Wizard smiled a grim smile, nodding slightly, greasy hair reflecting a far-off light.
"Exactly. I shall simply say that the ones of which I speak are not exactly on my side, if you understand."
The Envelope of Oblivion, thought Luna. It wants me to change it all back.
"Of course, you may change it back if you insist; I am merely suggesting that you do not."
"Never," said Luna confidently. My mother is alive; I'm not going to lose her again.
"So," Cynthia asked Ronald sombrely, "how's your mother been holding up?"
"My mother?" echoed Ron, confuzzled. He took a bite of his bacon. "Why wouldn't my mother be holding up fine?"
Cynthia worriedly looked at him, eyes wide. "Perhaps you need more fresh air, Ronald," she said. "If you don't remember what happened, you must have some sort of cold or something..."
Ronald swallowed.
"What happened?"
Repercussions and Revelations "And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's
In deepest consequence."
Shakespeare Coming Soon