Disclaimer: This is really, really not mine. Really.
A/N: Thanks for the nice reviews! Once again, this update took a long time to come, but I assure you that it's worth the effort of reading. School work has assumed its evil role of preventing me from frequent update, but I have tried to write as much as I can.
Plum Blossoms: Thanks for your understanding! It's for readers like you that authors write.
Yav aka Shibs: I am glad you like Jonathon. He's a cute OC... maybe I should write a story just about him and Susan Bones... Nah. -kicks away plot bunny-
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In a couple of minutes he will be here.
I am lying on my belly on my bed, writing in this journal. I refuse to fiddle like some helpless third years before their first date.
That, from a girl who just fiddled in front of the mirror for half an hour trying to find the best outfit, is not very convincing. And my toes are still twitching. Not a good sign.
Merlin, before the date even started I feel exhausted. So much is running through my mind that it makes no sense, and it is very tiring to be happy and worry and think logically at the same time.
What should I say to him on our way? Report on my week as I usually do? Talk about my emotions, or the lack thereof? Is it just another therapy session, only to be carried outdoors?
And how should I look? Smile? What if I can't? I have never been able to feel anything around Ron, unlike the time I spend with Keyes.
But Keyes has also said that I haven't lost my emotions, only the contact with them.
Then again, there is not much evidence that he knew what he was talking about. There is not much evidence that he is sane.
Keyes has wondered about Ron's motive. It is simply too strange of Ron to be so absurdly angry one day, and come and ask me out on another, isn't it?
Damn Keyes' Ravenclaw reasoning! And damn mine, too, for acknowledging that he is right.
Argh. My head is throbbing. Maybe, if I can think of a good excuse...
Oh brilliant. It's too late. He's here.
We are in a nicely decorated cafe right now. The sunrays are coming through the large window next to us, shining merrily on our table. Short, green hedges are planted around the small shop, and they, together with the enticing smell of coffee, create an extraordinarily relaxing atmosphere.
"It's really depressing to know you prefer that diary's company to mine," Ron says.
"Well, look who's the one with the Daily Prophet in front of him."
"That's only because you took that out!"
I ignore his protest. Truth is, while I do not prefer this journal to him, I do find it safer to write than to talk. The walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade was pleasant. We talked about the weather, our lives, gossiped about people we both know. Easy enough a conversation, but the fear of running out of topics was ever present, tugging on my tongue and making me stutter. So if I can help it, I will spread out our small talks lest any awkward silences should befall us.
Another pressing concern is that, my lips are getting tired at the corners from turning up for so long. If only I can-
"What is there to write about anyway?" He is saying sulkily.
"Don't whine," I reply. "It is you who advised me to write, remember?"
"Not when you're with me."
"Do pardon me, milord. I am truly humbled by your presence."
He rolls his eyes. "Don't write while you talk. It sounds like you're reading instead of conversing."
"Good. Advice." I say, putting down these words deliberately. "In. That. Case, I. Think. I. Will. Just. Write."
"Fine, be that way," he grumbles, picking up the newspaper again. "Ignore me until the guy comes."
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop a grin from forming on my face. The urge to grin is foreign, but it doesn't feel too bad. 'The guy' is the messenger that we are waiting for. He is going to deliver something apparently so important that Ron has to come in person to pick it up. The 'something' will later be delivered to the Ministry. At least now I know part of Ron's purpose of being here today.
The brunch here is unexpectedly delicious. I especially enjoy the tea, which flavor is so rich that it lingers on my taste buds long after the liquid has slid down my throat. I definitely should get some more of-
Hmmm. A strange man is peering at us outside. His cloak has been pulled low, and I can't see his face except his wiry beard. Is he a beggar? If he really is that hungry, I can give him my half-eaten waffles...
"Oh-"
"What is it, Luna?"
"Nothing. There's a beggar outside and eyeing my food, and I am thinking of giving it to him... but he caught my eye and scurried away."
"You aren't eating those anymore?"
"No, you can have it if you want."
"That's awfully annoying, Luna. Stop writing down everything I said. We said."
"Yes. Sir."
Gladwags Wizardwear is a cramped shop sitting nicely between Zonko's and Scrivenshaft's Quill on the High Street. Although not with a selection as wide as the one in Madam Malkin's, it provides an array of robes in all imaginable colors for almost every occasion. Now with the holiday season barely a week away, the shop is overflowed with racks of thick, furry coats in varying hues of red, green, gold and white. Right next to the door stands a large shelf displaying all kinds of socks.
Would Keyes appreciate a pair of owl-patterned socks?
While I am sitting at this corner, pondering whether the entertainment I am no doubt to obtain seeing Keyes' expression upon receiving such a gift is worth facing his resulting wrath, Ron is rummaging through the selection of clothing, discussing with a very animated witch whom I presume to be the owner.
"Will this shrink if charmed with a warming jinx?"
"This is made of the best cashmere there is, sir! You don't need to charm it!"
Ah, the mystery of clothes. While the majority of witches would undoubtedly enjoy such a conversation, it is also the precise reason that I prefer to order my robes through owl. I can't seem to bring myself to fuss over how they might 'bring out the color of my eyes' or 'accentuate my figure.'
That explains a lot about your fiddling in front of the mirror this morning.
Where in Salazar's bungalow did my inner voice pick up that irritating streak of sarcasm? As I lock it into a mental box, then put it into another box, then another, and wrap the said boxes with a chain, I feel Ron sitting down next to me.
"Oh, you're done? Do we go now?"
"No, Luna. Madam Hawke has gone inside to bring out more samples."
"Oh."
"For the name of everything nice, can't you show more enthusiasm?"
"Fabulous, Ron! I've never seen so many robes before. I am so thrilled!" I pull a fake bright smile, showing all my teeth.
"And you get to try them on, too."
"I do?"
So this is what it's all about. I want to point out that I am slightly shorter than Hermione, and am no where as curvy. I have a figure of an ironing board. And my sense of fashion is that of a blind man. I want to reason to him that, I am no more suitable to try on clothes for Hermione than he is.
But of course, he will not see reason. My attempts to talk logically to him have always been futile.
"Are you not enjoying yourself, Luna?"
That face, that- that expression, that voice, the disappointment so thickly spread on, the little plea behind his eyes, as if he is still a boy. I blink.
"Of course I am."
And there is that smile, widening so readily and innocently. It makes me wonder for a moment whether he has played a trick on me.
Does it matter? What I have said is the truth. I am enjoying myself, despite my doubts and self-pity and the ever nearby jealousy. Being with him is more than I can hope for. I can-
Ron retreats behind the copy of Witches Weekly he picked up on the desk when he has caught my glare. No one, not even him- especially not him- has the right to read my journal.
He is peeping again.
"Interesting choice of magazine, Ron," I comment, not raising my eyes from the page. He goes back to his disguise of attentive reading, holding up the magazine higher. The flashy cover bears the topic of the week: Top Ten Ways to Deal with Cramps. I sincerely hope he is not reading that, or else he's bound to have some nightmares tonight...
Though, why am I worried when all he is doing is reading over my shoulder?
"Dissimulo verbus," I say, tapping my wand on this page. Ron pretends to not have heard me. This is a nifty little spell I learned from a book last year. It's amazing how much useful stuff they left out from the syllabus at Hogwarts.
Ron Weasley stinks because he baths only once a month.
Hmm. If he's seen the above line, he sure isn't showing it.
Maybe because that's the truth. Snicker, snicker.
Ron Weasley loves to stick into other people's business with his abhorrently large nose which is rivaling the size of Snape's!
That hasn't gotten any reaction from him either. The spell has worked perfectly.
Ron Weasley is a selfish git for doing this to me.
And still, I love him. Merlin knows, I love him even though he hurts me so much.
I love Ron Weasley!
Oh boy, that feels good.
"Miss Lovegood?"
Madam Hawke is back, hardly visible behind the pile of clothes in her hands. The word 'terrified' just doesn't quite start to describe my feeling.
Gods. I am still in a daze.
The Three Broomsticks has never seem so cramped before. I am breathing in short, noisy gasps. The emptiness in my stomach is doing nothing to help my nausea, either.
Nauseous. That's what I am feeling. Maybe I am a bit delirious, too. I must be seeing things.
Only the event feels too real to be an illusion. I can still feel the biting cold on my cheeks from standing so long in the snow.
Why? Why must all the most unthinkably terrible things always happen to me at the most unfortunate times? Did I unknowingly offend some power of the universe?
Half of my mind doesn't believe, can't believe, what happened. However, the other half of me knows it has indeed happened, and is depressed over it, if 'depress' is not too strong a word.
If only I had tried on one more set of robes. If only I had not insisted on leaving so soon. If only I had not mentioned that I was quite famished after the ordeal with Madam Hawke. If only... then we wouldn't have bumped into Hermione.
Arms in arms with my Potions Professor. Merlin.
Joking, looking positively happy, oblivious to their surroundings.
Would it be a crime to say that Ron and I were in a similar state, discussing heatedly over something I can't remember now, not noticing their presence until- until I literally bumped into Hermione?
"Luna!" Hermione sounded startled when she saw me. I cringed at the scene and what was about to come.
Please, not on our first date.
"Mr. Weasley, Miss Lovegood," Snape nodded slightly at us, his face pale and unfathomable. I nodded back, too stunned to do anything else.
"Good afternoon, Professor," replied Ron, his voice completely cheerful.
I balled my hands into tight fists, pinching the inside of my palms, fighting the urge to shake. I did not dare to look at Ron. The anguish on his face would be too much for me to bear.
"A perfectly good day for Christmas shopping, of course," I came to myself in time to catch Snape saying, his voice devoid of sarcasm.
"For a date, too," added Hermione.
What is she doing? Twisting the knife in? I risked a glare at her. She was smiling, wrinkling the corners of her eyes. There was something in her smile, and I could swear that she had winked at Ron.
A signal, but what?
Ron did not reply, but stood closer to me. I could not tell whether this was an act of defiance, of protest or of seeking refuge. I only knew that my presence was of some significance between them. What that was remained to be revealed- I carefully filed that for my future meditative purposes. In the meantime, though...
"By the way, Professor, I've-"
"Not here, Mr. Weasley!"
I had no idea what they were talking about. I was still in a state of shock as Ron pushed me into the tavern, seated me comfortably at a table near the Christmas tree, and went out to talk with Snape again. Some Order's business, no doubt.
Ron was even better at this hiding-my-emotion thing than me. His voice has not quivered, his body has not stiffened, and he was even willing to go out there to face Snape and Hermione alone, though the latter might be plain Griffindor bravery. The only thing he did out of ordinary was to stand closer to me. And if he was trying to find comfort in the situation by showing Hermione that he had a date too, then comfort I would offer.
If he needs a friend's shoulder to lean on later, then a shoulder I will provide.
What about yourself, Luna? Asked my curiously sympathetic inner voice.
Me?
Oh.
There is always my beloved covers on my bed, under which I can always hide when hebecomes unbearably cruel.
Clank.
Some wizard sitting near the door has knocked his goblet onto the floor in his haste to stand up. Madam Rosmerta is rushing over in alarm. Fortunately, there was not much Butterbeer left in the goblet, and the little that remained is now seeping through the cracks on the floor. The man pushed open the door and left, nearly hitting Ron who was entering in the process.
A strange feeling rises up in my abdomen. I have seen that man before.
"Don't tell me you're writing in that cursed diary again," Ron groaned when he sat down.
I shook my head, trying to erase the uneasy sensation.
"Put that away," Ron sa-
Only hours ago did he playfully snatch away this very journal, shoving the menu in front of me.
And now, only hours later, he is lying there, apparently lifeless.
He is ghastly. Can a living human be possibly so white? He is almost transparent in the shadow.
His hand is flopped at his side. Picking it up, I try to detect a pulse. His hand is cold and, like the rest of his body, lifeless. If not for the Healers' repeated assurance, I would have started arranging his funeral already.
"Wake up, you dolt," I have whispered. "Wake up. I wouldn't leave unless you wake up. Do you really want me to stay in this forlorn place for the night?"
My words have yet shown their effect. I understand. If I were the one who was in a coma, I wouldn't want to be left alone in the Intense Treatment Ward. This room reeks of death.
"Wake up," I whisper again. He does not even stir, like he is in some deep, peaceful slumber.
His face is so sweet that it forces my eyes away.
I look up and see the now-familiar blank wall, extending to the far end of the elongated room, where a lone pane of window stands, where the moonlight is spilling across the tiled floor. It never quite reaches us, the moonlight.
The room is so quiet. Not the comfortable tranquility one gets in the early morning, but a dead silence. Sometimes I stop writing- and when the quill stops scratching on the paper, I can almost hear the thin noise of air wheezing in and out of him. It is a difficult sight to bear, but I dare not close my eyes. Because once my eyelashes as much as flutter, terrible, terrible things start to replay in my head.
We would be back in Hogsmeade, stepping out of the Three Broomsticks, fed to our hearts' content. The wind was chilly, but I hardly noticed it because he was telling me a good joke about two dragons and a banshee, trying to pry open my tightly-sealed lips. I only pursed them tighter, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making me laugh. It was a really funny joke, though, and it was getting harder and harder to keep my poker-face.
"And then the banshee replied..." he glanced at me to see my reaction, and my face must be red from the effort, because he burst out guffawing.
"What did she say?" My voice quivered as a giggle attempted to break through.
He was opening his mouth to answer when I saw them. A group of hooded creatures, tall, menacing, pulling out their wands, pushing through the crowd, advancing on us. He followed my line of gaze and immediately pulled out his wand. I followed in confusion.
"Stupefy!"
A jet of light hit where I was standing seconds ago. He pulled my arm and roughly pushed me behind his tall frame. We slowly backed away as the mob- the Death Eaters, I recognized- slowly gained on us. Half of my mind idly registered the fact that the crowd had dispersed into hiding in record time. The other half panicked as we backed into a solid wall. The Death Eaters formed a semi-circle around us.
"A Weasley," a voice taunted contemptuously. I peered from behind his back, and saw who seemed to be the leader of the group stepped forward.
"Yes, sir," Ron replied in a composed voice. "Who may I be addressing?"
The man laughed. A shrill, evil sound.
"You Aurors are all the same," he stopped laughing abruptly, and pointed his wand at us. "Hand it over, Weasley."
"I've no idea wha-"
"Stupefy!"
"Protego!"
Ron had seen the curse coming and blocked it with a swift spell. I trembled behind him, the bricks on the wall stubbing my back uncomfortably. I had not been in a duel since my fourth year, and even then we were not so dreadfully outnumbered.
A few more curses were thrown at us but Ron blocked them all effectively. Then, the leader put up a hand.
"What are you all doing out of your holes? There's no more Voldemort to protect you now, you know," Ron jeered, but I could feel his tensed muscles heaving as he panted.
"Let's not play games anymore, young one," the leader held up his hand again, stopping a few of his enraged comrades. "We know you have it."
"I saw him getting it," a man piped up on the left. I glanced at him- and recognized the small man as the 'beggar' outside of the cafe earlier, and the man in the Three Broomstick. His beard jutted out from beneath his mask. I concealed my gasp.
"We will not kill you," the leader said, his tone dipping nastily low. "Not yet. Hand the prophecy over and we'll spare your lives."
"It is not with me," Ron answered. I didn't know whether to believe him or not.
"Locomotor Mortis," the man pointed his wand casually, and even though Ron was still standing, I knew at once that his legs had locked together and he couldn't hope to walk very soon.
"Do whatever you like, the prophecy is not with me," he said coldly. I wondered was this how I usually sound- void and blank of emotions.
"Sir, should we-"
"Exosossis Totalus!"
My eyes widened as I saw a Death Eater suddenly slumped like a sack of flesh. The group of Death Eaters turned around. I let out a small sigh- help had arrived.
I did not stay relieved for too long as all hell broke lose around me. Flashes of light shone as jinxes were thrown and hit their target. I could not stay whimpering behind Ron, not when he was fighting hard when he couldn't even walk. I came out and started tossing curses at the Death Eaters. At that moment, I was glad that I had paid attention during DADA.
Our side was winning. I could hear the Death Eaters Disapparating away. I turned to look at Ron. He was still standing by the wall. A film of perspiration was shining on his forehead, his hair was messy, and he was breathing heavily. All in all, he was as handsome as ever.
"Are you alright?" I asked, feeling the adrenaline flushing away and my head lightening.
He flashed me a tired smile and nodded.
I returned the smile hesitantly, as the strange urge to cry into him wrenched inside me. I took out my handkerchief but before-
Before I could gently wipe away the sweat on his face, I fell backward. Falling, falling, falling as I watched his hands that had pushed me froze in their position, his eyes filled with relief on me, and the white spurt of light hit his neck.
Then my bottom contacted with the ground, painfully. And the slow-motion picked up speed, slowly at first, people's shouts dragged out, then everything rushed in, the Healers, the Aurors, Snape, and then it became a blur, I stayed sitting until someone came and picked me up, the world still blurry to me. Colors, sounds, voices, memories. All meshed together. I sat on a green bench in the St. Mungo's. Hermione came. The Weasleys. Hugs. Tears. Questions.
From the chaos of my mind, only one thing emerged clear. And it was an echo:
I did it again. I did it again. I did it again.
A/N: Dissimulo verbus: Disappear words (this is not entirely correct. You will find out why soon enough. Hee hee)
Exosossis Totalus: Remove bones entirely
Ahh, the glory of online Latin dictionaries. I apologize for not learning the beautiful language and have to resort to direct translation.
The next chapter will be the last, and there will be an epilogue. So 2 more installments to go! This is going to be my first completed fic. I hope you are all enjoying it so far. REVIEW! Anonymous reviewers, please leave your email address if you wish to be on the contact list.
