What Luna Said

By SilverCrystalArtemis

AN: Holy rusted metal, Batman! You weren't expecting this at ALL, were you? You thought I'd let this story fall into development Hell, didn't you? Oh, ye of little faith. In all actuality, it's been beating out a samba in my brain for the past few years, but life has been busy. Busy doesn't even cover it. Busytastic? Busitacular? Busipocalypse? Anyway, I'm BAAAACK. Getting back into the swing of writing non-stream of consciousness science fiction, so forgive me if the chapter's a little rough. I'll be going back and fine-tuning this story soonish. Sooner than two years from now, at least. Hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I own more things now. HP isn't one of them.

What Luna Said

Chapter Five

He sent the owl off with the parcel, already feeling the loss of that small something hers. He fought with himself about giving it back; there was a good chance that, no matter how hard he tried to make amends, she'd still reject him. It would have been better to have some small piece of her around, to ease the suffering in that case.

Either way, he took the gamble. Five years was too long to have been without her. He knew he physically couldn't take much more, and this was the best peace offering he could give. He warred with himself for over an hour as to whether to sign the note. Would she take it as a sign he had cursed her jewelry? Would she just throw it at him in the morning and accuse him of theft? He had already written the same note five times, going between confessing all to her and writing the pathetically short missive he did send, with the disguised handwriting. Parts of him railed against not jumping in full-tilt towards winning her over, but damn it, he was no fool-headed Gryffindor. He was a Slytherin, and that meant self-preservation and cunning always won out. Even when it was a toss-up as to how much self-preservation could be had in a situation of literally life and death.

He had known for years that it could come to this; between his mother's warnings of denying his Veela and his father's puritanical rage, he was all too aware from the first time he saw her in the Great Hall and his spine shivered that the only way he could ever be with her would come most likely at too little, too late to salvage any relationship, and save himself.

He was uncomfortably aware of the physical repercussions of denying the Veela. For the past year and a half, now- ever since he had seen her on the arm of that Bulgarian blockhead- his instincts had been in a near fury. He could barely sleep, and if he did, it was terrorizing. He was starting to feel constantly fevered, nauseous, light-headed. It was an ever-present struggle to keep from tackling her in the halls, just for a small moment of relief. But he couldn't. That would ruin him. To have her close, to feel that, and then have it ripped away, physically as well as emotionally? It would kill him. And he wished he was being poetic. Every cell, every nerve, screamed for communion with hers. His body would not be able to handle the shock of that closeness, only to have it blocked from him.

Which brought him to his plan. Now that Lucius was locked away, hopefully driven mad and dying by the Dementors, he had half a chance to win her over. Explain to her the whys and hows of who he was, apologize, and maybe, gods, maybe, get her to love him.

He slammed his head into the headboard of his bed, ignoring the irate ramblings of his dorm-mates, and, shakingly, picked up his quill and attempted to flesh out his next letter to her. This one would require time.

Draco shocked awake, jostling Hermione in the too-small bed. What had made him dream of that, of all things? Really, in nearly six decades of knowing the woman, that was where his mind was dwelling? He looked to his side, Hermione still peacefully asleep. He stroked her hair, gently, needing to touch more of her. Even in this state, she nuzzled his palm as it came close to her cheek. He smiled a small, tired smile, a comfortable flare of love and connection from her flaring at the action. His hand found its way down her back and, using it to pull himself ever closer to her, he fell back asleep next to his wife, for what he worried was the last time.

Harry leaned back, smirking, letting his thoughts trail off. He was gaining some perverse enjoyment out of tormenting the younger Malfoy, he would admit. As close as he and Draco had become in the intervening years since then, he still held a small grudge over the other man's know-it-all nature. As if he and Hermione weren't well-suited enough. Realizing he was lost in his thoughts, he looked up to realize Scorpius was staring at him, impatient, nearly exasperated. It was funny, really. Even though he looked like a near carbon copy of Draco- aside from the eyes; he had his mother's eyes- almost his entire personality came from Hermione. How many times had he seen that look?

"You can't possibly leave it there."

Harry looked over, surprised, to hear that come from his own daughter. He looked around and noticed that nearly the whole group was looking at him the same way Scorpius was.

"I wasn't planning to. Just got a bit lost in thought."

"Then maybe I'll talk a bit." This came from Ron, who had pulled up a chair and now sat directly across from Harry. Somewhere in his telling, the line of people had converged into a circle, blocking out as much of the depressing atmosphere as possible, and focusing whole-heartedly on the tale.

Stretching his arms down to the fingers, cracking his knuckles- and earning himself a dirty glare from his sister- Ron took a deep breath and began his part.

"It wasn't until after we left school that Hermione got another letter from this mystery person. We had talked about it a few times, of course, but only in passing. There was too much to focus on at the time. But she was mad, trying to figure out who it could be. She was positive it had to be a Slytherin, and Harry and I knew better than to disagree with her; she was almost always right, anyway.

I actually remember her saying she was disappointed she couldn't send a thank you note back- the owl dashed off as soon as it dropped the parcel. And Hermione, well, Hermione took it as a missed opportunity to help someone who needed it. She was sure that this was someone who had found an opening for safety, with most of the Death Eaters locked away, and was too scared to come out about it.

She came to stay with us about a week into the summer break, and when she did, did she ever have news to share."

Hermione dashed into the house, smiling widely and greeting everybody, but Ron could see from a room away that glint in her eye. The one that meant she had exciting news to share. He was just hoping it wasn't to do with a new book she had read; there was only so much intellectual prattle he could take, especially on his holiday. Once she was settled in, she dragged him bodily into his own room, a small mountain of paper clutched in one hand.

She sat down on his bed, practically rattling with excitement. Ron took a deep breath, and prepared himself for the worst.

"I only got this a few days ago, and I almost wrote you and Harry about it, but I didn't even know where to start!" That was new. Interested, he sat down next to her, ready for more.

"It's from the same person- a Slytherin, I'm sure of it! It's not quite the same handwriting, which makes me think they're still shy about whoever they are. But, Ron, look!"

She held up the papers in her right hand, not quite shaking them in his face. He reached out for them and, almost as a second thought, Hermione pulled them back into her own focus, clearly too excited to wait for him to read it himself.

"I'd been stuck on it for days, trying to figure out how far this would go and then, one morning before dawn, even!- there was a post owl at my window. Just a regular owl;I didn't recognize it as anybody's I'd seen, but still! And listen, some of this is just-" She ruffled the papers, putting them in some order only she could understand in her hands, and began to read to him.

" 'I'm not making excuses for what we did, and I'm by no means speaking for everybody, but there's something I need to explain. For those of us raised in Pureblood households, you had one of two options: either believe it, or pretend to. Our society doesn't accept tradition-breakers. Look at your Weasley friends.' Before you start, Ron, they don't say anything actually rude. 'Because of their fascination with all things muggle and their acceptance of the "new culture", they may as well be social pariahs. Imagine if you didn't have your entire family backing you up. It's a dangerous, violent social game we play. We have to look like we conform, or else. It's no excuse for how we- how I- have treated you all these years. I'm sorry.' And you said none of them had soul enough to apologize, Ronald!

She flipped the pages around, skipping what she thought was unnecessary for his understanding. She skimmed down the last page, looking for something specific. "Here we go: 'I know I'm asking too much of you. Still, I can't help but wonder if we could find some common ground. There's a bit of an eye in the storm, right now. I won't say it's safe for those like me to be out about our beliefs, but maybe there's a chance for a truce? I've instructed my owl to wait for a response. If you have none, I understand. Just tell the bird, and he'll be on his way. But I can't help but hope.' There's a little more, but it's more of the same. Oh, Ron! Do you-"

"Please tell me you told the damned bird to shove off, 'Mione." He cut her off, not liking the look in her eyes one bit now.

She stared back at him, appalled. "Of course not! If I had, it would have been no better than the entire reason for this war! The very least I could do was offer some forgiveness and acceptance to someone who clearly needs it. After all, I-"

"Damn it, Hermione, this isn't another SPEW-!"

"It's not 'SPEW', Ronald!"

"It's the child of a bloody Death Eater, Hermione! How the bloody Hell do you know this isn't just some giant game or, or trap? You can't trust that slime as far as you can throw them! I-"

But Hermione had had enough. Before he could blink, she had slapped him clear across the face, stood up, and stormed out of his room, slamming his door loud enough to knock his posters of his walls. It was another two days before she talked to him again, and that was only because he gave up. At breakfast, he noticed Hermione sitting with another small encyclopedia of a letter in her hand and, between bites of egg, he asked "What'd he say this time?"

Hermione smiled at him, not even taking him to task about table manners, and replied, "He wished me a good summer," before piling her plate in the sink and walking out into the back garden.

"Ron, you make it sound like she was infatuated with him from the start! You know that's not Hermione."

Ron looked up, and smiled sheepishly at his sister. A year younger than him, sure, but Weasley women weren't something to be messed with.

Scorpius turned to Ginny, now. "She wasn't?"

"Oh, no. You see, you never saw your mother before she, err, toned down a bit. Once your mother sunk her teeth into a project, she never let it go. I remember her third year, she took every class available. Had a time-turner and everything, specially licensed to her. Even took Muggle Studies." At this Scorpius snorted. "You laugh, but remember she could have taught the class better than any of the staff. She grew up in that culture. Her fourth year, she tried to hunger strike for the sake of House Elves. That's just who she was. It wasn't until after the war she gained a sense of moderation. She wasn't in love with him after two letters. She just knew my brother would be an arse about it, and decided to enjoy her newest fascination the way she did everything else: whole-heartedly."

Ginny was about to say more before Scorpius could ask another question- she could see his mouth start to open, but their group was interrupted by another round of family. James and Albus came walking in the door to the waiting room, and Lily and Victoire moved to pull more chairs.

"Hey, mum, dad, everybody. Sorry, there was a bit of trouble with the portkey. Landed us in Albania the first time. But Teddy's on his way, too. He said he's picking up Luna."

Well, there you have it. I hope you liked it. Characters are a little bit flat, here, but I'll fix that. And I really hope you review!