- Draco or Astoria -
When I asked to come, she turned me down, so I went anyway. I barged in through the floo on Wednesday morning and followed her when she fled up our path.
"Why are you here? Why did you come? Please go away!"
I reminded her of spring flowers and tea, how her hair tangles in the wind, and how long it takes to brush the knots out. I told her how it shines golden in the sun, in candlelight, in front of the fireplace. I told her it feels like silk against my skin.
I asked her if she loves me.
"Do you love me?"
She didn't answer. She turned away and told me to leave with a brittle voice I'd never heard before.
I told her back I know she does.
I asked her: "Luna, why did you do this? We're falling apart. You're both leaving me. I have no one. I am alone with my memories in a ratty guestroom."
"The shedding of material comfort is good for the character," she mumbled sarcastically. Her back was still turned on me. She looked out over the hills; the grasses swayed gently in the wind.
"How many times have we been here," I asked, "you and me? How many times have we sat in the shade under this oak? How many times have I laid you down?"
"Never have we stod here on the precipice of -"
"The precipice," I yelled. "The precipice? We have fallen, Luna. We have met our figurative death."
She was so small standing there, hunched in on herself. She refused to look at me no matter how I raged and cried.
"I can't dance this away - I can't spin yarn from this," she whispered, "because it is all I have now."