#50. "You are the last good person here. I believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning."
Title: Last Good Person
Series: Harry Potter
Spoilers: Made for some interlude in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince that is completely AU because we know Harry prefers to spend his time wangsting and dreaming about Draco than he does socializing with Luna (the bastard).
Characters: Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood.
Pairing(s): Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood.
Author Notes: This was surprisingly hard. Or maybe, not so surprisingly. Harry, why are you so hard to write?! This seriously was like pulling teeth. I'm really unhappy with the piece but I just wanted it done, in the end. And to top if off, what's going on with my tense changes?!
Prompt: #50 "You are the last good person here. I believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning." There are 4 now under my belt with 21 (or 46?!) more to go until December 31st!
He didn't really know what to make of her most of the time. A quick sideways glance revealed a girl with straggling blonde hair and eyes a little bit too wide, too blue and too protuberant that were fixed on something indistinguishable in the distance. As he'd come to expect, her wand was tucked behind her ear; this time however it looked as though it were secured there by a knotted tangle of hair (he wasn't sure if this was fashion, mere laziness, or a ward against something cautioned in the Quibbler) and looking at her sideways, mostly, simply wasn't enough time to take in everything about her. Generally speaking, all that was usually required was a single sweep and that was it, they were done, the situation was identified and tucked away.
But Luna Lovegood defied single glances; more often than not it took two, three and four glances which generally left him feeling more befuddled than he was at the first.
This time the second glance caught the radishes dangling from her ears, the tips of which occasionally snagged on the Butterbeer cap collection that she wore as a necklace. He was familiar with the saying that one man's trash was another man's treasure but Luna Lovegood's eclectic taste in jewelry was simply, in a word, bizarre. Besides, he reasoned as he pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, radishes would make more sense on a Hufflepuff. Herbology was the Head of House's subject, and while a voice nagged at him in the back of his head (he had the sneaking suspicion it sounded rather like Hermione) that Potion students may be equally apt to appreciate radishes, he dismissed it as irrelevant.
The third glance warranted a double-take. She was no where to be seen. And how he could've lost her against the vast expanse of landscape, he wasn't quite sure. He felt a tap on his shoulder and he whirled about, ready to say whatever came to mind first in the defense of his standing here, in this place doing nothing in particular. Because he wasn't, not really.
Instead he looked down at Luna Lovegood who had somehow contrived a way to sneak past the Boy Who Lived without his notice. It occurred to him that he ought to be thankful that Luna wasn't the illustrious He (or She in her case)-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. "Luna," he greeted, unsure of what to say mostly because he never knew what to expect to come out of her mouth.
"Hello Harry," she greeted in her dreamy, absent way as she waved a long stemmed weed about in slow figure-eights.
"Um," he began, staring hard at the long-stemmed piece of green in her hands and trying to fathom what sort of ritual she was probably performing as directed by her bible, the Quibbler.
"It's seven o'clock, fairy time," she responded mildly, dutifully holding out a yellow dandelion flower to him in the other. "A lion for the lion," she added as an afterthought.
"Err...thanks, Luna." He awkwardly took the flower, eyeing it at arms length and half-afraid it would roar at him. One could never tell with wizarding plants.
"It won't bite you," she assured him as she stooped, her long strands of hair obscuring her face from his scrutiny. He noticed, with surprise, that tucked between the knots (he couldn't bring himself to call them "curls") were little acorns and somehow, really, he didn't feel he had the energy to ask her why she'd placed them there.
With Luna, it was usually best to accept these sort of things, just as one accepts the facts that tomorrow the sun would rise in the east and that the grass when well-watered would always be green.
When she straightened he saw that she'd plucked another dandelion, this one white and bristling in the breeze. She offered him this, wide eyes staring up at him unblinkingly. "They don't just tell the time, you know. You can make wishes too. In a time of seven they'll be granted, but fairies are capricious, as you know. Sometimes they like to take a while."
He wanted to tell her he didn't believe in wishes. And seven hadn't been a very good number, and still wasn't a very good number what with his seventh year on the horizon and the daunting task of finding and destroying seven horcruxes.
But this was Luna, who believed many things strange and obscure. "Did you make a wish?" he asks instead, though he still makes no move to take it from her.
"I did. I made mine in a time of three but I don't mind how long it takes. I'll always be waiting." And she held the quivering white dandelion up to him again, the expectance on her face like that of a child's.
So he took it without thinking and blew across the top and watched as the white scattered and flew away.
She was still staring up at him expectantly. "Aren't you going to ask what I wished for?" he asked at last.
"Oh no," she smiled. "I'm not a fairy." He wanted to ask her why she was waving a dandelion stalk like a wand and had acorns in her hair but he kept his bewilderment to himself. While he was puzzling over this she plucked the yellow dandelion from his hand and snapped the stalk off. Before he could ask what she was doing with the flower (the very one she'd just given him), he found her hands working on a button of his shirt and his face filled with color.
"L-Luna what are you--?" he stammered out but then she'd stepped away and had her head cocked to one side as though admiring her handiwork. Looking down he saw the yellow flower now lay tucked in his button hole. "Um..."
"You're welcome," she smiled serenely. "Wishes do come true, you know."
"I...guess." He relented, still staring at her and feeling like he missed something important somewhere. Maybe it flew away with the dandelion.
His gaze dropped to his feet as he wondered what he'd missed.
"I like your hair too." He looked up at her, startled, but she was already heading back to the castle and back to the world which expected so much of him and... Luna liked his hair. Running his hand through it self-consciously as he turned to follow her, he thought that maybe he really did like her hair too.
Series: Harry Potter
Spoilers: Made for some interlude in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince that is completely AU because we know Harry prefers to spend his time wangsting and dreaming about Draco than he does socializing with Luna (the bastard).
Characters: Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood.
Pairing(s): Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood.
Author Notes: This was surprisingly hard. Or maybe, not so surprisingly. Harry, why are you so hard to write?! This seriously was like pulling teeth. I'm really unhappy with the piece but I just wanted it done, in the end. And to top if off, what's going on with my tense changes?!
Prompt: #50 "You are the last good person here. I believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning." There are 4 now under my belt with 21 (or 46?!) more to go until December 31st!
He didn't really know what to make of her most of the time. A quick sideways glance revealed a girl with straggling blonde hair and eyes a little bit too wide, too blue and too protuberant that were fixed on something indistinguishable in the distance. As he'd come to expect, her wand was tucked behind her ear; this time however it looked as though it were secured there by a knotted tangle of hair (he wasn't sure if this was fashion, mere laziness, or a ward against something cautioned in the Quibbler) and looking at her sideways, mostly, simply wasn't enough time to take in everything about her. Generally speaking, all that was usually required was a single sweep and that was it, they were done, the situation was identified and tucked away.
But Luna Lovegood defied single glances; more often than not it took two, three and four glances which generally left him feeling more befuddled than he was at the first.
This time the second glance caught the radishes dangling from her ears, the tips of which occasionally snagged on the Butterbeer cap collection that she wore as a necklace. He was familiar with the saying that one man's trash was another man's treasure but Luna Lovegood's eclectic taste in jewelry was simply, in a word, bizarre. Besides, he reasoned as he pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, radishes would make more sense on a Hufflepuff. Herbology was the Head of House's subject, and while a voice nagged at him in the back of his head (he had the sneaking suspicion it sounded rather like Hermione) that Potion students may be equally apt to appreciate radishes, he dismissed it as irrelevant.
The third glance warranted a double-take. She was no where to be seen. And how he could've lost her against the vast expanse of landscape, he wasn't quite sure. He felt a tap on his shoulder and he whirled about, ready to say whatever came to mind first in the defense of his standing here, in this place doing nothing in particular. Because he wasn't, not really.
Instead he looked down at Luna Lovegood who had somehow contrived a way to sneak past the Boy Who Lived without his notice. It occurred to him that he ought to be thankful that Luna wasn't the illustrious He (or She in her case)-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. "Luna," he greeted, unsure of what to say mostly because he never knew what to expect to come out of her mouth.
"Hello Harry," she greeted in her dreamy, absent way as she waved a long stemmed weed about in slow figure-eights.
"Um," he began, staring hard at the long-stemmed piece of green in her hands and trying to fathom what sort of ritual she was probably performing as directed by her bible, the Quibbler.
"It's seven o'clock, fairy time," she responded mildly, dutifully holding out a yellow dandelion flower to him in the other. "A lion for the lion," she added as an afterthought.
"Err...thanks, Luna." He awkwardly took the flower, eyeing it at arms length and half-afraid it would roar at him. One could never tell with wizarding plants.
"It won't bite you," she assured him as she stooped, her long strands of hair obscuring her face from his scrutiny. He noticed, with surprise, that tucked between the knots (he couldn't bring himself to call them "curls") were little acorns and somehow, really, he didn't feel he had the energy to ask her why she'd placed them there.
With Luna, it was usually best to accept these sort of things, just as one accepts the facts that tomorrow the sun would rise in the east and that the grass when well-watered would always be green.
When she straightened he saw that she'd plucked another dandelion, this one white and bristling in the breeze. She offered him this, wide eyes staring up at him unblinkingly. "They don't just tell the time, you know. You can make wishes too. In a time of seven they'll be granted, but fairies are capricious, as you know. Sometimes they like to take a while."
He wanted to tell her he didn't believe in wishes. And seven hadn't been a very good number, and still wasn't a very good number what with his seventh year on the horizon and the daunting task of finding and destroying seven horcruxes.
But this was Luna, who believed many things strange and obscure. "Did you make a wish?" he asks instead, though he still makes no move to take it from her.
"I did. I made mine in a time of three but I don't mind how long it takes. I'll always be waiting." And she held the quivering white dandelion up to him again, the expectance on her face like that of a child's.
So he took it without thinking and blew across the top and watched as the white scattered and flew away.
She was still staring up at him expectantly. "Aren't you going to ask what I wished for?" he asked at last.
"Oh no," she smiled. "I'm not a fairy." He wanted to ask her why she was waving a dandelion stalk like a wand and had acorns in her hair but he kept his bewilderment to himself. While he was puzzling over this she plucked the yellow dandelion from his hand and snapped the stalk off. Before he could ask what she was doing with the flower (the very one she'd just given him), he found her hands working on a button of his shirt and his face filled with color.
"L-Luna what are you--?" he stammered out but then she'd stepped away and had her head cocked to one side as though admiring her handiwork. Looking down he saw the yellow flower now lay tucked in his button hole. "Um..."
"You're welcome," she smiled serenely. "Wishes do come true, you know."
"I...guess." He relented, still staring at her and feeling like he missed something important somewhere. Maybe it flew away with the dandelion.
His gaze dropped to his feet as he wondered what he'd missed.
"I like your hair too." He looked up at her, startled, but she was already heading back to the castle and back to the world which expected so much of him and... Luna liked his hair. Running his hand through it self-consciously as he turned to follow her, he thought that maybe he really did like her hair too.