FIC: Five Winters (Zacharias/Luna, PG)
Title: Five Winters
Summary: Five times Luna and Zacharias run into each other.
Characters/Pairings: Zacharias/Luna
Genre: Gen, hint of Romance
Rating/Warnings: PG
Word Count: 1030
Notes: Written for bluemermaid at the rarepair_shorts Winter Exchange.
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Sure
Zacharias doesn’t see her until it’s too late, when scalding hot cocoa has spilt on the front of both their coats, a curse has slipped past his lips and a gasp from hers. He catches her by the arm, just in time, just before she stumbles back onto her arse, the movement a little sudden, spurred by instinct.
"I'm sorry--" she begins to say just as he bites out, "Watch where you're going!"
She only blinks owlish eyes at him, though, seemingly unperturbed by his rudeness.
"But then how can I keep track of the nargles?"
"The what?"
"The nargles," she explains, and then begins detailing how she'd been on their trail.
"Nargles aren't real," is the only thing he thinks to tell her, arms crossed in front of him. And then, because his mother raised him to be courteous, even when he isn't feeling like it-- "You should clean your coat soon; that looks like it might stain."
"Zacharias, right?"
He glances at her from the corner of his eye-- ahead of him, Justin and Ernie are deep in discussion, Ernie animatedly gesturing his arms whilst Justin punctuates every agreement with an emphatic nod. Most everyone is huddled in groups, bundled in thick clothing and the thrill of a secret, murmuring amongst themselves, and anybody who catches his eye only returns it with doubtful looks. The ginger twins are glaring menacingly, inasmuch as anybody with that godawful hair and freckles can appear menacing.
So he sighs and turns to her. "Yes, why?"
"I know you think we only believe in him because he's Harry Potter," she says, "but have you ever thought that he was Harry Potter because we believe in him?"
He frowns. "That doesn't even make sense," he points out.
"Think about it," she says. "Won't you?"
Zacharias makes no promises, just the starting stutter of a protest, but all he gets for his troubles is a guileless smile.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, looking up at her as she takes the seat next to him.
"Oh, hello, Zacharias," she says, smiling as she adjust the red-and-gold scarf draped around her shoulders. "I'm taking this seat."
"That's only for commentators and scorekeepers."
"Yes, it is."
No one comes to his aid, and he doesn't quite know what to do when she helps herself to the mic and begins offering her insights as well.
"What are you doing?" he hisses, covering the mic so no one else can hear.
"I'm helping commentate."
"You're wearing Gryffindor colours!"
"I support them."
"You can't show obvious bias when you commentate-- you're supposed to be impartial!"
She only peers at him curiously. "And are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Impartial."
He scowls. "Of course I--"
"I can't change the fact that I support Gryffindor," she says, "so why should I hide it when everyone knows anyway?"
"That's--"
"--more honest, don't you think?"
He doesn't reply to that, but he lets her sit beside him the rest of the match without further comment.
"There you are! Where have you been?"
Zacharias nearly jumps out of his skin. Instead he presses himself against the wall, back flat against its rough stone, and lets out a whoosh of relieved breath when he realises who's spoken to him.
She emerges from the shadows, and nothing in the way she looks makes him think of the wide-eyed girl he's known. Her hair is dirty, scraggly; her skin pale and mottled with bruises; her eyes large and clear-blue, no longer innocent, not really. "You should come find us where we always are," she tells him.
He finds himself shaking his head before he can come up with a gentler lie. "I can't."
"Zacharias--"
"I can't." He focuses instead on the window behind her, watches intently as the snow drifts lazily down, blanketing the school in a serene white, covering it in lies.
"It's okay to be scared," she says, and he thinks she was trying to reach for his hand before he jerks it away by instinct. She continues to speak, ignoring the way he must look hunted to her. "We all are, you know."
"Doesn't seem like it," he mutters. He's seen what they've done to them, what the Carrows have made them do. "I can't."
"Zacharias--"
"He isn't coming back," he tells her. "They'll kill you first before he does, so just-- so don't. It isn't safe."
There's enough room for students who wanted to return, but it isn't because Hogwarts magically found a way to make room for them.
No, it isn't Hogwarts that found a way.
Zacharias doesn't know what to expect; he doesn't know what to do. He's lucky, he supposes, in that no one else seems to either. They pick their way to classes through the brittle debris left unswept from battle, or left there to remind them, he can never tell. They have memorials overrun with flowers and notes to mark where students fell. They have Quidditch, and Hogsmeade weekends, because life goes on, but the excitement and cheer that should mark these occasions falls a bit flat, feels a bit forced, comes up lacking.
He keeps to himself, sticks to his lessons, works on his NEWT revisions. It's all he wants to do before he leaves for good, and it's what he's thinking as he pores over Transfiguration textbooks in the library when she takes the seat beside him.
"What are you doing here?" he wants to know.
"It's a Hogsmeade weekend."
"So I heard."
"You should come out with us," she ventures.
Why should he, he is about to ask, turning to face her angrily, but the pity he expects to see isn't there. She is only smiling-- a little hesitant, yes, but it is the same smile she wears as before. The words disappear before he can utter them, and he is left staring.
"I never did offer to replace that cocoa I spilt," she adds helpfully.
He glances at the textbooks on his desk, the parchment he's already filled past the required writing, her hopeful smile. "Guess it's about time you did."
Evyclaw//34 pts earned for Ravenclaw
Summary: Five times Luna and Zacharias run into each other.
Characters/Pairings: Zacharias/Luna
Genre: Gen, hint of Romance
Rating/Warnings: PG
Word Count: 1030
Notes: Written for bluemermaid at the rarepair_shorts Winter Exchange.
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Sure
Zacharias doesn’t see her until it’s too late, when scalding hot cocoa has spilt on the front of both their coats, a curse has slipped past his lips and a gasp from hers. He catches her by the arm, just in time, just before she stumbles back onto her arse, the movement a little sudden, spurred by instinct.
"I'm sorry--" she begins to say just as he bites out, "Watch where you're going!"
She only blinks owlish eyes at him, though, seemingly unperturbed by his rudeness.
"But then how can I keep track of the nargles?"
"The what?"
"The nargles," she explains, and then begins detailing how she'd been on their trail.
"Nargles aren't real," is the only thing he thinks to tell her, arms crossed in front of him. And then, because his mother raised him to be courteous, even when he isn't feeling like it-- "You should clean your coat soon; that looks like it might stain."
"Zacharias, right?"
He glances at her from the corner of his eye-- ahead of him, Justin and Ernie are deep in discussion, Ernie animatedly gesturing his arms whilst Justin punctuates every agreement with an emphatic nod. Most everyone is huddled in groups, bundled in thick clothing and the thrill of a secret, murmuring amongst themselves, and anybody who catches his eye only returns it with doubtful looks. The ginger twins are glaring menacingly, inasmuch as anybody with that godawful hair and freckles can appear menacing.
So he sighs and turns to her. "Yes, why?"
"I know you think we only believe in him because he's Harry Potter," she says, "but have you ever thought that he was Harry Potter because we believe in him?"
He frowns. "That doesn't even make sense," he points out.
"Think about it," she says. "Won't you?"
Zacharias makes no promises, just the starting stutter of a protest, but all he gets for his troubles is a guileless smile.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, looking up at her as she takes the seat next to him.
"Oh, hello, Zacharias," she says, smiling as she adjust the red-and-gold scarf draped around her shoulders. "I'm taking this seat."
"That's only for commentators and scorekeepers."
"Yes, it is."
No one comes to his aid, and he doesn't quite know what to do when she helps herself to the mic and begins offering her insights as well.
"What are you doing?" he hisses, covering the mic so no one else can hear.
"I'm helping commentate."
"You're wearing Gryffindor colours!"
"I support them."
"You can't show obvious bias when you commentate-- you're supposed to be impartial!"
She only peers at him curiously. "And are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Impartial."
He scowls. "Of course I--"
"I can't change the fact that I support Gryffindor," she says, "so why should I hide it when everyone knows anyway?"
"That's--"
"--more honest, don't you think?"
He doesn't reply to that, but he lets her sit beside him the rest of the match without further comment.
"There you are! Where have you been?"
Zacharias nearly jumps out of his skin. Instead he presses himself against the wall, back flat against its rough stone, and lets out a whoosh of relieved breath when he realises who's spoken to him.
She emerges from the shadows, and nothing in the way she looks makes him think of the wide-eyed girl he's known. Her hair is dirty, scraggly; her skin pale and mottled with bruises; her eyes large and clear-blue, no longer innocent, not really. "You should come find us where we always are," she tells him.
He finds himself shaking his head before he can come up with a gentler lie. "I can't."
"Zacharias--"
"I can't." He focuses instead on the window behind her, watches intently as the snow drifts lazily down, blanketing the school in a serene white, covering it in lies.
"It's okay to be scared," she says, and he thinks she was trying to reach for his hand before he jerks it away by instinct. She continues to speak, ignoring the way he must look hunted to her. "We all are, you know."
"Doesn't seem like it," he mutters. He's seen what they've done to them, what the Carrows have made them do. "I can't."
"Zacharias--"
"He isn't coming back," he tells her. "They'll kill you first before he does, so just-- so don't. It isn't safe."
There's enough room for students who wanted to return, but it isn't because Hogwarts magically found a way to make room for them.
No, it isn't Hogwarts that found a way.
Zacharias doesn't know what to expect; he doesn't know what to do. He's lucky, he supposes, in that no one else seems to either. They pick their way to classes through the brittle debris left unswept from battle, or left there to remind them, he can never tell. They have memorials overrun with flowers and notes to mark where students fell. They have Quidditch, and Hogsmeade weekends, because life goes on, but the excitement and cheer that should mark these occasions falls a bit flat, feels a bit forced, comes up lacking.
He keeps to himself, sticks to his lessons, works on his NEWT revisions. It's all he wants to do before he leaves for good, and it's what he's thinking as he pores over Transfiguration textbooks in the library when she takes the seat beside him.
"What are you doing here?" he wants to know.
"It's a Hogsmeade weekend."
"So I heard."
"You should come out with us," she ventures.
Why should he, he is about to ask, turning to face her angrily, but the pity he expects to see isn't there. She is only smiling-- a little hesitant, yes, but it is the same smile she wears as before. The words disappear before he can utter them, and he is left staring.
"I never did offer to replace that cocoa I spilt," she adds helpfully.
He glances at the textbooks on his desk, the parchment he's already filled past the required writing, her hopeful smile. "Guess it's about time you did."
Evyclaw//34 pts earned for Ravenclaw