there's a wide white roar, drop a bell down the stairs, hear it fall forevermoresuncolorsJune 15 2009, 03:22:07 UTC
As sometimes is the case, a stronger smile from one side elicits a stronger one from the other, and while the great lion has gone, his presence seems somehow still with them, and even that is cause for the way small, milk-white hand folds gracefully into one she has held before, even if she doesn't know it right now. The City is a strange place, and unpredictable at its most consistent. Whether or not she'll remember this, no one can say for certain, but often feelings can remain where distinct memory blurs into dreams, and more than that, sometimes it is enough. Beside the lion she was even smaller looking than she really is, which is very, but even next to Harry she feels tiny, not quite a child looking up to an adult, but a foreigner taking her first steps through the land that makes her that way.
In the night's modest lighting, the forest a kinder one than others they'll tread through someday, or in Harry's case, already have, she keeps her eyes and ears alert, remembering what he said about her mother, and presumably, anyone dearly departed. She won't hold him to it, because even in a dream that wouldn't be fair, but part of her hopes and another part of her needs while still a third seems to reach out to anything and everything unrelated, a life support for that which one must accept but still doesn't quite know how to accomplish doing so. Thus far she has been fortunate, bared soles not setting themselves across anything sharp or unfortunate, and it continues to be this way, something intangibly understood between them, the way friendship--as alien a reality as that is to her at this age--sometimes is, and wordless sympathies.
Unlike others, Luna doesn't really think to ask why this boy wants to help. At this age it is enough that he wants to help, without the complications of why and what for and to what purpose----what it means to him. This doesn't mean she lacks curiosity on the matter, blue eyes flickering in the dark up at greens occasionally like sky colored fireflies winking in and out of sight, not always visible but always present while sharing space.
Not quite following him on his heels, she remains more at his side than anything, her hand in his enough of a tow to help her keep up, but being so much smaller, it's likely she causes their pace to be slower-going than it would be normally.
there's a wide white roar, drop a bell down the stairs, hear it fall forevermorewholivedagainJune 15 2009, 04:41:14 UTC
Many questions come to him that he realizes he should ask. Has she eaten, how long had she been wandering before he and the lion found her, does she feel safe? The last would be the most important, but she is trusting and calm, the very image of her older self without the immediate whimsicality that Harry's grown used to. The others, however, can wait until they reached the cabin where they all lived. It wasn't far on foot, but far enough that Apparation would almost be a necessity in a moment of moving quickly.
He doesn't mind the speed now. Though he is used to moving quickly, never dawdling because life moves so quickly, every second passes so fast, he doesn't see a reason for forcing the younger girl to keep up with his usual speed. This is nice, pleasant, easy, and every five or more steps he steals a glance at the lily and is reminded of its meaning, and every glance that occurs is also accompanied by a smile.
But silent and stoic isn't Harry's style either. As the cabin blooms in the distance, far enough for him to make awkward conversation but a short enough distance for it to not be awkward and met by another stretch of silence, he glances down toward Luna and says, "We're almost there." Unnecessary reassurance, because any girl would be able to understand that a home revealing itself in the distance was probably where they were headed. "Hermione, Ron, and the rest'll be there. They'll be glad to see you." No explanation, because Harry finds that he isn't very good at that. "I'm sure we'll have something to eat, too."
It's small talk and awkward, but as much as he wishes to ask her what she thinks of the lion, of this place, to form an understanding of what she thinks, he doesn't know where to begin. Some might think it's better to start at the beginning, but the beginning-the idea of wandering through a dream and the thought of seeing her mother-is not a place he wishes to revisit.
there's a wide white roar, drop a bell down the stairs, hear it fall forevermoresuncolorsJune 16 2009, 02:29:55 UTC
Any girl would be able to understand that a home revealing itself in the distance is probably where they are headed, but in this case, the minuscule blond girl has no association of home with that place coming up in front of them like just another well intended puzzle piece in a gripping dream. Despite being told it isn't one, it maintains that dreamlike quality that so often enthralls her, at this age and any following, and this is fine because that sort of actuality is the type that she best is able to wrap her heart around, letting whispers sit on her tongue for a very long time while mild smiles fade in and out like sun filtering down through tree leaves.
For no immediately apparent reason, she wonders what makes Harry call it home, but as with many of her curiosities, she keeps it to herself, adjusting her hand in his slightly, her entire self made warm by the presence of a friend. One doesn't need all her memories or all her knowing to have comprehension and empathy at this proximity. Almost, it's automatic, but never to be confused with something taken for granted or glazed over. Natural is a better word, but not quite accurate, because no one's beginnings with Luna in their own world really ever were or will be, but this is mostly a combination of her own doing and any society's tendency to shy away from that which is different, and, well, a little bit odd...a little bit possibly worth being wary of at all.
"Perhaps there will be pudding," she beams up at him through the dark, a moving thing of white and pale gold and pale blue and pink in the earthy blacks and darkest greens and browns, blue shadows with gray undertones. She doesn't know if anyone else quite understands the true greatness of pudding---not her father even, who is given over to the whimsical and dotty as a default setting, quite possibly. This is okay too though. Luna quite rightly likes it enough for ten people, and makes up, she supposes, for any who dislike the concoction, though she finds such a thought a little bit difficult to digest in and of itself. Her feet are the only darkened parts of her, earth smudged and leaving barely there traces of footsteps, just a murmur of having been anywhere at all.
They are, perhaps, fortunate it is not winter, lest the tinier soles freeze, but summer's eve casts itself kindly upon friends, and this, they are, sharing space and the trust of being protected, as well as the willingness to protect. It all means a lot to both of them in different ways, and for the blond, for reasons different than those she might hold closer to her at her normal age, but they are no less genuine or invested for it. That anyone should care about her and not look at her as though she is a strange animal, lost from its natural habitat, means the world right now, as at this moment, the years granted her only give her memory of her mother really seeing her. Her father will come to see her more, too much, to worry and fret, and more so as a war escalates, a war Harry has won with his allies from the point he has arrived not so many days before. For the time though, it is a revelation to her, this boy named Harry who perceptibly cradles a frame between bravery and sadness, a role a little too big for him that he shoulders anyway, and an awkward way of absolute caring, none of it perfect, but all of it worth every pulse in a young heart.
Luna thinks she would like to be friends and her hand curls in his a little more tightly, though he would have to be paying rapt attention to notice, so small is the turn.
there's a wide white roar, drop a bell down the stairs, hear it fall forevermorewholivedagainJune 16 2009, 11:17:38 UTC
As much as he's paying attention to his surroundings and the younger version of the girl herself, the small turn of the hand is unnoticed. It's not that it's impossible, but some things merely slip under Harry's attention. There are others who may be called heroes because they pick up on every detail, because they swallow this information whole and use it to their advantage, but this is not him. Average as he appears, he doesn't have these gifts, these talents-he simply has the strength to carry on, the surprising ability to hold those burdens. The weight itself makes his steps against the sticks covering the ground no heavier, no louder, than that of someone who hasn't experienced those circumstances, and that's perhaps where he shows that strength the most. If given the choice, the opportunity, he would not mind the lack of sound. But the situation would be depending on certain matters. It's unlikely that if there was a lack of peace, that he would be able to sit back. That was a natural part of who he was.
"I think if there isn't any pudding, we can always change that. Pudding isn't that difficult to make, is it?" Living with the Dursleys, he's admittedly made it himself in the past, but it's been some time. He also doesn't even know if they have the makings for it, but such things can be easily rectified, can't they? Figuring out how to make pudding is a smaller problem than the ones he's faced in the past. Figuring it out doesn't make someone a hero, but simply makes him a friend, looking out for someone else. These basic, ordinary parts of life are refreshing, even if the situation is not basic at all.
Luna is very young right now. That distorts the concept of "basic" quite easily.
"The others will know your name, Luna. Don't be too surprised." Another stick cracks, with the sound still no louder than before. "But I have a feeling you already knew that, didn't you?" But then again, perhaps it is not about the sound he makes, but the sound of those around him, who steal his attention and make him learn about others. He's ever been particularly bad at it, but part of being a Gryffindor, of being a hero, is who he protects, who he cares about, for it's not as much as everyone as it is those people close.
In the night's modest lighting, the forest a kinder one than others they'll tread through someday, or in Harry's case, already have, she keeps her eyes and ears alert, remembering what he said about her mother, and presumably, anyone dearly departed. She won't hold him to it, because even in a dream that wouldn't be fair, but part of her hopes and another part of her needs while still a third seems to reach out to anything and everything unrelated, a life support for that which one must accept but still doesn't quite know how to accomplish doing so. Thus far she has been fortunate, bared soles not setting themselves across anything sharp or unfortunate, and it continues to be this way, something intangibly understood between them, the way friendship--as alien a reality as that is to her at this age--sometimes is, and wordless sympathies.
Unlike others, Luna doesn't really think to ask why this boy wants to help. At this age it is enough that he wants to help, without the complications of why and what for and to what purpose----what it means to him. This doesn't mean she lacks curiosity on the matter, blue eyes flickering in the dark up at greens occasionally like sky colored fireflies winking in and out of sight, not always visible but always present while sharing space.
Not quite following him on his heels, she remains more at his side than anything, her hand in his enough of a tow to help her keep up, but being so much smaller, it's likely she causes their pace to be slower-going than it would be normally.
Maybe that's okay though. Maybe, it's just right.
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He doesn't mind the speed now. Though he is used to moving quickly, never dawdling because life moves so quickly, every second passes so fast, he doesn't see a reason for forcing the younger girl to keep up with his usual speed. This is nice, pleasant, easy, and every five or more steps he steals a glance at the lily and is reminded of its meaning, and every glance that occurs is also accompanied by a smile.
But silent and stoic isn't Harry's style either. As the cabin blooms in the distance, far enough for him to make awkward conversation but a short enough distance for it to not be awkward and met by another stretch of silence, he glances down toward Luna and says, "We're almost there." Unnecessary reassurance, because any girl would be able to understand that a home revealing itself in the distance was probably where they were headed. "Hermione, Ron, and the rest'll be there. They'll be glad to see you." No explanation, because Harry finds that he isn't very good at that. "I'm sure we'll have something to eat, too."
It's small talk and awkward, but as much as he wishes to ask her what she thinks of the lion, of this place, to form an understanding of what she thinks, he doesn't know where to begin. Some might think it's better to start at the beginning, but the beginning-the idea of wandering through a dream and the thought of seeing her mother-is not a place he wishes to revisit.
Reply
For no immediately apparent reason, she wonders what makes Harry call it home, but as with many of her curiosities, she keeps it to herself, adjusting her hand in his slightly, her entire self made warm by the presence of a friend. One doesn't need all her memories or all her knowing to have comprehension and empathy at this proximity. Almost, it's automatic, but never to be confused with something taken for granted or glazed over. Natural is a better word, but not quite accurate, because no one's beginnings with Luna in their own world really ever were or will be, but this is mostly a combination of her own doing and any society's tendency to shy away from that which is different, and, well, a little bit odd...a little bit possibly worth being wary of at all.
"Perhaps there will be pudding," she beams up at him through the dark, a moving thing of white and pale gold and pale blue and pink in the earthy blacks and darkest greens and browns, blue shadows with gray undertones. She doesn't know if anyone else quite understands the true greatness of pudding---not her father even, who is given over to the whimsical and dotty as a default setting, quite possibly. This is okay too though. Luna quite rightly likes it enough for ten people, and makes up, she supposes, for any who dislike the concoction, though she finds such a thought a little bit difficult to digest in and of itself. Her feet are the only darkened parts of her, earth smudged and leaving barely there traces of footsteps, just a murmur of having been anywhere at all.
They are, perhaps, fortunate it is not winter, lest the tinier soles freeze, but summer's eve casts itself kindly upon friends, and this, they are, sharing space and the trust of being protected, as well as the willingness to protect. It all means a lot to both of them in different ways, and for the blond, for reasons different than those she might hold closer to her at her normal age, but they are no less genuine or invested for it. That anyone should care about her and not look at her as though she is a strange animal, lost from its natural habitat, means the world right now, as at this moment, the years granted her only give her memory of her mother really seeing her. Her father will come to see her more, too much, to worry and fret, and more so as a war escalates, a war Harry has won with his allies from the point he has arrived not so many days before. For the time though, it is a revelation to her, this boy named Harry who perceptibly cradles a frame between bravery and sadness, a role a little too big for him that he shoulders anyway, and an awkward way of absolute caring, none of it perfect, but all of it worth every pulse in a young heart.
Luna thinks she would like to be friends and her hand curls in his a little more tightly, though he would have to be paying rapt attention to notice, so small is the turn.
Reply
"I think if there isn't any pudding, we can always change that. Pudding isn't that difficult to make, is it?" Living with the Dursleys, he's admittedly made it himself in the past, but it's been some time. He also doesn't even know if they have the makings for it, but such things can be easily rectified, can't they? Figuring out how to make pudding is a smaller problem than the ones he's faced in the past. Figuring it out doesn't make someone a hero, but simply makes him a friend, looking out for someone else. These basic, ordinary parts of life are refreshing, even if the situation is not basic at all.
Luna is very young right now. That distorts the concept of "basic" quite easily.
"The others will know your name, Luna. Don't be too surprised." Another stick cracks, with the sound still no louder than before. "But I have a feeling you already knew that, didn't you?" But then again, perhaps it is not about the sound he makes, but the sound of those around him, who steal his attention and make him learn about others. He's ever been particularly bad at it, but part of being a Gryffindor, of being a hero, is who he protects, who he cares about, for it's not as much as everyone as it is those people close.
Reply
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