[fic+ commentary] My Heroine Pretend

[thistlerose]

My Heroine Pretend
with commentary

Fandom: HP
Ship: Neville/Luna
Rating: PG
Summary: Neville and Luna think they've found a real Wazrel - at last!
A/N: gehayi requested commentary on this story. The original is here.



This is a sequel to Any You, My Wayward Girl. Some years after the end of the series, Neville and Luna meet randomly in a Tuscan town (based loosely on Cortona) and fall into each other. Luna mentions Wazrels a few times. At first, she's concerned that Neville might be one in disguise but, upon seeing him naked, is satisfied that he's human. gehayi requested a sequel in which Wazrels were explained a little better - that is to say at all.

The title, like that of the prequel, is from a line in "Piazza, New York Catcher" by Belle & Sebastian.

The first part of this story was fun to write, but I wildly prefer the prequel. The writing, I think, is much better.

Neville and Luna are in Prague. They are there because, four days ago, at the breakfast table, Luna said from behind her newspaper, "We should go to Prague."

I can't remember if it was always Prague. It might have been. I picture Luna looking a little like Julie Delpy in "Before Sunrise." I had it in my head that that film was set in Prague. So I set my story there. Actually, the film was set in Vienna. Oops.

Neville had been spooning sugar onto a grapefruit half. "What's in Prague?" he'd asked warily.

Mmm, grapefruit.

"I don't know," Luna had said. "We ought to find out, though."

They are sitting at a small table outside a café, drinking red wine and sharing a plate of pastries that taste like almonds and butter, and that seem to come apart in flakes if you so much as look at them too strongly. It is evening, and the trees are strung with tiny electric lights. The Vltava River isn't far away; he can't see it, but there's a cool dampness in the air that makes him want to lean toward the lit candle on the table, and toward Luna, whose face is almost as bright.

I've never been to Prague and I know very little about it. Except that there's a river called the Vlatava.

Luna is dressed all in black, from her trainers to her beret. Neville isn't sure if she's supposed to be an artist or a spy. She'll inform him - if she's either - when the time is right. Luna's time is not always the same as everyone else's.

I like the idea of Luna playing at being a spy. I can see her dressed all in black, thinking she looks very sexy and mysterious.

She's licking pastry flakes off her fingers. Neville finds this intriguing, doesn't even wish - for the moment - that he were the one doing the licking. Luna's tongue is very pink and wet in the firelight, and her eyes are narrowed in concentration, like this is very serious business.

Nowadays I can't see the words "serious business" without laughing. Oh, fandom. Of course, these days I only ever see them in relation to fandom, so…

Suddenly she looks up. "Neville," she hisses, "don't move."

He freezes instinctively. This is a holiday, but for the past few months they've been tracking escaped Death Eaters, and they've had some intense encounters. His wand is in his pocket, and his right hand is wrapped around the stem of his wineglass. If he's fast enough…

Neville is like a Nazi hunter in this fanverse. Except that he hunts Death Eaters, obviously. I like the idea of Neville doing something import, but on his own. Or not with the Trio, anyway.

"Turn your head very slowly," Luna instructs. She's looking over his shoulder. There's no alarm in her face.

Neville breathes. "What am I looking for?" he asks as he swivels in his chair.

I like this. Doesn't it always happen this way? You tell someone not to look, or to turn veeeeery slowly, and what does he do?

"Slowly!"

"Er. Sorry. I don't see anything. What is it?"

"He's gone into the café," Luna says. "I'm sure he saw you. You weren't very subtle," she adds reproachfully.

She can be so imperious. I love her.

He turns back to her. "Sorry."

Her pale lips are pursed. Neville can't tell if she's genuinely cross, or just being Luna.

"I think you should follow him," she says.

"Follow who?"

"Follow what, you mean."

"What?"

"Wazrels, Neville." Her words are clipped. She is a bit cross, he thinks.

"I'm sorry - what?"

She sighs. Sometimes she makes him feel like an idiot. She never intends to, though. Sometimes Luna forgets that not everyone runs on her time. "I think," she says patiently, "that a Wazrel just got up from that table over there, and went into the café."

"There's no such thing as Wazrels," Neville mutters.

"Then what," demands Luna, "did I see?"

That is Luna Logic. If I saw it, then it must be real.

Absolutely bloody anything, thinks Neville. No, that's not true. Luna spins her fantasies out of real threads. An arrow's head of white swans against the night sky becomes a host of ghostly riders. A woman in a long, dark coat, who looks around furtively is obviously involved in political intrigue.

I was once sitting in the backyard with my dad and saw this big white THING move across the sky. It looked like sea foam, almost. We sat there frozen until it had disappeared. Dad posited that it was white geese or something, but I dunno.

"I think we should investigate," says Luna.

She's a spy, then. All right. "How will I know what we're looking for?"

"Wazrels," explains Luna, putting her elbows on the table and leaning toward him. Her hair is the same color as the wax. "Well, they're difficult to detect, because they go about disguised as humans. You know."

"Why do they do that?"

"I don't know," says Luna. "They just do. It's a mystery, and if we want to figure it out, we'll have to catch one and ask him."

"Catch one…how?"

"I don't know. We'll figure it out when we're inside."

She starts to get up.

Neville hesitates.

"Come on," she says, seizing his hand and pulling him to his feet. He stumbles, but she catches him and links her arm with his. She lifts her chin and tosses her hair as they weave between the tables, toward the café entrance. "Act casual," she whispers.

"I don't know. Fly casual," said Han.

Inside, the café is crowded, dimly lit, and full of cigarette smoke. Neville chokes. Luna pats his shoulder.

"I don't see him," she says.

"How can you see anything in here?"

Either she thinks his question is unworthy of a response, or she doesn't hear him. Through stinging eyes, he can see her standing on her tiptoes, trying to peer over the heads of the people in the café. Neville wonders what happened to acting casual.

"Don't let go of me," Luna says, clutching his arm tightly. "I reckon he's gone to the loo. I can't think where else he might be."

She starts to elbow past people, and Neville has no choice but to follow. "Pardon. Promiňte, he mutters each time he jostles someone. He picked it up yesterday, in a museum, and he's quite sure that he's mispronouncing it. Globes of red, blue, and yellow twirl overhead like drunken fairies. He catches, mingled with the smoke, whiffs of rich chocolate, mint, liqueurs, cologne, and then they're standing outside the loo.

The word is Czech. I don't remember where I found it and I've no idea how it's pronounced. Someone checked it for me, so it is correct. Unless I was misled.

Luna stops at the closed door. "Well," she says. "This is it." It's hard to tell in the burnished light, but her face could very well be glowing. "Neville, it's up to you, now."

Neville looks at her blankly. "What?"

She laughs. "Well, I can't go in there! It's for men. You've got to go in and confront him."

This was written before I saw the pilot episode of The Sarah Jane Adventures. I was very tickled when the bad guys refused to follow Sarah into the ladies' room.

"Confront the Wazrel?"

"Yes."

"The man you think is a Wazrel?"

"Yes. Just think how exciting it will be! What an important discovery!" She was clinging to him now, wringing his arm in excitement.

I became a little nervous at this point. Neville's going in to face the danger while Luna waits outside? But I wanted Neville to be brave all by himself. I think Luna wanted that too.

Neville swallows. "But…" He glances around, but no one in the café seems to be paying them much attention. He turns back to Luna. "But I don't even know what a Wazrel looks like. He's disguised, right? How will I know him? What was he wearing when you saw him?"

"I don't know," says Luna impatiently. "It was dark."

"Then-" He throws up his free arm in frustration.

Luna catches his hand, brings it to her chest. She looks up into his eyes, and he knows he's for it. She's going to tell him something completely mad, and he won't be able to resist.

"Wazrels aren't dangerous, are they?"

"Oh, no," Luna says dismissively. "At least…"

"What?"

"No, now isn't their mating season. They're quite harmless."

"How do you know?"

"Neville." She squeezes his hand. "Trust me."

And he does. Because she believes so fervently and because he doubts that the forces that guided him to her in the first place intend for him to be eaten - or whatever it is they do - by Wazrels.

"All right," Neville says. "Tell me exactly what I need to know."

"Nobody knows all that much about Wazrels."

"Just tell me what you know."

"Well…"

"For example," he says, "suppose our bloke isn't the only one in the loo. How will I know which one he is?"

"If you're lucky," Luna says, "he'll be using one of the urinals, and you'll see his penis."

Neville chokes.

She laughs again. It's not her usual startling, brassy laugh, but low, breathy. "Don't be such a prude," she admonishes at length. "Considering what you do with yours." She lifts her eyebrows knowingly and Neville flushes. "All anyone really knows is that Wazrel penises are long and thin and curl up…sort of like a snail. Like this." She frees one hand so she can show him; she curls her index finger and holds it in front of his nose. "A bit like this, but longer, so it goes around a few more times. And I don't know if it's the same color. It's very good luck that we spotted a male."

Hee. Penis. So many slang terms are overused - like cock and prick. And really, I couldn't see Luna using either term, or any others. For all her fantasizing, I think she can look at something and call it by its proper name. So she says penis. And I got to say penis. ☺

Neville can't feel his feet. He isn't sure what's supporting the rest of him. "Yeah," he says weakly. "Really lucky. If he sees me looking at his - at him - he's going to think I'm a poof."

"So? I know you're not." Again, the knowing little eyebrow-lift.

"Yes, but…"

"You're not in any danger," Luna promises. "You might be if it were the mating season, but that's in the spring."

"What happens during the mating season?"

"What do you think? Wazrels have incredibly strong sexual urges. They'll go after absolutely anything with an opening."

Poor Neville. Hee.

Neville looks from her face to the loo door. There could very well be nothing in there at all. "And what should I do if it is a Wazrel?"

"Catch it," Luna says. "Stun it or something. Then we'll figure out what to do. We'll interview him! And send the story to the Quibbler. With pictures! Neville, we'll be famous all over the wizarding world!"

It's so completely mad, and he is so completely smitten with her. She's radiant in the café light, black from her neckline to the tips of her toes, pale face and hair splashed with red, blue, and yellow. She's a magical creature. A myth more exciting than a Wazrel.

"I'm going to do it," Neville says. Then he clasps her face and kisses her mouth - hard, right there, in the middle of the café. No one is watching, but it feels dramatic, like he's a spy in a Muggle film, about to face grave danger for his girl.

He's a true Gryffindor!

He can still taste her - almonds and butter and good red wine - after he pulls away. "All right, then." He starts to salute, but it turns into a wave, which she mirrors.

"Good luck," Luna says.

Neville opens the loo door and strides in.

I was stuck here for so long! I just didn't know where to go. I had Neville's monologue in mind already, but no idea as to what would become of the Wazrel. I wasn't about to let him be stunned and dragged back to Britain. I put a poll, asking for reader input. The Wazrel could have turned out to be Snape, Sirius, Voldemort, Doctor Who, and a couple of others. The majority wanted a real Wazrel, though. So that's what they got.

It took me almost six months to come up with this. Isn't that pathetic? I felt so guilty. But other things came up, and I can be a bit flaky when it comes to multi-parts, which is why I usually don't do them. (This was not intended to be a multi-part, originally.) Six months, plus a rare-ish pair, plus an admittedly wacky conclusion… I wasn't really surprised when, for a day, NO one commented. I was a bit hurt, though. No one liked it? No one bothered to read it? Possibly no one saw it, as I posted late in the evening.

So, I did the emo thing, which I hate doing because who doesn't get annoyed when writers whine that they'll stop writing if they don't get X amount of comments, or they're not as popular as Y BNF or whatever. Sometimes I think that, as fan fic writers, we're expected to be content with what we get. And I can understand that. Really, I do. But we all want lots of feedback.

So, anyway, I got this idea while daydreaming about crossovers I'd like to write. I thought Luna would have a good time mixing it up with the guys from the Men in Black movies. They could use The Quibbler for leads! And how different is the flashy thing from Obliviate? Plus Will Smith's Agent J could be in it, and Will Smith is still TEH YUM. At first I thought it would be cool if the MIB had Luna and Neville join them. But then I realized that not everyone has seen those films. (I haven't seen the second one.) So this is what I wrote:

It's like entering a cave. The walls are painted ochre and hunch so close together that the air feels compressed. Neville sucks it in slowly, feels how heavy it is in his lungs. It's a few moments before his eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting, a few more before he spots the only other being in the loo.

He's tall - though he may be a stumpy Wazrel, for all Neville knows. He's standing by the urinals, so all Neville can see is the spill of his long, black cloak.

I picture the Wazrel looking a bit like The Ghost of Christmas Past from this illustrated edition of A Christmas Carol, which I had when I was younger.

He would be wearing black, thinks Neville with a flicker of amusement. He'd be unnerved if this weren’t so daft, and if Luna weren't waiting for him just outside the loo, probably guarding the door like a proper accomplice, her arms crossed formidably over her chest, her wand at the ready.

Neville clears his throat, but the cloaked figure doesn't turn. Well, even if this Wazrel - or whatever - is as harmless as Luna thinks, he isn't going to interrogate it with his flies undone. Neville goes to the urinals - keeping one between him and the Wazrel - and stands there.

There's no tinkling, he realizes. Either the Wazrel isn't really taking a piss, or he's doing it silently. Neville slants his gaze at the Wazrel, then looks away quickly.

Nothing. That voluminous cloak hides everything.

Neville bites his lip, stares at the wall.

If he thinks about this too much, he knows, he'll start to have doubts. Rather, the doubt will start to come back, and he can't have that. He's got to do this for Luna, who's standing just outside thinking he's a hero. He wants to be her hero, which is funny since he never wanted to be a hero before in his life.

Bugger it.

Feeling more than a little daft, Neville heaves an exaggerated sigh and says, "Girls. I ask you."

I guess it's pretty silly of Neville to launch into this monologue when he doesn't know what the Wazrel will do, but I like it. I love writing dialogue, but it's rare I get a scene where one person just shuts up so the other can go on and on.

He waits a beat, but the Wazrel says nothing.

"My girl, I should say. 'Let's go to Prague,' she says, like you or I - or any normal person - might say, 'let's have jacket potatoes for supper.'"

I like that comparison. Mm, I also like jacket potatoes. And the way Neville says "my girl." Because I don't think he'd use a word like "lover" and "girlfriend" sounded wrong when I tried it. She's HIS girl.

Not a sound from the Wazrel.

Neville steals another glance. It's just standing there, solid and still as a door. "My girl," he continues to babble. "She comes up with the maddest things. Not that going to Prague is mad. It's a brilliant city. It's just that- Well, she knows things - or thinks she knows things - that most people don't. She's not a seer. It's more like… She sees things the way they ought to be, I sometimes think. Daft. But daft isn't always bad, right? In fact, just a little while ago, she was talking about…these people - not people, mind, not human beings, but…and wouldn't you know…"

He's run out of breath, and still the bloody thing hasn't turned so he can see its face.

"Look," Neville says, not sure how much longer he can stand doing this. He's just about convinced that the Wazrel can't understand a word he's saying. "I've never seen a Wazrel, and I reckon my girl doesn't really know what one looks like. She thinks you're one. And - er - she wants me to try and catch you. I'm not going to, of course," he adds quickly, forcing a chuckle into his increasingly strained tone. "I was just hoping… I've got a camera in my pocket, and I reckon I could convince my girl that-"

At that moment the loo door swings open. Neville jumps and bangs his hipbone hard against the urinal. It's only Luna, beret askew, pale hair flying.

"So, you could have done this yourself?" Neville stammers.

"Someone was coming," Luna tells him breathlessly. "Two someones. I think they're onto us. We've got to be quick." She looks at the Wazrel and smiles serenely. "Oh, hello." To Neville, she whispers, "I don't think he's completely stunned."

It's a silly line, but I like what it means. She assumes he'll do everything right.

"It's not stunned at all," says Neville.

"He," Luna insists.

Now she sounds like me, insisting that people call cats and dogs "he" and "she," not "it."

"He. I'm not going to stun him. Let's just take his picture and get out of here."

"But there are so many questions I want to ask!"

"Luna," Neville sighs. "I don't think he can talk. Even if he can, I don't think he understands us."

Originally, the Wazrel was telepathic. Or empathic.

"There are ways," Luna says, twisting her fingers and eyeing the Wazrel with an intensity that Neville finds a little worrying. "Spells. Decoders."

"Luna," Neville begins, but he's interrupted by the door opening a second time.

Two people, a man and a woman, both in black, come in. They're older, maybe in their late-thirties. The woman has dirty blonde hair pulled back in a long plait and big, pale eyes. The man is stocky and dark-haired. Neville barely has time to make note of this before the room begins to sway. Or perhaps he's the one swaying. Either way, dizziness sweeps over him and he has to grope of the urinal to stay upright.

Luna sags against him. He can hear her short, ragged gasps, can feel her small hands clutching his sleeve. He doesn't want to shake her off, but he's got to get his wand.

"Oh, hello," Luna says again, but her voice sounds far away, and then Neville thinks that maybe it was the blonde woman who spoke.

"It's all right," the man says. "It's always shocking the first time. Deep breaths. Look at your shoes or something. Don't try to focus on us."

There was some confusion as to what happened here. My bad. This is not Neville and Luna from an alternate universe. This is older Neville and Luna traveling back through time. The Wazrel is from an alternate universe.

Neville stares at the tips of his toes, concentrates on the faded brown leather and on Luna's fingers and the warm, soft weight of her. Her hair tickles his cheek.

"Please don't take him," she mumbles, and for an instant, Neville thinks she's talking about him. Why would anyone - besides Luna - have any interest in him? True, he's helped send plenty of Death Eaters to Azkaban, but-

He still has self-esteem issues.

But she's not talking about him.

"We've got to," the blonde woman says in a soothing tone. Then, a bit dreamily, "We've come such a long way. We've been searching for him for such a long time. I like your hat."

I love that.

"Thank you," Luna says.

"This is the last Wazrel," the man explains solemnly. "The last one in this dimension, anyway. Merlin only knows how long he's been stuck here, but we've found a way to send him back to where he belongs, and now - thanks to you two - we've finally found him."

"Thanks to us?" says Neville. The floor is no longer rocking. He uncurls his fingers from the urinal and turns, but he avoids the man's face. He focuses instead on the big, round ears, the messy brown hair, the thick shoulders. He swallows. "You were following us?"

"No," says the woman. "We found the picture you took."

"You took," murmurs Luna.

"It took us a while to figure out exactly when the picture had been taken, and in which loo."

"We've been to a lot of loos," says the man, sounding aggrieved. "And I think we might've come a bit early. You haven't taken the picture yet, then?"

It's kind of wacky, but I do like the idea of these two highly trained, time traveling agents searching all the bathrooms in Europe for the one in the photo.

"Er." Neville looks at the Wazrel, who has barely moved since the other two came in. His head is tipped slightly and a bit of his hood has fallen back to reveal long, milky eyes and a nose like a snail shell. Neville looks away quickly.

Luna relaxes her grip, but she doesn't step away. She reaches into his pocket, and he opens his mouth to tell her not to go for the wand, but it's his camera she withdraws. She holds it toward the blonde woman. "Will you take our picture?"

"Of course," says the woman.

"Come on, Neville." Luna takes his hand and pulls him away from the urinal. "It’s all right. I understand what's going on."

"I don't," mutters Neville. He has an odd taste in his mouth, like he's about to vomit, though he's sure he won't. "I mean, I think I do, but I'd almost rather not, if that's all right."

"It is." Luna squeezes his hand.

The flash from the camera blinds Neville for a few moments. While he blinks, Luna says, "Oh, thank you. I'm sorry I won't be able to interview him, but I suppose I'll find out all about Wazrels eventually."

"You will. And so will you," the man says to Neville. "Now, you'd better leave. We've got to get this fellow back where he belongs, and it would really be in the best interest of the universe if you didn't see us do it. Go along. Here's your camera. Thanks for your help. It's, ah…well, we'll see you. After a fashion."

*

"I knew going to Prague would be a good idea," Luna says later, as they're walking along the bank of the Vltava. The city lights are reflected on the waving dark water, making it looks as if the world - everything but the pair of them - has been turned upside down. Not a comforting image even under normal circumstances, Neville thinks wryly.

Luna twirls her beret on the tip of her index finger. "I'm still a bit sad we didn't get the interview."

"He couldn't talk. As far as we knew."

"I know. But still." She sighs. "I suppose we'll have to wait to learn anything."

I've always liked Luna's faith. She knows certain things will happen. She'll see her mother again. She'll find out about Wazrels. So she's patient.

For the first time, it occurs to Neville that she's right about we. He wonders how old the man and woman are. Were. Will be. He shakes his head. Better not to think about it. Luna says she understands, and while what Luna understands and what happens to be the truth aren't always the same - it's all right.

He and his girl are in Prague. She has her fingers through his, and it's a beautiful night.

"You were very brave, by the way," Luna whispers, like she's imparting a secret. She kisses his cheek. "My hero."

Aww.

"You're right," Neville says, suddenly unconcerned about anything aside from this girl, where they are, and what they're doing - now. "Prague was a bloody brilliant idea."