Countdown - Harry/Luna - 1/1
Title: Countdown
Author: Tonya (_fullofgrace)
Pairing: Harry/Luna
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Oh, if I only owned them a few things would have turned out differently in HBP.
Summary: Everything can change in a matter of seconds.
--------
Your hair is not red, and your eyes are not green, and you never garnered honors in Charms. But the home is the same, the last name is the same, and you can only imagine the panic is eerily similar as well.
60 seconds
A wand is drawn.
You had learned the curse many years before when you were still a student within the walls of Hogwarts. He had taught it to you, and a handful of other willing students, during one of the many Dumbledore’s Army meetings. You had quite enjoyed those gatherings. Not only had those times provided you with an opportunity to better your defensive charms, but they had also offered you the chance to better understand him.
The Boy Who Lived had always been a mystery to most students, including his best friends as rumor had it, and watching him during those moments in the Room of Requirement gave you insight--if only a tiny light in the dark--into what made Harry Potter Harry Potter. Your insight into his inner workings had only grown during the following years as Hogwarts fell into nothingness and those most loyal to Harry helped him in his battle. Needless to say, your skills had grown during those years as well. It was to be expected when you were close to someone like Harry. He made sure that all those he cared for were prepared--mentally and physically.
His ultimate fear had never been his own death.
It had been the death of those he loved.
50 seconds
A curse is thrown.
Throwing curses was all about channeling your inner strength, your inner will.
During those gatherings in the Room of Requirement, he had told each of you to focus, had tried to instill in you that when the time came, it wouldn’t be a game. You wouldn’t be facing off against Neville Longbottom casting a Bat-Bogey Hex. You would be looking into the face of someone who had little regard for life--even one that belonged to someone as young as yourself.
The Patronus had always been your hardest spell to conjure. It had begun as wisps of gray smoke that looked as if a fog was attempting to gather around your opponent. ‘Focus on something happy,’ he would say, and you would.
Your father beaming at the latest sales of the Quibbler. Your belongings returning intact at the end of a term. Your father and mother dancing in the middle of the kitchen on their last anniversary.
Back then, in the safety of the magical room, those things always seemed to work for you.
But then things changed, and in the darkness of the coming days, those memories of childhood had been harder to hold onto. And though those days had been filled with their share of battles of wit and spells, there had also been moments of light that made everyone remember why exactly you were fighting in the first place.
New triumphs. New friends. New relationships.
And with these things, new memories were formed in your subconscious.
And in the end? When you needed that extra boost, when you needed all the strength you could muster as you shouted Expecto Patronum at the top of your lungs?
You thought of him.
40 seconds
A second figure enters.
Hermione had once used the phrase “Sowing his wild oats” in reference to him. You had never been quite clear on what that had meant--or why Harry would be sowing oats in the first place when there were much better things to sow--but in context, you imagined it had something to do with the fact that he was not one to commit to a person.
He had very briefly dated your good friend during your 5th year, and you had been quite shocked at the news at first. You had known that she had fancied him since she had first laid eyes on him, but from the way she had complained about boys and obliviousness over the years, you had assumed that the feelings had not been mutual on his part. In those years, she had moved on--dating plenty of boys in her house--and he had simply remained unattached.
Then one day, it changed.
Professor Trelawney would have said that the moons of Jupiter had been perfectly aligned for romance that day. You wouldn’t have agreed, but only because you knew how and when the moons aligned, and that day had been two weeks away.
But that romance had ended as quickly as it had begun. She had told you that he had claimed that he couldn’t be involved with someone when his life was so dangerous, and you sadly wondered if that meant he had resigned himself to being alone forever.
And you had believed that for a long time until the day he kissed you.
It had been small and insignificant. After all, you had become good friends after those years in Hogwarts. So a goodbye kiss after a quick lunch was nothing different between the two of you. Except usually you were the initiator. And usually it was on the cheek, not the lips.
And only then, did you realize that all those years before, he may not have resigned himself to be alone forever as you had once believed.
30 seconds
The stairs are climbed.
Life had never been safe for you, not when you’re part of Harry Potter’s Golden Army. But the danger only managed to increase exponentially when you became the official Golden Girl--as the wizarding tabloids had taken to referring to you. Even with the war over and done, your life still held a price to the highest Death Eater bidder, as did his.
You were no Auror. You had pretended for years, a child playing in your mother’s grownup clothing. You had the skills. You had the training. You had the heart. But you knew it wasn’t you.
It was, however, him. It was what he had been born to do, what he had wanted to do when he was a teenager, and quite frankly, he was brilliant at it. If he could have brought every single Death Eater to justice to protect his friends, to protect you, he would have spent all day and night doing so.
You worried that he would run himself into the ground.
He worried that if he didn’t, he’d come home to find you dead.
20 seconds
The door is locked.
Ronald had once jokingly referred to your home as a fortress.
Spells and charms protected the home. The best that the Aurors could provide.
Voldemort may have been dead, but there were still plenty of Death Eaters looking to finish the job for their fallen leader. You and Harry both understood this, and he took every precaution he could to make your home a safe base.
The charms and spells had only increased with the newest arrival to the family. If you had thought Harry had been determined when it came to protecting you…? When it came to protecting you and your son? He was nearly unstoppable. You had never been on the receiving end of Harry’s temper, that side of him he let come out when dealing with killers and criminals, but you had seen it many times in battle.
And you feared for the person who would have the audacity to attempt to attack you or James.
A fortress, his friends had called it.
But even a fortress has its weak points.
10 seconds.
The door slams open.
You’re standing at the crib when you not only hear, but feel, the door blast open under the force of the curse. Your hands grip the edge of the crib, knuckles turning even paler than your already lucid skin. He looks up at you with sleepy eyes, and you faintly wonder if this is what it felt like for her.
Your heart pounding. Your brain screaming.
You don’t even turn to acknowledge the voice that demands you to face your death. You keep your eyes trained on your son who is somehow managing to drift back to sleep through all this chaos. You wonder if he’s dreaming about the Muggle fairytale that Hermione had taught you about the rude little girl who steals from the three welcoming bears.
You wonder if he’ll remember you.
Harry doesn’t remember his parents. He has pictures and tales, but no actual memories.
You hope that Harry will be better at telling tales about you than he is at bedtime stories.
The voice demands that you turn around again. Only this time, it threatens to kill you if you do not and take your son as a bargaining chip for its plan to finally get the infamous Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort.
This time, you turn.
And your wand is drawn.
You would die before you would let this creature--he doesn’t even deserve to be called a man as he hides behind his dark robes and Dark Mark--touch a single sandy blond hair on your son’s head. You would rather perish with the knowledge that he would be safe than live knowing he is not.
He laughs at you.
You stand your ground.
He tells you to move.
You politely, yet sternly, ask him to vacate your home.
He gives you the ultimatum one last time.
Your life for your child’s.
You politely, yet sternly, tell him to go to hell.
He opens his mouth--
You quickly brace and open yours--
0 seconds
A voice rings out.
But it belongs to neither of you.
The figure falls into a heap on the floor, dark robes spilling onto the carpet like oil.
He stands in the doorway, wand aimed down at the unmoving figure. He looks up at you, and you can see everything on his features--behind those glasses and messy black bangs dangling in his eyes.
Fear. Panic. Relief.
All the feelings knotted in your chest right now.
And you feel your heart begin to beat at a normal pace again as you stop holding your breath. You turn quickly to the crib, almost expecting it to be empty despite everything.
But he’s still there. 10 fingers. 10 toes. Fast asleep.
Tossing your wand into the crib, you pick him up, trying not to wake him as you do so; but tonight, your hands are too shaky and your breathing too ragged, and he stirs. You hold him close to you, inhaling the fresh scent of him as if you can imprint it to memory.
You feel his hand on your shoulder, and you don’t move for a moment, clinging to James as if he’s your only anchor to sanity. But when you turn to face him, you realize there’s more than one anchor in your life as he carefully embraces you and your son.
Your hair is not red, and your eyes are not green, and you never garnered honors in Charms. But the home is the same, the last name is the same, and you can only imagine the panic is eerily similar as well.
Author: Tonya (_fullofgrace)
Pairing: Harry/Luna
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Oh, if I only owned them a few things would have turned out differently in HBP.
Summary: Everything can change in a matter of seconds.
--------
Your hair is not red, and your eyes are not green, and you never garnered honors in Charms. But the home is the same, the last name is the same, and you can only imagine the panic is eerily similar as well.
60 seconds
A wand is drawn.
You had learned the curse many years before when you were still a student within the walls of Hogwarts. He had taught it to you, and a handful of other willing students, during one of the many Dumbledore’s Army meetings. You had quite enjoyed those gatherings. Not only had those times provided you with an opportunity to better your defensive charms, but they had also offered you the chance to better understand him.
The Boy Who Lived had always been a mystery to most students, including his best friends as rumor had it, and watching him during those moments in the Room of Requirement gave you insight--if only a tiny light in the dark--into what made Harry Potter Harry Potter. Your insight into his inner workings had only grown during the following years as Hogwarts fell into nothingness and those most loyal to Harry helped him in his battle. Needless to say, your skills had grown during those years as well. It was to be expected when you were close to someone like Harry. He made sure that all those he cared for were prepared--mentally and physically.
His ultimate fear had never been his own death.
It had been the death of those he loved.
50 seconds
A curse is thrown.
Throwing curses was all about channeling your inner strength, your inner will.
During those gatherings in the Room of Requirement, he had told each of you to focus, had tried to instill in you that when the time came, it wouldn’t be a game. You wouldn’t be facing off against Neville Longbottom casting a Bat-Bogey Hex. You would be looking into the face of someone who had little regard for life--even one that belonged to someone as young as yourself.
The Patronus had always been your hardest spell to conjure. It had begun as wisps of gray smoke that looked as if a fog was attempting to gather around your opponent. ‘Focus on something happy,’ he would say, and you would.
Your father beaming at the latest sales of the Quibbler. Your belongings returning intact at the end of a term. Your father and mother dancing in the middle of the kitchen on their last anniversary.
Back then, in the safety of the magical room, those things always seemed to work for you.
But then things changed, and in the darkness of the coming days, those memories of childhood had been harder to hold onto. And though those days had been filled with their share of battles of wit and spells, there had also been moments of light that made everyone remember why exactly you were fighting in the first place.
New triumphs. New friends. New relationships.
And with these things, new memories were formed in your subconscious.
And in the end? When you needed that extra boost, when you needed all the strength you could muster as you shouted Expecto Patronum at the top of your lungs?
You thought of him.
40 seconds
A second figure enters.
Hermione had once used the phrase “Sowing his wild oats” in reference to him. You had never been quite clear on what that had meant--or why Harry would be sowing oats in the first place when there were much better things to sow--but in context, you imagined it had something to do with the fact that he was not one to commit to a person.
He had very briefly dated your good friend during your 5th year, and you had been quite shocked at the news at first. You had known that she had fancied him since she had first laid eyes on him, but from the way she had complained about boys and obliviousness over the years, you had assumed that the feelings had not been mutual on his part. In those years, she had moved on--dating plenty of boys in her house--and he had simply remained unattached.
Then one day, it changed.
Professor Trelawney would have said that the moons of Jupiter had been perfectly aligned for romance that day. You wouldn’t have agreed, but only because you knew how and when the moons aligned, and that day had been two weeks away.
But that romance had ended as quickly as it had begun. She had told you that he had claimed that he couldn’t be involved with someone when his life was so dangerous, and you sadly wondered if that meant he had resigned himself to being alone forever.
And you had believed that for a long time until the day he kissed you.
It had been small and insignificant. After all, you had become good friends after those years in Hogwarts. So a goodbye kiss after a quick lunch was nothing different between the two of you. Except usually you were the initiator. And usually it was on the cheek, not the lips.
And only then, did you realize that all those years before, he may not have resigned himself to be alone forever as you had once believed.
30 seconds
The stairs are climbed.
Life had never been safe for you, not when you’re part of Harry Potter’s Golden Army. But the danger only managed to increase exponentially when you became the official Golden Girl--as the wizarding tabloids had taken to referring to you. Even with the war over and done, your life still held a price to the highest Death Eater bidder, as did his.
You were no Auror. You had pretended for years, a child playing in your mother’s grownup clothing. You had the skills. You had the training. You had the heart. But you knew it wasn’t you.
It was, however, him. It was what he had been born to do, what he had wanted to do when he was a teenager, and quite frankly, he was brilliant at it. If he could have brought every single Death Eater to justice to protect his friends, to protect you, he would have spent all day and night doing so.
You worried that he would run himself into the ground.
He worried that if he didn’t, he’d come home to find you dead.
20 seconds
The door is locked.
Ronald had once jokingly referred to your home as a fortress.
Spells and charms protected the home. The best that the Aurors could provide.
Voldemort may have been dead, but there were still plenty of Death Eaters looking to finish the job for their fallen leader. You and Harry both understood this, and he took every precaution he could to make your home a safe base.
The charms and spells had only increased with the newest arrival to the family. If you had thought Harry had been determined when it came to protecting you…? When it came to protecting you and your son? He was nearly unstoppable. You had never been on the receiving end of Harry’s temper, that side of him he let come out when dealing with killers and criminals, but you had seen it many times in battle.
And you feared for the person who would have the audacity to attempt to attack you or James.
A fortress, his friends had called it.
But even a fortress has its weak points.
10 seconds.
The door slams open.
You’re standing at the crib when you not only hear, but feel, the door blast open under the force of the curse. Your hands grip the edge of the crib, knuckles turning even paler than your already lucid skin. He looks up at you with sleepy eyes, and you faintly wonder if this is what it felt like for her.
Your heart pounding. Your brain screaming.
You don’t even turn to acknowledge the voice that demands you to face your death. You keep your eyes trained on your son who is somehow managing to drift back to sleep through all this chaos. You wonder if he’s dreaming about the Muggle fairytale that Hermione had taught you about the rude little girl who steals from the three welcoming bears.
You wonder if he’ll remember you.
Harry doesn’t remember his parents. He has pictures and tales, but no actual memories.
You hope that Harry will be better at telling tales about you than he is at bedtime stories.
The voice demands that you turn around again. Only this time, it threatens to kill you if you do not and take your son as a bargaining chip for its plan to finally get the infamous Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort.
This time, you turn.
And your wand is drawn.
You would die before you would let this creature--he doesn’t even deserve to be called a man as he hides behind his dark robes and Dark Mark--touch a single sandy blond hair on your son’s head. You would rather perish with the knowledge that he would be safe than live knowing he is not.
He laughs at you.
You stand your ground.
He tells you to move.
You politely, yet sternly, ask him to vacate your home.
He gives you the ultimatum one last time.
Your life for your child’s.
You politely, yet sternly, tell him to go to hell.
He opens his mouth--
You quickly brace and open yours--
0 seconds
A voice rings out.
But it belongs to neither of you.
The figure falls into a heap on the floor, dark robes spilling onto the carpet like oil.
He stands in the doorway, wand aimed down at the unmoving figure. He looks up at you, and you can see everything on his features--behind those glasses and messy black bangs dangling in his eyes.
Fear. Panic. Relief.
All the feelings knotted in your chest right now.
And you feel your heart begin to beat at a normal pace again as you stop holding your breath. You turn quickly to the crib, almost expecting it to be empty despite everything.
But he’s still there. 10 fingers. 10 toes. Fast asleep.
Tossing your wand into the crib, you pick him up, trying not to wake him as you do so; but tonight, your hands are too shaky and your breathing too ragged, and he stirs. You hold him close to you, inhaling the fresh scent of him as if you can imprint it to memory.
You feel his hand on your shoulder, and you don’t move for a moment, clinging to James as if he’s your only anchor to sanity. But when you turn to face him, you realize there’s more than one anchor in your life as he carefully embraces you and your son.
Your hair is not red, and your eyes are not green, and you never garnered honors in Charms. But the home is the same, the last name is the same, and you can only imagine the panic is eerily similar as well.