Between her tales of Wrackspurts and Nargles and Dabberblimps, Luna stops for a while and listens to the world around her. She prefers listening to telling her own stories, in fact, and could patiently sit through a whole conversation with Professor Binns if he asked her plainly to hear out what he had to say. Luna is always there for any witch or wizard who just needs someone to listen, which is how she finds herself in the common room at midnight seated beside a positively blubbering Cho Chang.
Amidst her unintelligible sobs are the occasional "Cedric," "loved," "Harry," and a repeated, "Idunnowhattodo." Luna says nothing; Cho doesn't need her sympathy, and besides, Luna is just a fourth-year who's never had a boyfriend to begin with. After a while Cho will straighten up, wipe her nose and thank Luna for putting up with her whining and wailing. Luna will nod and wait for the older girl to head up the stairs first before going to her own dormitory, and in a few days they'll find themselves here once again.
She supposes Cho is pretty, and boys seem to like girls who are pretty and play Quidditch. But then, Luna doubts they know how prone Cho is to melodramatic fits of sobbing and staring off tragically into the distance. They tend to like that sort of thing less.
Most of the people who come to Luna are a bit more coherent. On another day, just outside the greenhouses, she listens without complaint as Neville tells her about his gran and all the pressure he has on him to make his parents proud.
"It's just what she expects when I've got the friends I have," he says despairingly. "I asked Hermione if I could study with her—you know, see if that would help me learn better. If not for Madam Pomfrey she might never have grown back that chunk of hair…"
Some of them are quite nice about it and don't care who knows that they talk to Loony Lovegood. Others—Cho included—avoid her whenever possible and have sworn her to secrecy about the whole thing. The latter don't offend her much; nothing really offends Luna anymore.
She appreciates all their stories equally, for they all tell her something she doesn't know, as any good story will. Padma Patil worries her younger brother might be a Squib, but Parvati thinks she's overreacting. Colin failed his last Charms essay because Nott jinxed his ink to change to dirty words once it dried. Susan's new owl ripped the jumper her mum knitted for her to pieces.
Though, if she's honest with herself, Luna does favor some over others. For example, when Harry approaches her as she's leaving the Great Hall, she knows he has something particularly interesting to tell her. None of Harry's problems are ever dull or trivial.
"Luna," he begins nervously, "I was wondering, erm, if you think Cho fancies me at all."
In a rare moment of exasperation, Luna holds back a sigh. It seems to her that Harry has a distinct misunderstanding of what her purpose is. Rather than turn his foolish question away entirely, she asks, with as passive a face as she can muster, "Have you considered asking her yourself?"
He looks at her blankly. "Why would I do that?"
Luna tilts her head and blinks slowly. "The best way to find an answer to a question is to ask," she replies.
Despite how fine of wisdom this is, Harry just shakes his head and gives her a little smile that says she obviously doesn't understand. Because Luna is not one to argue unnecessarily, she shrugs and traipses off to Ravenclaw Tower.
Harry doesn't know how much Cho cries or how badly she's doing in Transfiguration, but they're both Seekers and everyone probably figures the Boy Who Lived should date someone pretty. If asked, Luna would politely say that's a load of Blibbering Humdinger snot. She thinks Harry is profusely interesting and should be with a girl who is also profusely interesting. Or a boy, she figures, if that's what it comes to. Luna doesn't judge with that sort of thing.
One day during Potions, Ginny asks her, "Don't you ever get tired of bothering with other people's problems and not having anyone listen to yours?"
"Who would listen to me, Ginny?" Luna asks honestly and without a trace of upset.
"I would!" the redhead insists.
There's a brief moment of silence. Then, almost out of nowhere, Luna asks, "Are you still in love with Harry Potter?"
Ginny's eyebrows disappear into her fringe and she drops her handful of dried nettles. The infamous Weasley blush lights up every inch of her skin and she begins to stammer incoherently.
Taking this as a clear yes, Luna says in a wistful tone, "Everyone is these days, doesn't it seem like? There's not enough Harry for the whole wizarding world." She lets her mind wander as she thinks of how nice that sounds, with all those W's in there, even if "whole" sounds like "hole" and not like it has a W at all. It's a shame, she thinks, as W makes quite a nice sound. Perhaps Ginny Weasley appreciates it as well.
Ginny finally manages to sputter, "Are you?"
Luna blinks, snapping out of her daydream. "Am I what?"
"In love with him."
In this moment Luna has a choice. If she just tells Ginny how silly that is they can move on; it's not a lie, because it is silly, but it has the wrong connotation. She wants to be honest.
And now Luna does sigh. "If I were, would you really want me to tell you?"
Ginny will forgive her, she knows, but for the time being the other girl slumps her shoulders and retreats back to her potion.
Unlike Cho and Ginny, Luna is not foolish enough to think that she deserves Harry any more than the next witch (or wizard, or Muggle, even). She doesn't mind all that much when she passes Lavender Brown in the corridor and overhears the girl's proclamation that Hermione Granger would be perfect for him. She agrees somewhat, actually, because Harry and Hermione are such good friends and it would just make sense. Truthfully, anyone with at least half a heart and half a brain would be suitable enough for Harry so long as he liked her (or him), she thinks, but most of his admirers lack either.
At any rate, Luna doesn't find it very difficult to fall in or out of love, and if she wanted she could simply stop and find someone else to fancy. She decides after her conversations with Ginny and Harry that this may be a good idea, and perhaps it will make Cho's sobbing more bearable.
During the next D.A. meeting everyone is working with a new dueling partner. Luna stands opposite Anthony Goldstein and parries his every "Stupefy" with a quick "Protego," which Hermione had taught her the week before. When someone taps on her shoulder, she turns just as a flash of red light knocks her off her feet.
This is not the first time in her life that Luna has been knocked unconscious, but it may well be the first time she has been hurled back five feet onto the ground. She thinks she hears faint voices buzzing around her while she lies on the cool floor.
"Rennervate."
When she starts to open her eyes it's a bit blurry, but she sees a shock of red hair. "Oh, hello, Ginny," she says mildly.
Someone snorts. "That's a new one."
"Have I ever been called 'Ginny' before, George?"
"I don't believe you have, Fred."
"I'm wounded."
Luna blinks as her vision clears, and the faces of the Weasley twins appear above her (or rather, the same face twice, and normally when she sees double it's a very bad sign). "Was I out for long?" she asks in her airy voice.
"Days," says Fred/George.
"Weeks," says George/Fred.
"We're actually not sure you've woken up at all," amends Fred/George, before clucking his tongue.
Luna stares up at the ceiling, feeling pleasant enough. "Oh. That's all right." The twins share a look and one of them stands.
"I'll take Goldstein, shall I?" The one still kneeling nods; his brother walks off and Luna hears him taunt, "Oi, Hufflepuff, Stun this!" A yelp—presumably Goldstein's—follows seconds later.
"Didn't hit your head too hard, did you?" asks the remaining twin as Luna starts to sit up, rubbing her scalp gently.
Rather than answering his question, she asks one of her own: "Which one are you?"
He raises his eyebrows, amused. "I'm Fred," he responds. "When in doubt, just remember I'm the devilishly handsome one."
She turns to glance at George, who has hit Goldstein with a Jelly-Legs Jinx and caused the poor Hufflepuff's ears to grow larger than dinner plates. "That's true," she agrees. "You don't really look anything alike at all."
"Smarter than they give you credit for, Loony," Fred says with a wink. "Sure you're all right, then?"
"I'm just fine," she replies, then starts to get to her feet but stumbles. Fred catches her as she starts to fall, gazing at her with mock sternness.
"Let's you and I sit this one out, shall we?" He makes a show of offering his arm to her, which she accepts with what may qualify as a shy smile if it came from anyone other than her. As they make their way around the dueling pairs in the room, she successfully manages not to lose her balance again.
The Room of Requirement is, for once, not totally prepared for their needs. There is exactly one chair in the room, pushed against the wall in the very farthest spot from the door. He lets her sit while he slumps against the wall, watching everyone with some level of scrutiny and making a few passing comments here and there. When Ginny gets hit by a stray bolt of lightning shooting from Neville's wand, Luna sees Fred biting back a laugh, which he gives up on restraining when his sister casts a Bat-Bogey Hex on an apologetic Neville.
"Never stood a chance," Fred comments as Neville tries desperately to flee from the swarm. "Wonder what's gotten Gin's knickers in a twist these days."
Luna looks to her friend; the pair locks eyes from across the room, but Ginny breaks away to Banish the flying monstrosities. It seems the youngest Weasley has not quite forgiven her yet. Luna shrugs this off just as Harry approaches.
"All right over here, you two?" he asks her and Fred.
"Absolutely spiffing," says Fred. "That Hufflypuffly whatsisname just about cracked old Luna's skull in two, but after a few choice words about his mum we've all reached a truce and he promises not to make another attempt on her life."
"I feel a bit like I've been knocked over the head by an Umgubular Slashkilter," says Luna. "Might've been, actually. But I should be fine."
"Right," Harry says slowly, as though not quite following. "And my uncle's a Blast-Ended Skrewt."
Before Luna can say that his descriptions of his uncle don't sound far off from a Blast-Ended Skrewt, Fred sighs. "Now, Harry, hold on there. I can say with absolute certainty that I have seen an Umgubular Slashkilter dancing with the gnomes in my garden during the solstice. Dreadful dancers, those Slashkilters," he adds with a significant look to Luna, who nods her head so rapidly as to look comical.
Harry chuckles. "I'll just leave you to it then. Sure you don't want to Stun someone halfway to the Hospital Wing, Fred?"
"There's no shortage of mayhem in my life as it is, Potter," Fred says. "I reckon I'll live." The boys exchange knowing grins before Harry heads back into the fray, wand at the ready in case damage control is necessary.
"So." Fred leans over conspiratorially, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. "What's an Umgubular Slashkilter?"
She smirks in a way intended to be more mysterious than coy (for she sees no reason to be coy and has no idea how to anyway). "I don't have a clue."
"What do you mean?"
She beckons him closer with a tilt of her head and whispers, "I made it up."
Fred laughs, almost disbelieving. "How many of these have you just faked?"
Without answering, she smiles and pretends to go off into one of her usual daydreams, swinging her legs. For the rest of the meeting they sit in companionable silence, and when the time comes to say goodbye he offers his hand to help her stand. To cover up the short moment where he holds onto her for a bit too long, he gives a flourishing bow, which she returns with a well-practiced curtsy.
"Until next we meet, my fair Loony," he says as he makes to catch up with his twin.
To be perfectly clear, Luna does not happen to start fancying him; she chooses to. She knows he's a seventh-year but it doesn't put him any further out of reach than the next bloke, since no one of sound mind would fancy her anyway. Not that she cares. Mostly it's just another thing for her to think about, a fleeting fantasy that can do her no harm to indulge.
The D.A. meetings come and go, and Luna and Fred hardly speak again. She thinks she sees a flash of a smirk from him when she mentions to Ron the research her father is doing on the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but for all she knows it may have been a coincidence. The Weasley twins always have some unsaid joke or another that must be the result of a psychic connection.
She doesn't see him at all when the holidays approach; come to think, she doesn't see any of the Weasleys. It's only when she overhears Padma—who heard from Parvati, who was told by Lavender, who was talking to Neville, who got an owl from Hermione—that she learns what happened.
"There was an incident in the Department of Mysteries," Padma whispers to Michael Corner. "Apparently Arthur Weasley was the victim. We don't know what he was doing down there, but it's all a bit dodgy, isn't it?" Michael nods in agreement, clearly only half-listening as he stuffs his face with roast beef and gravy.
The attack on Mr. Weasley shakes everyone who knows the family. Whenever Luna sees a telltale flash of orange bobbing through the halls, it always seems a bit stiffer and slower than usual. Even for a time after the holidays there is noticeably less cheer at the Gryffindor table. Something in Luna's chest, some strange and foreign thing, begins to tighten.
Goldstein doesn't lay a finger on her again, even by accident. She suspects this may have something to do with the figure that looms by during every meeting but never comes near. For now she puts this out of her mind, along with the fact that Cho doesn't talk to her anymore because she has a living boy to kiss. It's easier to ignore all of this than to acknowledge what it says about her and why people stay away.
When Marietta snitches the meetings end. Luna hardly knows her; girls like Marietta never have problems, or else they do and simply don't talk about them. Then Dumbledore vanishes and words of revolt are thrown about, and in the midst of it all Luna hears tell from Ginny of a prank to end all pranks. It sounds wonderful, sure, but something unsettles her, and not just because she wishes she could hear about this glorious prank firsthand.
On her way out from breakfast the next day, predictably enough, she feels a presence at her elbow. "Nice of you to come and say goodbye," she says without preamble.
"Ah, Luna," he sighs. "Who's to say this is goodbye, eh?"
"Isn't it?" she challenges.
He says nothing, walking just behind her as she navigates through the corridors to reach her Divination class. They pass the portrait of a mute jester, who looks on at them with an enormous frown painted on his long face. Fred's hand barely brushes her shoulder before she stops, turning to look at him with her wide, expectant eyes, rocking just a little on her feet.
"Looking awfully serious," he observes, taking in her somber expression.
"You're dillydallying," she says. He twitches just a bit. "You can talk if you want. I've been told I'm a good listener."
"So I've heard." Even with the great vertical and emotional distance between them, he meets her gaze evenly. "Luna."
It's a rare moment that Luna Lovegood feels timid or shy. She owns up to her eccentricity and feels no shame. But now she blushes, though she hasn't the slightest idea why. It's fascinating, in a way, feeling her skin tingle hotly with meek embarrassment. As with every experience, she lets herself feel it completely.
"Of course I know about it," she mumbles. "It's ridiculous, so I'm sure it will be perfect."
Fred gives her a brief smile, but it falls quickly. "Luna, I don't, erm—" He scratches his head. "Look, you're… great. Really, you're fantastic. I—"
"You like blokes?" she suggests with a surprisingly straight face.
This visibly catches him off guard. "Wha—? No, no, no. It's nothing like that. I just…" He trails off, for once at a loss for words. It seems to be a day of firsts for the both of them.
"Is it something on the subject of me fancying you, maybe?"
After a pause, he answers, "Yeah." As it should be. She knows her eyes radiate with it every time she looks at him, because she's the absolute best in the world at showing and experiencing wonderment.
"Hmm." She seems to consider this. "Are you going to tell me you're leaving and I should move on?"
He shrugs. "Well, guess that's what I should tell you. We're leaving tonight. But I guess we'd be leaving soon enough anyway, wouldn't we? Seventh year and all."
"Not if Filch keeps you indefinitely," says Luna.
"Oh, I'd be disappointed if he didn't try his hardest." Now his smile is genuine, but it's a sad one. "But I thought you should know that… I'll miss you, Loony Lovegood."
She nods and says nothing, picking at a few loose threads on her robes, but doesn't dare look away. In one motion he moves forward and wraps her in a warm, almost brotherly embrace that smells of Honeydukes and the dark soil of her vegetable garden at home. It's bittersweet, and worse still when he pulls back to kiss her on the forehead.
"Next time you're in Diagon Alley and want a chat, look me up," he murmurs. "I'm actually a damn good listener myself."
Neither of them will say what they really want to, of course. She tries to offer a "thank you" but the words won't come to her mouth. He leaves her then, in front of the sad jester with a striped hat and too-long face. The thing in her chest has tightened again, and the fireworks display doesn't do a thing for it.
Since it's all she can do for this inexplicable pain, in the summer she visits Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes as often as she can manage, despite it being so far out of her way. She makes doubly sure to time her arrival when the joke shop is at its least busy. George greets her every time she enters, and he need only glance at the counter before his almost-lookalike bounds to the front of the store, beaming. No matter how crowded the shop becomes, he sets aside fifteen minutes for a butterbeer and whatever is on her mind. It's all very platonic, but she likes it well enough.
On one such visit, a sudden thought occurs to her. They're in The Leaky Cauldron now, as it's a particularly slow day at work and he can afford to get away. "Fred," she says as he sets a foaming tankard in front of her, "was it you that tapped me on the shoulder?"
He looks at her strangely. "No, and I don't think this place has any poltergeists. Feeling all right?"
"I meant back at the meeting last year," she clarifies. "Someone distracted me and I was Stunned by Anthony Goldstein."
He frowns as if trying to remember, then realization dawns. "Right! Sorry." He has the decency to look sheepish. "Had something to talk to you about, but it was pretty bloody awful timing on my part, wasn't it?"
Her curiosity piques. "What was it you wanted to say?"
He looks down at the table and takes a drink, but says nothing. He's frowning in concentration, searching for the right words, so she waits for him to find them.
"It wasn't important, really, even at the time," he admits. "But Ginny was going on about how talking to you always helped her feel better, so it was worth a try." He takes another drink and clears his throat. "Funny, though, how I forgot to even mention it."
"What was it?" she urges, feeling like a petulant child.
He looks at her now. "Angelina." That's all he says, but it's all he needs to say. She nods and lets the subject drop, because Angelina Johnson is not in the pub with them and Luna somehow senses that Fred hasn't seen her in quite some time. But Angelina plays Quidditch, Luna remembers, and at once the space between the two ends of the table seems endless. When she and Fred part, she feels it will be their last meeting for a good while.
Sure enough, they don't see each other again until his oldest brother's wedding the following summer. Her legs are itching to jump right over to him, yet they take her in the opposite direction. She can hardly look at him, and when she does it feels like a hippogriff is trampling on her insides. She puts on her widest grin when she chats with Harry—or Barny, if that's what he calls himself now—as it would not do to be upset at a wedding. When at last she musters up the courage to approach him from behind, she does so with a polite and contained smile, schooling her features not to betray the feeling of dread filling her chest.
She takes a deep breath. "He—"
Her chipper "hello" doesn't make it all the way past her lips. The greeting stops somewhere in her throat, expanding and cutting off her oxygen supply. It's fortunate that she has already taken a deep breath, as the sight of Fred Weasley conversing rather intimately with a very pretty, very French girl has caused her to misplace her lungs.
He notices Luna before she can make a hasty exit. He looks surprised to see her, but he smiles nonetheless, oblivious to her oncoming anxiety. "Nice flower there, Loony," he greets, leaning away from the other girl. Frenchie giggles and sashays off to find another unsuspecting man to seduce. To Luna's relief, he pays the floozy no mind. "Where've you been?"
"Out with—" Luna clears her throat. "Sorry, are there any drinks nearby?"
"Um." He glances around for something, but as there are visibly no glasses around he sighs and procures a Gillywater with a wave of his wand. "Awful service. Well, there you are," he says, handing it to her. "I know, I know—it's not your favorite. But His Holeyness's friend over there won't likely miss it."
She follows his gaze to a spot by the edge of the tent, where, judging by his exaggerated gesticulations, George must be recounting to an enraptured woman the heroic (and likely false) tale of losing his ear. Luna smiles a little and takes a sip, willing her voice to steady before she speaks. She won't bother to point out to him that she actually loves Gillywater.
Fred cocks his head as he studies her profile. "Luna? Something wrong?"
If she says no, she knows he'll leave the issue alone. He's too considerate. "Yes." She turns to look him in the eye. "There is, actually."
He frowns. "Yeah?" He reaches out to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder as he sometimes does, but after a pause something makes him stop and let it drop awkwardly to his side. "Want to talk about it? We have some time before the ceremony," he says, gesturing toward the aisle.
It's now or never. "I love… your family's garden," she whispers, "but one of the gnomes bit me." She holds up the mostly-healed finger as proof before sticking it in her mouth, widening her eyes to make sure they're as round and clueless as possible.
"Oh." He shifts uncertainly. "Yeah, the little buggers do that. I take it you didn't spot the Slashkilter, eh?" They share a quick grin, but neither of them can hold it for long. He tugs on his sleeve, something she knows to be a nervous tic of his. "Er, Luna—"
"Is that Viktor Krum?" she interrupts, pointing to the man in question. She has no desire to risk talking about feelings right now.
Without looking away, he answers, "Probably. Listen—"
"Fred!" Hermione calls breathlessly, hurrying toward them in as ladylike a manner as she can manage. "It's starting!"
Fred swears under his breath. "All right, coming!" To Luna, he says quickly, "Look for me after the ceremony. I have a few things to tell you about. Got that?" When she nods, he rushes off with Hermione to round up his siblings.
It's a beautiful ceremony that Luna is pleased to witness. The blonde bride is radiant beside her ginger groom; Luna is envious, because together they look like leaves changing in autumn. When it's over, she struggles against the temptation of running off and avoiding Fred entirely, of saving herself from probable embarrassment, and instead keeps her word and dashes to his side.
"Fancy a walk?" he offers, giving her his arm like he did once before.
They take a stroll out of the tent and down to the garden, which is suspiciously devoid of gnomes. They sit in the grass, as it seems as good a place as any, and she stretches so widely that she falls backward and lies there, smiling up at him. This time it may very well be coy, as Luna intends for it to be.
"Luna," he begins for the third time, picking at blades of grass and rolling them between his fingers. "I've been thinking."
"You do that often, I've noticed," she says. "Bit of a brain, aren't you?"
"I don't know why I don't keep you around more," he says with a laugh. "Oh, Luna, Luna, Luna. Do you want to hear me out or not?"
Her only response is to watch him with her expectant eyes, as patient as ever.
The look he gives her is soft and has none of the sadness it did during their first parting. His hand brushes against hers; she can feel its many calluses from Quidditch, but she doesn't care how rough it is. Her breath stops for the second time, now from the expectation of what he's about to say. She thinks she knows, and she's glad to have waited for him after all, because he never cared that she was loony or that she didn't play Quidditch or any of—
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Fred and Luna don't have even a moment to say goodbye. He makes a mad dash for his family, leaving her to fend for herself, and the last time she ever sees him alive he is shouting at Charlie to take Ginny and go.
Time goes on, with Luna tarrying just behind it. Wars come and go and she emerges victorious. By now, it is the summer before her seventh year, though she can't remember for the life of her where the months have gone. All she wants is to go back to another summer when things were easier on her conscience, because here she is at the Burrow, for yet another grand occasion, and she is the only one in the whole vicinity wearing a flamboyant orange; all the other guests are draped in stifling black. No one comments on her inappropriate choice in clothing. They're all willingly occupied with their grief.
Mrs. Weasley's sobs are the loudest. Even Harry, who has seen and done too much, lets out a sniffle and cough every so often. Perhaps the only two at the funeral who don't participate in the grand chorus of moans and wails are George and Luna: Luna, who has already seen enough crying in her life from a certain pretty Ravenclaw who plays Quidditch and wears grief well. Luna, who wears a fiery red-orange because it's such a gorgeous color, much like how W just inherently makes a lovely sound.
Everyone else who approaches the coffin to pay his or her respects does so silently, apart from choking sobs. When Luna makes her way to that grim box, she looks down at the unmoving body, expressionless, those big eyes fixed on the corpse in front of them. She seems innocent and lost, like a poor little girl. The only thought that comes to mind is an image of Cho's crying face.
She stays like that for some time, just staring at him blankly. When at last she speaks, her voice is as soft and dreamy as ever, even in mourning. "Hello, it's Loony," she whispers. "When you've got the time, I have a story to tell you." She puts her flower down gently and makes to leave, then stops.
"Between you and me, I made most of the beasties up," she confesses. She barely restrains the urge to brush her fingers against his peaceful face. "But promise you won't tell." When the sleeping body says nothing, she takes this as promise enough and goes on her way.
She takes her place at Ginny's side, Harry already at the other where he belongs. When Ginny turns to hug her and cry on her shoulder, Luna lets her. She knows how this works, and she's very good at being patient; it's no hurry, after all, and she has plenty of time to mourn herself. For the time being, she bows her head and waits calmly for the world to finish weeping.
Listen by Ars Letalis
Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: All characters are the legal property of Jo Rowling. Furthermore, there is exactly one line in this fic that is taken directly from DH, the entirety of which is italicized.