fic: an arbitrary line
an arbitrary line
hp, luna lovegood/harry potter, post-dh, 621 words, pg-13
she still dots her i’s with stars.
for twenty-five dollars
and pieces of silver,
i held up and robbed
a hard liquor store.
wednesday morning, 3am simon & garfunkel
She tries not to think too hard, in the years after the war. There are memories that, just sometimes, make it hard for her to breathe.
It’s early on a Monday, and her eyes half-focus on a lanky, black-haired man walking ten yards ahead of her. He’s cut his hair since she last saw him, it sticks up awkwardly at the back. ‘Harry!’ she calls.
She watches the smile form in his face as he turns. ‘Luna.’ He sounds surprised to see her, ‘Why’re you here?’
‘I work here.’ She gestures to Ollivander’s, a weary grin. ‘You’re up early.’
He shrugs, ‘I’m not sleeping well.’
No surprises there, Luna almost thinks.
They go for a drink, when she’s finished at work. He’s touching his scar absently, other hand tight around his firewhiskey. She leans over the table, ‘Does it still hurt?’
He looks up, sudden. ‘What? No, no.’ He says it too quickly.
‘I don’t believe you.’
Her brow furrows when he meets her gaze with bloodshot eyes. His hand gropes across the table, finds hers. If there’s one thing Luna Lovegood has always been, it’s there.
They sit in silence. Until, ‘It’s not my scar, I don’t think. It’s- ’
‘ -what it means?’ She offers.
His hand grips her tighter, his flesh clammy against her. ‘Yeah.’ He looks up at her, ‘I can’t make it go away, Luna.’
Her forehead meets his. ‘Shush, there.’ She breathes, when the tears begin to fall. It’s not until she closes her eyes that she realises they are her own.
Ever the gentleman, he walks her home. Her flat’s tiny, barely big enough for the two of them. ‘Oh, careful’ she says, a guiding hand against his arm, ‘Nargles.’
He chuckles. He’s nervous, she can tell, and if she were the more arrogant sort (a Gryffindor, maybe, she thinks with a grin) she’d chalk to down to herself. He’s drunk, too, and far too close, but she chooses to ignore that.
‘Harry- ’ she murmurs, ‘ -you should go home.’
‘I can’t.’ He says, and his voice is thick with longing and alcohol.
His mouth grazes her own, and her eyes flutter shut instinctively. ‘Harry,’ she says, when he pulls her closer, ‘Harry,’ she says, when he reaches up to cup her face. She pulls back. ‘Harry,’ she says, ‘you have a wife.’
There’s a hardness behind his eyes she’s never seen before and he kisses her again, arm tight around her waist.
He holds her like a lifeline.
She almost feels safe.
She wakes before him, a heavy arm slung across her chest. She leaves a note on the pillow. it’s time to go home now x, it reads. She still dots her i’s with stars.
There’s a beetle on the windowsill. She doesn’t notice but, then again, that’s sort of the point.
It’s in the Prophet, of course, scandal! it screams, harry potter and luna lovegood’s sordid affair revealed: exclusive.
It lands on the desk in Ollivander’s with a thump, her picture smiling up at her from the front page. She glances up at him, assessing his anger. ‘How did they find out?’ He demands. She looks away.
‘These things have a way of ending up in the open, Harry. Actions have consequences. You should know that, by now.’
The door slams shut behind him.
Hermione looks at her over the top of her coffee. ‘Have you seen Ginny?’ she says, simply. It’s barely even a question.
She doesn’t answer.
‘Loo-Luna. I don’t- ’ Hermione pauses, flattening her skirt. She’s grown old very quickly, Luna thinks. ‘I don’t sympathise.’
‘No,’ she says, ‘I didn’t want you to.’
Looney Lovegood. It still echoes in her brain. There are memories, you see.
end.
hp, luna lovegood/harry potter, post-dh, 621 words, pg-13
she still dots her i’s with stars.
for twenty-five dollars
and pieces of silver,
i held up and robbed
a hard liquor store.
wednesday morning, 3am simon & garfunkel
She tries not to think too hard, in the years after the war. There are memories that, just sometimes, make it hard for her to breathe.
It’s early on a Monday, and her eyes half-focus on a lanky, black-haired man walking ten yards ahead of her. He’s cut his hair since she last saw him, it sticks up awkwardly at the back. ‘Harry!’ she calls.
She watches the smile form in his face as he turns. ‘Luna.’ He sounds surprised to see her, ‘Why’re you here?’
‘I work here.’ She gestures to Ollivander’s, a weary grin. ‘You’re up early.’
He shrugs, ‘I’m not sleeping well.’
No surprises there, Luna almost thinks.
They go for a drink, when she’s finished at work. He’s touching his scar absently, other hand tight around his firewhiskey. She leans over the table, ‘Does it still hurt?’
He looks up, sudden. ‘What? No, no.’ He says it too quickly.
‘I don’t believe you.’
Her brow furrows when he meets her gaze with bloodshot eyes. His hand gropes across the table, finds hers. If there’s one thing Luna Lovegood has always been, it’s there.
They sit in silence. Until, ‘It’s not my scar, I don’t think. It’s- ’
‘ -what it means?’ She offers.
His hand grips her tighter, his flesh clammy against her. ‘Yeah.’ He looks up at her, ‘I can’t make it go away, Luna.’
Her forehead meets his. ‘Shush, there.’ She breathes, when the tears begin to fall. It’s not until she closes her eyes that she realises they are her own.
Ever the gentleman, he walks her home. Her flat’s tiny, barely big enough for the two of them. ‘Oh, careful’ she says, a guiding hand against his arm, ‘Nargles.’
He chuckles. He’s nervous, she can tell, and if she were the more arrogant sort (a Gryffindor, maybe, she thinks with a grin) she’d chalk to down to herself. He’s drunk, too, and far too close, but she chooses to ignore that.
‘Harry- ’ she murmurs, ‘ -you should go home.’
‘I can’t.’ He says, and his voice is thick with longing and alcohol.
His mouth grazes her own, and her eyes flutter shut instinctively. ‘Harry,’ she says, when he pulls her closer, ‘Harry,’ she says, when he reaches up to cup her face. She pulls back. ‘Harry,’ she says, ‘you have a wife.’
There’s a hardness behind his eyes she’s never seen before and he kisses her again, arm tight around her waist.
He holds her like a lifeline.
She almost feels safe.
She wakes before him, a heavy arm slung across her chest. She leaves a note on the pillow. it’s time to go home now x, it reads. She still dots her i’s with stars.
There’s a beetle on the windowsill. She doesn’t notice but, then again, that’s sort of the point.
It’s in the Prophet, of course, scandal! it screams, harry potter and luna lovegood’s sordid affair revealed: exclusive.
It lands on the desk in Ollivander’s with a thump, her picture smiling up at her from the front page. She glances up at him, assessing his anger. ‘How did they find out?’ He demands. She looks away.
‘These things have a way of ending up in the open, Harry. Actions have consequences. You should know that, by now.’
The door slams shut behind him.
Hermione looks at her over the top of her coffee. ‘Have you seen Ginny?’ she says, simply. It’s barely even a question.
She doesn’t answer.
‘Loo-Luna. I don’t- ’ Hermione pauses, flattening her skirt. She’s grown old very quickly, Luna thinks. ‘I don’t sympathise.’
‘No,’ she says, ‘I didn’t want you to.’
Looney Lovegood. It still echoes in her brain. There are memories, you see.
end.