Springfic: "With Your Back to the Wall" for gm_weasley
Title: With Your Back to the Wall
Author: Istalksnape
Recipient: gm_weasley
Character(s): Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Clare DeTamble.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 4573
Warnings (highlight to view): Cross-over with The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger; mention of Luna's nakedness.
Summary: Luna is alone. She travels, endlessly traveling, never settling, but soon she finds her place, somewhere.
Author's Notes: I really hope you like this. I loved writing this and I saw that you liked The Time Traveler's Wife and I knew what I wanted to write. I hope you don't mind! I also hope that I did all the characters justice - I've only written Minerva more than once and I've never written Luna or Clare. I really want to expand this to be much longer, but because of time constraints, it wasn't possible.
Betas: Eidy.
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the lover letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
-Derek Walcott
The house is old, with boards that shift under her feet as she walks from the kitchen to the dining room. There is an elegance that runs through the house. Luna is reminded of her love for black and white photography, and she runs her fingers along the picture frames as she passes them. A lovely family lives here, she thinks.
She holds the edge of her shirt tight in her hand. It isn't really her shirt. The hem fits just above the edge of the jeans she's wearing; the jeans are a hair too short, not quite covering her ankles. The jeans aren't hers, either. The fabric is soft against her skin. As she walks she becomes aware of her bare arms. Goosebumps emerge on her flesh, prickling and sending a rushing feeling from shoulder to fingertip. The house is cold and she has no sweater to wear.
At twenty-four years old, Luna is alone. She wanders, just like she always has, but her friends are gone. She does not miss it (much) and tries not to think about it. She's busy. She's made new friends, if they can be called friends. She avoids relationships. She never has a chance to see where they go.
This house belongs to a woman named Clare, who lives here with a quiet child named Alba. Luna visits here most often. Clare makes the best tea, but that isn't why she visits. Clare tells her stories, heart wrenching stories that leave Luna lying on the couch hours after, staring into space. Clare is the closest to a friend that Luna has had since Hogwarts. She feels safe here.
Other times she is in an office, an office that she knows quite well from years of conferences and lemon drops. She visits Minerva here, sits with her wrapped in a blanket or in a borrowed cloak. There are always biscuits and tea that the house elves try their best to make the way she likes it. If Luna could, she would take Minerva's biscuits with her to Clare's house and eat them with Clare's tea. Yes, she thinks she would like that.
…
On a Tuesday, Luna ends up in Minerva's office, but Minerva isn't there. Instead, Severus Snape sits at a desk in the corner (it's not Minerva's desk and there are no lemon drops in a candy dish on the corner). Luna forgets that she must be naked and stands there, staring at him until he turns around sees her. His sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, distract her more than the squirming snake on his flesh. It is when he focuses on her that her eyes flick up to meet his. The exact moment that his mouth makes a perfect circle, the moment right before he says her surname loudly in conjunction with his fist pounding on the desk, there is a tingle and she's gone again, back in her room with Hermione's old cat, Crookshanks.
She can't stop thinking about it. The way his mouth rounded out. The way his hair, greasy and slightly shorter than she remembers it, moves against his face. His eyes stared at her, but not at her. He paid no attention to her breasts, shapely and pale, or the long legs that are covered in a scattering of light freckles at the knees. He looked only at her face, searching for proof that she wasn't standing in his office. She was sixteen.
She remembers being punished, remembers the bruises the next day and the way she couldn't sit through classes. She never understood why Snape called her into his office on a Wednesday and yelled (his voice uncharacteristically scratchy and too loud) at her for intruding, for breaking and entering. Now it makes sense. Now she knows what he was talking about. Sometimes she wishes she could snap her fingers and go back, go back and explain and ask questions. There are so many questions that she has for so many people. She only wants to ask so that she can understand.
The next time she sees Minerva, Luna asks about it. Minerva says she remember Snape asking her about it, and how she told him to speak to Filius, because Luna was in Ravenclaw and, really, shouldn't he be speaking to her head of house? Minerva apologizes, pushing the tin of biscuits at Luna. Luna stares at the desk, picking at a nick with her fingernail.
…
There is no romance between them, even though Luna has kissed him once. She was drunk on wine stolen from Sybil, and she swayed in his arms as they walked across the room.
"Humor me?" she asks as she loops one arm around his waist, pulling herself closer to him. "Just a little dance?"
Later she'll remember being frustrated at his lack of response, only his guidance that ended up with her sitting on a desk, legs dangling over the edge. Frustration, an emotion she's never fully been able to control, rises up and she pulls on his sweater (a black turtleneck) until she can press her lips against his.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees something silver soar through the air and out through the seam of the door. Severus has pulled back and she is left sitting on the desk, arms wrapped around herself.
"No." His only word, and it's heartbreaking to her, at the age of eighteen, because she's never kissed anyone, not even Parvati when they were playing truth or dare. He leaves as Minerva comes in, and Luna doesn't see him for another twenty-six trips.
…
It happens more times than she can count, and unlike Clare's friend that the stories are about, Luna doesn't keep records. She doesn't wish to know what's happening to her.
Every time that she appears in Snape's office, he is there. She wishes he wouldn't be, because she is always naked and she makes it awkward for herself. He never stares, never even steals a glance. Even Minerva - quiet, proper, and elderly Minerva - can't help but glance at the meeting of Luna's legs or the mole just above Luna's right breast. But Snape never looks. He only says her name and just as the o after the hard g in Lovegood rolls off his tongue, she feels a tingle that rushes from her collarbone to the heels of her feet and disappears, stumbling into her bed back in her room.
Minerva cannot explain it. Clare has theories, but none of them are provable and Luna doesn't rely on them too heavily.
"But Clare, it just doesn't make sense," Luna says as Alba runs past the window on the other side of the room. Luna misses spending time outside, lying on the grass, making it buzz between her lips with short bursts of air. She'll have to do that against sometime soon.
"I'm afraid that nothing ever makes sense. Dr. Kendrick is getting closer, but he never mentioned anything about connections between individuals. This Snape man-"
"Severus," Luna says.
"Severus. Yes. Have you ever shared anything with him? Ever told him about your habits?" Clare pours more tea. "And what about those Time-Turner things you talk about? Do you think maybe-"
"Minerva says I would have needed to bathe in the sand from Time-Travelers for my entire life for it to do this. And-" Luna swirls her tea, wishing there were leaves in the bottom for her to interpret. "You'd have to know Severus to know that we never talked about anything." She smiles at that. Clare smiles a softer smile, one that is unsure of what to do. She's never met Severus. She never will. Luna knows this.
…
Luna is nineteen when she sees Fortescue in a dark room, his face covered in a dirty beard. He smells of drink and fumbles with his wand as he gestures towards her, shedding light on her naked body.
"Why, Miss Lovegood! I hope you don't mind that I didn't clean up. If I had known you were going to visit, I would have at least shaved." His voice sounds exactly the same. The only difference is the deadness of his eyes. They don't catch the light like they should. Something is wrong.
She hears footsteps walking towards the room. The door is closed, but there is a gap under it. Shadows move across the floor.
"You mindless lump - stop talking to yourself!" A fist pounds on the door, popping the lock and making it swing open. The edge catches her elbow, and as she disappears she sees Lucius Malfoy's face snarling at her. His hand reaches for her, but she knows all that he will feel is air.
…
She starts to call him Severus because he treats her like she should be called Luna. She will never be able to explain how she feels about him, because there are scars with his blame that run over her body and memories of remarks never meant to be heard (muttered under his breath as he turns away from her potion, perfect in color and substance). When she defends him she cannot tell why. She shrugs, shoulders rustling her hair, and tries to change the conversation.
…
It is raining when she appears on the lawn by the lake. If she had anything to wear, it would be soaked through to the skin, but instead she glistens in the light of Hogwarts like the pelt of a slick seal. Instincts serve her and she ducks into one tunnel, which leads to another, until she is standing, shivering and bare, in front of a door with the crest of Slytherin splayed across the wood. Without knocking, she kneels down in the alcove of the door, resting her head against the dark wood, waiting. She does not wait long, and then she is pulled up and in, the sweep of his cloak curling around the two of them.
Se finds herself on his couch, wearing a set of robes that could never have fit him (though they have his name sewn into the collar). They fit her like her own clothes would fit her. Today is her thirtieth birthday, even though she sleeps seven floors up at the tender age of thirteen.
...
Minerva is twenty-seven, and Luna is forty-five when Luna shows up in Minerva's classroom. It's always Hogwarts, Luna thinks as she stands there, not trying to cover herself up. Why is it always Hogwarts. Minerva drops the box of alarm clocks on the floor and half of them start ringing.
"Oh! Libby, what are you-" The sight of seeing Minerva staring at her body makes Luna blush, for the first time in all the times that she traveled. The sound of her mother's name coming from Minerva's mouth makes Luna duck her gaze down, because Luna is thirteen years older than her mother ever was. For the first time since Luna was little she is ashamed to show up with no explanation.
"I'm not Libby," she says, calm, bring her chin back up so that she's staring back at Minerva. "It's complicated. I'm-"
A portrait on the wall emerges from the edge of the canvas. His face is red and he is breathing heavily. "Minerva, I've alerted Albus."
Minerva moves towards Luna, shrugging off the robe that covers her simple, Muggle jeans and sweater. "That won't be necessary, Bernard. Tell Albus that it was nothing . I've got it under control."
Bernard looked at Luna, his eyes lingering on the curves of her shape (some settled, weighed down by age), and then disappeared out of the frame. Luna was so busy watching him, with his flushed cheeks and sweat on his upper lip, that she doesn't notice Minerva wrapping the robe around her shoulders. As the fabric covers her, Luna curls her body into Minerva. She is suddenly tired at the age of forty-five. She is tired of telling.
"Sit down. Sit down." Minerva guides her to a desk and Luna lowers into the seat, one hand grasping at the edge of the seat while the other grabs hold of Minerva's sweater. Her fingers curl around the fabric and she clings to the woman who is younger than Luna has ever seen her. Minerva hugs Luna to her body, not questioning that she is holding a replica of a young woman she teaches three days a week. She does not question that the replica is too old to be Libby. Minerva simply holds Luna until she stops shaking and lets go of the hold she has on Minerva's tartan sweater.
"I am Luna Lovegood. My father is Xenophilius Lovegood and my mother was Libby Marbleteaux." Minerva feels Luna tense and then she is gone. Minerva clutches at the robes that lie in a pool at her feet. She senses magic on the fabric, holds it close to her body, then gets up and walks over to her desk. She drapes the robes over her chair and marks her calendar on this Thursday with a star.
…
"He's innocent," Luna says, breathless. She hasn't been running, but she is flushed like she remembers Bernard in the portrait. "Minerva, I swear, he's on our side. Albus asked for him and he did it because Albus asked him. You can't let everyone go after him. You've got to let him-"
"Miss Lovegood, I trust you. Now, just please calm down. I need you to explain everything from the beginning." She hands Luna a glass of water and settles back into the chair behind the desk.
…
The fourth time that Luna appears in Severus's office, she wraps herself in the curtain that covers the window facing the window. A man is sitting opposite Severus. Severus's face shifts as she appears and then his eyes flick at the curtain. She disappears behind it before the man swivels in his chair. When he speaks, Luna draws in a breath that sucks her stomach in. Her skin feels like it becomes coated in the slickness of his voice. She has seen Voldemort before and she
"Severus, I praise you for your advances. You have done amazingly well. I do however question your use of the school."
"My use, my Lord?"
"Yes, Severus. Could we not be conditioning them more? Could we not use some heavier … techniques to ensure that they aid us when Potter arrives." He uses Harry's last name like an fourth Unforgivable, spitting it out of his mouth. "I just wish they would be happier to serve us."
"I will find a way to add that to the curriculum, my Lord. I assure you, my position at this school is to serve you and your agenda."
Luna hears the crack of someone Apparating, and then the hiss of Severus's voice. "Come out from there, girl. Now."
As soon as she steps from behind the curtain a robe is thrust into her hands. He is turned away until she puts it on, tying a sash tight around her waist. At thirty, she is starting to lose her figure, but she still tapers and swells in the correct places. It is a comfort to know that within the walls of Hogwarts, there is no need to fear being used as entertainment. She appreciates that Severus keeps a robe for her in the same place that Minerva used to. The only thing that would make her feel more safe within these walls would be a wand. She misses it when she travels.
"Sit." He gestures for the chair that Voldemort had just left. When she sits in it she feels no warmth like she would when taking a seat just vacated in a classroom. It bothers her.
"I didn't see anything. I didn't-"
"Quiet," he says in a hushed voice, eying the portraits on the walls. With a flick of his wand they all go dark. "You did see something. Don't lie. Lies are worthless. I need you to listen." She always been in awe of his ability to use a low voice like others would use a raised one.
...
Two days later (for Luna - three weeks later, in January, for Minerva), Luna told Minerva what Severus had told her, and shown her. Occlumency worked both ways, and so he showed her Albus's face - aged and tired - and let her listen to his words. Begging did not suit the old man, but the words that came from his lips were a plea nonetheless. Severus acted on his promise to Albus. It was not murder. If anything, it was assisted suicide. "I'm going to hell anyway," Severus had mused when he pushed Luna from his memories.
"Luna, are you sure you were not tricked? You must be-"
"I am sure."
…
Luna visited over fifty people in her lifetime, dropping in on their lives uncontrollably and unexplainably. The only three people that she visited more than once were Severus, Minerva, and Clare.
…
Severus died on a Sunday (she never remembered dates, only days). Luna appeared in the room as the door clicked shut after Harry. She crumbled to the floor next to him, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his outfit. His face, robbed of color, was still. His eyes were closed. His chest did not move. But under her fingers she found a pulse. Faint, his life beat under her fingertips. She grabbed his wand, pressing the tip to his neck. Her lips moved quickly, murmuring every spell she could remember from healing lessons, rushing to get to them all. After a minute his eyes opened. She couldn't see the color of his eyes around the pupils. He was pale, so pale.
His eyes scared her, the way they searched around the room. The wildness was something she had never seen in his eyes. She wanted his calm to return, she wanted him to return.
His body seized. His lips, thin and dry, moved. Luna leaned down near his face, her ear two inches from his mouth. Again, he pushed air from his lungs.
"Thank you."
"Thank you for what?" she asks, letting his wand drop to the old floorboards. "Thank you for what, Severus? What have I done?"
…
Luna slept in Hogsmeade that night, paying for it with money that Minerva shoved in her hand. She wore only robes, nothing else, and slept in them. They smelled of lemon drops.
She woke in the same bed in the morning, but as she brushed her hair after a shower, she went back to her room.
Half an hour later the sensation rushed through her body and she disappeared, leaving a pile of clothes and a broken cup in the kitchen. She found herself in Severus's office, with him sitting behind the desk. Minerva was leaving, her body partway through the doorway to the stairs. The sound of Luna's feet on the tile floor made her turn back around. Her eyes were red around the edges.
Luna's voice was hoarse. Her throat felt raw. She had cried until she fell asleep last night. "What's today? What day is today?"
"It's Saturday, Luna." Severus stood, buttoning the buttons that ran along his sleeves. The crisp whiteness of the shirt he wore under the black coat disappeared piece by piece. "You shouldn't be here."
A feeling rises from her stomach and makes her throat tighten. She is suddenly angry, letting the robe that Minerva settles on her shoulders remain open.
"As if I have a choice? As if I choose to visit you every few months, every few years?" She turns towards Minerva. "As if I want this? Never being able to make plans, never knowing where the hell I'll end up. Always showing up like this?" She gestures at her own body, now twenty-four years old. "Why would I want this? Why would I want to know what happens-"
"Luna-" he starts, but she walks towards him, her hands in tight fists at her side.
"I know what happens to you," she says through clenched teeth. "I've been there. I know what happens." Her eyes are rimmed with red like Minerva's, but tears run off her cheeks and trail along her skin where it collides with the black of the robe. Her whole body is tense, and she is so angry at them. They let this happen to him, the both of them just standing around while she told them how to fix it. "I'm tired of living like this and I want to be done. I want-"
"I know I die, Luna." His voice calms her. "The Dark Lord is not as clever with his plans as he thinks he is. It happens tomorrow, doesn't it?" He has finished fastening the buttons. His eyes are unusually warm. She can see a trace of brown to the darkness around the pupils.
"Yes." For the first and only time in all the years that she has traveled, Luna tells a concrete fact from the future. "Yes, it's tomorrow."
Minerva, strangely silent through this whole exchange, brings her hand up to her mouth as if covering a yawn. She looks pained. When she catches Luna watching her, Minerva walks across the room and tugs the robes shut, jerking the sash tight around Luna's waist.
"I think I leave soon," Luna says. She looks around the room, trying to remember if she knows how long she stays or if she's made it up in her mind. "I don't want to leave." She sounds like she's still in her fifth year, asking her father to let her stay home for the year. Panic rises in her voice. Despite Minerva wrapping an arm around her body, Luna can't help but watch Severus. She's never seen someone after they've died. She can't stand it. Her whole body aches with the adrenaline that is pulsing through her blood. "I want to stay."
Suddenly, Severus is in her mind. She doesn't push him away, doesn't avoid letting him see what she's been thinking lately. She catches glimpses of faces that she doesn't know, sprinkled with her face, and Harry's. It settles on her face longer than any others, and she sees her face hanging over his, her lips moving. She blinks and he is staring at her, simply watching.
"Thank you for visiting me so often," he says. "And it feels ridiculous." Luna tilts her head, some long earrings swinging with loose strands of hair.
"What do you mean? Severus?"
"Now, if I told you, I'm sure we'd be breaking some kind of law and the earth would melt. Or Potter would become Minister." He reaches out and grasps her shoulder for a moment. Then she is gone and he and Minerva are left alone.
…
When Luna is ninety-two years old, she is the last of the students who fought at Hogwarts to be alive. She is alone, as she always has been. She doesn't keep cats anymore - sometimes she is gone for too long.
She hasn't seen Minerva in eleven years. She's simply stopped dropping in when Minerva is around. Clare never seems to age. Luna finds out that in the hundreds of times that she has sat with Clare, it has only ever been over a five year span.
The last time that Luna sees Severus, it is two weeks before his death. His face is drawn and more pale than usual. It bothers her to see him like this. They have grown close. She's known him since he was seven years old. It is the most that anyone has ever known him, and she feels special for that reason alone. It does not matter that she jumps through time. No matter how long she leaves him alone (eight years at the longest), she always comes back.
He is not yet forty. His birthday is months away, but he looks to be nearly fifty.
"I just gave you detention."
"Oh? I hope it was the time you left me with Hagrid, not those Carrows. I much enjoyed walking through the Forest." She smiles as she sits down, wrapped in much lighter robe than usual. The old one disappeared a couple trips ago. "He gave me candies."
"It never ceases to amaze me how you change. Just last week you were around sixteen again." He writes a note on a scrap of parchment and tucks it into a drawer. "You gave quite a scare to Filius. He thought you were a ghost. You popped in and then right back out. If I hadn't been so tired, I probably wouldn't have laughed as much at his expression."
"We must be up to, what, two hundred meetings?" she asks, working a lemon drop in her mouth. "Two-fifty?"
"Three hundred and forty-three so far, if my tally has been correct." He looks at her and then away. "It was a habit started when I was a child. I haven't been able to break it."
"I'm not judging you." The pale hair of her bangs falls over her eyes, so she brushes them off to the side, trying to tuck a few strands behind her ear. "So that means, total, I see you... yes, yes, that is correct."
"That's not fair."
"I do believe I said that once and you told me life wasn't fair. How does it feel now?"
"It feels-" But she never got to hear what he was saying, because the tingle ran through her body and she found herself sitting in her favorite chair by a fire that hadn't changed since her leaving it.
Author: Istalksnape
Recipient: gm_weasley
Character(s): Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Clare DeTamble.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 4573
Warnings (highlight to view): Cross-over with The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger; mention of Luna's nakedness.
Summary: Luna is alone. She travels, endlessly traveling, never settling, but soon she finds her place, somewhere.
Author's Notes: I really hope you like this. I loved writing this and I saw that you liked The Time Traveler's Wife and I knew what I wanted to write. I hope you don't mind! I also hope that I did all the characters justice - I've only written Minerva more than once and I've never written Luna or Clare. I really want to expand this to be much longer, but because of time constraints, it wasn't possible.
Betas: Eidy.
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the lover letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
-Derek Walcott
The house is old, with boards that shift under her feet as she walks from the kitchen to the dining room. There is an elegance that runs through the house. Luna is reminded of her love for black and white photography, and she runs her fingers along the picture frames as she passes them. A lovely family lives here, she thinks.
She holds the edge of her shirt tight in her hand. It isn't really her shirt. The hem fits just above the edge of the jeans she's wearing; the jeans are a hair too short, not quite covering her ankles. The jeans aren't hers, either. The fabric is soft against her skin. As she walks she becomes aware of her bare arms. Goosebumps emerge on her flesh, prickling and sending a rushing feeling from shoulder to fingertip. The house is cold and she has no sweater to wear.
At twenty-four years old, Luna is alone. She wanders, just like she always has, but her friends are gone. She does not miss it (much) and tries not to think about it. She's busy. She's made new friends, if they can be called friends. She avoids relationships. She never has a chance to see where they go.
This house belongs to a woman named Clare, who lives here with a quiet child named Alba. Luna visits here most often. Clare makes the best tea, but that isn't why she visits. Clare tells her stories, heart wrenching stories that leave Luna lying on the couch hours after, staring into space. Clare is the closest to a friend that Luna has had since Hogwarts. She feels safe here.
Other times she is in an office, an office that she knows quite well from years of conferences and lemon drops. She visits Minerva here, sits with her wrapped in a blanket or in a borrowed cloak. There are always biscuits and tea that the house elves try their best to make the way she likes it. If Luna could, she would take Minerva's biscuits with her to Clare's house and eat them with Clare's tea. Yes, she thinks she would like that.
…
On a Tuesday, Luna ends up in Minerva's office, but Minerva isn't there. Instead, Severus Snape sits at a desk in the corner (it's not Minerva's desk and there are no lemon drops in a candy dish on the corner). Luna forgets that she must be naked and stands there, staring at him until he turns around sees her. His sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, distract her more than the squirming snake on his flesh. It is when he focuses on her that her eyes flick up to meet his. The exact moment that his mouth makes a perfect circle, the moment right before he says her surname loudly in conjunction with his fist pounding on the desk, there is a tingle and she's gone again, back in her room with Hermione's old cat, Crookshanks.
She can't stop thinking about it. The way his mouth rounded out. The way his hair, greasy and slightly shorter than she remembers it, moves against his face. His eyes stared at her, but not at her. He paid no attention to her breasts, shapely and pale, or the long legs that are covered in a scattering of light freckles at the knees. He looked only at her face, searching for proof that she wasn't standing in his office. She was sixteen.
She remembers being punished, remembers the bruises the next day and the way she couldn't sit through classes. She never understood why Snape called her into his office on a Wednesday and yelled (his voice uncharacteristically scratchy and too loud) at her for intruding, for breaking and entering. Now it makes sense. Now she knows what he was talking about. Sometimes she wishes she could snap her fingers and go back, go back and explain and ask questions. There are so many questions that she has for so many people. She only wants to ask so that she can understand.
The next time she sees Minerva, Luna asks about it. Minerva says she remember Snape asking her about it, and how she told him to speak to Filius, because Luna was in Ravenclaw and, really, shouldn't he be speaking to her head of house? Minerva apologizes, pushing the tin of biscuits at Luna. Luna stares at the desk, picking at a nick with her fingernail.
…
There is no romance between them, even though Luna has kissed him once. She was drunk on wine stolen from Sybil, and she swayed in his arms as they walked across the room.
"Humor me?" she asks as she loops one arm around his waist, pulling herself closer to him. "Just a little dance?"
Later she'll remember being frustrated at his lack of response, only his guidance that ended up with her sitting on a desk, legs dangling over the edge. Frustration, an emotion she's never fully been able to control, rises up and she pulls on his sweater (a black turtleneck) until she can press her lips against his.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees something silver soar through the air and out through the seam of the door. Severus has pulled back and she is left sitting on the desk, arms wrapped around herself.
"No." His only word, and it's heartbreaking to her, at the age of eighteen, because she's never kissed anyone, not even Parvati when they were playing truth or dare. He leaves as Minerva comes in, and Luna doesn't see him for another twenty-six trips.
…
It happens more times than she can count, and unlike Clare's friend that the stories are about, Luna doesn't keep records. She doesn't wish to know what's happening to her.
Every time that she appears in Snape's office, he is there. She wishes he wouldn't be, because she is always naked and she makes it awkward for herself. He never stares, never even steals a glance. Even Minerva - quiet, proper, and elderly Minerva - can't help but glance at the meeting of Luna's legs or the mole just above Luna's right breast. But Snape never looks. He only says her name and just as the o after the hard g in Lovegood rolls off his tongue, she feels a tingle that rushes from her collarbone to the heels of her feet and disappears, stumbling into her bed back in her room.
Minerva cannot explain it. Clare has theories, but none of them are provable and Luna doesn't rely on them too heavily.
"But Clare, it just doesn't make sense," Luna says as Alba runs past the window on the other side of the room. Luna misses spending time outside, lying on the grass, making it buzz between her lips with short bursts of air. She'll have to do that against sometime soon.
"I'm afraid that nothing ever makes sense. Dr. Kendrick is getting closer, but he never mentioned anything about connections between individuals. This Snape man-"
"Severus," Luna says.
"Severus. Yes. Have you ever shared anything with him? Ever told him about your habits?" Clare pours more tea. "And what about those Time-Turner things you talk about? Do you think maybe-"
"Minerva says I would have needed to bathe in the sand from Time-Travelers for my entire life for it to do this. And-" Luna swirls her tea, wishing there were leaves in the bottom for her to interpret. "You'd have to know Severus to know that we never talked about anything." She smiles at that. Clare smiles a softer smile, one that is unsure of what to do. She's never met Severus. She never will. Luna knows this.
…
Luna is nineteen when she sees Fortescue in a dark room, his face covered in a dirty beard. He smells of drink and fumbles with his wand as he gestures towards her, shedding light on her naked body.
"Why, Miss Lovegood! I hope you don't mind that I didn't clean up. If I had known you were going to visit, I would have at least shaved." His voice sounds exactly the same. The only difference is the deadness of his eyes. They don't catch the light like they should. Something is wrong.
She hears footsteps walking towards the room. The door is closed, but there is a gap under it. Shadows move across the floor.
"You mindless lump - stop talking to yourself!" A fist pounds on the door, popping the lock and making it swing open. The edge catches her elbow, and as she disappears she sees Lucius Malfoy's face snarling at her. His hand reaches for her, but she knows all that he will feel is air.
…
She starts to call him Severus because he treats her like she should be called Luna. She will never be able to explain how she feels about him, because there are scars with his blame that run over her body and memories of remarks never meant to be heard (muttered under his breath as he turns away from her potion, perfect in color and substance). When she defends him she cannot tell why. She shrugs, shoulders rustling her hair, and tries to change the conversation.
…
It is raining when she appears on the lawn by the lake. If she had anything to wear, it would be soaked through to the skin, but instead she glistens in the light of Hogwarts like the pelt of a slick seal. Instincts serve her and she ducks into one tunnel, which leads to another, until she is standing, shivering and bare, in front of a door with the crest of Slytherin splayed across the wood. Without knocking, she kneels down in the alcove of the door, resting her head against the dark wood, waiting. She does not wait long, and then she is pulled up and in, the sweep of his cloak curling around the two of them.
Se finds herself on his couch, wearing a set of robes that could never have fit him (though they have his name sewn into the collar). They fit her like her own clothes would fit her. Today is her thirtieth birthday, even though she sleeps seven floors up at the tender age of thirteen.
...
Minerva is twenty-seven, and Luna is forty-five when Luna shows up in Minerva's classroom. It's always Hogwarts, Luna thinks as she stands there, not trying to cover herself up. Why is it always Hogwarts. Minerva drops the box of alarm clocks on the floor and half of them start ringing.
"Oh! Libby, what are you-" The sight of seeing Minerva staring at her body makes Luna blush, for the first time in all the times that she traveled. The sound of her mother's name coming from Minerva's mouth makes Luna duck her gaze down, because Luna is thirteen years older than her mother ever was. For the first time since Luna was little she is ashamed to show up with no explanation.
"I'm not Libby," she says, calm, bring her chin back up so that she's staring back at Minerva. "It's complicated. I'm-"
A portrait on the wall emerges from the edge of the canvas. His face is red and he is breathing heavily. "Minerva, I've alerted Albus."
Minerva moves towards Luna, shrugging off the robe that covers her simple, Muggle jeans and sweater. "That won't be necessary, Bernard. Tell Albus that it was nothing . I've got it under control."
Bernard looked at Luna, his eyes lingering on the curves of her shape (some settled, weighed down by age), and then disappeared out of the frame. Luna was so busy watching him, with his flushed cheeks and sweat on his upper lip, that she doesn't notice Minerva wrapping the robe around her shoulders. As the fabric covers her, Luna curls her body into Minerva. She is suddenly tired at the age of forty-five. She is tired of telling.
"Sit down. Sit down." Minerva guides her to a desk and Luna lowers into the seat, one hand grasping at the edge of the seat while the other grabs hold of Minerva's sweater. Her fingers curl around the fabric and she clings to the woman who is younger than Luna has ever seen her. Minerva hugs Luna to her body, not questioning that she is holding a replica of a young woman she teaches three days a week. She does not question that the replica is too old to be Libby. Minerva simply holds Luna until she stops shaking and lets go of the hold she has on Minerva's tartan sweater.
"I am Luna Lovegood. My father is Xenophilius Lovegood and my mother was Libby Marbleteaux." Minerva feels Luna tense and then she is gone. Minerva clutches at the robes that lie in a pool at her feet. She senses magic on the fabric, holds it close to her body, then gets up and walks over to her desk. She drapes the robes over her chair and marks her calendar on this Thursday with a star.
…
"He's innocent," Luna says, breathless. She hasn't been running, but she is flushed like she remembers Bernard in the portrait. "Minerva, I swear, he's on our side. Albus asked for him and he did it because Albus asked him. You can't let everyone go after him. You've got to let him-"
"Miss Lovegood, I trust you. Now, just please calm down. I need you to explain everything from the beginning." She hands Luna a glass of water and settles back into the chair behind the desk.
…
The fourth time that Luna appears in Severus's office, she wraps herself in the curtain that covers the window facing the window. A man is sitting opposite Severus. Severus's face shifts as she appears and then his eyes flick at the curtain. She disappears behind it before the man swivels in his chair. When he speaks, Luna draws in a breath that sucks her stomach in. Her skin feels like it becomes coated in the slickness of his voice. She has seen Voldemort before and she
"Severus, I praise you for your advances. You have done amazingly well. I do however question your use of the school."
"My use, my Lord?"
"Yes, Severus. Could we not be conditioning them more? Could we not use some heavier … techniques to ensure that they aid us when Potter arrives." He uses Harry's last name like an fourth Unforgivable, spitting it out of his mouth. "I just wish they would be happier to serve us."
"I will find a way to add that to the curriculum, my Lord. I assure you, my position at this school is to serve you and your agenda."
Luna hears the crack of someone Apparating, and then the hiss of Severus's voice. "Come out from there, girl. Now."
As soon as she steps from behind the curtain a robe is thrust into her hands. He is turned away until she puts it on, tying a sash tight around her waist. At thirty, she is starting to lose her figure, but she still tapers and swells in the correct places. It is a comfort to know that within the walls of Hogwarts, there is no need to fear being used as entertainment. She appreciates that Severus keeps a robe for her in the same place that Minerva used to. The only thing that would make her feel more safe within these walls would be a wand. She misses it when she travels.
"Sit." He gestures for the chair that Voldemort had just left. When she sits in it she feels no warmth like she would when taking a seat just vacated in a classroom. It bothers her.
"I didn't see anything. I didn't-"
"Quiet," he says in a hushed voice, eying the portraits on the walls. With a flick of his wand they all go dark. "You did see something. Don't lie. Lies are worthless. I need you to listen." She always been in awe of his ability to use a low voice like others would use a raised one.
...
Two days later (for Luna - three weeks later, in January, for Minerva), Luna told Minerva what Severus had told her, and shown her. Occlumency worked both ways, and so he showed her Albus's face - aged and tired - and let her listen to his words. Begging did not suit the old man, but the words that came from his lips were a plea nonetheless. Severus acted on his promise to Albus. It was not murder. If anything, it was assisted suicide. "I'm going to hell anyway," Severus had mused when he pushed Luna from his memories.
"Luna, are you sure you were not tricked? You must be-"
"I am sure."
…
Luna visited over fifty people in her lifetime, dropping in on their lives uncontrollably and unexplainably. The only three people that she visited more than once were Severus, Minerva, and Clare.
…
Severus died on a Sunday (she never remembered dates, only days). Luna appeared in the room as the door clicked shut after Harry. She crumbled to the floor next to him, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his outfit. His face, robbed of color, was still. His eyes were closed. His chest did not move. But under her fingers she found a pulse. Faint, his life beat under her fingertips. She grabbed his wand, pressing the tip to his neck. Her lips moved quickly, murmuring every spell she could remember from healing lessons, rushing to get to them all. After a minute his eyes opened. She couldn't see the color of his eyes around the pupils. He was pale, so pale.
His eyes scared her, the way they searched around the room. The wildness was something she had never seen in his eyes. She wanted his calm to return, she wanted him to return.
His body seized. His lips, thin and dry, moved. Luna leaned down near his face, her ear two inches from his mouth. Again, he pushed air from his lungs.
"Thank you."
"Thank you for what?" she asks, letting his wand drop to the old floorboards. "Thank you for what, Severus? What have I done?"
…
Luna slept in Hogsmeade that night, paying for it with money that Minerva shoved in her hand. She wore only robes, nothing else, and slept in them. They smelled of lemon drops.
She woke in the same bed in the morning, but as she brushed her hair after a shower, she went back to her room.
Half an hour later the sensation rushed through her body and she disappeared, leaving a pile of clothes and a broken cup in the kitchen. She found herself in Severus's office, with him sitting behind the desk. Minerva was leaving, her body partway through the doorway to the stairs. The sound of Luna's feet on the tile floor made her turn back around. Her eyes were red around the edges.
Luna's voice was hoarse. Her throat felt raw. She had cried until she fell asleep last night. "What's today? What day is today?"
"It's Saturday, Luna." Severus stood, buttoning the buttons that ran along his sleeves. The crisp whiteness of the shirt he wore under the black coat disappeared piece by piece. "You shouldn't be here."
A feeling rises from her stomach and makes her throat tighten. She is suddenly angry, letting the robe that Minerva settles on her shoulders remain open.
"As if I have a choice? As if I choose to visit you every few months, every few years?" She turns towards Minerva. "As if I want this? Never being able to make plans, never knowing where the hell I'll end up. Always showing up like this?" She gestures at her own body, now twenty-four years old. "Why would I want this? Why would I want to know what happens-"
"Luna-" he starts, but she walks towards him, her hands in tight fists at her side.
"I know what happens to you," she says through clenched teeth. "I've been there. I know what happens." Her eyes are rimmed with red like Minerva's, but tears run off her cheeks and trail along her skin where it collides with the black of the robe. Her whole body is tense, and she is so angry at them. They let this happen to him, the both of them just standing around while she told them how to fix it. "I'm tired of living like this and I want to be done. I want-"
"I know I die, Luna." His voice calms her. "The Dark Lord is not as clever with his plans as he thinks he is. It happens tomorrow, doesn't it?" He has finished fastening the buttons. His eyes are unusually warm. She can see a trace of brown to the darkness around the pupils.
"Yes." For the first and only time in all the years that she has traveled, Luna tells a concrete fact from the future. "Yes, it's tomorrow."
Minerva, strangely silent through this whole exchange, brings her hand up to her mouth as if covering a yawn. She looks pained. When she catches Luna watching her, Minerva walks across the room and tugs the robes shut, jerking the sash tight around Luna's waist.
"I think I leave soon," Luna says. She looks around the room, trying to remember if she knows how long she stays or if she's made it up in her mind. "I don't want to leave." She sounds like she's still in her fifth year, asking her father to let her stay home for the year. Panic rises in her voice. Despite Minerva wrapping an arm around her body, Luna can't help but watch Severus. She's never seen someone after they've died. She can't stand it. Her whole body aches with the adrenaline that is pulsing through her blood. "I want to stay."
Suddenly, Severus is in her mind. She doesn't push him away, doesn't avoid letting him see what she's been thinking lately. She catches glimpses of faces that she doesn't know, sprinkled with her face, and Harry's. It settles on her face longer than any others, and she sees her face hanging over his, her lips moving. She blinks and he is staring at her, simply watching.
"Thank you for visiting me so often," he says. "And it feels ridiculous." Luna tilts her head, some long earrings swinging with loose strands of hair.
"What do you mean? Severus?"
"Now, if I told you, I'm sure we'd be breaking some kind of law and the earth would melt. Or Potter would become Minister." He reaches out and grasps her shoulder for a moment. Then she is gone and he and Minerva are left alone.
…
When Luna is ninety-two years old, she is the last of the students who fought at Hogwarts to be alive. She is alone, as she always has been. She doesn't keep cats anymore - sometimes she is gone for too long.
She hasn't seen Minerva in eleven years. She's simply stopped dropping in when Minerva is around. Clare never seems to age. Luna finds out that in the hundreds of times that she has sat with Clare, it has only ever been over a five year span.
The last time that Luna sees Severus, it is two weeks before his death. His face is drawn and more pale than usual. It bothers her to see him like this. They have grown close. She's known him since he was seven years old. It is the most that anyone has ever known him, and she feels special for that reason alone. It does not matter that she jumps through time. No matter how long she leaves him alone (eight years at the longest), she always comes back.
He is not yet forty. His birthday is months away, but he looks to be nearly fifty.
"I just gave you detention."
"Oh? I hope it was the time you left me with Hagrid, not those Carrows. I much enjoyed walking through the Forest." She smiles as she sits down, wrapped in much lighter robe than usual. The old one disappeared a couple trips ago. "He gave me candies."
"It never ceases to amaze me how you change. Just last week you were around sixteen again." He writes a note on a scrap of parchment and tucks it into a drawer. "You gave quite a scare to Filius. He thought you were a ghost. You popped in and then right back out. If I hadn't been so tired, I probably wouldn't have laughed as much at his expression."
"We must be up to, what, two hundred meetings?" she asks, working a lemon drop in her mouth. "Two-fifty?"
"Three hundred and forty-three so far, if my tally has been correct." He looks at her and then away. "It was a habit started when I was a child. I haven't been able to break it."
"I'm not judging you." The pale hair of her bangs falls over her eyes, so she brushes them off to the side, trying to tuck a few strands behind her ear. "So that means, total, I see you... yes, yes, that is correct."
"That's not fair."
"I do believe I said that once and you told me life wasn't fair. How does it feel now?"
"It feels-" But she never got to hear what he was saying, because the tingle ran through her body and she found herself sitting in her favorite chair by a fire that hadn't changed since her leaving it.