☼ TWENTY TWO ☼

[suncolors]

"I don't know, but I do think he will do well wherever he has gone back to, England I think, but not our England you see. He was older than he let on, but I didn't ask him why," she says to the thestral, a skeletal being not terribly unlike an emaciated member of the equine family. "I suppose it would be nice to get the chance to ask next time,"

Comments

[gouge_em_out]

Kay wanders around, lost but enjoying the moment of warmth. He is aware that he isn't awake, because he can see and that only happens in dreams at the moment. Yet, somehow it feels strange. His own dreams are usually terrible nightmares of all the things he had seen over the years, only rarely did he have such a pleasant dream.

He spots Luna with the thestral, though he doesn't recognize her as he hadn't actually seen her yet.

"Hello?"

[suncolors]

"Kay," she smiles and turns, glancing over her shoulder but not moving to get up, as the thestral has made itself comfortable, head resting mostly in her lap now. He moves differently than she remembers and she wonders if he can see or he just heard her talking, but it doesn't really make a difference which it is, to her. She is just glad to see him, because as odd as she can be, and as often as her mind is ten places instead of one, Luna does worry about her friends, thinks of them.

"It's good that you're here," she says and rather than wave a pale hand--that would be assuming--she adds, "If you have time, there is plenty of space to sit here." Join us for a while? The summer turns no one away.

[gouge_em_out]

He recognizes the voice, moving over to sit. The thestral would intimidate him if it weren't acting so friendly towards Luna. He kneels beside her, enjoying the warm summer sun and the feel of the grass, not snow, beneath him.

"I'm not sure what happened," he said, "but I seem to have wandered out of my dream and into yours."

[suncolors]

"The City at work, I think," she pauses, ever thoughtful, lips pursed as she nods knowingly. "Or," she pets the thestral carefully, but mostly kindly. "...it could be rfnarks, but they tend to be autumnal creatures," she shrugs as if she is saying that a dress has a plaid print rather than a polka-dotted one. They carry a similar importance, which isn't very.

Not quite looking at him, but paying attention all the same, she continues to attend to the thestral while speaking, a courteous lilt under every word and pause, "What was your dream like----or, rather, not like?"

in my field of paper flowers;

[7thborn]

Ginny Weasley is running through the Forbidden Forest, moonlight casting long and flickering shadows on the bare ground before her, and whatever is following her is fast on her heels-she can hear it, all heavy snarling breaths intermingled with the hungry rasp of Greyback. The redhead trips and goes sprawling over a fallen tree and twists to throw her wand arm out in defense-

And finds herself flat on her back in soft grass, blinded by a summer sun.

in my field of paper flowers;

[suncolors]

Time is funny in any world, and even funnier in dreams. One second you can be looking at a map and the next you might find yourself walking on it. In this case, Luna feels she only just spoke to the good Kay when she hears something that makes both her and the thestral turn sharply around, eyes wide, or so is the impression given. Her wand tucked casually behind her ear, as often it is, she stands, unhurried, bare feet making no noise as she walks through the clearing in the direction of the sound that yet seems to echo in that way dreams sometimes seem to amplify. The thestral follows close behind, and it bears mentioning, though a little lately, that this one is young, maybe separated from its mother too early. Hard to say

in my field of paper flowers;

[7thborn]

Ginny seems bewildered at first, and who can blame her? It's quite the jump from running for your life-or to save someone's life, she isn't sure she can tell the difference anymore-to simply sprawling in a field of fresh grass and clear sunlight. To be honest, it's disorientating, and the pounding of her heart and the shaking of her hands under Luna's attest to that.

"The very best..." she repeats in a puzzled daze, finally pushing herself up to sit and looking around, brows knitting when she doesn't recognise the place at all. It reminds her, a little bit, of the orchard near The Burrow. Of home."Luna?" Ginny finally questions as her bright brown eyes settle on her friend. They flicker briefly to the young thestral behind her and for a moment, she cannot remember... Can she already see them, after that Death Eater killed himself at the Battle of the Tower, or is it because dreams make anything possible? The young redhead hesitates, then suddenly starts forward, pulling the other girl into an unexpected embrace; because in her dreams

and all these clouds are boiling over

[honestlyrubbish]

Hermione's eyes are closed as she enters this dream, hands covering her ears tightly, trying not to hear the tinny laugh, the flash of red, things that remind her of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Malfoy manor, nightmares which have plagued Hermione since her return to the City. It's only when she isn't jolted around for one, two, then three minutes that she opens her eyes, only to find Luna next to a threstral.

And Hermione notes, somewhat bittersweetly, that this is the first time she's actually been able to see one. Perhaps, in that, there was a silver lining.

"Luna?"

and all these clouds are boiling over

[suncolors]

Her head turns and she smiles again. Truly, this dream can only be described as good, for friends are at every turn, and she feels better with the company of the gelding thestral, hand running affectionately down its somewhat reptilian snout.

"Hermione Granger," she uses her full name, because that is just what she does so often with people she likes, and though she doesn't stand again this time, because that would make it the second time disturbing the thestral's nap, she nods her head in a 'this way' motion. Sit. Stay.

Summer opens her arms for everyone, and she knows her friend has not been well since her return, however quiet the blond keeps about it.

and all these clouds are boiling over

[honestlyrubbish]

Hermione's eyes rest on the threstral, as disconcerting as it is to see such a creature, one that appears almost weak enough to snap like a twig, and yet one which carried in its veins such a power--to be invisible until one has witnessed death, until one has developed in such a specific manner and has grown for it. And if this was the form that death took--in a metaphorical sense--perhaps there really wasn't too much to be afraid of.

At any rate, it was a whole lot better than the Grim, Hermione thought to herself.

"Thank you," she murmurs, quietly stepping over and seating herself down on the grass, blades cool against her ankles, the dew stinging against cuts on her legs that haven't quite healed.

and all these clouds are boiling over

[suncolors]

"You've jumped ahead of course," the blond muses almost airily, but her eyes retain a weighted quality that says she is all too present, sharp with awareness, the kind that cuts itself into the very air and breathes a specific kind of existence into a situation. She means in time, but she also knows what has happened, not just from what she hears or notices, but from a curse long since past. The Malfoy manor can hold no truly good memories for anyone, even those who have yet to really live through what an aging wand maker will find most difficult, but if she takes it in stride, then she takes it as a step rather than an end, and she believes she might know better if things ended there by now. Ginny might say something at least, Luna knows, so it stands to reason in a backwards and curved manner that though it is dark and terrible there, not even winter, not anything, it is a hole one trips in before getting up--however hard it is--and continuing on