Intervention
By FenrisWolf
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DISCLAIMER - I don't own anything related to Harry Potter, JK Rowling does…darn it.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE Part I - First of all, thanks to everyone who's given me such wonderful reviews on this. I don't think any of my other stories have generated such a response; I guess I'll have to devote more on-screen time to Luna from now on, given how much people like her. Hopefully you'll continue to like the direction I'm taking her character in this chapter.
I know some (perhaps all) of my readers will be disappointed by the continued absence of smutty goodness, but there's a reason for this. A few people have commented on how this fic started dark and then turned humorous. After giving it a lot of thought, I decided I would be doing Harry and his friends a disservice if I deliberately lightened the overall tone of the work. There will be humorous moments, especially when certain people are attempting to fit tab A into slot B, but for the most part this deals with a very serious matter, and that is, quite literally, Harry's continuing sanity, and Hermione's role in preserving it.
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Chapter Three - Taking The Plunge - Part One
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Harry sat on the embankment above the trout stream that defined the Weasley's northern property line, and once again wondered what it would be like to just sink into its embrace, letting the crystal clear waters wash away all the pain and confusion that seemed to fill his every waking moment. It was a thought that had occurred to him briefly in the past, but this year it was far stronger, and seductive to the point that on one occasion he'd returned to the Burrow with wet trainers and soggy legs on his rolled-up, oversized hand-me-down jeans, the results, he had claimed, of going wading to cool off from the heat.
The only good thing about his friends' reactions to that rather thin lie was that it had convinced him that sharing the truth with them would be a mistake. Ever since he'd really understood what it meant to be 'The Boy Who Lived', he'd hated how it separated him from everyone around him, turning him into something he patently was not. All he'd done that was special was have his parents die to save him, and while his mother's love could protect him from the murderous spells of a would-be tyrant, it couldn't protect him from being neglected by those who should have watched out for him, or from being abused by the relatives who should have cared for him. Being the 'Boy Who Lived' wasn't a blessing, it was a curse; the Dark Lord's Avada Kedavra had rebounded from the protections his mother's blood gave him, and it was still rebounding, killing those who got too close to him. The fact that Ron and Hermione were his best friends was too well known for Harry to hope that they hadn't become targets, but the least he could do was try and keep them from getting any closer, especially now that he knew his true destiny. He knew that the awkwardness they felt around him was caused in part by the bizarre happenings that always seemed define his life, how much more awkward would they be once they learned how his life was foreordained to end, in another confrontation with the homicidal madman whose insanity had already warped every facet of Harry's existence? A confrontation where, he was honest enough to admit, the best he could hope for was that when he died he could take that madman with him?
He couldn't tell them that, he just…couldn't. It was bad enough listening to them skate around the death of his godfather in the Department of Mysteries; he knew if he let them talk about it, they'd tell him it hadn't been his fault, that it was all Voldemort's doing, but Harry knew better. Professor Snape was right, he was an arrogant little fool, too wrapped up in himself to listen to wiser heads, and his arrogance had gotten Sirius killed.
If he told them about the Prophecy, they'd try and convince him that it wasn't important, that prophecies were notoriously vague and prone to misinterpretation. Harry could almost hear Hermione's voice derisively dismissing the whole concept of divination as a 'fuzzy discipline'. Surely the Boy Who Lived was powerful enough to overcome a vague omen of doom, especially when people had been incorrectly predicting his death for years!
The problem was that Harry knew too much to accept that thin comfort. If prophecies were so much bunk, why would there be a whole Department dedicated to recording and preserving them? Why would Voldemort, arguably the most powerful Dark wizard of his generation, be so desperate to get his hands on the one that concerned him? If the words were so much meaningless drivel, why had Dumbledore gone to such lengths to keep them from Harry?
No, the prophecy wasn't drivel, it was the catalyst that had shaped his whole life to date, and apparently was going to shape his future as well, what little there was of it. Because of the portion he knew, Voldemort had killed Harry's parents. Because of that same portion, he had tried and failed to kill Harry. Because he knew the whole prophecy, Dumbledore had husbanded Harry's life, in the certainty that eventually he would be the key to destroying this latest threat to the peace of the Wizarding world. Because he knew the whole prophecy, Dumbledore had let Harry struggle through ten years of emotional and physical abuse at the hands of his so-called 'relatives', just to keep his weapon safe. Because of the damned prophecy, Harry was alternately worshipped and vilified by complete strangers, had acquired enemies who'd hated him since before he was born, and lost every single person who cared about him, plain Harry, not Harry-bloody-Potter-The-Boy-Who-Lived.
A flash of movement in the stream caught his attention, and he watched as a small trout dodged away from the patch of water covered by Harry's shadow. The sight of his outline shading the rippling surface made him realize that the sun had finally risen above the treetops. The morning was passing, and he'd promised to meet Ron at the little lake in the woods where the Weasleys went swimming.
Most of the people who thought they knew Harry would be expecting him to seek escape from his thoughts on his broomstick. Ever since that first lesson when he'd recovered Neville's Remembrall from Malfoy's bullying clutches, he'd been a natural. The drills he'd practiced as the Gryffindor's Seeker had always been more about teaching him the subtleties of the game than about his flying skills. But the air was no longer a haven for Harry. Every year it seemed that the pleasures he felt while on his broom were being shadowed by darker and darker events.
First year Harry was nearly killed by Quirrell's cursing of his broom, only to be saved by Snape, a man who had loathed him from the moment he set eyes on him. Second year, Dobby's attempts to 'protect' him almost led to his death, the victim of a rogue bludger, triggering a series of events that eventually resulted in a confrontation with a centuries old basilisk and an echo from Voldemort's days as a student. Third year the effects of the dementors led to the destruction of his Nimbus 2000, which in turn led to Sirius gifting him with a Firebolt, a bittersweet gift at best, as every time he flew on it he was reminded of the injustices his godfather had suffered on Harry's behalf. Fourth year, it was his skill on a broom that had allowed him to complete the first task, when it might have been better for everyone if he'd failed. If he had failed, he might have been disqualified from the tournament, and Voldemort might not have risen, or at the very least, Cedric Diggory might still be alive. And then there was fifth year. Even being been banned from Quidditch and having his precious Firebolt confiscated hadn't been enough to keep him out of the air. He'd mounted a Thestral, the winged beast that was a harbinger of death, and so brought death to his Godfather.
Harry felt the familiar stab of pain as he thought of Sirius, how learning the truth about his Godfather had raised his hopes so high, and how Harry's own hunger for vengeance had cost Sirius his freedom. He'd kept the last two Marauders from killing Pettigrew not out of compassion, but because he wanted to see his parents' betrayer suffer. Instead Peter had escaped to resurrect the Dark Lord, and his godfather had remained a fugitive until he died. No, Harry wouldn't be flying on the broom his godfather had given him anytime soon. The moment Professor Dumbledore had gravely returned it to him during Harry's brief stay at Grimmauld Place, Harry had taken it upstairs and placed it on the bed in Sirius's old room, and as far as he cared, there it could stay.
But with flying out of the question, Harry needed another form of exercise to exhaust him so he could sleep. He tried to do chores around the Burrow, but Mrs. Weasley had pitched a fit the first time she saw him scrubbing the floor, so that was out. He'd tried hiking, but the portion of the Weasley's property that was fully warded wasn't suited to the type of walks that left a person tired enough for a good night's sleep. He'd been reduced to spending his time hurling the increasingly timid garden gnome population when Ron had tentatively suggested swimming.
One of the features of the Burrow that Harry had only explored in passing during previous visits was the small lake that served the Weasleys as their swimming pool. Hidden in the middle of the patch of woods that separated their home from Ottery St. Catchpole and the rest of the outside world, generations of redheads and their friends had disported themselves behind the shelter of layers of Muggle-repellent charms. In the past Harry had been an indifferent swimmer, but this year he found himself falling into the rhythm of swimming back and forth, back and forth across the lake until he was sufficiently tired that his turbulent thoughts calmed and he could sleep.
'Not that sleep is much better,' he thought despairingly. The only thing that could be said for his nightly sessions wrestling with his personal demons was that they didn't seem to be inspired by Voldemort. Ever since he'd tried to possess Harry in the Department of Mysteries and been cast out, there had been a barrier between the Dark Lord's thoughts and his own. The downside was that the absence of pain from his scar meant that the horrors that had him waking in a cold sweat more often than not were the product of his own subconscious, not a pleasant thought when one couldn't forget the images playing inside one's own eyelids.
Bodies. In the end, the nightmares always came down to bodies. The bodies of his parents, sprawled in the ruins of Godric's Hollow, of Hermione, dead under the club of a mountain troll, of Hagrid, beheaded by Nott in his own pumpkin patch, of Ron, a withered husk in an acromantula's web, of Ginny, cold and lifeless in the Chamber of Secrets, of Sirius, his throat ripped out by a werewolf, of Remus, a silver arrow through his heart, of Gabrielle, Ron and Hermione, drowned by the merpeople, of Ron and Hermione, dying in the abandoned cemetery, of Hermione being tortured by Umbridge's bloodletting quill until she passed out from blood loss and pain, of Hermione, falling under the glaring purple light of Dolohov's curse, of Hermione falling backwards under the curse's effects and through the Veil….
It was the last that always seemed to be the hardest to take, that woke him up, screaming her name in panic. She was his best friend, but something about her was creating a breach in the defenses he was struggling to maintain. The thought of her being hurt again, or worse, killed while trying to help him, was almost more than he could stand. And it was thoughts of what being his friend could mean to her that twisted the knife of guilt even deeper in Harry's gut, because no matter how hard he tried he couldn't resolve the quandary she presented to him. He knew that if he really cared about her, he'd push her away from him and the danger he represented, but at the same time he cared too much about her to let her go. Her friendship was the lifeline thrown to a drowning man, and he knew if he ever lost it he'd sink without a trace.
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It was in this gloomy state of mind that Harry finally arrived at the lake. Anyone examining it closely would realize it was a bit too perfect a setting to be natural; consecutive generations of Weasleys had each added his or her own little improvements to the site, and to the discerning eye it showed, much as the 'natural' landscapes of Victorian follies always stood a little apart from the nature surrounding them.
The lake was an irregular oval, some thirty by sixty meters in size, with a small, spring-fed waterfall cascading into one end, while at the other a brook drained the runoff into the nearby stream. Most of the shore was blanketed with a soft, mossy growth that tapered smoothly down into the water, with the exception being where the spring water chuckled down over a time-polished stone surface. At that point a small outcropping of granite provided a low diving platform that conveniently happened to be situated alongside the deepest part of the lake.
The one wizard made concession to the natural setting was the floating platform that held station in the center of the lake. The woods encroached too closely on the water to make sunning on the shore feasible, so the platform provided a spot where a good portion of the day could be spent exposed to the sun's rays, especially at the height of a lazy summer. Even Harry had been lured by its seductive appeal, his body warmed by the sun as the gentle motion of the water made even the hard wood of the float a relaxing bed. By unspoken agreement no one disturbed him when he was resting there, an added incentive to spend time in the water.
Harry glanced around as he hung his towel from a convenient branch and frowned; Ron usually insisted on joining him during his daily swims, citing a long-standing family rule about a 'buddy system' to explain his presence. Harry wasn't too sure how much of that was true, and how much an excuse to keep an eye on him, but it was reasonable enough not to be able to take exception to it without sounding like a prat. Usually his friend was there well before him, it being a perfect excuse to get away from what he scathingly called the 'hen sessions' at the Burrow proper. Mrs. Weasley was taking full advantage of the rare occasion of having estrogen outnumbering testosterone in her home, and Ron was convinced that prolonged exposure to 'girl talk' was giving him hives.
Today, though, Ron was absent, leaving the peaceful setting entirely to Harry, not that he minded the change. His redheaded friend was better than the girls about leaving him to his own thoughts, but Harry still caught the occasional concerned look out of the corner of his eye. Ron for a wonder knew better than to pry, but Harry could still feel the questions aching to burst from his friend's throat, questions Harry wasn't yet ready to answer, if he ever would be.
Stripping off his shirt and jeans, he adjusted the boxers that served him in place of a pair of trunks and then dove into the water, slipping easily into the economical overhand crawl that long-distance swimmers used and tuned out the world, his mind focused on the movement of his arms and legs as he propelled himself through the water, completely oblivious to the pair of brown eyes that were watching his every move.
Harry was just completing his twentieth lap and was thinking of taking a break when a flash of white and a loud splash announced the arrival of another swimmer. He paused and treaded water, waiting for his friend to join him, but the head of hair that eventually emerged from the water was brown, not red. "Hermione, what are you doing here? Where's Ron?" he asked, surprised by her presence.
Hermione treaded water next to him and gave her head a quick shake to clear her eyes, her hair bound in a thick plait down her back. "I'm swimming, Harry; I do know how to swim, you know," she replied, her tone more open and friendly than he'd heard all summer.
Harry pushed down a flare of irrational anger before he answered, her nearness and casual tone for some reason disturbing him. " I know you can swim, I've seen you before; I was expecting Ron is all," he clarified.
"Oh, well Mrs. Weasley had some things she wanted him to get done; apparently he's been skipping some of his chores. I expect he'll be busy most of the day."
"Uh huh," he answered, unconsciously drifting a bit closer to her as they both continued to tread water. "That explains why Ron isn't here, but it still doesn't tell my why you're here…and don't start with that 'I know how to swim' line again." A frown began to darken his features. "Are you here to try and get me to talk again, is that it? Another chance to help poor Harry?"
To his complete surprise she snorted and moved away, maintaining the distance between them. "No, Harry, I'm not going to bother you about that any more. You've made it very clear you want to be left alone, and I've decided to respect your wishes. As to why I'm swimming now and not some other time, Mrs. Weasley asked me to come. Just because Ron is busy doesn't mean you should have to give up your swim, and you know the rules about swimming alone. I was going to swim later with Ginny, but she's helping her mum today, so here I am. Satisfied?"
'Don't crowd him,' Ginny had suggested when they had made their plans. 'Let him get used to the idea of you being there. If he gets all defensive the rest of the plan won't work.'
"Um, yeah; sorry," he apologized, feeling oddly disappointed by her nonchalant attitude. He watched, bemused by the flash of white arms and creamy flesh as she turned and began swimming across the lake. The unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach made him decide to take a break from his own exercise, and a few strokes of his arms took him to the platform where it floated in the warm sun.
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At that moment the object of Harry's brief concern was striding forcefully through the woods, grumbling under his breath for all he was worth. He should have known first off that something was up when Ginny pulled their Mum aside right after breakfast, and he definitely should have caught on when Mum had summoned her daughter's other two roommates to join her in the kitchen, especially since she shooed her only resident son out after just three servings of kippers and toast. But no, he'd had to hang around like a complete fool, reading the latest issue of Quidditch Review, until the matriarch of the Weasley home had walked up and handed him a worklist of suddenly urgent tasks that would eat up his whole morning!
And for a wonder, for once his ultimate trump card had fallen on deaf ears. "Harry will be fine," Molly had insisted, "and if he needs checking up on, I'm sure one of the girls can do it. You, Ronald, have been shirking your chores all summer, and it's time you caught up!" And with those words he was put to work.
Nor did it help his mood when he discovered that the girls, by dint of their attention to their chores earlier in their stay, were given permission to skive off, and had retreated en masse to Ginny's room, to spend the day laughing and giggling and discussing subjects he'd rather not think about just yet. He, on the other hand, got to de-gnome the garden, clean out the roof gutters, and basically do about a dozen minor jobs that always seemed to need doing around the house, but never looked any different after they were done. By the time he was finished he was cranky and grubby, not to mention starving, and after wolfing down about a half a pound of thinly sliced roast beef between a couple of slabs of his mum's fresh-baked bread, he grabbed his trunks and towel and headed for his swim.
Ron was about halfway between the Burrow and the lake, well within the woods and out of sight of either his starting point or his destination, when the sight of something to one side of the path arrested his headlong pace. Seated on a fallen log and humming a little tune as she played with a small wildflower, was Luna Lovegood, but a Luna Ron had never seen before. In fact if it weren't for the way she cocked her head and the light caught in her dreamy, cornflower blue eyes, he doubted he would have recognized her at all. As it was the sight of her was enough to make him miss his step and land in a tumble practically at her feet.
The first thing he noticed was her hair, his attention drawn by the movement of her hand as it pushed a stray lock back behind her ear. It still hung loose around her shoulders, but instead of its normal stringy appearance, it had been brushed until it shone, with a gentle wave that picked up highlights from the scattered sunbeams that made their way through the canopy of leaves.
He also noticed on a subliminal level that her face looked subtly different, due to the application of the lightest touches of cosmetics. Nothing overpowering or gauche, just enough to accentuate the mature planes that were beginning to develop. Instead of protuberant, her eyes looked thoughtful, and the fullness of her lips was accentuated by a light sheen of lip-gloss.
At that point his eyes traveled lower and conscious thought shut down. Luna Lovegood might be the same age as his little sister, but she definitely wasn't a little girl any more, not where it mattered. Ron was used to seeing her either in school robes and uniforms, or the comfortably conservative (and loose fitting) jumpers and jeans combinations that witches and wizards in his social group seemed to favor. Whatever else her outfit today was, it was neither comfortably loose NOR conservative.
Her burgundy pants were like nothing he had ever seen before; the snug waistband with its belt of leather and silver studs sat so low on her hips that the shape of her flaring pelvis was clearly visible, its angularity cradling the taut swell of her stomach. Ron swallowed nervously as he realized that there was a flash of silver, almost like an earring if that were possible, in her navel. From the waistband down over her hips the pants were so tight it looked like they were painted on, with the portion of the fabric that covered the place between her legs doing interesting things that made his palms sweat. From there, though, the material of the legs flared enormously, with gigantic pockets that looked capable of hiding a hippogriff decorating their sides. The bottoms of the pants sported three-inch cuffs, and from under them peeked thick-bottomed, platform sandals. Her toenails, he noticed blankly, were painted a brilliant red.
Above that taut stomach with its maddening, slight swell and intriguing jewelry, her outfit's designers had apparently decided to make up for the extravagance of the pants by providing a bare minimum of fabric for the top-with the emphasis on 'bare'. A thin band of material, no more than four inches in width, hugged her chest in a way that he was fairly sure should be illegal, not that he was about to file any complaints. The burgundy of the pants had been lightened to a pale pink just shy of white, the pearlescent fabric so thin as to be almost translucent. Ron swallowed nervously as he realized he could not only see the shape of her puffy nipples where they adorned her small, perfect breasts, but a hint of their color as well. The last few firing brain cells he had remaining noted that the fingernails on the hand that was toying with her silver necklace were painted the same shade of red as her toes. Then she licked her lips and the shutdown of rational thought was complete.
"Hello, Ronald," she said softly, her voice far less dreamy than was her wont. "Would you like some company?"
Ron shook his head, trying to force a bit of blood back into his brain and scrambled to his feet. "Luna? What are you…where…uh, why are you sitting out here in the woods?" he asked at last, figuring that it was the safest question at the moment.
He was wrong. "I should think that would be obvious, Ronald, I was waiting for you." She paused while he absorbed that statement, and then continued. "I think it's time you and I had a little talk."
"Uh huh," he replied, and after a moment gave up any pretense that he was looking anywhere but at her breasts. "Uh, you need to be dressed like that to talk to me?" he asked, his voice not judgmental or condemning, but curious.
"Oh, do you like this?" she asked, getting to her feet and doing a quick pirouette. "I saw some Muggle girls in town dressed like this; their boyfriends seemed to enjoy it, so I gave it a try."
"Well, it's…different," Ron admitted nervously, his heartrate picking up in reaction to the interesting way the fabric of Luna's' clothing shifted when she moved. "Isn't it kind of…revealing, though?" he asked, surprising himself as the words came out of his mouth.
"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet! Watch this," she directed. Ron's face flushed bright red as she deliberately pinched her nipples through the thin fabric, rapidly exciting them to hardened buttons that seemed to be pointing right at him, the darkened shade of their aroused state clearly visible through the translucent material. "I thought the fabric must be charmed, the way it clings; look, you can even see the bumps forming on my aureoles." Ron's strangled groan made her look up from her inspection of the effects of her ministrations, and she finally realized that perhaps she had overdone things just a bit.
Clucking with annoyance, she pulled the towel out of his unresisting hands and draped it over her shoulders, allowing its ends to cover the most immediate source of Ron's distraction. As awareness returned to his features, she lowered herself back onto the log, patting the space next to her. "Please sit, Ronald," she asked quietly, smiling as he answered her request by folding his long legs until he was seated beside her. "I'm sorry if I bothered you, Ronald; it was necessary that I make you reassess certain ideas you had about me, and this was the most effective way I could think to do it. I do hope you aren't too upset with me."
Luna's closeness, and the topic of conversation that was odd even by her standards, did have Ron upset, but not in an angry fashion, but more in the fashion of someone who had been awakened to concepts they had never considered before. After all, she was Loony Lovegood, wasn't she? She was just his sister's tagalong friend who'd always been underfoot in the years before Hogwarts, and whose odd perspective on life frequently made his head hurt. As he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, with her arms braced on the log and her head tilted slightly to the side and her gaze lost in the distance, a strange feeling started building in his chest, one that reminded him of something he'd forgotten all about, an event that had occurred the summer he'd turned eleven…
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He'd been returning from an errand for his mum, picking up a few items from the Muggle grocers in Ottery St. Catchpole, when he'd heard some shouts and laughter coming from around the bend of the road. Curious, he'd picked up his pace and come across two Muggle boys from a nearby farm looming over an upset Luna Lovegood, tossing something back and forth between them over her head as she desperately tried to catch it.
Ron felt the beginning burn of the infamous Weasley temper as he saw the tears on Luna's cheeks; sure, she was an annoying pest, but she was his sister's friend, too. The same rules that demanded that the only boys allowed to pick on the youngest Weasley were her brothers automatically extended to Ginny's friends, and even Ron knew that making a girl cry was crossing the line. Then the larger of the two boys shoved Luna, knocking her to the ground, and his temper exploded. "Oi! What the bloody hell are you doing?" he shouted, dropping his parcel and jogging forward.
The two boys, Mark and Jimmy if he remembered correctly, jumped guiltily at the sound of his voice, and then relaxed when they realized that an adult hadn't caught them in the act of tormenting a defenseless girl. "None of your business, Weasley," Mark, the one who'd shoved her, taunted. "Just having some fun with the nutter, is all." He smirked, encouraged by his brother's laughter at his words. "What do you care, is she your girlfriend?" he asked snarkily, using the deadliest insult available to boys that age.
"She's my sister's friend, and you'll leave her alone if you know what's good for you, you git!" Ron shouted, giving the older boy a shove. Mark's face flushed angrily and he took a broad swing at Ron's head, but one didn't grow up with five older brothers without learning a few things about scrapping, and Ron instinctively dodged under the blow and struck back, burying his fist in Mark's stomach.
Ron smiled with satisfaction as the bigger boy collapsed, gasping for breath, and then pain exploded in his head as Jimmy struck him a glancing blow from behind. Spinning around, Ron blocked the next punch and jabbed the boy in the nose, making him stumble back with a yelp of surprise. A quick flurry of blows later both brothers were on the ground, a wild-looking Ron, his eye blackening and lip split, looming over them. "You two clear off, and you better leave my sis and her friends alone if you don't want more of the same!" he growled. Mark and Jimmy glanced at each other, and in the manner of all bullies decided that this particular entertainment was more trouble than it was worth. With a couple of ego-soothing taunts they headed down the road, leaving the field to Ron.
Once he was sure that his opponents weren't going to jump him the moment his back was turned, he shifted his attention to the girl he'd rescued. "You okay, Luna?" he asked, picking up the object the boys had been using to tease her and extending it to her.
Luna accepted the book calmly, the only remaining evidence that she'd just been bullied the faint tracks of her tears on her cheeks. "Yes, thank you, Ronald," she replied, her dreamy voice for some reason not as annoying as it usually was. "Thank you for rescuing me, that was very brave of you."
"Hey, no big deal," Ron replied, for some reason embarrassed by Luna's praise. "Those guys have bugged Ginny a couple of times, I was glad to have a chance to teach them a lesson about messing with Weasleys or our friends."
"Yes, Father says your family is different from a lot of the purebloods," she said, her gaze going unfocused as she recited her parent's opinions. "He also says that you put more importance on character than on bloodlines, and that if more wizards were like you we wouldn't have the problems we do in our world."
Ron shrugged, now feeling very uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. "I dunno about all that; I just know what Mum and Dad say, that, uh, sometimes there's rot in the oldest family trees, and strength in the youngest ones, something like that."
"That is very wise, Ronald, I see now where you get your intelligence," Luna replied, her gaze focused on his face once more, earning another flush.
"Uh, can we talk about something else, please?" he asked plaintively, earning a slightly hysterical laugh from the blond girl. Usually that laugh set his teeth on edge, but for some reason this time he kind of liked it.
"Very well, Ronald, we can talk about something else," she agreed when she'd caught her breath. "What do you think about this year's chances for the Chudley Cannons?"
The rest of that afternoon Ron had expounded at great length about the greatness lurking beneath the surface of his favorite team, with Luna only occasionally needing to prompt him to keep the torrent of Quidditch trivia flowing. He'd ended up walking her home, where she thanked him once again for rescuing her and then, just before she fled inside, she kissed him quickly on the cheek.
By the time he'd returned home (where he received a thorough tongue-lashing from his mum for being gone so long when there were chores to be done) the day's events seemed surreal, and given his siblings' penchant for seizing on any excuse to tease him unmercifully, they became something he kept to himself. The fight he had to confess to, with the evidence of it clear on his face, but the reason for it was modified to exclude all mention of rescuing his sister's odd friend.
With only two weeks remaining before summer's end and Ron's first trip to Hogwarts, the chaos of last minute preparations drove all thought of the incident from Ron's mind, and by the time he saw Luna again the following summer, he'd completely forgotten about it…until today.
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The passage of five years had produced changes both physical and emotional on the teens, and feelings that had just confused and upset Ron when he was eleven were a very different thing now. It was weird, he thought to himself, how a flash of childhood memory could completely change your perspective. For the last couple of years, all the early stirrings of romantic feelings he'd felt (and the fantasies that went with them) had seemed to revolve around a girl with bushy brown hair. From now on he knew that the hair in those fantasies would no longer be bushy, but straight, and no longer brown, but blond. And hopefully, if he was reading the signs right, there would soon be something more concrete than his limited imagination on which to base those fantasies...
Clearing his throat he brought his attention back to the girl sitting quietly next to him. "So, um, you wanted to talk to me?" he asked.
Given her earlier behavior, it was a surprisingly shy smile that appeared on Luna's face. She wasn't nearly as self-confident as the mask she wore made her out to be, and she had been looking forward to this day ever since that morning on the road when her redheaded champion had rescued her from the demons. They weren't really demons of course; if their parents had caught them they would have scolded them and dismissed it as just another case of boys being boys. But Luna saw more than that when she looked at them; she always Saw more than that…
Luna was well aware how most of the world perceived her odd behavior. They thought her strange, perhaps a little mad, and it never bothered her greatly that they did so. After all, she knew the truth, even if most others did not. One of the last clear memories she had of her mother was of her serene voice explaining the gift and curse of the women of her family. Beyond the gift of wizardry in her blood, Luna, like her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother before her, possessed the Sight, the ability to See aspects of the world that were hidden from others, even those of wizarding blood. It was why she spoke so confidently of things like Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, because she knew that, like the Thestrals that she had always been able to see, there were things in the world that not even magic could reveal. Nargles were one of those things; the true feelings of the boy she loved were another.
As she'd told her two friends, she'd had every intention of seducing Ronald at some point during her Fifth Year, though that statement wasn't entirely accurate. What was accurate was that she knew she was going to become his lover, for she had Seen them together, and the details of what she'd Seen had made it very clear that they were no longer just friends. What her vision didn't tell her was how the change had come about, so while she was confident that she and the youngest of the Weasley boys would become intimate, she wasn't nearly as positive that this was when it would happen. She wanted it to, desperately, and she was fairly sure that, if nothing else, she could get his thoughts moving in that direction, but whether or not he would act on those thoughts was still in Circe's hands.
With that idea firmly in mind, she decided to proceed with her conversation. Whatever else happened, she had a promise to keep regarding diverting Ronald away from the lake so that Hermione could have her chance to help Harry. "There are several things I want to talk about, Ronald; how you feel about what I am wearing is one of those things, and I hope that it will be a pleasant discussion for both of us, but that is far from being the most important matter."
Ron thought this over for a minute before answering. Suddenly the series of events leading up to this meeting, starting with his sister's urgent conversation with their mum and ending with Luna delaying his walk to the lake made sense. "You're talking about helping Harry, aren't you?" he asked. "That's what you lot were talking about, right? I hope you have some better ideas than I do, because pissall I've tried has worked."
Luna smiled, pleased, though a bit surprised by his response; from the way he'd been carrying on all summer, she'd thought he had either completely missed or was in total denial about his best friend's condition. "I'm very impressed, Ronald. I'm afraid I thought from the way you've been behaving that you didn't notice, or worse, didn't care about Harry's problems."
Ron just snorted. "Hey, just because Hermione thinks I have, what was it she said, oh, yeah, 'the emotional range of a teaspoon', doesn't mean she's right. Harry's my best mate, of course I'd notice when he's not himself. Course, what's 'himself' keeps changing, doesn't it, what with one daft bastard after another trying to do him in." He shook his head and sighed. "It's not fair, you know, all the shyte he has to deal with. Makes me feel about two inches tall when I remember what a jealous prat I was our fourth year. And now he's lost Sirius, it's like he's just…given up or something." He ran a nervous hand through his hair before continuing, "I know Hermione and Ginny have both been after him to talk about it, but even I can see it's just making him hold it in all that much harder. That's why I let him alone; if they can't break him down, I sure can't, and at least this way he's got one person who isn't after him all the time, reminding him of whatever's eating at him."
Listening to his words, Luna marveled at the amount of thought he'd given Harry's troubles, and his comments made her far more hopeful about his acceptance of what was about to happen to his friend. "So you're all right with whatever we work out to try and help Harry, then?" she asked innocently. "Even if it might be a bit…unorthodox?"
"Hey, anything that pulls him out of his funk is all right by me…wait a minute, what do you mean, 'unorthodox'?" he asked suspiciously.
Instead of answering him directly, she tried a different tack. "Ronald, you know that I fancy you, don't you?" she asked, her tone serious as she stared into his eyes.
Ron blushed, but he didn't look away. "Yeah, I kind of thought you might, a bit; takes a bit getting used to, though, thinking about someone fancying me." He shrugged. "I know I'm no great catch…"
"That's where you're wrong, Ronald, you're decent, and kind, and brave, and very, very funny," Luna said, her voice getting a bit dreamy as Ron's blush deepened. Shaking her head, she continued, "but my point is, I do fancy you, very much, and I think that perhaps if you just thought about it, you might fancy me, too," she finished, blushing herself.
Ron stayed very quiet for a few minutes, mulling over her words. He thought he might already fancy her more than a little bit, but he suspected she was talking about something more than just his reaction to the outfit she was wearing. Did he fancy her that way, or if he didn't did he think he could? It was an unsettling thought, but he realized, not an uncomfortable one. "Uh, I might not have to think too long about it, fancying you, I mean. And not just snog-fancying, either…not that I'd mind snogging, that sounds rather brilliant, really, but if I do, fancy you, that is, it'd be more than that-" Luna ended his rambling by the simple expedient of leaning forward and pressing her lips to his.
It was quick and sweet and over before Ron was quite aware what was happening, but as he realized he'd just had his first kiss and enormous smile appeared on his face. He started to reach for her, but Luna held up her hand. "First we talk, then we snog," she said firmly, ignoring the disappointed look that appeared on Ron's face.
"The reason I asked you that, Ronald, is that we decided that it's going to take more than talking to help Harry," Luna said matter-of-factly. "Whatever is hurting him, it's much more than just losing Sirius. If he's so overwhelmed that he can't talk to his friends about it, that he feels he has to shut his friends out, then someone will have to break through to him the only way left, by becoming more than a friend."
Ron had been nodding all through Luna's explanation, following her reasoning, until he realized just what she was leading up to. "Hang on a minute! Are you saying you've all decided that someone…that Harry-" he stammered, a blush climbing his cheeks. A second later the chain of logic jumped forward and he scowled. "I don't care what his problems are, best mate or not I don't want him shagging my sister!"
"Ginny's not the one going to him, Ronald," Luna said softly, trying to ease the shock to his emotions.
Ron frowned, and then blanched. "No…Hermione…" he breathed, flinching as Luna nodded gently.
"She and Ginny discussed it and decided between them, Ronald," she explained carefully, taking his hand firmly in hers in case he tried to pull away. "For reasons I should think would be obvious, I wasn't a possibility," she added, squeezing his hand.
But…it's Hermione…" he mumbled. "I didn't think she…does she even, uh, 'like' him like that? I mean, they're best friends and all, but she's not… just because he needs it, is she?"
"Hermione's fancied Harry for a while now, Ron," Luna said, her tone sympathetic as he sorted through his feelings. "She just hasn't known how to go about letting him know. That, and she was afraid he didn't feel the same way, which was quite silly of her, really."
Ron's head was beginning to ache from all the shocks it had suffered in a short time. "You mean you think Harry fancies her? Are you sure about that? Because if he does, he's never said anything to me about it."
"If you consider the evidence, Ronald, it becomes obvious, at least to anyone on the outside watching th three of you together," Luna replied. "Mind you, I don't think Harry realizes how he feels about her, which is part of his trouble. But even if he did, I doubt he'd mention it to you of all people."
"What d'you mean, he wouldn't tell me?" he asked suspiciously. "I'm his best mate, aren't I?"
"You've also made it clear you have a bit of a crush on her, Ronald," Luna pointed out. "Harry may not be able to recognize his own feelings, but he's surely seen yours. I don't think he'd want to risk another row like the one you two had over the Tri-Wizard Tournament."
"I know, I already said I was a prat about that, didn't I?" Ron grumbled. "So you think Harry's afraid I'd get all jealous again?"
"No, I honestly believe Harry doesn't recognize how he feels, which is why Hermione is going to try and wake him up," Luna replied, and then paused for a moment. "Are you jealous, Ronald?" she asked hesitantly, a touch of nerves finally reaching her voice.
Ron stayed quiet for a minute before answering, his head bowed in thought. Then he looked up and met her anxious eyes with a crooked smile. "IF this had come up before this summer, yeah, I probably would have been jealous as hell. If it had happened yesterday, I'd've been happy for Harry but sad for me, 'cause I'd be feeling like a third wheel or something. But now, after talking to you? I hope she does get through to him, Luna; Merlin knows he needs it worse than any wizard I've ever met." He blushed as he continued, "Then, if she does, maybe we could double date next year?"
Luna smiled brightly and pulled the towel off her shoulders, using it to encircle his neck and pull him towards her. "Why wait until next year?" she asked coyly, before hungrily sealing her mouth to his.
~~~~~~
END OF PART ONE
AUTHOR'S NOTE Part II - Sorry for the new cliffy, but I promise that part two will contain H/Hr smutty goodness, though with a few surprises mixed in. Ron and Luna may also get a chance to practice the Horizontal Bop, I'll have to see how the chapter flows. Thanks again for all the great reviews, they really do keep me writing.