Disclaimer: I take credit for this plot and my own characters, but everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Chapter Four
Dancing
Twenty minutes later, Ron was striding through the halls of Hogwarts once again, the Quidditch field scene playing over and over in his mind. For a while, they had been lost in the sensation of whatever had gone on between them, but then reality had hit, and had hit hard. They were teammates, they were allies, but they weren't lovers. That kind of attraction wasn't there anyway, Ron was sure of it. It must've just been the moment: The sunrise, the damsel in distress, the heartwarming hero, all of that sickeningly sweet junk building and building until it had peaked in those kisses.
They were adults, Ron and Luna, not hormone-driven teenagers. When they had at last pulled away and looked at each other, the moment had become terribly awkward, and after a few hasty promises and an agreement that the scene had never even happened, they had both been on their way. But that didn't mean Ron couldn't think about it, right? Her warmth and softness, the fire that had burned inside of him...it couldn't be dismissed, no matter how hard he tried. Not that he was sure he wanted it to go away, either. Not that he was sure of anything at the moment, as a matter of fact.
One thing he was sure of, though, was the time. It was almost 7 o'clock, and that meant it was almost time for weapons training out on the greens. Ron rushed to his room and changed, then grabbed his sword, wand, bow and quiver as he left. He made it on the greens in just enough time to catch his breath and stretch out his muscles. Once that was over with, he slipped a glove on his right hand and picked up his sword.
It was long and sharp and beautiful in that deadly way only allowed to swords and women. The hilt was white gold inlaid with an angry looking black onyx. Ten diamonds spiraled themselves through the onyx inlay, and ten black pearls dotted the white gold. The blade itself was made of a light steel that was resistant to scratches, dents, and any other types of injuries swords could acquire. Ron had found it laying by his side one morning in his 7th year, and hadn't understood until later that day, when Harry had faced Voldemort and the War officially began with the death of Albus Dumbledore. Since that day, Ron's sword was never very far from his side, and he had learned to wield it with deadly precision, vowing one day to slay Bellatrix Lestrange with it and avenge the deaths of his loved ones whose lives she had taken: his mother, his father, his brothers Charlie, Percy, and George, and even Sirius Black. Each sunrise brought the birth of a new day, and with it was the knowledge that it was one less day until that fatal battle.
It was Thursday, and that meant it was Ron's day to train the morning class. Soon after his arrival, Ron's pupils began to assemble themselves on the training grounds. Though the combat classes were open to whoever wanted to learn, Ron had a healthy amount of regulars, including Hermione (who attended as many trainings in one day as she could), his older brothers Fred and Bill, Neville Longbottom, Ginny, Seamus Finnigan, and about fifteen or so Muggles. Ron's classes were only for the most experienced fighters, especially the morning class. It took a lot of determination and attention to drag one's self out of bed every Thursday morning, whether it was pouring, snowing, or shining outside, and practice weapons until noon. But Ron was very proud of his Thursday early birds. At practices, they were free to joke around during breaks and playfully insult one another while locked together at the hilt, but on the battlefield...Ron had witnessed each and every one of them kill at least one Death Eater with impeccable skill and grace. "Proud" was an understatement.
"Free class today, my darlings," he said to them cheerfully. Between Luna's appearance and the Quidditch field episode, he hadn't had the time to put a lesson together for that morning. Not that it mattered. With all of them free to fight in whatever style they chose, the session would not go to waste. Nobody wasted any time, either. Happy for their freedom, Ron's students picked up swords, spears, daggers, and bows and filtered off to do their own thing. Hermione and Ginny started to spar, and about seven or so other pairs followed their lead. Neville and Seamus ventured fifty feet to the archery range and engaged themselves in a shooting contest. Not wanting to be left out of the action, Ron picked up his own weapon with a sigh and began to swing it around, warming up.
After his arms were ready to wield the sword, Ron began to practice solo moves, fighting with an invisible partner. He lunged, stepped, twirled and slashed, his eyes flicking back and forth as they thought of new steps for his deadly dance. A few of his students had stopped dueling to admire their master's skill. Ron paid no attention to them as his sword came up and he spun around in a very sharp pirouette.
To his surprise, he heard the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal, and felt the resistance of another blade pressing against his. He glanced over his shoulder. Luna Lovegood had both hands wrapped around the hilt of her own sword, and her shoulders were hunched over as she blocked Ron's spin. She glanced up at him through a few strands of blonde hair that had fallen out of their binding behind her head. Ron raised an eyebrow at her, and she raised one back in response, and then with a flick of her wrist, she seperated their blades. She was going to come back for more, Ron could tell. He reversed his spin and came back the way he had originated, meeting Luna's sword with a shower of sparks as she came down from a high blow. They both seperated and danced backwards at the same moment. By now, all of Ron's pupils were watching with interest, wanting to see if their teacher could out-duel this newcomer. And Ron could tell that Luna wasn't an amateur swordsman. One glance at the weapon braced in her slender hands said it all.
The blade was long, thin and fine, quite like it's owner. It was made of an almost bluish tinted metal Ron was finding a difficult time identifying. The hilt was a glistening, intense silver, and scattered over the hilt in no particular pattern were a number of burnished sapphires, some the size of Ron's thumbnail, some so small they were more like glittery dust, not jewels. The whole thing looked like it should be hanging from a wall, a pretty piece of art, but at the same time, Ron could feel power reverberating from it. Luna's was no ordinary sword, and he doubted Luna's own presence wasn't an ordinary happening. Right now, however, he just wanted to duel her, not figure her out. Slowly, he moved to his left. Luna responded by inching to her right. Then, simultaneously, they sprang at each other.
Their minute crowd roared as Ron and Luna danced together in the duel. A fleeting step here, a jab there, then spin around to parry the blow coming from the other side, step, lunge, slash...it went like this for some time. Every now and then, their blades would slide together, and their bodies would move in close as they were locked together at the hilt, both grappling for dominence of the battle, both refusing to look away from the other's gaze. Then they would break away from each other and dance around their invisible circle until they would come together again.
The minutes ticked by until a whisper went through the assembled spectators that the newcomer and their teacher had been going at it without stop for about an hour. Sweat was running down Ron's face, his red curls dark and damp against his forehead. Physically, though, he knew he could keep fighting Luna for much longer. She was a very formidable opponent, and though she was just as sweat-soaked as he was, she showed no sign of slowing down or strain. What Ron did notice about her was her hair. Enough of it had fallen from her pony tail that it was starting to affect her vision. When they would break away, she would shake it back and miss a beat in their rhythmic engagement, giving Ron the upper hand and the chance to come at her and catch her off of her guard. She had a good recovery system, though, and Ron knew he would have to find another way to stay on the top of this fight.
And then it happened. Luna lunged at Ron, and Ron swiveled behind her, and even though it was bound together by a scrunchie, her hair was still long and got caught in the path of Ron's blade as he brought it back up to block whatever retaliation she came up with. The scrunchie cut in half and fell to the ground as Luna's hair cascaded down and around her face. Furiously, she whipped around and crouched in an angry stance, glaring at Ron as he looked at the fallen hair tie, bewildered. Making sure he was still on the defense, he glanced up at Luna and realized she thought he had cheated. Guilt struck his stomach in a painful pang, and he wanted to explain that it had been an accident, but he doubted Luna would believe him. Either that, or she would take his apology and twist it against him to catch him off guard.
He stared back at her, hoping she could read his eyes and understand he hadn't meant it. Instead of understandment dawning upon her, Luna flashed him an evil smirk, and suddenly, the wind picked up. Her hair, now free of it's shackle, fanned out around her head and her robes whipped around her, clinging to her body, which caused Ron a moment of distraction. The wind's direction suddenly changed, raging at Ron from the right, the side that was his sword arm. He was having trouble keeping his weapon up against the gale, but Luna seemed to have no trouble moving through it. She came at Ron and met his sword in the middle. Eyes wide, Ron frantically backed up, trying desperately to get himself under control again. Luna's eyes were fixed in concentration as she fought him, each blow she released becoming harder and harder to fight off.
Suddenly, the wind died. No single wayward gust blew across the greens. Ron, who had just gotten used to the added pressure, was caught unaware. Luna didn't miss a beat. She took a step forward, and with an intricate swirl of her sword, she sent Ron's blade flying, and Ron himself falling on his back. Half a second later, the tip of Luna's sword was pressed gently against the soft skin of Ron's neck. He dared not gulp, in case her weapon really was as sharp as it looked, and allowed his eyes to travel up the length of blade, into Luna's face. She smirked at him again, all charm this time, no evil.
"I win," She whispered down to him.
"I didn't mean to cut your scrunchie. You hair got in the way of my sword," He whispered back.
Luna laughed lightly and tossed her sword beside him in the grass, then reached a hand down to help Ron up. The crowd had broken into a raucous applause, but whether they were showing appreciation for Luna's advanced swordsmanship, or had just enjoyed watching their teacher finally lose a sparring match, Ron couldn't tell. He just laughed and then turned to Luna and bowed, congratulating her for the win. She dipped her head at him in acknowledgement, then went to fetch her sword. Ron patted his hands in the air, singaling for the bystanders to quiet down. Glancing up at the sun, he realized it was noon.
"Practice is over. I hope you all got a good workout today." He called to those in the crowd who were his students. They laughed and filtered off to the castle for lunch. Rubbing the back of his neck and trying to remember the last time he had lost a match, Ron gathered his weapons and looked around, trying to tell himself he was making sure he hadn't forgot anything and that he wasn't looking for Luna. Neither she nor any stray weapons were left on the greens. Ron felt his shoulders slump in disappointment, and then scolded himself silently before making his own way back to the castle.