Title: Sight
Author: Nitya/Nousia
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. It's all J.K. Rowling's. Only the fic is mine.
Summary: Ron Weasley always used to think that Luna Lovegood was insane. Utterly loony. At first he had laughed outright at her obvious lunacy; who else but her would believe in such crazy, surreal things?
Challenge: Ron lost his sight in the war. In order to get it back, he might have to put all of his faith in the one person whose outlook on life--and him--never really changed.
Warning: Extreme use of "he" and "she." Some angst, too, as well as weird fluff.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Gosh, it's been a while since I've written a Ron/Luna fic. Anyhow . . this was written for the Ron/Luna Ficathon over at LJ.
Thank you to Jennifer for not only betaing, but also for helping me with the story whenever I was stuck on it (I'm finally uploading it on PK, aren't you happy? :P), Nadja and Courtney for being awesome, and last, but definitely not least, Nicole for giving me the idea for this fic. Without her, Sight wouldn't even exist. *hugs* A big thank you to all of them.
- - -
Ron Weasley always used to think that Luna Lovegood was insane. Utterly loony.
She was the strange one in their close-knit quartet during their Hogwarts years. Hardly ever talking, she absorbed herself in ridiculous books, magazines and newspapers; Recorded Sightings of Bildrcrawls, Rare Creatures Weekly and The Quibbler came to mind.
At first he had laughed outright at her obvious lunacy; who else but her would believe in such crazy, surreal things?
In their years at Hogwarts, her name had become a running joke and synonymous with "mad." His mates would often jeer, "What nonexistent thing have you discovered lately, Loony?" whenever she walked past them wordlessly, lost in her own world.
Sometimes he'd join in with the taunting. Every time he had done it he would always feel a nagging regret. Yet he had never apologized, for it meant that he would lose his dignity, as well as his pride. All he could do was say a silent "sorry" in his mind after the teasing had stopped. His apology never found its way out of his mouth.
Still after he did that, he felt inexplicably horrible. He would feel guilt and an unexplainable sort of feeling gnawing at him every day. He wondered at it.
Now, he reflected seven years later, it was different. Everyone and everything he knew changed - the war had affected them all. It had enriched and destroyed them.
His sight included.
*
He could remember exactly when he had lost his vision. Every seemingly little detail. His world had become a blur once he'd seen the flaring stormy blue light - a Blinding Spell, guaranteed to have someone lose his vision temporarily or permanently, depending on the intensity of the power and magic that had been used to cast it.
Then, his world came back sharply into focus - chaos and that brilliant blue light striking his eyes were the last things that he would ever see.
Losing his sight was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Even the day that Malfoy - ever the pompous git still - had sauntered along into his life or his father had nearly been a victim of Nagini, could not ever compare to it. Without his eyes, he felt that all his other working senses were useless. They could taste, smell, hear and touch - but they wouldn't see anything for him. He had to rely on others to be his eyes for him.
Now he had to imagine in his mind, "see" pictures in his head of shapes, colors and sizes that he could no longer see. Meager descriptions that people gave him amounted to nothing.
He supposed he could think of his loss as a blessing - for, in a way, he had closed his eyes to the scary, ugly reality everywhere around him. That included war. Now he wouldn't be able to see that ugly rawness anymore - but he could sense it. In every place he could think of an eternal battle was raging - in his mind, his will, his heart -
He couldn't think without losing his mind. Sighing tiredly, he fumbled for a doorbell. Running his fingers lightly across the rough brick of the house, he brushed across something rough and bumpy - he guessed it to be the doorbell.
He ran his fingers across it until he felt a smooth, round button. And from the size of it, when he used his fingers to clumsily measure the curved sides, he could guess that it was small. Before he could press it however, he heard a door opening.
"Why, hello, Ronald," an airy voice greeted him, "how nice of you to visit. Please, come in."
She took a hold of his arm and led him inside. "There's a step before you, be careful," she warned.
Heeding her warning, he carefully climbed over it and let himself be led into the house.
Once they were inside and she had closed the door, he found himself being guided to a room - it smelled of lilac and something he couldn't name - but it was definitely exotic; it had a tint of spice to it.
She led him over to a couch. "Sit down," she said, and gingerly he felt for an arm, gripping it tightly once a scratchy fabric had brushed his hand, and he sat down. Sinking back into the scratchy yet oddly cozy couch, he waited for her to speak.
"I'll get us some tea," She broke the silence with her soft, ethereal voice. "Meanwhile, make yourself comfortable, Ronald."
He sensed her presence slowly fading away. "Okay," he said distantly, closing his eyes.
Letting his thoughts drift, he mused over the exact reason why he was here. Seven years ago, he would have laughed if someone had told him that he would, of his own accord, go visit Luna "Loony" Lovegood's house, and actually stay there. But now…things had changed. Of course, they would always change - but something was different in the both of them.
On the surface Ron and Luna did not appear to have changed - but that was it. They appeared to be the same as they had been before the war - but they weren't. We're only fooling ourselves in thinking that we are the same…when the truth is, we aren't, he couldn't help the cynical thought from entering his head.
It wasn't as if he could help it though. He had learned during the war that not anyone or anything was what he thought they were, or appeared to be.
The war had showed him reality - before, he had been wrapped up in a protective cocoon that had been constructed by his mother and himself. He had been under a blanket of illusions, empty promises that were never fulfilled or kept, and empty hope.
And he had learned the real truth about things, that he had never known himself, even after battling by Harry's side for seven years.
His mum had always told him that the world was a "nasty place" filled with bad blokes "who wanted nothing more than to control something - in this case, the entire universe." The bad bloke in this case was - or had been - Voldemort.
And he supposed he had been pulled in by his mum's words; needing security, reassurance, comfort that he, along with his family would be fine, as well as the whole wizarding world, and that everything would turn out all right in the end. And all would be merry and normal as it had once been before.
But that had been wishful, naive thinking. He knew better now than to expect normalcy in a war-tattered world. He knew better to expect anything now.
And he knew he had changed; seeing what the true ugliness of human nature could do that to a person. Now he was bitter, serious - and scarred.
He wondered if Luna had changed at all. Could a whimsical person such as her even change after seeing something that was not imaginary? After seeing a reality that was not warm and happy, but only cold and harsh? Surely she could…
But, he reflected, she had not changed. She still was her "loony" self - believing in the impossible, in things that supposedly didn't exist - but that only she could see.
His wondering led him to the question of why was he here in Luna's home. Was he looking for a sanctuary of some sort, as he once had done before? Or was he looking for something else - something else that wasn't even there?
His thoughts were interrupted by her entrance. "It's not the best you might find Ronald, but it will have to do, I suppose," She sat next to him, carefully placing his fingers around the handle of a warm cup.
He could taste the soothing tea already. "Is it herbal?" he murmured.
Although he could not see it, he had a feeling she was smiling. "A bit of both - I put some herbs and spices in it, so it will taste…tangy."
He chuckled lightly, and, guiding the cup carefully to his lips, took a sip. "Tangy is right," he commented, "but it's a good sort of tangy. Like toffee." He winced. "Not like Ton-Tongue Toffee, though."
She laughed. "That's a good thing, I take it," she said airily.
He shrugged. "If you think it's a good thing, it probably is."
Hiding a smile at that, she decided to get to the point. "Do you know why you're here." It wasn't a question.
He could sense her protuberant eyes gazing at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "Well - uh - see, I'm not exactly sure why. There is a reason why I came here…but it's just not…clear to me," he finished lamely.
They didn't say anything for several moments, a pensive silence filling between them.
"Actually," he said finally, "after I left the hospital, I had this - feeling that I had to see you. Or else I would regret it or die or something…I know that sounds stupid, but that's what I felt."
She took a sip of her tea. "I don't know if that's stupid - do you think it is?"
A sharp laugh escaped him. "No," he admitted. "But it's strange…I've never felt that way. It's like I'm stepping into something that I didn't even know…existed."
A wan smile crossed her mouth. He sensed that, somehow, the vivaciousness that she'd been filled with before was now…gone. It scared him. He could only vaguely remember how Luna had been during the war; she was everyone's strength, a welcoming sight to war-torn eyes.
When all else had failed, and only a veil of despair covered those who survived, she had been there with words of comfort to all of them; the fearless person who had inspired them to be brave, in return. And she had been the one to come up with a last minute but brilliant plan that had saved their lives.
"Sometimes, Ronald, there are things that even humans can't see," she chuckled hollowly. "Things we either fail to see…or we refuse to see."
"We don't want to see them, you mean?" He clarified.
"Yes," she nodded, "and, as you know…"
"The truth hurts," he finished, smiling sarcastically.
She fixed her gaze on him. "Yes…" she said slowly, "but do you realize that's the key to why you're here? Can you see?"
You perfectly know bloody well I can't, the words were about to escape his mouth, but he stopped and realized that she meant something different. Something wholly different.
This seeing…had to do with the rose-tinted glasses he had worn for most of his life. The innocent years…before I knew that everything I had used to believe was true was, in fact, a lie, he thought sardonically. That was before the war…when I met Hermione and Luna and Hagrid and Harry and started to think about everything in a new way…
…The things I had refused to truly see. That feeling resurfaced and gnawed at him once again.
He felt as if he had something floating right in front of him just then, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't reach out and catch it.
It was like an elusive Golden Snitch, revealing itself at just the right - and sometimes surprising - moment. It was driving him mad. He wished that he could just catch it before it flew away from his grasp. He had a hunch that this something contained all he needed to know…to truly see.
"Patience," she told him softly, seeing the look on his face. "It will be worth the wait in the end."
Did she know something he didn't? Knowing her, she probably did, he figured. After all, during their Hogwarts years, Luna had been the first to acknowledge things before anyone else had.
"How do you know?" He only grumpily asked. "It might be forever and forever that you wait…and nothing comes out of it."
She sighed; almost impatiently, it sounded to him. "The problem is, you expect too much."
And he had to admit, as much as he hated it…he did.
"Wait," a quirky smile lit up her face. "You will get it, Ronald. I believe in you."
He was starting to get a weird tingling feeling in his fingertips - then that something showed itself finally, and he reached out slowly to grasp it, before it could vanish out of his mind.
- And he had it. Finally, he could see what he had refused to see after all this time. And to his surprise - he was glad that he saw it.
"You've always been my hero, did you know that, Ronald?" Her dreamy voice lifted him out of his stupor.
"I am?" He said dumbly. "But I'm not a hero. Harry is - Dumbledore is - Hermione is - but I'm not. I would make the most horrible hero you'd ever see, I swear."
"No," She said firmly. "You're a hero. I've always believed you were, even if you believed that you couldn't possibly be one. You're strong, loyal to the end, and stand up for what you believe is right. Even during the war, you fought with everything you had, and now, thanks to you, millions of lives and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks have been saved. You're a true hero, Ronald…and it's time you believe that."
"You mean, it's time I see it?" He asked teasingly.
She bit back a laugh. "It's time you both see and believe it."
They were silent once again.
"You've always believed that I was?" His voice finally broke the quiet. He cleared his throat. "A hero, I mean."
She smiled serenely. "I've not only believed - I've always known so."
"Hmm." He reached out for her hand, grasping it when his fingers met with cool skin. "Say, Luna?"
His voice cracked slightly. "The truth hurts, sometimes, but now…I'm glad that I saw it." And I can't imagine myself anywhere else, he silently added.
He could sense her smiling. "Right then," she stood up, and held out her hand. "Fancy taking a tour of our home?"
Grinning, he took her hand. "I would love it." And for a moment, his eyes held a glint in them. Then it disappeared.
*
Ron Weasley had always used to think that Luna Lovegood was insane. Now he thought differently. He was grateful to her lunacy…for it made him see that from the very beginning…he had needed her.
fin
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