Hands

A/N: Written for hpfanfic10x10 at livejournal. All comments are appreciated!

Edit 8/15/06: Re-wrote chapter one.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

“Hands”

Chapter One: Fuzzy

She was wearing her fuzzy jumper, the one that Mrs. Weasley had made her for Christmas. It had a great big “L” on the front and little tiny moons served as polka-dots. It was, in fact, Luna's favorite jumper, even though she had received it only that morning, and she enjoyed wearing it. The sleeves were long, and she was able to bunch them up in her fist and hide her hands. She liked doing that, as she sat by the window, because it made her feel invisible, and she could do anything she wanted when she was invisible.

She could imagine that the snowflakes were talking to her and that the moon was laughing. She could believe that the stars were whispering to her, telling her the darkest secrets of the sky. She could pretend that she was a ghost and she was going to have tea with her mother on Sunday. (Plus, she had read somewhere that certain types of Nargles were sometimes attracted to human hands, and the window was awfully close to the kitchen door, above which hung a sprig of mistletoe.)

Behind Luna, sat Harry and across from Harry sat Ron and to Ron's left, sat Hermione. In between Ron and Harry sat a chess board and in Hermione's lap sat a large book. Luna looked at Harry in the reflection of the window. All she could see was the back of his head, so she moved her gaze towards Ron. He was frowning, his brows furrowed together and his head resting in his hand. She could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes and thought that it looked kind of nice on him. Fire in his eyes . . . .

Luna glanced at Hermione and watched her fingers play with the corner of the book cover, before focusing on her own reflection. “Merlin!” she exclaimed. “My eyes are rather large.”

Hermione looked up from her book. “Well, they are a bit . . . round, but . . . .”

“Oh, I don't mind,” said Luna. “I like them very much.”

“Checkmate,” said Ron, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest. He had a smug smile on his face.

“What do you think, Ronald?”

Ron's right eyebrow raised slightly in a silent What?

“Yes, Ronald,” said Hermione with a smirk, “what do you think about Luna's eyes?”

“Er . . . .” He swallowed. “They're nice.”

“I think you have nice eyes too, Ronald.”

“Thanks,” he said slowly.

“You're welcome!”

“Right,” he said, lowering his eyebrow. “I think I'll go get something to eat. You want something Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I think I'll go to bed.”

Ron nodded and looked over to Hermione. She stood up, clutching her book to her chest.

“I think I'll go to bed, too.”

The exit of Harry and Hermione, left Ron and Luna alone. He thought about asking her if she wanted to join him for a small snack in the kitchen, but her full attention was back on the window, and he didn't want to disturb her.

The kitchen was dark when he walked in and the door swung shut behind him with a small whoosh of air. He rummaged through the refrigerator until he found some leftovers from that night's Christmas dinner. He picked at those for a few seconds, ate some pudding, and had four large gulps of pumpkin juice before wiping his mouth on his jumper sleeve, feeling much heavier than when he entered the kitchen fifteen minutes earlier. Finished, he pushed the door open and heard a loud bang as the door collided with something hard.

The “something hard” was, unfortunately, Luna's forehead.

She gave a shout of surprise as she fell backwards, as light as a leaf being pushed to the ground by the autumn wind. He reached out to steady her, but she fell too quickly and hit her head on the wood floor.

Her fall produced a surprisingly loud crash and the light flicked on as the bulk of the household gathered around Luna and Ron. Mrs. Weasley saw Luna and gasped, her hand over her heart, as Mr. Weasley rushed forward. Fred, George, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were standing around Mrs. Weasley with equal expressions of alarm and worry on their sleepy faces.

“What happened, Ron?”asked Mr. Weasley. He leaned down to examine Luna's head.

Ron, who was on his knees and leaning over Luna, shook his head. “I accidentally hit her with the door. I didn't mean to. I didn't even know she was there.”

“It's alright, Ron. I thinks she's going be fine,” said Mr. Weasley, as Luna opened her eyes and blinked a few times.

“Luna? Are you alright?” asked Ron, helping her sit up.

“Yes,” she replied, still blinking every few seconds. Her rather large eyes looked clear and observant as usual.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” asked Fred.

She blinked. “Two. I rather like the number two. It's a very nice number. Of course, you know, the Crumpled-Horned Snorkack prefers to travel in packs of two.”

Relief washed over everyone and they slowly shuffled off back to their beds.

Ron helped Luna standup, his hand gripped firmly around her arm. She stumbled a little as she took a hesitant step forward.

“Will you be able to make it back to your bed, Luna?” asked Mr. Weasley, placing his hand on her back to steady her.

She nodded, but Mr. Weasley looked a little unsure about her ability to stand up without support.

“I'll help her,” said Ron, snaking his hand awkwardly around her waist. “It was my fault anyway.”

Mr. Weasley smiled and nodded. “Goodnight kids,” he said, making his way back to his bedroom.

Alone now, the silence was piercing, and he felt the insistent urge to apologize.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't know you were there.”

“It's alright. I didn't know you were there either.”

He nodded, and she allowed him to steer her towards Ginny's room. It felt weird to be home again, at the age of twenty, and escorting Luna Lovegood to his little sister's room. It was almost like they were off from school for the Winter Holidays and in the next few days they would return to Hogwarts. In the next few days, however, he would return back home to his flat.

He wondered vaguely where Luna would return to, and he realized that after two years, he never bothered to find out where she lived. He always had the idea that she had remained with her father, and it wasn't like Ron and Luna spent a whole bunch of time together. They would have lunch every now and again with Harry or Ginny and sometimes even Hermione, and naturally they would see each other during special events, like birthdays or holidays. Before she had arrived at the Burrow at the beginning of the week, the last time he had seen her was at his mother's birthday party in October.

She's wearing the same necklace she was then, he thought, followed by, How on earth did I remember that

“So, are you alright now? Still feeling dizzy?” His hand was still around her waist and he felt reluctant to break the contact. Not because her skin was warm and his hand was cold, but because she still looked dazed and dizzy, and he didn't want to feel guilty for causing her to crack her skull open.

She shook her head. “No. I'm fine. Thank you, Ronald.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She smiled at him serenely and entered the room, closing the door behind her. He felt strangely shunned, and a little embarrassed that he had to be so clumsy. He shrugged and walked sadly to his room, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

(tbc)

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A/N: Written for hpfanfic10x10 at livejournal. All comments are appreciated!

Note: I've re-written the first chapter, and I uploaded it just before I added this one. So if you haven't, please read the new version. Thank you.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

“Hands”

Chapter Two: Skin

Although it was still rather chilly outside, it was very warm inside-uncomfortably so-and it was probably the heat of the room that caused Luna to abandon her favorite sweater on the back of her chair. She was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but she had pushed the sleeves upward, leaving most of her arm bare and exposing her pale skin. He had the strange thought that maybe she really was the moon; she looked as white as the moon, anyway.

“I'll just have a butterbeer,” she told Harry.

“Yeah, me too,” said Ron.

“And I guess I'll have one too,” said Hermione.

“Oh, get me one too,” said Ginny.

He nodded, saying, “I'll be right back.”

Ron watched Harry as he squeezed his way through the crowd, towards the bar. He looked around the room vaguely, observing the other people moving about and laughing, until his eyes landed on Hermione and Luna in front of him. They were chatting about something, but he couldn't really hear what they were saying over the sounds of the crowd, so he simply watched them. Luna's “rather large” eyes were shining in excitement, and he assumed she was talking about something she liked.

Probably some creature that doesn't exist . . . . But that wasn't all she ever talked about, he knew. Sometimes she . . . leaving . . . .

Leaving?

He sat up. Hermione had definitely said something about leaving.

“Leaving? Where are you going?” he asked Luna.

“Ron, haven't you been listening? We've been talking about it for the past five minutes,” said Hermione, with a hint of derision.

“I'm going to Sweden,” answered Luna. “Father and I are planning to leave next week.”

“Oh, so how long are you going to be gone?”

“About a month. Maybe two if we can find one Crumpled-Horned Snorkack.”

“I thought they traveled in packs of two?”

“They do.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but her attention had switched to Harry placing the bottles of butterbeer on the table.

“I didn't think there'd be so many people here,” said Harry, popping the top of his bottle and taking a swig of butterbeer. “I mean who goes to The Leaky Cauldron on New Year's Eve?”

“We do,” said Luna, holding the bottle. She had popped the cap off, but didn't seem in a hurry to drink it. “I think it's a rather nice place to spend New Year's Eve, with all these people. They look like rather nice people, and you are suppose to kiss someone at midnight. I wouldn't mind kissing someone at midnight.”

Harry smiled, but seemed reluctant to reply. Hermione just laughed lightly and took a sip of her butterbeer. Ron gulped, because when Luna said she wouldn't mind kissing someone, there was an inexplicable swelling of hope in his stomach, and he had to shift in his seat to avoid jumping up and running away-to the bathroom probably.

Harry started to talk about something else and conversation between the four flowed freely, only interrupted by the arrivals of some other friends from school, including a few of Ron's older siblings, like Fred and George handing out flyers for a new Weasley Wizard Wheezes product. Ron thought he might have seen Lavender Brown over in the corner, but, if that had been her, she was probably gone by now.

Sometime during the night, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Luna had split up, and Ron found himself talking to Seamus about the latest Quidditch news and taking little peeks of Luna out of the corner of his eye. She was talking to Neville about something, her head bobbing up and down in an excited nod, and her favorite radish earrings were bouncing widely against her neck. He figured she was talking about Sweden again.

“If Puddlemere United keeps up with the-”

“Yeah,” said Ron, when he noticed that Neville had wandered off, leaving Luna standing in the corner alone. “Can you excuse me . . . .”

He left Seamus and made his way towards Luna, his hands stuffed firmly in the pockets of his jeans. She saw him and stared, waiting for him to come closer. “Hey, Luna.”

Although she had seen him coming, there was a distinct emotion of surprised in her eyes. “Oh, hello Ronald. You surprised me.”

“But you saw me coming.”

“Yes, but I didn't know you were coming to talk to me.”

“What else would I have done?”

“You could have been coming to stand in this corner. It is a rather nice corner.”

“Lovely corner,” he said nervously. Normally, he would have laughed at Luna's eccentricity, but she was standing rather close to him and he suddenly seemed aware that Luna was a girl.

Her arm was pressing into his.

“So, you're . . . .” he continued, but was interrupted by a loud shout of “Five.” He looked around for a clock, only to see that it was three seconds to midnight.

He looked back to Luna.

Two seconds.

“Er . . . .”

One second.

“. . . .”

There was a slight smile on her face, as she leaned up and touched her lips to his cheek. He felt his skin grow warm, and he told himself it was because of the large crowd surrounding him, pushing in on Luna and him. The room was claustrophobic and everyone was cheering and singing and Luna . . . was kissing his cheek-his cheek now red with embarrassment. Somebody bumped into him, and he took a step forward, just as Luna took a step backwards.

He felt stupid for not wrapping his arms around when she was closer; he kept his hands firmly in his pockets.

“Happy New Year, Ronald,” she said, smiling.

He nodded, licking his lips. “Happy New Year, to you, too . . . Luna.”

She smiled again and wandered off. There was a spring in her step as she walked to the beat of the song the crowd was singing. He could hear her light voice floating over the chorus, until she disappeared behind a large wizard, and she was gone.

I bloody well screwed that one up, he thought, rubbing his cheek. It was still warm, but only where Luna's lips had touched him and he thought he could feel a slight tingling, like her lips were still there.

He sighed and looked around him for a familiar face. He saw Seamus talking to somebody, his arms gesturing excitedly. He figured they were probably talking about Quidditch and he ventured off to join in on the conversation.

(tbc)

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“Hands”

Chapter Three: Follow

Although Luna had left weeks ago, Ron still had the inexplicable urge to follow her. He sometimes had the thought that she was tied to him and the farther she got, the tighter the string would become. The tightening around his chest was ever-insistent.

When he woke up in the morning, his first thought was of Luna, followed by the falling realization that she was miles away and probably hadn't thought of him since she had left England. And at night, he dreamt of her.

Hormones, he thought after the first dream. Luna wouldn't do . . . that.

He told Harry about the dreams and Harry, with a smug, all-knowing smirk on his face, immediately said, “You fancy her.”

“I don't fancy Luna,”said Ron.

“Fine,” said Harry.

“I don't!” insisted Ron. “Really.”

“Okay.”

“Honestly!”

Harry nodded.

“Maybe . . . just a little . . . .”

“Have you told Hermione?” asked Harry.

“Why would I tell Hermione?”

“I thought . . . .” Harry shook his head. “Never mind.”

Ron's eyes narrowed in Harry's direction. He was tempted to pursue the subject further, when suddenly his mother's head popped out in the fireplace and said “Ron!”

“Yeah?” called Ron, walking from the kitchen to the living area, where the fireplace rested quite happily against the right wall.

“Oh, dear, could you do me a favor? You're right down the street from Diagon Alley and I just ran out of ink while writing Bill a letter. If you could just pop on down to Stationers and pick me up another bottle, I'd appreciate it.”

“Sure,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

He sometimes had the feeling that his mother enjoyed him living so close to The Leaky Cauldron; she would often stick her head in the fireplace and casually ask him, if he's not too busy, to pick up some household necessities. What he never understood was why she still made a fuss about him living away from home, when she very clearly enjoyed it.

“Women . . .” he muttered under his breath, thinking that if Hermione had heard him, she would scowl. He was always good at making Hermione scowl.

But he could make Luna smile.

* * *

Diagon Alley was surprisingly busy. People were wandering about, chatting to friends and neighbors and commenting on the ridiculously high floo prices.

“Excuse me,” he said, making his way through the crowd. Shoving his way past a particularly immovable wizard, he accidentally stepped on someone's foot.

“Ow,” said the woman. “That was my foot!”

“I'm sorry,” he said absentmindedly, peering over the heads of the people in crowd and looking for Stationers.

“That's all right, Ron.”

He stopped and looked at the woman's face for the first time. “Lavender?” he asked. “I'm sorry,” he said again, although he wasn't sure if he was apologizing for steeping on her foot or for breaking up with her in sixth year. He always felt a little guilty about that, because he had never really fancied her in the first place.

Hermione had told him a year ago that he had only gone out with Lavender because he was too embarrassed by his lack of experience to come to Hermione (who he obviously wanted at the time). He, however, honestly believed that all he wanted was a good snog or two and Lavender was the only around at the time.

“So, how have you been Ron?” she asked, smiling. She seemed happy to see him.

“Oh, I'm good. You?”

“Yeah, good.”

“Yeah.”

“So, this is awkward, uh?”

“Yeah, it is,” he said with a laugh.

“Are you busy?” asked Lavender, cocking her head to the side. She looked like she was desperately trying to hide the fact that she was nervous.

“Not really . . . .”

“How about we go get something to eat then, catch up? It's been a while.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“All right, come on,” she said, flirtatiously grabbing his hand and leading him away.

She decided on a small pub down a quiet alleyway, away from the noise of Diagon Alley. He had never been there before, although he had heard people talking about it. The place was moderately busy. There was enough noise and people to stop any feeling of awkwardness Ron might have had, yet it was quiet enough to have a conversation.

Time passed surprisingly fast for Ron and Lavender. Words flowed comfortably between them, laughter joined their conversation frequently and alcohol was served liberally. Lavender was looking a bit tipsy by the time the sun lowered itself to the ground. The pub had become busier while they talked.

“I think . . .” said Lavender with a giggle, “we should go somewhere else. It's too loud!”

“Right. How `bout my place?”

She nodded happily and they left. Ron's hand was wrapped around Lavender's arm, holding her steady, and her smile widened.

Ron began to think that he might get lucky tonight. But then the word “Luna” echoed hauntingly across his consciousness, spurred by the moon shining above their heads, and he loosened his grip on Lavender's arm, not wanting to lead her on.

By the time they arrived at Ron's flat, Lavender was leaning her head on Ron's shoulder. He began to think that maybe he was excited about getting a good shag tonight. Merlin knew he needed it. It might even get his mind off of Luna.

When the door was open and they entered the flat, she stood up straight and let her eyes wander around the room. “Nice,” she said, walking into his living room and spinning around. “Roommate?”

“Harry,” he said, walking over to her, his hands in his pockets.

“Ah, should have known. How is he these days?”

Ron shrugged, taking a step closer to her. “He's all right.”

“Yeah?” she questioned, her finger trailing down Ron's arm. She pressed closer to him, looking up at him through half-closed eyes.

He vaguely remembered that look.

She was on the tips of her toes, her lips just barely touching his, her warm breath against his chin, and . . . someone knocked on the door.

“Oh bloody hell,” he said. “Who could that be?”

Lavender's eyes looked up at him pleadingly. “Ignore them.”

“It could be Harry. Maybe he forgot his key or something.” It was a flimsy excuse, he knew, but he walked towards the door anyway and threw in an annoyed sigh as he opened it.

“Hello Ronald,” said Luna breathily.

He blinked, wondering if this was one of those dreams again. Maybe he subconsciously wanted to have a threesome . . . ?

“Luna!” he exclaimed. “I thought . . . . When did you get back?”

“Today.”

“Ron?” called Lavender. Walking over to him, she put her arm around his waist and eyed Luna jealously.

“You're Lavender Brown. You were in Gryffindor,” said Luna.

“Yeah . . .” said Lavender. “Loony Lovegood, right?”

“Luna . . .” said Ron, a bit louder than necessary. “She's Luna Lovegood. She was in Ravenclaw . . . the year below us.” As he spoke, his voice had slowly gotten softer, responding, no doubt, to the annoyed look Lavender was shooting his way. “Do you want to come in?” he asked Luna.

Lavender sighed disappointedly. “I better be going, then,” she said curtly. “It was nice seeing you Ron.” She gave him a small kiss on his cheek and left, the door making a sharp clicking sound as she closed it.

“You were going to shag her,” said Luna, after Lavender had left.

“What? No, I . . . .” Ron suddenly felt like the cheating boyfriend. His ears turned pink, and he sputtered for a few more seconds, before choking out, “Would you like some tea?”

She smiled at that and said, “Yes, I would.”

“Right. You can, uh . . . .” He motioned towards the couch and Luna happily sat down.

He whispered the charm that his mother taught him and tea sprouted forth from the tip of his wand and into two teacups. He handed a cup to Luna and she took a sip, licking her lips as she sat the cup down.

“So, how was Sweden?” he asked, his eyes involuntarily moving downward, pulled by the movement of her tongue over her lips.

“This is wonderful tea,” she said. “Sweden was nice. Daddy caught a bit of a wobblyding, so we had to come home early.”

“Is he all right?” he asked, even though he had no idea what a wobblyding was.

“He'll be okay. He's resting now. I missed you, Ronald.”

“Oh, really?” he said, sitting up straighter and turning his body towards her. “I, er, missed you too, Luna.”

She turned to him, her shoulder rubbing against his chest. Her smile was an inch from his mouth and he thought, if he just leaned in . . . her lips would taste of honey, because of the tea . . . .

The door suddenly opened and Harry took a step inside before noticing Ron and Luna and how close they were. He stopped, spotting Ron's expert glare, and said, pointing to the clock, “Is that the time? I've got to go. I'm meeting someone. Don't want to be late . . . .”

Harry shut the door, leaving only the increased distance between Ron and Luna as a indication he had ever been there.

“I should be getting home. Daddy will be wondering where I am.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, reluctantly, standing up with her.

“I have pictures, though, from Sweden.”

“Yeah?” he said, his voice decidedly more hopeful than it was a few seconds ago. “Maybe we could, uh, have dinner tomorrow night and look at them . . . .”

“Yes,” she said. She gave him one last, little smile, leaned up on her toes, kissed him softly on his cheek and left, leaving the smell of flowers in her wake.

He touched his cheek-her lips were burned into his skin. With a satisfied sigh, as if he really had been shagged that night, he sat back down on his sofa and waited for tomorrow night.

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A/N: Sorry for the long wait; things have been busy. Especially lately, with the tornadoes that came through not too long ago. I hope you enjoy this! Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

“Hands”

Chapter Four: “Smoke”

Ron stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around. He took a deep breath and exhaled, the cold weather turning his breath into a white smokey fog.

He told himself that he was just observing his surroundings, casually taking note of what was around him; he was relaxed-and cool. He looked cool, standing there, with his black leather jacket, his purple dress shirt untucked and his hair ruffled.

But then his face suddenly fell into a nervous grimace, and he checked his watch for the twelfth time. She was only two minutes late, but his mind couldn't help but think: She's not coming. She's not coming, how could I think she would even come? She's Luna Lovegood. She . . .

Luna came skipping up to him, her orange coat pulled around her slim body, a hat pulled low over her ears, and a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, hiding her mouth.

She looked ridiculous.

She looked kind of pretty.

“Hello,” she said, her voice muffled from the scarf.

“Hey,” he said, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. He hoped his voice didn't sound as squeaky to her as it did to him. “So . . . do you want to get something to eat first?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I'd love to eat something.”

“Er, where do you want to go?”

She shrugged. “It doesn't really matter Ronald,” she said. “You're nervous. You don't have to be.”

He smiled nervously. “I'm not nervous.”

“I am,” she said. “How about we go to The Leaky Cauldron?”

He nodded, slightly relaxed by her confession, and they made their way towards the pub. Sometime during their walk, her hand had grabbed onto his, and with her warm palm pressed against his own palm, he began to feel a nervous tingling in his stomach.

He hoped desperately that his palm wasn't sweaty.

They arrived at The Leaky Cauldron and found a table in the corner, away from the noise of the dinner crowd.

“I want to show you the pictures we have of the crumpled-horned snorkack . . .” Luna said, after they had sat down. She opened the book and pointed to one of the pictures. “That's it, right there.”

Leaning closer to her, he looked at the picture. It was a little blurry, with a small brown spot in the lower right hand corner that was trying to hide itself. It kept fussing and rearranging its tail.

Ron nodded. “That's cool . . . .”

She smiled widely at his approval and turned the page. Leaning closer to him in her excitement, her hair brushed against his neck and her cheek was so close to his mouth . . . .

She looked up at him, her blue eyes waiting expectantly and said, as if she could read his mind, “It's all right if you want to kiss me now.”

He licked his lips and tried to smile. “I didn't . . . I mean, I want to . . . Er . . . .”

“Ron!”

Ron looked up quickly and caught sight of Fred and George, pushing their way through the crowd.

Ron sighed dejectedly. “Hey,” he said tightly. He averted his eyes and scooted away from Luna a little.

“Oh, hey Luna,” said Fred, sitting down next to her.

“Where's Harry?” said George.

“Yeah, and Hermione?” asked Fred.

Ron shrugged.

“It's just the two of you?”

“Yep,” said Luna. “I wanted to show him my pictures from Sweden.”

“Oh!” said George, with a smirk. “You're on a date.”

“A date?” asked Fred excitedly. He pouted. “Hey, how come no one told us you two are dating?”

“Because we're not,” said Luna. “I just wanted to show him the pictures.”

Fred nodded, noticing a small, disappointed look on Ronald's face. “Well, we'll just leave you two at it. Come on George, I think I saw Angelina come in.”

George looked like he was about to protest (how could he miss an opportunity to annoy his younger brother?) but Fred rammed his elbow in his side and nodded towards Ron. “Oh, yeah, I think I saw her too,” said George, even though the door was behind him, and they quickly left the table.

“I was going to ask them if they wanted to see the pictures too, but they left so suddenly . . . .”

“So, this isn't . . .” He shifted in his chair. “This isn't a date?”

The words sounded stupid to him, but they flew out of his mouth so quickly, he couldn't grab them back.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted it to be a date.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want it to be a date? Because I wouldn't mind if it was a date. I quite like you Ronald.”

“I thought it was a date,” he said quietly-almost ashamedly.

“Then it is a date.”

He looked up at her, a sudden swell of confidence filling his chest, and he reached out to touch her hand. She quickly-without hesitance-entwined her fingers with his and smiled.

“I like your hands,” she said.

He returned her smile. “I like your hands too.”

And then he kissed her. Her lips tasted like butterbeer, and he ignored the catcall from the other side of the restaurant where Fred and George had been spying on them.

Their kiss was interrupted by an annoyed waiter clearing his throat. “Your dinner,” he said, “if you're still hungry . . . .”

With that out the way, Ron suddenly relaxed remarkably and they soon started a conversation about the eating habits of the crumpled-horned snorkack.

* * *

“That was a very fun date,” said Luna, as they stood outside of her house.

“Yeah, we should go out again.”

“Yes, we should.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself up to his height. She gave him a quick kiss. “I like kissing you.”

“We should do more of that too,” he replied.

“Yes, we should.”

“Tomorrow?”

She nodded. “I'd like that very much Ronald.”

“I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes, at The Burrow,” she said. “Good night Ronald.”

“`Night,” he said, as she shut the door. He knit his eyebrows together, wondering why she said “at The Burrow.”

He shrugged.

At least it was a date with Luna.

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“Hands”

Chapter Five: Notes

“Ron!” she said, her voice slicing through his blissful sleep.

Ron rolled over, shoving a swatting hand away from his arm.

“Ronald!” she said louder, and he jumped up, alarmed by the high shriek in her tone.

“Hermione?” he said, blinking his eyes. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and slid back, away from Hermione's face peering down at him.

“Yes. And it's time to get up. Or we're going to be late.”

“Late? Late for what?”

“Lunch at the Burrow!” exclaimed Hermione. She stood up. “I told your mother we would be there by noon. If you don't get dressed, we'll miss lunch.”

His stomach growled. There was no way it was going to miss lunch. He sighed and stumbled sleepily out of his bed. “Why are we going to the Burrow?” he yawned, pulling a shirt on. “And why are you here?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in exasperation. “You can't remember anything, can you? Charlie was bringing his fiancé home. The wedding's in a few months. You do remember that your brother was getting married, right?”

“Yeah, I remember that. But why are you here?”

“There's something wrong with my floo connection, or so the Ministry says. Personally, I think the Ministry is . . .”

He yawned again and ignored her diatribe about the recent faulty floo connections and how someone from the Ministry ought to work a bit harder. They just needed some organization! Blah, blah, blah . . . .

* * *

Hermione, Harry, and Ron arrived at the Burrow one minute till noon. Mrs. Weasley hugged them, saying, “You're almost late.”

“We would have been here sooner if Ron hadn't spent so much time fixing his hair,” said Harry with a wry smile.

Mrs. Weasley turned a discerning eye to her son's coiffure. “It looks like you haven't used a mirror in years,” she said, smoothing it down.

Ron jumped back. “Mum! You're messing it up,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. Hermione sighed as he took a peak at his appearance using a metal pot sitting on the stove.

After Hermione had reminded him that they were going to the Burrow that day, Luna's comment that night before made a whole lot more sense-she was going to see him at the Burrow, she was going to be there for lunch-which is probably why he had found himself standing in front of the mirror that morning, messing with his hair, shaving much more carefully than usual. He even made sure to wear his orange shirt, because Luna had once said that it was her favorite color.

He didn't know why he could remember that. He certainly didn't know what Hermione's favorite color was, or Ginny's, or his even his mother's.

He followed Hermione and Harry out to the backyard where the rest of the guests were gathered, and he glanced around, looking for Luna. He didn't see her, though, and he sat down at the picnic table, casually listening to the conversation. Every time the door opened, his eyes invariably looked for Luna. The first time he saw his father. The second time he saw Ginny, followed shortly by Charlie and his new fiancé.

There was a few minutes of chaos, as introductions were made, pleasantries exchanged, and Ron's gaze was torn from the door.

It was only as everyone sat down and lunch was served, that he noticed Luna had not arrived yet. Mr. Weasley seemed to notice too, as he looked around and said, “Did anyone here from Luna?”

A few people shook their heads, looking around the table as if she would suddenly throw off her invisibility cloak.

“Have you heard from her Ron?” asked Hermione.

Ron shook his head, suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on him. He could feel the tips of his ears getting warmer with embarrassment. No one knew (besides Fred, George, Harry, Hermione and probably Ginny, too) about his sudden relationship with Luna. He wondered if they could have all seen it coming, or if they thought it was weird that he fancied Luna Lovegood. “Why would I know where she is?”

“Aren't you dating now?”

Ron coughed. “Well, I wouldn't say dating . . . .”

He was interrupted by an owl landing on the table. Mr. Weasley took the owl's letter and read it quickly. “Oh dear,” he said. “Luna says she might be a little bit late. Her father's in St. Mungo's. His wobblyding got worse.” He knitted his brows together and mouthed the word “wobblyding.” silently.

Another owl suddenly flew down and landed next to the first one. Mr. Weasley took the new note and read it silently to himself. When he finished, he looked up, his face serious and grave.

* * *

They found Luna sitting in a chair outside of her father's room. Her hair was tied back with a yellow ribbon and her hands rested calmly on the chair's armrests. Her large eyes looked up as they approached and she stood, saying, “You didn't have to come.”

Molly stepped forward and put her arm around her. “I know,” she said, “but we wanted to make sure you were ok. Is there anything we can do?”

Luna smiled gratefully. “Thank you. Father would have appreciated that. I don't think there's anything you can do yet, but I'll let you know if there is.”

Mrs. Weasley squeezed her shoulder and took a step back. Ron watched Luna carefully. His parents were acting like she was broken mirror who would fall apart with one small jolt. Like she's a little kid, he thought. She looked fine, though. She looked like she had been shopping in Diagon Alley and had just run into some old friends. He wondered if the knot in his throat was resentment at his parents' assumptions, or if he was worried about her lack of reaction. Luna may be weird, but she certainly had feelings. Didn't she . . . ?

Suddenly, her arms were around his waist, and her head was against his chest. He could feel her hands against his back, ten spears of warmth seeping through his shirt, her soft grip on him causing his stomach to lurch nervously. Instinctively, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to her temple. She wasn't crying, but he could feel her loss in the way she screwed her eyes shut, and the way her mouth formed one straight line.

He held her tighter, ignoring the looks of pity pointed in her direction.

And then, she was no longer hugging him, but stepping back and tipping her head up to look at him. “It's going to be ok,” she said softly. “That's what father said, and I believe him.”

“I believe him too,” said Ron, swallowing hard.

After doing some important official stuff for the hospital, the Weasley's invited Luna to stay with them, if she wanted too, and she accepted, too tired to bother apparating to her house.

They arrived at the Burrow after dark, tired and worn out. Luna's shoulder were slumped forward and her eyelids faltered.

Ron yawned widely. “I think I'll stay here tonight, too,” he said, and although he thought the hid his intentions fairly well, the knowing looks of his family and friends told him they all knew.

Ron and Luna were together.

-->

"Hands"

Chapter Six: Bottom

The one thing that he can remember from Mr. Lovegood's funeral is standing in front of the coffin next to Luna, as she said, “His hands look happy.”

He had quirked an eyebrow, looking at Mr. Lovegood's folded hands. “Er, yeah.”

“Hands are the window to the soul,” she had continued.

“Um, Luna, I think that's eyes.”

“Eyes?” she had questioned, and then she had fallen into a fit of giggles. “That's funny! Eyes!”

He had laughed a little too, avoiding the confused and disapproving looks that were aimed at them. And after that, he remembered Luna's hand in his own, clutching softly for support as she watched her father's grave being lowered down to the bottom of its resting place.

Sitting next to Luna at Charlie's wedding, a few months later, her hand held his, while he clutched softly for support-support to stay awake.

Why were weddings so boring?

He shifted in his seat and suppressed a yawn. He looked briefly at Luna. Her attention was focused fully on the wedding proceedings, her large eyes attentive and sparkling.

“Do you, Charlie Weasley . . . .”

Ron's gaze lowered to Luna's neck, at the necklace she had made specially for this occasion. It was made of little tiny bells. She had been quite proud of it, really, showing him how, when she moved the right way, they jingled loudly. She had charmed them to play the wedding march too, but Ron mentioned that it might be better to let the pianist play that. She had coupled the necklace with her famous radish earrings, and looking at them now, they clashed terribly. It didn't really matter though, because he thought she looked pretty anyway, with her blue eyes and little upturned nose and her tiny pink lips that tasted like cherries (he knew they tasted of cherries because he had kissed her earlier).

Hermione, sitting next to him, suddenly shoved her elbow into his side, and his head jerked around.

She looked pointedly at the bride and groom, who were leaning in to kiss. Pay attention, her eyes said.

He frowned and slumped down in his chair, watching Charlie and his new bride as they smiled and turned to face their guests as husband and wife.

Brilliant, he thought, now when's lunch?

He followed the quickly moving crowd to the reception area, Luna's hand still in his own. Mrs. Weasley had insisted that the wedding take place at the Burrow, and the reception area was set up in the backyard, large tents covering an array of tables and chairs. Guests had already started to mingle, congratulating the happy couple and their families. Ron was temporarily separated from Luna, while he had to pose for a few family pictures, and as he made his way through the crowd, his eyes searching for her golden hair, he bumped into Lavender Brown.

His first thought was: Who invited her?

His second thought was: I wonder where the food is.

Lavender smiled shyly. “Hey, Ron.”

“Hey,” he said, with a slightly forced, disinterested smile. His stuffed his hands in his pockets.“I didn't know you had been invited . . . .”

“Well, I wasn't technically . . . .” She turned around, to Neville Longbottom coming up behind her, holding two glasses of champagne. “I'm here with Neville.”

“Oh, right,” said Ron. “Hey, Neville.”

“Hey, Ron,” replied Neville. “How've you been? Haven't seen you in a while.”

He shrugged. “I've been all right.”

He watched as Neville handed Lavender a glass of champagne, and she took it from him with a thankful smile. There was an inkling of thought, in the back of his mind, that maybe Lavender was upset about their last meeting (and subsequent departure), and she was trying to make him jealous. He hoped for Neville's sake (but mostly for Lavender's sake) that she wasn't playing around; he'd hate one of his best friends to be hurt by one of his ex-girlfriends (not that he had very many ex-girlfriends). She seemed earnest enough, however, as she leaned into Neville and smiled when he placed his hand on her back.

Then again, maybe Ronald was missing something; Hermione did always tell him that he was a bit thoughtless, and perhaps he wasn't paying enough attention . . . .

They talked for a few more minutes, until Ron's stomach protested loudly, and he excused himself, his eyes automatically searching the area around him for a table laden with food.

Instead, he found two large plates that were laden with food, each being held by Luna Lovegood.

“I knew you'd be hungry and the line was kind of long-I didn't know if there'd be enough left by the time you got here, so I fixed you a plate. Only, I wasn't sure what exactly you wanted, so I got everything.”

Ron smiled and leaned in to kiss Luna's cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Only I think your stomach loves me a bit more,” she said, noting a faint needy growl issuing from Ronald's insides.

They found a table over in the corner, where they could sit and eat peacefully. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny joined them a little while later. Music filtered through the conversations and there was a genuine sense of joviality that rippled around the wedding party, as couples adorned the dance floor. Mr. Weasley came by their table and asked his daughter if she wouldn't mind dancing with her “old man of a father!”

Watching Ginny as she and her father joined the dancing crowd, Hermione sighed. “I've always kind of liked this song,” she said, looking pointedly at the two males seated at the table.

Ron ignored her.

Harry smiled and stood up (albeit a little reluctantly). “Do you want to dance?” he asked her.

“Yes, of course I would Harry. You're such a gentleman.” She stood up and looked at Ron over her shoulder. “Unlike some men . . . .”

Ron shrugged and wrapped his arm around Luna's shoulders. Hermione shook her head, but he swore he saw an amused smile in her eyes as she let Harry lead her towards the dance floor.

“Er . . .” began Ron, turning to Luna. “You wouldn't want to dance, would you?”

“You don't quite like dancing, and I don't particularly care for it, Ronald, so it would be kind of pointless to dance.”

“Yeah, it would be.” There was a few seconds of silence between them, and then he said, “We could always do something else . . . .”

* * *

He felt like he was back in school, except for the fact that he had never done this with Luna Lovegood back in school (which was kind of a pity because it was rather enjoyable). His hand slid from her hip to her back, his fingers playing with ends of her hair.

Snogging in the hall closet was, perhaps, not the most mature thing to be doing while at your brother's wedding reception, but Luna's cherry lips certainly tasted better than the champagne they were serving at said reception, and any guilt he might have felt was washed away when Luna's fingers tickled his arms, and when they brushed against his cheek, and when they pressed against his back, and when they were suddenly under his shirt, the tips of her fingers warm as they played a silent tune against his chest.

He had her pressed against the wall, and he held her tighter, until he could feel her knees pressing into his legs. There was tingling sensation fluttering around in his stomach. Luna leaned back slightly, taking a deep breath. He ducked his head, trying to capture her lips again, but his nose bumped into hers, and his lips only succeeded in giving her a light kiss. She smiled serenely, tipped her head back, and kissed him. As his heart raced and the tingling heat of her skin against his own increased, he thought: I could do this for the rest of my life.

And then suddenly the dark closet was bathed in light and Ron jumped back as Bill stepped inside. He smirked as Ron's ears turned red and he attempted to straighten his disheveled appearance.

“Just getting some more cups,” said Bill, reaching around them. He was about to shut the door, when he said, “Oh, I think Mum was looking for you.”

After Ron's eyes adjusted to the darkness, his hands wrapped around Luna's waist and his mouth covered hers.

* * *

It was later that evening, after the guests had left and the newlyweds were on their way to the honeymoon destination, when Mrs. Weasley sighed tiredly, sitting down at the kitchen table, and said, “Well, that was a lovely ceremony!”

“It was beautiful,” said Ginny, joining her mother at the table.

Luna nodded. “I wouldn't mind having a wedding like that.”

The kitchen quieted considerably. Ron nearly choked on the leftovers he was stuffing his face with. Luna didn't seem to notice.

“Of course, I wouldn't have so many people at my wedding,” she continued. “I don't think I know that many people!”

The occupants of the kitchen-Harry, Hermione, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Fred and George-turned their eyes to Ron, who turned his eyes to Luna's eyes.

He gulped. “You want to get married?” His voice sounded strangled.

“Well, yes I wouldn't mind it . . . but I think I'd have my wedding in the winter. Without any mistletoe, of course. We wouldn't want any Nargles to attack the guests!”

“No. No, we wouldn't . . . er, does that mean . . . .” His eyes shifted to his family and then back to Luna. His cheeks were beginning to redden with embarrassment. “Does that mean we're . . . engaged now?”

“You haven't asked me to marry you yet, Ronald.”

“Oh . . . .” He took a deep breath and said, with a nervous lopsided smile, “Do you want to get married?”

She looked a bit thoughtful for a second. “Yes, that would be nice, Ronald.”

“Right,” he said, and he returned his attention back to his plate of food.

(tbc)

-->

“Hands”

Chapter Seven: Forgetful

“Why are we here?” whined Ron.

“You proposed to Luna, in case you've forgotten, Ron. You need to get her a ring,” said Hermione, opening the door to the jewelers.

“She doesn't want a ring.”

“Did she say that?”

“Well, no, but . . . .” He sighed. “Fine, okay. I'll look.”

Hermione smiled, satisfied, and led him towards one of the glass display cases.

He squinted.

Everything looked the same.

“Can I help you find something?” asked an employee, sauntering over to them. “Let me guess, you're looking for an engagement ring, right?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “Actually, we are.”

“Right this way. We have a lovely selection . . .” She walked behind a counter and pulled out a delicate diamond ring. “This one would be simply beautiful on you-it would certainly make your friends jealous!”

“Oh it's not for me,” said Hermione with a short, amused laugh (that Ron felt he should probably be offended by).

“Oh,” said the salesperson. She replaced the ring and pulled out another one. “How about something like this?”

It was a nice silver band, a diamond in the middle. It looked very elegant and slightly expensive, and Ron shook his head.

It looked too . . . not-Luna.

And so the salesperson replaced it and pulled out another one, and then another one, and then another one . . . .

Ten rings later, the woman's smile was beginning to fall, and she would give a light sigh of annoyance every few minutes. In a fit of desperation, she grabbed the ugliest ring they had: a small blue stone set upon a silver band, which would have looked exceptionally pretty if the jeweler had not tried a new cutting spell that resulted in an uneven polygonal shape with awkward jutting sides-a shape that would most certainly look terribly bulky on the slender finger of a bride-to-be.

But for Luna, it would be spectacular.

“Perfect,” he said.

The salesperson looked suspiciously like she wanted to Avada Kedavra him.

Hermione gazed thoughtfully at it. “It would match her eyes.”

“We'll take it,” said Ron with a satisfied smile. “How much do I owe you?”

* * *

Luna was standing in the bedroom when he arrived at the Lovegood house later that afternoon. She had been living in the large, three-story house by herself since her father's funeral, and Ron knew his mother worried about her getting lonely. After Ron proposed, someone, at some point, had suggested that he move in with her. He seemed to remember his mother saying, “The Lovegood house is closer to the Burrow, you know!”

Besides, he thought as he walked into the bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, Luna looks prettier in the morning than Harry does.

Luna turned around from the mirror, holding up a necklace made of tiny Chocolate Frogs and a pair of earrings made of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. “Do you like them?”

“Delicious,” he said.

She smiled contentedly and returned her attention back to the mirror. There was a minute or two of silence, where Luna put on her jewelry and Ron watched. He could see the curve of her waist and hips, her shoulder blades coming together as she reached behind her to close the clasp on the necklace. She was wearing a long white dress; it was sleeveless and her smooth skin seemed to glow in the gentle light pulsing from the lamp next to the her. Her wand was behind her ear for safekeeping.

“We should be leaving soon,” she said suddenly, standing up and whirling around to face him.

“Oh, right. Dinner at the Burrow . . .” He slid off of the bed and followed her as she walked down the stairs.

“I know you don't like walking . . .” she started to say, taking the steps two at a time.

“I don't mind walking,” he replied, even though he really did mind walking; Apparating was just easier, really.

“. . . but I kind of like walking. The trees always look much happier at dusk . . . .”

“We can walk . . . .”

“I know you'd rather just Apparate, and you can do that if you want to.”

“I'll walk. It's not that far.”

There were standing in front of the door, Luna's hand on the handle, about to turn it, when he felt an awkward weight in his left pocket, and, almost as if the thought had poked him, he said, “Oh! I got you something.”

He pulled out the ring, and watched her as she turned around-her eyes lit up, and her eyebrows rose; her lips turned up at the corners in a delicate smile, her hand fluttered upwards to her chest to cover her heart, and, finally, she gave a small gasp of delight.

“It's beautiful,” she whispered, taking the ring from his hand. She held it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger for a second, and then suddenly her arms were around his neck and his nose was being tickled by her hair, her wand pressed into the side of his head. “I love it. Thank you, Ronald.”

He smiled and rubbed her back, because he wasn't sure he could speak, even say a simple “You're welcome,” when she was crushed against him like that, and he could feel her smile against his neck. She gave him a quick squeeze before pulling back.

He had made her happy, and that made him feel quite pleased with himself.

* * *

The walk to the Burrow took seventeen minutes. The late-August heat was beginning to dissipate, replaced with a cool breeze. The smell of grass surrounded them and the bugs were chatting to each other in loud, boisterous squeaks and buzzes. The sunlight faltered through the tree branches, landing on Luna's face and shoulders. Every minute or so she would stop and hold up her hand, so her new ring caught the failing light of the sun. “I like to see it sparkle,” she told him.

By the time they arrived at the Burrow, dinner was just beginning and they sat down immediately. As they were eating, Luna took the time to show off her ring.

“It looks good on you,” said Harry.

“Yeah, it's wicked,” said Fred.

“It really fits you,” commented Hermione.

“Oh, and it matches your eyes!” said Ginny, leaning across Harry to get a proper look at the ring.

“It's lovely . . .” said Mrs. Weasley, in a motherly tone that suggested it really wasn't all lovely.

If Luna had noticed Mrs. Weasley's tone, she didn't show it and instead said, “Yes, isn't it? Although I don't think Ronald bought it by himself.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he questioned indignantly.

“I'd image that someone made you buy one, probably Hermione.”

“No . . . maybe . . . .” He looked at her nervously, worried that she would be upset that he hadn't thought to by the ring himself, and that he had needed Hermione to help him do it.

“It's all right, Ronald. I don't mind. You picked it out in the end, and that's all that really matters.” She took a second to admire the ring again, and then continued eating.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to take the announcement of the engagement ring as a cue to start the discussion of the wedding plans, and she promptly asked Luna if she wanted the wedding at the Burrow or at the Lovegood house.

“I don't really know . . . My father did always say that Mum wanted me to get married in our house, which is where she got married, but I'm not the only one getting married, and I'd imagine you always thought Ronald would get married here . . . .” She turned to Ron. “Would you like to get married here?”

Ron shrugged.

“How about we have it at your house, dear?” said Mrs. Weasley. “I think that would work out best.” She let a few seconds of silence pass, before continuing. “Have you set a date yet?”

“I always kind of liked December twelfth. It has a nice ring to it.”

“December twelfth, then. We should get started on the invitations soon . . . .”

* * *

By the time Ron and Luna returned home, Ron felt that the wedding had already been planned and could, for all intents and purposes, take place tomorrow. His ears hurt from the repeated mention of the word “wedding” and he yawned widely as he followed Luna up the stairs and into their bedroom.

He stood in the doorway for a second, watching her as she walked about the room, throwing off articles of clothing and letting them lay where they fell-an earring here, a sock there, and then her dress, which was deposited on the chair in the corner . . . .

She snuggled into a large shirt (one of his by the looks of it) and then turned to him. Her long hair was fanned around her shoulders and he felt that she was some ethereal goddess glowing in the moonlight, with eyes of silver stars and pink lips of roses. She was everything in the world, everything living and good; she was the trees, the ocean, the skies. She was winning that Quidditch game against Slytherin, or the Chudley Cannons making it to the World Cup. She was that feeling he got when he told a funny joke that made everyone laugh, or when he beat Harry at chess, or when he did something right.

Not that those particular words actually entered into his mind; his only coherent thought, at that moment, was: Merlin, she's gorgeous.

She tilted her head. He could see the feminine curve of her shoulder against the night sky and he licked his lips.

“Are you coming to bed now?” she asked hazily.

“Yeah,” he said, walking into the room.

He closed the door behind him.

(tbc)

-->

“Hands”

Chapter Eight: Bedraggled

The girl really does need a haircut, thought Molly Weasley, eyeing Luna's bedraggled appearance. She surreptitiously surveyed the uneven ends of Luna's blonde hair and wondered if she could talk the young girl into getting a haircut before the wedding, which, she reminded herself, was only two days away.

The past months had been gloriously busy for Mrs. Weasley, and even though there were still a few last minute preparations that had to be dealt with, she found that she was relaxed. She figured it was the numerous candles that Luna had lit and placed strategically around the dining room; the soft warmth pulsating around them created a very calming effect, especially in contrast to the cold winter wind bustling just outside the window.

They were at the Lovegood house for dinner. Next to Mrs. Weasley sat her husband, Arthur, and down from Arthur was Harry, Hermione and Ginny. Fred, George, Charlie and his wife were seated on the other side of the table. Bill and Fleur would be arriving tomorrow. Molly took a moment to look at Ron and Luna who were seated at either end of the table and a smile quickly formed on her lips.

Although Luna did not fit Mrs. Weasley's common idea of a daughter-in-law (and the wedding was certainly less traditional than the previous Weasley weddings), the girl had an endearing quality to her soft voice and sparkling eyes. She had been watching the two carefully since they got engaged, and she noticed there were a lot of unspoken looks and little touches between them. Every now and again, she'd catch a soft gentle kiss or an arm around a shoulder; she'd see Ron brush his thumb against the back of her hand, or she'd see Luna play a silent song on Ron's knee.

She noticed that Ron would look at Luna as if she was the answer to every problem in the world, and Luna would look at Ron as if he was the world.

She also noticed that Luna was a rather good cook, and since Ron was a rather good eater, this seemed to work out rather well.

* * *

After their dinner guests had left, Ron found himself sitting in front of the fireplace with Luna leaning against him. He was slumped down into the couch, his head resting against the back cushion. Her feet were tucked underneath her as she pulled the sleeves of her jumper over her hands, and she snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest.

“Are you cold?” he asked, wondering if he should put another log on the fire.

“Yes, but I don't mind. I like the cold . . . . I'm Winter, you know . . . and you're Summer.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I'm don't mind being cold, and Winter doesn't mind being cold either. You're always warm, so I figure you must be Summer, because Summer is always warm too. Except sometimes at nights, Summer can be quite cool, but really, it's still considered to be warm, because it's a warm cool, instead of the cold cool that Fall likes.”

“Oh,” he said, and then asked, uncertainly, “So does that mean you want me to put another log on the fire, or not?”

“No-the fire doesn't really keep me warm, Ronald,” she said. He could feel her jaw move against his chest as she spoke. Her hands, still bundled up in the sleeves of her jumper, were shoved behind him, between his back and the couch.

“Oh . . .do you want to go to bed, then?” he asked.

She moved her head upwards, until her nose was against his neck, and then she slid back a little, looking at him carefully, her eyes starting at his jaw line and progressing steadily until they connected with his own.

“Father told me one time,” she whispered, “that when you find someone you love, you must tell them that you love them. I think he felt guilty about not telling mum he loved her everyday she was alive. I don't want to feel guilty either, so I'm telling you now . . . .”

The tone of her voice had gotten strangely hard and serious, and he furrowed his brows together in worry.

“I love you, Ronald,” she finished, her voice returning back to its regular dreamy tone. Her mouth was so close to him that he could feel the words against his skin as they left her mouth. “I will always love you, Ronald.”

“I love you too, Luna,” he said, his voice sounding a bit breathy as well, because when she said those words- I love you, Ronald -his chest stopped moving and for a minute he thought he was a little bit of Winter too, his chest frozen in ecstasy, and all he could think was: Merlin, I love her.

* * *

On the morning of December twelfth, the yard of the Lovegood house was covered in a thick blanket of white snow. The trees stood tall and grey, frosted with icicles, and there was a heavy stillness in the air.

When Ron opened his eyes and rolled over, he found that the bed was empty. There was a sense of anticipation rolling around in his stomach as he remembered what day it was, and he tried to grasp the idea that he was marrying Luna Lovegood-that Luna Lovegood was going to be Luna Weasley and the Lovegood house was going to become . . . the Weasley house . . . Luna could come up with a better name later.

He felt he should probably be scared of spending the rest of his life with the same person.

Strangely, his only fear was that he would screw up the ceremony somehow-say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Not-so-strangely, he knew that Luna wouldn't care if he screwed up the ceremony. In fact, she'd probably take his lead and screw it up too.

Making his way downstairs, he found that his mother had sent his brothers over to begin setting up. His father was there too, telling Fred how to direct a row of floating chairs through the doorway.

“No, you'll never get it through that way, Fred . . . a little more to the left. Not that far left . . . .”

Ron yawned. “Isn't it a bit early for all this?” he asked.

“Ron!” said Arthur, giving his son a large hug. “How are you feeling? Nervous? No reason to be nervous! We'll take care of setting everything up, and you just worry about getting dressed on time!”

“I'm not nervous . . . .” he mumbled, but his father had continued talking.

“Oh, Bill! Will you help Ron get dressed?”

“I don't need help getting dressed . . . .” he protested, but both his father and oldest brother seemed to be ignoring him.

Bill took a hold of Ron's shoulder and led him in the direction of the kitchen saying, “How about we get you some breakfast first, uh?”

Pushing his way through the kitchen door, Bill went straight to the counter, where an array of breakfast foods were waiting to be eaten. “Luna made some breakfast before she left,” he said pulling two stools over.

After he ate, Bill followed Ron into the bedroom, where they began to manoeuver their way through the traditional wedding robes. Ron included an additional layer of a jumper underneath the dress shirt, in an attempt to help him stay warm during the ceremony.

“I don't need help,” said Ron, tying the black bow tie around his neck.

“I know.” Bill sat down on the chair in the corner, glancing idly out of the window. “But at least this will get me out of that.” He pointed through the window, at his brothers stomping through the snow to set up the chairs, tables, and a large tent.

Ron laughed.

“So . . . you nervous?” asked Bill.

He shrugged, saying. “Not really.”

Bill nodded. “That's good.”

“Were you nervous when you married Fleur?”

“Yeah, I was. I was afraid we'd be standing there, about to exchange our vows or something and she'd suddenly realize what a mistake it all was . . . .”

“Should I be nervous, you think?”

“No-it just means you love Luna. You're not worried that you're making the wrong decision, because you all ready know you're not making the wrong decision.”

“Is that normal?”

It was Bill's turn to laugh. “Normal?” he said with a smile. “Normal's overrated, Ron.”

* * *

By the time Ron and Bill returned downstairs, the guests had begun to arrive, making their way to the backyard, and Ron followed them. A warming spell had been cast around the chairs for the guests, and the snow on the ground had been cleared, except for a small circle where Ron and Luna would stand.

There was a lot of handshaking and congratulations as he made his way towards the altar. After everyone had taken their places, the crowd hushed and, after what felt like a lifetime, the wedding began.

Although your wedding is supposed to be a momentous occasion in your life, one that you should remember every detail of, Ron found that it flew passed him a blur, and he could only remember certain moments.

He remembered Luna walking down the aisle, escorted by Harry (a brotherly gesture he had felt the need to extend since Luna's father had passed away only months ago). He remembered his hands sweating even though the warming charm he had placed around him wasn't all that strong.

He remembered, of course, how Luna looked: the wedding bell necklace was around her neck and played the wedding march (although a few of the bells would jingle out of place with each step, making the song sound a bit off). Her hair was long and uneven (Mrs. Weasley didn't have the heart to say anything that might be construed as criticism towards her appearance). Her cheeks and nose were red with cold but somehow she still looked positively glowing, as if the sunlight pouring down from the sky was a warm pink instead of a cold blue. Her wedding gown was white, but over it she had worn her favorite jumper, the one his mum had made for her last Christmas.

He barely remembered fumbling through the vows and exchanging rings (matching gold bands; Luna's had the shape of a crescent moon etched into it, while his had a crown. She had made them herself, sitting at the kitchen table humming “Weasley Is Our King” under her breath).

He couldn't remember leaning in to kiss her, but he remembered kissing her, her lips cold but her breath warm and sweet. He couldn't remember grabbing her hand as they turned around, but he remembered that he had grabbed her hand and that her hand was cold, which probably meant that she hadn't cast a warming spell before she came outside-he remembered worrying that she would get sick.

But most of all, the one thing he could truly remember was Luna's smile, and that it had been the brightest he had ever seen it.

(tbc)

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A/N: I know I mentioned, in the Author's Note for the first chapter, that this is being written for the livejournal community hpfanfic10x10. As the name suggests, I was given ten prompts to write about; I've been using them as the chapter titles. Since this is the ninth chapter, the next chapter will obviously be the last; it should be up within a week, if not sooner. I have enjoyed writing this story, and I'm glad I will able to finish it before the last book comes out. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“Hands”

Chapter Nine: Window

Ronald Weasley and his wife, Luna Weasley, had been in Sweden for a total of five days, and so far, the only sight they had seen was the one outside their window. They would be leaving soon, and ultimately they would not be able to visit any historical landmarks or experience the local culture, but his only thought on the matter was: who cared about Sweden when Luna was naked?

He knew this was an immature thought, and he had a feeling that someone would say he was no better than a hormonal teenager, but Luna made him feel like a hormonal teenager and he quite liked the feeling-so why bother contradicting it?

As his wife snuggled closer to him in an attempt to escape the tendrils of morning cold lingering around the room, she said “Do you think we can go crumpled-horned snorkack watching today? It's mating season for them, and I think there's a good chance we could get a picture . . . .”

He sighed, a little reluctant to spend hours in the snow looking for a (nearly) nonexistent creature, when it was much more enjoyable to stay in the bed.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she continued. “It would only take a few hours, and then we could come back.”

With the promise of returning soon, he swung his feet to the floor and began to get dressed- the quicker they got out there, the quicker they could return.

* * *

A chilly wind nipped at his face and he quickly reapplied a Warming charm (surreptitiously aiming one in Luna's direction as well because her lips were looking a little blue). Checking his watch, he noticed that they had been there for nearly an hour, and so far, they had seen nothing but the snow covered landscape.

They were sitting on a fallen log, the camera sitting on his lap, while Luna's expert eyes peered ceaselessly at the trees in front of them. He watched her, as she watched for a crumpled-horned snorkack.

Her lips, he noticed, were looking a little less blue (they were pink, like her cheeks) and she wasn't wearing any earrings. Her neck looked plain without the added decoration and the simple view of her skin was enticing.

He licked his lips, and leaned his face closer to hers, letting his warm breath tickle her skin, before closing the distance and kissing her cheek. Her skin was surprisingly warm, while his lips were cold, and almost as if he was trying to warm them, he moved his mouth to her jaw and kissed her again. Moving down, his lips scraped against her smooth skin, and he pressed a kiss to her neck, where a raddish earring should have been dangling . . . .

“Ronald!” she said suddenly, causing him to jump and accidentally knock the camera off his lap. “There's one! Take a picture, quick!”

Ron fumbled around in the snow, trying to grab the camera and brush the snow from the lens. By the time he brought it to his eye, whirling it around wildly to find the subject, the crumpled-horned snorkack was gone. And he didn't even get to see it.

He brought the camera down and smiled guiltily. “Sorry . . . .”

She shrugged. “Oh, well. There's always next year,” she said. “Back to the room, then?”

He tried not to look so happy, and it took him a moment to appreciate that Luna was trying not to look so happy too.

* * *

They left two days later. Harry had been house-sitting for them while they were gone, and they found him and Hermione in the living room playing chess when they arrived home. Taking a look at the board, Ron shook his head sadly. “You'll never beat her,” he told Harry.

Harry slumped down in his chair, mumbling, “Well, you can't blame a man for trying.”

Hermione simply smiled in satisfaction. “How was the honeymoon?” she asked.

Ron shrugged.

“It was wonderful,” said Luna, automatically launching into the reverie of their crumpled-horned snorkack watching, noting how she was disappointed about not acquiring a picture, but happy, nonetheless, that she had been able to see one. “It was only a shame that Ronald didn't get to see it. Perhaps if he hadn't been so interested in kissing my neck . . . .” Her voice trailed off, as she noticed Ron's reddening ears. “I've embarrassed you haven't I? Should I not mention that we-”

Hermione coughed. “Mrs. Weasley was wondering if you'd come to dinner tonight, if you're not too tired from traveling. We're supposed to be there in a couple of hours. I think she said Bill and Fleur are going to be there.”

* * *

When they arrived at the Burrow, a couple of hours later, Mrs. Weasley swopped down upon them, giving them both large hugs, congratulating them once again on their marriage. “I was worried you'd be too tired after your trip. Portkey can be tiring after such a long distance.”

“I'm not tired at all,” said Luna, “we spent most of the week in bed anyway . . . .”

Ron ignored the sly smile on his mother's face and focused his attention on the table. “Dinner ready?”

Dinner was, in fact, ready, and Ron wasted no time in beginning to eat. The others followed suit, but Mrs. Weasley's keen eyes kept glancing in Ron and Luna's direction, her mind all ready picturing her future grandchildren.

It was later, after dinner was eaten and they retired to the living room, when Luna began a game with Bill and Fleur's baby daughter. Luna was pulling her face in ridiculous and childish positions, making the small baby giggle with delight, and when she giggled, Luna would giggle.

“You're very good with her,” said Fleur, with a fond smile. “It's only a matter of time before you get your own little baby too, I suppose.”

“Yes, I'd imagine,” replied Luna thoughtfully. “In fact, with all the time we spent in bed, I suppose I should have used a stronger contraceptive charm, because I could actually be pregnant now, and I probably should have checked that before we left.”

Ron choked on his tea and spluttered for a few good seconds, before the word “Pregnant?” squeaked out of his mouth.

“I was going to mention it before we left for dinner, but I must have gotten a wrackspurt because I forgot to mention it . . .” She turned to Fleur who was sitting next to her with an amused smirk. “Do you happen to know the spell to find out if you're pregnant or not?”

“Yes, I do actually. Would you like to do it now? I'm sure Molly would love to help . . . .”

After hearing Luna' predicament, Molly quickly ushered her up the stairs, followed by an excited Fleur and a curious Ginny. Hermione stayed in her chair, reading a book. There was a few moments of silence, while Ron's face paled with the thought of having a child; they had only just gotten married-he had only just become a husband-and now he was going to become a dad, too?

Bill, recognizing the quiet panic in Ron's eyes, quickly distracted him by starting a conversation about Quidditch.

Hermione snapped her book shut and reluctantly retreated upstairs to join the pregnancy conference.

Quidditch, however, did nothing to distract Ron. Images of crying babies and sleepless (shag-less) nights raced through his mind, like a golden snitch zipping around frantically; he was a keeper, not a seeker, after all.

“It'll be all right,”said Harry.

“Yeah, you'll make a great dad,” said Bill.

His father simply laughed lightly, saying, “It's the Weasley's genes. Even if she's not pregnant now, it's going to happen. And it'll be the best thing to ever happen to you, trust me. I had that same look when your mum told me about Bill . . .” He stopped talking as Luna descended the stairs gracefully, Molly, Hermione, Fleur, and Ginny behind her.

Ron watched Luna carefully as she sat down next to him, her thigh pressing against his. Her face was unreadable: was that twinkle happiness or a sad tear?

“Er . . .” he began. “So, are you pregnant?”

She nodded.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked quietly.

“It means I'll be giving birth to a life, and life is always a good thing, Ronald.”

“Yeah, yeah it is.” He breathed a sigh of relief, even though he wasn't really sure if he was relieved. He certainly didn't feel scared anymore, with Luna's reassuring warmth next to him, and she certainly didn't look or sound scared. If Luna was happy about it, then he figured he could be too. “I love you,” he said, partly because it seemed like the appropriate thing to say, but mostly because it was simply true.

“I love you too.”

He could feel the smiles of his family and friends, as he leaned in to kiss her. As he pulled back, he heard Ginny say, “You're going to name her after me, right?

A contest for the baby's namesake quickly followed.

(tbc)

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A/N: I'm terrible at finishing things, and I always feel awkward while writing the ending to a story, but, nevertheless, I am rather proud of this chapter (and this entire story for that matter), and I can only hope you enjoy reading it. Depending on how book seven ends, you can most likely expect to see a few one-shots about the future of the new Weasley family.

Thanks for reading!

“Hands”

Chapter Ten: Shirt

Her shirt no longer fit her. It wouldn't stretch over the bulge of her stomach (at least not in anyway that looked decent). Her wand stuck behind her ear, she exited the room and returned a few minutes later wearing a white, loose shirt embroidered with daisies.

“It was my mother's,” she said simply. “Daddy told me she used to wear it when she was pregnant with me, and that's why I look like a daisy. He used to wrap me in it when I was a baby-we have pictures.”

He nodded, his eyes focused on her belly. She was six months pregnant and he could easily tell that a baby was in there, somewhere, and a knot began to form in his throat. “Should we go to Diagon Alley to buy some new clothes?”

She thought for a second, her head cocked to the side. Her wand slipped out from behind her ear and rolled onto the floor. He handed it back to her, as she said “We could. I have plenty of Mum's clothes to wear, but they smell like her.”

He waited a second for her to elaborate, and when she didn't, he said, “Right, we could get some lunch while we're out, too.”

She smiled excitedly. “Can we get some ice cream?”

“We can get ice cream instead of lunch . . . .”

* * *

Although Luna was not as enthusiastic about shopping as other women, Diagon Alley housed enough maternity and baby stores to keep her occupied for two hours, and after two hours, Ron felt an ice-cream was well deserved.

They stood in line at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour (which had fortunately reopened after the end of the Second War), perusing the menu to find the right flavor for that particular Summer afternoon.

“I'll have peanut butter with a scoop of strawberry,” said Ron, and, although he knew what Luna was going to order (she always asked for radish ice cream with rainbow sprinkles), he turned to her expectantly.

She eyed the menu with her finger on her chin. “I'll have . . . vanilla.”

Ron's eyebrows furrowed together in curiosity. “Just vanilla?” he asked. “Not radish, or something weird?”

“No, just vanilla.”

He looked at her a second longer, and then shrugged. She was pregnant, and weren't pregnant women supposed to have weird cravings? Vanilla may not seem weird to most, but for Luna it was outrageously abnormal. It was a small reminder of how much things were going to change because of this baby.

The room next to theirs was all ready being redecorated to accommodate the new addition to their family. Luna's body was changing-her skin glowed and her breasts were larger (not that he was going to complain about that, but it was still something about Luna that was different). He knew she wasn't sleeping well either, because he could feel her shifting about at night, trying to find a comfortable spot.

And that was only Luna; his mother was changing too. Just the other day she cornered him in the kitchen trying to discuss baby names (“You know the name Mafalda has been in the family for years!”). He would look up every so often and find her staring at him with tears in her eyes, and she would smooth his hair down saying, “You're going to be the best father, dear. I just know it.”

Being the youngest boy, the sudden attention had felt rather nice for the first few weeks. Now, it was getting annoying and he almost wished the baby would just come out now, so they could be done with it all . . . .

Luna licked her spoon happily. Suddenly, she gasped in surprise, her hand flying to her stomach.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly.

She smiled serenely, her fingers splayed comfortably over her tummy. “He doesn't like vanilla much . . . .”

“How can you tell?”

“He kicked me very angrily . . . .”

* * *

As the months passed, Luna experienced more trouble falling asleep at night. She would shift and squirm, pulling the blanket up to her neck, shoving it off of her, and then grabbing it again and placing it over her feet. It was often three o'clock in the morning before she would finally drift away from consciousness-and when her breathing would even out and her body would relax, he'd turn on his side and watch her, his eyes inevitably falling to her swollen belly. Once or twice, he'd find his hand placed protectively over her stomach, and he could feel the baby squirm under the added heat of his palm. There was a constant mixture of fear, nervousness, and delight roiling throughout his body.

* * *

The due date loomed ever closer. It was, in fact, one day away.

Luna woke up at seven, her eyes blinking against the morning sunlight. She stretched, the movement awakening her husband, who jolted up, mumbling, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing really, although I'm a bit hungry. For bacon. I'm a bit hungry for bacon.”

He yawned, looking at the clock. “Mum should be up by now, if you want to got the Burrow for breakfast . . . .”

She was all ready getting dressed, and it was only ten minutes later when they arrived at the Burrow. His mother was awake, and breakfast was sizzling away on the stove. She was delighted to see them and wasted no time in preparing a plate for each of them, watching as Ron gobbled down his first helping and moved onto seconds.

Mrs. Weasley placed another egg on the his plate, shaking her head at her son's infinite ability to eat. “There'll be no more eggs left in the country by the time you're finished,” she said. Sitting down to eat her own breakfast, she asked Luna how she was feeling.

“Quite wonderful,” she replied.

“The big day's almost here, isn't it?”

“Yes . . . in fact . . . I think . . . .” Luna placed her rasher of bacon back onto her plate, her voice failing away into a small whisper. “I think it's here.”

It took five seconds for the full meaning of her words to sink in . . . and Ron was standing up, his breakfast forgotten, expect for a piece of bacon still sticking out of his mouth. He chewed it quickly, leading Luna towards the fireplace. His mother was spouting off instructions and reassurances.

He didn't hear any of them, as the fire whooshed into action and he said, “St. Mungo's Maternity Ward.”

* * *

His hand hurt, but he let Luna clutch onto it anyway, as another contraction swept over her, and when her hand went limp in his own, he held it tighter, noticing that her fingers were cold. Her cheeks were pink and her face glistened with a thin sheen of perspiration. She smiled gratefully at him, her eyes wide and sparkling.

She must have noticed the uncertainty and fear in his face, because she leaned back to look at his eyes and she said, “Ronald, I know you think you won't make a very good father.” He opened his mouth to protest. “And I know you're going to tell me that you don't . . . but I want you to know that you will make a good father, because you're brave and honest, and I believe in you, and even though you don't always believe in what I believe, you try and if our son believes something you don't quite understand, you'll let him believe it and you'll try to understand because you love him, and that's all that really matters, Ronald . . . and of course I'll be there to help you . . . I lo-”

Another contraction came before she could continue. He wasn't sure if he should say something in return, so he just smiled comfortingly and brushed a piece of hair off of her forehead. Her words had allayed the nerves jumping around in his stomach, and when his ears were filled with the cries of a newborn baby, he nearly laughed with relief.

“Blimey,” he said, as the baby was placed in Luna's arms. He sat on the bed next to her and smiled widely. “Blimey,” he said again.

Luna frowned. “I think he inherited my eyes. I hope he doesn't mind-they are quite large . . . .”

“They're nice,” he said, reaching out to touch the baby. The baby latched his tiny hand around his finger. “Er, do you think we should name him now? Or do you want to wait?”

She looked thoughtfully at the baby in her arms.

The baby looked thoughtfully at his mother.

“How about Cloud?” she said, finally.

“It's good, but, um, we should probably choose something a little more . . . traditional.”

“Yes, I suppose. Other kids might make fun of the name `Cloud,' and I wouldn't want our son to get made fun of. It's not actually much fun to get made fun of, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“How about Jonathan then?”

He wasn't quite sure where she had gotten the name “Jonathan,” but if she liked it (and she wouldn't have suggested it if she didn't like it) then it sounded perfect to him. “All right then. Jonathan Cloud Weasley. How's that sound?”

“Beautiful,” said Luna. She looked at Jonathan's hand wrapped around his father's finger. “He likes your hands. I like your hands, too, Ronald.”

“I like your hands,” he replied, kissing Luna's cheek.

There was a hushed silence in the room which would have been slightly oppressing and uncomfortable, but all Ron could feel, at that moment, as he looked down at his wife and son, was interminable pride and a wealth of joy.

The End.

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