Daydreamers

A/N: My first Ron/Luna fic, and I am so happy about it, for I think it's gone much better than my Draco/Ginny attempt. Hopefully you will like it too, and understand. I know it's short, but, well, I think it says all it needs to say despite it.

Disclaimer: Not mine, oh how I wish, but only the plot is mine.

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“Whatever you can imagine is real.” -Pablo Picasso

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Daydreamers

The new Weasley house in Ottery St Catchpole is not as large or lopsided as its predecessor just some roads down. It is not filled with strange Muggle artefacts useless in the magical world, or with patched, old furniture, or children… yet. It does not have a ghoul pounding away in its attic, a magically-meddled-with Ford Anglia in a garage or, unfortunately, a magical clock that tells locations instead of time. It is not in any way The Burrow.

It is though, simply enough, Ron and Luna Weasley's house, and along with everything else you would expect from a wizard's home, it has a large and still-growing collection of books and articles on things considered fantastical even in a world of magic, a garishly orange room set aside for all things Chudley Cannons, and in a place of honour in the living room, a display case for the also numerous and still growing collection of awards, special trophies and medals they had received for the war. But neither really cares for the display, it was arranged by the senior Mrs Weasley and that's the only reason it's still there.

No, their favourite place is where they are right now: The wooden swing-set in the breeziest part of the backyard where they can sit and swing and watch the day (and mischievous garden gnomes) go by. And if Ron has his way, it will be the most exciting thing they do for years to come.

He had enough “excitement” to last him a lifetime in the Second War. He lost friends, family, and very nearly his life, he saw the dark side of human nature and he knew the very deepest despair… but he's beginning to forget. He wants to forget, for if he remembers it will taint him, and he cannot allow his past to haunt his future. He wants to be happy, and here he will be happy with her.

She's had “excitement” too, but where he faced success with Harry and Hermione, she faced loss. Her father was lost early in the war, killed resisting a Death Eater takeover, and then his paper was burned to the ground when she tried to help them deceive the Death Eaters. She was hexed, stunned and captured; she spent three days locked in a room with Ginny without food and water, and at the end of it all, four months in a spell-induced coma to get over the trauma. The only highlight was getting closer to him after her father's death, and now, here with him, she knows she will be happy.

They're both the same and then very different people.

He's still lanky, red-haired, blue-eyed and freckled. He still loves the Chudley Cannons, (as evidenced by the room) he's still unbeatable at Wizard's Chess, and he still has his infamous temper. But he no longer cares for fame, what fun is it when it comes at the cost of many lives? He's more subdued, mature, and ready for responsibility that goes beyond guarding a goal post, as evidenced by their marriage. They're still working on tact though, some things take time.

She still has her straggly waist-length dirty-blonde hair, wide pale eyes, radish earrings and bottle cap necklace. She still believes in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Nargles and Ministry conspiracies. And she sings “Weasley is our King” whenever she can, though nowadays not often in public. But she's a little more “lucid” now—though he would protest that she ever wasn't—for there were some things from which her dottiness couldn't protect her. He hopes she will change no more.

On this particular day, a lazy Saturday afternoon, they sit silently swinging in the wind. His head is in her lap, his eyes closed and an arm lies protectively round her waist. She is reading, a hand in his hair and the ghost of a contented smile on her lips.

Without a care in the world they can see themselves like this forever… no Death Eaters, no war, no Voldemort, just happy, sunny days spent quietly with each other.

On occasion they do go out though. Harry and Hermione invite them over for dinner in Godric's Hollow, or his brothers and sister and their spouses take them out, or they all gather at the Burrow with his widowed mother. Sometimes they will attend a Ministry celebratory party, at others the party is at home where he and Harry discuss (rather, mock) their latest award reception while Luna and Hermione debate the existence of some creature or conspiracy.

They don't worry for careers, Harry has his inheritances and Ron has received so much in rewards that it is hardly a problem. If ever they do think about them though, it is only because yet again they've been promised a “reputable” Ministry position. But one day they will be more serious. Though the magical world, being magical, was quick to recover, there are still some who need help, from Aurors, Unspeakables and newspapers.

But again, for them life is easy, and will be from now on.

A lively chirping makes him open his eyes, and the illusion of the sun-filled breezy garden falls away, leaving him in the cold darkness of their latest hiding place. The noise that woke him was a cricket that had somehow got in and settled by his head. Though irritated, he cannot bring himself to brush it away.

Harry and Hermione are lying nearby, fast asleep. Despite it though, Harry's arms are wrapped protectively round her. If anyone comes near he would be awake in an instant, the life in his arms more precious than his own. Though he has never said it aloud it is understood that when it all comes down to it, the only reason he has for going on is her. And also the promise that at the end of this when Voldemort is gone and the war is over, that he will have her and she, him, and a long, hopefully peaceful, life ahead of them.

Luna is a few bunks over, also asleep, between Ginny and Tonks. Since she arrived at their little hiding place a few days before she has done well to help but keep out of their way. But he had noticed her, every moment since she arrived he noticed her… and now he knows why.

It is not because of Harry and Hermione. What they have, he cannot explain, he cannot define, and he does not resist. He knew it, he saw it all along and though they misunderstood his actions, he was watching for it. He knew they would not hurt each other, but he had to be cautious… and he did not want to be left out, or behind.

It is not because he is lonely. There is always something to do now, in the apparent last days of the Second War, and someone to talk to because of it. For some reason too, people just want to talk him, to tell him their secrets and fears and dreams. He cannot tell them that he does not need another friend, or that he does not care, and he won't, not anymore. In these dark days, he understands, sometimes you need all the friends you can get.

It is because, whether anyone else will believe it or not, he's fallen for her. He likes her, really likes Loony Lovegood, oddities and all, and though he thought he was not lonely, he now realises what he was missing all along. After all, he's been having this same dream since before she even arrived.

Maybe it was just a dream, maybe they're all daydreaming if they think they have a hope in the end, but if he is he doesn't mind. He'd rather be a daydreamer with something to look forward to than a realist in the face of depression.

Not really caring then if it is forward of him, or too much too soon, or would create a stir later, he rises from his place and stalks over to hers. Then, subtly shifting away his sister, who grumbles, but then easily rolls over and away, he settles down before her. She does not stir, nothing seems to get to her, even in her sleep, and he's glad for it. Moving over to her is as far as he's willing to go for now, the next step is hers and whatever her answer when she awakes he will accept it.

Scary that, now he knows what took Harry and Hermione so long.

But then in the faint moonlight filtering through a window high that bathes her ethereal pale silver-blue, Luna smiles in her sleep. It's all he needs; they will be alright, even if the future, for now, is just a daydream.

Fin.

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