sees_them_too (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sees_them_too) wrote2011-05-22 09:13 pm
sees_them_too) wrote2011-05-22 09:13 pm
A Quiet Spring Night. After A Fashion.
It’s a pleasant spring night at Hogwarts. Warm enough, finally, to open up the windows in Ravenclaw Tower. The breeze carries the smell of damp and fresh green, and the hoots of owls as they hunt over the grounds and the lake. Periodically, thestral calls drift up from the forest. It sounds to Luna as if Pluto and Pearl are out of sorts about something tonight.
For her part, Luna is stretched out on her stomach on her bed, making a little reindeer with a bell around its neck prance across the blue bedspread. Her roommates are likewise idly employed. Rebecca is thumbing through the latest edition of Hex-Teen. Rebecca reads the magazine religiously, and the shelves built into the headboard of her bed contain the year’s worth, neatly organized by date. Enid and Cosmina are camped out on Enid’s bed, playing cards and eating fudge. Sylvia is propped up against a stack of pillows, and is experimenting with her hair. Mirror in one hand, wand in the other, she twists a front section of her hair around her wand, mutters a charm, critically eyes the resulting fall of curls, shakes it out, and tries again.
“You know if you do that too much, you’re hair will all fall out,” Cosmina says.
Sylvia purses her lips, examining that latest thick sausage curl. “It will not. My mother does it all the time.”
Luna twirls her wand lightly, making the little plastic reindeer pirouette on its hind legs. There’s a shuffle of paper as Rebecca lowers her magazine.
“Where did you get that thing, Luna?”
“I told you,” Luna replies, chin cupped in her hand, watching the reindeer. “Father Christmas gave it to me.”
There’s a snort from Sylvia’s bed. “Yes. Father Christmas. In a pub on the other side of the galaxy.”
“At the End of the Universe,” Luna corrects. “And yes, he was there. In Milliways.”
“Milliways with its doors that pop up all over Hogwarts. Funny how no one else ever seems to trip over a pub in the middle of the school.”
“Oh, Sylvia,” Enid interrupts with the tired air of someone who has heard this argument quite often enough, thank-you-very-much. “Lay off.”
It’s just one of Luna’s stories. She doesn’t have to add it for everyone to hear it.
Sylvia makes a noise like an insulted Pekingese, but goes back to toying with her hair. Cosmina gathers up the cards and begins to reshuffle. Rebecca picks up her magazine.
“Say,” she says after a moment, “do you suppose of Cedric Diggory wins the Tournament, they’ll put him on the cover?” Rebecca holds up the magazine where, currently, a brooding young wizard with spiky hair (the lead singer of Hairy Troll, according to the headline) blinks darkly. “If they do, I might have to buy extra copies.”
“If you do, better not let Cho catch you,” Cosmina giggles.
Luna puts her reindeer back in its spot in her headboard shelves and crawls under her blanket as talk turns to what Enid refers to as the ‘snogability’ of certain Tri-Wizard Champions.
“Of course, Cedric is by far the handsomest, don’t you think? And he looks so dashing and heroic, too.”
“Well, but Harry Potter really is a hero, isn’t he? And he’s more our age. And available.”
“I suppose. But he’s spent the whole Tournament looking like his works have been gummed up with treacle taffy.”
“And there’s that whole funny business about how he got to be a Champion at all. Don’t tell me he didn’t have some hand in that. How could he not?”
“Krum’s a Quidditch star. It’s a shame he’s not more good looking.”
“He doesn’t seem overly sharp, either.”
“Diggory will win. Just wait and see.”
Luna has nothing to add, really. She might offer an opinion if asked, but no one does. It’s possible that her roommates remember the frustration of trying to pump her for information back at the beginning of the Tournament.
It was funny, Luna had thought, how she had briefly become exponentially more interesting once the other girls discovered that she lived near the same village as the Diggorys.
Of course, all she had been able to say was, Yes, we live by Ottery St. Catchpole, too. Yes, we know the Diggorys. Cedric? He’s quite nice so far as I can tell.
They had rather given up in disgust when they couldn’t get more out of her than that.
Luna’s not sure what else she could have told them. Yes, her family knows the Diggorys, but not well. They don’t really run in the same circles. The Diggorys are very well regarded. The Lovegoods, less so. Still, they would always stop for a bit of a friendly chat if they ran into Luna and her father in the village or on Diagon Alley.
And, indeed, Luna has never seen Cedric be anything but nice. She’s seen him clean up a broken flowerpot for the village postmistress without even using magic. He’d split a pack of Jelly Slugs with her in the long line at Flourish & Blotts during the madness of back to school shopping (most welcome as she and Dad hadn’t been able to sit down and eat until nearly teatime that day). And on three different occasions, he’s retrieved one of her belongings from a high and inconvenient place, handing it back to her with a smile, a pat on the shoulder, and an “All right there, Luna?”
The sort of things, Luna has observed, that other girls tend to swoon over and embroider romantic stories around. But really, that’s just how Cedric treats everyone.
Luna appreciates it. She wouldn’t mind seeing him win the Tournament.
She’s pulled back by a loud squawk from Sylvia’s direction.
“Oh. OH! Ow! OwowowOW!”
Sylvia’s hair, apparently tired of curling, seems to be wrapping itself around her wand, and securing itself in knots. Magazines and cards go flying as the others spring to help.
It takes several minutes, the appearance of a grumpy, half-awake prefect, liberal application of a detanglement charm (and at least one threat of a severing charm if the shrieking did not abate) before Sylvia’s wand and hair finally part company. The prefect departs with a flick of her wand to dim the lights and a curt order to go make a commotion in the Common Room if they must, but “People are trying to sleep up here.”
The girls slink meekly to their respective beds, taking a moment to shake their heads at Luna, who, during the commotion, has drifted off into peaceful sleep, and dreams of Christmas sleighs pulled by fleets of thestrals, bearing bundles of magazines and Triwizard Cups for all the good boys and girls at Hogwarts.
For her part, Luna is stretched out on her stomach on her bed, making a little reindeer with a bell around its neck prance across the blue bedspread. Her roommates are likewise idly employed. Rebecca is thumbing through the latest edition of Hex-Teen. Rebecca reads the magazine religiously, and the shelves built into the headboard of her bed contain the year’s worth, neatly organized by date. Enid and Cosmina are camped out on Enid’s bed, playing cards and eating fudge. Sylvia is propped up against a stack of pillows, and is experimenting with her hair. Mirror in one hand, wand in the other, she twists a front section of her hair around her wand, mutters a charm, critically eyes the resulting fall of curls, shakes it out, and tries again.
“You know if you do that too much, you’re hair will all fall out,” Cosmina says.
Sylvia purses her lips, examining that latest thick sausage curl. “It will not. My mother does it all the time.”
Luna twirls her wand lightly, making the little plastic reindeer pirouette on its hind legs. There’s a shuffle of paper as Rebecca lowers her magazine.
“Where did you get that thing, Luna?”
“I told you,” Luna replies, chin cupped in her hand, watching the reindeer. “Father Christmas gave it to me.”
There’s a snort from Sylvia’s bed. “Yes. Father Christmas. In a pub on the other side of the galaxy.”
“At the End of the Universe,” Luna corrects. “And yes, he was there. In Milliways.”
“Milliways with its doors that pop up all over Hogwarts. Funny how no one else ever seems to trip over a pub in the middle of the school.”
“Oh, Sylvia,” Enid interrupts with the tired air of someone who has heard this argument quite often enough, thank-you-very-much. “Lay off.”
It’s just one of Luna’s stories. She doesn’t have to add it for everyone to hear it.
Sylvia makes a noise like an insulted Pekingese, but goes back to toying with her hair. Cosmina gathers up the cards and begins to reshuffle. Rebecca picks up her magazine.
“Say,” she says after a moment, “do you suppose of Cedric Diggory wins the Tournament, they’ll put him on the cover?” Rebecca holds up the magazine where, currently, a brooding young wizard with spiky hair (the lead singer of Hairy Troll, according to the headline) blinks darkly. “If they do, I might have to buy extra copies.”
“If you do, better not let Cho catch you,” Cosmina giggles.
Luna puts her reindeer back in its spot in her headboard shelves and crawls under her blanket as talk turns to what Enid refers to as the ‘snogability’ of certain Tri-Wizard Champions.
“Of course, Cedric is by far the handsomest, don’t you think? And he looks so dashing and heroic, too.”
“Well, but Harry Potter really is a hero, isn’t he? And he’s more our age. And available.”
“I suppose. But he’s spent the whole Tournament looking like his works have been gummed up with treacle taffy.”
“And there’s that whole funny business about how he got to be a Champion at all. Don’t tell me he didn’t have some hand in that. How could he not?”
“Krum’s a Quidditch star. It’s a shame he’s not more good looking.”
“He doesn’t seem overly sharp, either.”
“Diggory will win. Just wait and see.”
Luna has nothing to add, really. She might offer an opinion if asked, but no one does. It’s possible that her roommates remember the frustration of trying to pump her for information back at the beginning of the Tournament.
It was funny, Luna had thought, how she had briefly become exponentially more interesting once the other girls discovered that she lived near the same village as the Diggorys.
Of course, all she had been able to say was, Yes, we live by Ottery St. Catchpole, too. Yes, we know the Diggorys. Cedric? He’s quite nice so far as I can tell.
They had rather given up in disgust when they couldn’t get more out of her than that.
Luna’s not sure what else she could have told them. Yes, her family knows the Diggorys, but not well. They don’t really run in the same circles. The Diggorys are very well regarded. The Lovegoods, less so. Still, they would always stop for a bit of a friendly chat if they ran into Luna and her father in the village or on Diagon Alley.
And, indeed, Luna has never seen Cedric be anything but nice. She’s seen him clean up a broken flowerpot for the village postmistress without even using magic. He’d split a pack of Jelly Slugs with her in the long line at Flourish & Blotts during the madness of back to school shopping (most welcome as she and Dad hadn’t been able to sit down and eat until nearly teatime that day). And on three different occasions, he’s retrieved one of her belongings from a high and inconvenient place, handing it back to her with a smile, a pat on the shoulder, and an “All right there, Luna?”
The sort of things, Luna has observed, that other girls tend to swoon over and embroider romantic stories around. But really, that’s just how Cedric treats everyone.
Luna appreciates it. She wouldn’t mind seeing him win the Tournament.
She’s pulled back by a loud squawk from Sylvia’s direction.
“Oh. OH! Ow! OwowowOW!”
Sylvia’s hair, apparently tired of curling, seems to be wrapping itself around her wand, and securing itself in knots. Magazines and cards go flying as the others spring to help.
It takes several minutes, the appearance of a grumpy, half-awake prefect, liberal application of a detanglement charm (and at least one threat of a severing charm if the shrieking did not abate) before Sylvia’s wand and hair finally part company. The prefect departs with a flick of her wand to dim the lights and a curt order to go make a commotion in the Common Room if they must, but “People are trying to sleep up here.”
The girls slink meekly to their respective beds, taking a moment to shake their heads at Luna, who, during the commotion, has drifted off into peaceful sleep, and dreams of Christmas sleighs pulled by fleets of thestrals, bearing bundles of magazines and Triwizard Cups for all the good boys and girls at Hogwarts.