Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Shadowlands
Luna was trembling in my arms, shaking with silent sobs. Through the bond, I heard her pained soul desperately crying for help and understanding.
I led her into my home and seated her on the sofa, briefly leaving her alone while I fixed some tea for us both. Pouring a generous amount of firewhiskey into her tea, I thrusted the steaming mug into her small, pale hand. She drank a few hasty gulps and painfully flinched when the hot liquid burned her lips. That pain I could take away, of her other problems I wasn't that sure.
I murmured a simple spell healing the burns, and she raised her tearstained eyes, casting a sad, yet thankful glance at me. I emitted a surprised shriek and jumped up, pouring my hot tea all over me. Suppressing the four-letter words I was just about to say, I quickly dried myself off and knelt down in front of her, taking a careful look at her face.
The ugly, red trace of four fingers on her left cheek were clearly visible, even by the faint candle-light.
I gently touched her face, wishing I could be somewhere else right now. I wanted to scream out loud; I wanted to hit something hard with my fists until the snapping sound of a broken bone would bring me out of my rage.
It was superfluous to ask what had happened to her. I ached to learn, however, why it had happened, but I didn't want to ask her about it. It was her call whether or not she would tell.
At first, she hissed from the pain when my fingers touched her swollen, purple skin. I quickly pulled my hand away but she grabbed it and snuggled her cheek back into my palm. It was hot; it was burning my skin and I felt my insides boiling with anger. How on Earth could Ron have done anything that low? For crying out loud, this is your wife, the mother of your daughter, you insensible, daft, sorry excuse of a man? How could you, you two-faced idiot, who had risked your life for saving others on more than occasion, do anything similar to the person who loves you more than her own life?
“It's my mistake, Harry,” Luna whispered. She must have felt my inner storm, because she took my hand and squeezed it gently. Now, it was my turn to flush red with shame. It was I who was supposed to comfort her now, and not vice versa. I muttered something incomprehensive and reached for my want to heal her bruises. She tried to object meekly saying that she'd been a bad mother and she deserved it but I wanted nothing of this crap; with a few small wand movements – basic healing spells, first year of Auror training – got rid of the bruises, then, not being able to restrain myself, kissed her gently on the same spot.
It wasn't right, it just wasn't, I knew that. We both sinned, we both – unwillingly – hurt people we wanted to hurt the least, when we engaged into our secret relationship. She loved me, had been loving me way back, even before she got together with Ron, and I could do nothing against my blossoming feelings towards her.
We still didn't speak; I knew she would tell sooner or later. So I just silently stood up and pulled her up as well and, still holding her hand, went outside into the small backyard. The roses Mum had planted were in full blossoming; their sweet scent filled the nightly air and apart from the buzzing of a few bumblebees who seemingly didn't notice it was well after midnight there was complete silence.
We comfortably sat down on a bench and she laid her head on my shoulder, closing her eyes. I raised my head and looked into the pale disk of the full moon, illuminating the landscape in the clear night. It felt as if it wanted to tell me something and I almost jumped up when I heard the soft voice. It took me a few heartbeats to realize that it was Luna who spoke.
“It was full moon the night I was born, Harry,” she whispered as if not willing to break the magical silence. “That's why Mum named me 'Luna'. She was the goddess of the Moon in Roman mythology.”
I looked at her silhouette as she was staring at the celestial object. She had something of a goddess, I had to admit. When in her company, however, one had to be patient if he wanted to discuss a particular matter; she did like to blurt out things absolutely not belonging to the moment.
“Did you know that I have a second name as well? I'm Luna Selene Lovegood,” she continued after a brief silence, stressing the name, looking at me with a curious glance. I calmly answered her glance, looking into those incredibly blue eyes, now at the faint moonlight only a lighter shade of grey.
“It's a beautiful name, Luna. Let me guess, is it also mythological?” I asked, trying to look well-read, which I obviously wasn't. She smiled, approvingly patting my shoulder and snuggling into my embrace.
“Good boy. Selene was also a lunar goddess, well before Roman times if that matters. See, Mum was fascinated with ancient times and cultures.” I nodded.
The first time I saw Aranrhod Lovegood, she was dressed in a simple white tunic, barefooted, her golden hair falling freely well below her waist tamed only by a simple wreath on her head. Pretty much like a Greek goddess on a fresco or in an “ancient history” school book.
It happened shortly after I'd come to the Shadowlands. After the initial shock of meeting my parents, my deceased teachers and friends wore off, one evening Luna dropped by at my place. Not saying a word, she took my hand and Apparated us away. The next thing I remembered was materializing in front of an impeccably clean, two-storey house laid from simple white brick, surrounded with a neat little garden.
The woman answering the door was exactly how I'd imagined Luna twenty years from now. Without saying a word, she reached out with her both hands and pulled me into a cluse hug; being a few inched taller than her, the leaves of the wreath she was wearing were tickling my nose and I sneezed loudly, flushing pink in embarrassment. That evening was one of the weirdest, but at the same time one of the most pleasant experiences in my entire life.
Aranrhod was a very kind woman, always speaking in a hushed voice. Apart from that, her voice sounded exactly like Luna's; in the beginning I was turning my head around trying to figure out why was talking. Later, I started to distinguish the two voices; Aranrhod spoke with a very slight, almost uncatchable accent due to her Welsh origins, as I was told. A few times during the evening, the two women, each other's best friends, uttered a few phrases in a foreign language, bursting out in angelic laughter. Later Luna answered my question; it was Gaelic they spoke.
Aranrhod Lovegood was a very powerful witch as well. Magic was radiating from her; the kind of powerful magic that electrified the air around her, causing the small hairs on my neck stand up. Either her magic was different from ours, or she was even more powerful then Albus Dumbledore; I never felt anything similar in the presence of my old mentor. The few times our hands incidentally touched I could swear I was feeling an electric discharge on my skin. She effortlessly conjured fire without a wand; nothing like Hermione's blue flames or the red fireballs Veela's were so proficient in. She researched and practiced the magic of the ancient Druids, this method of creating fire being a part of this almost forgotten art.
We talked much that night, of things important and unimportant, of good and bad things, drank foul-tasted herbal teas, ate weird fruits and berries I'd never heard of before. The hours flew by unnoticed and by the time dawn had almost broken in I felt almost all my pain and doubts being washed away. Leaving Hermione and our unborn child behind, in the world of the living, was still lying on my chest as a heavy rock, this pain would never go away, but I finally managed to make peace with the fact that I was dead, thanks to these two angelic creatures. I instantly liked Mrs. Lovegood, and Luna, well, she'd been a very good friend of mine ever since my fifth year.
When I, exhausted but for the first time in months smiling, was taking my leave profusely thanking the duo for everything, Aranrhod drew me aside. Closing her eyes, she muttered something in a language I couldn't place and drew a strange symbol on my forehead with her index finger. “This rune will defend you from anything dark, be it inside you or coming from the outside, Harry,” she whispered as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss my forehead on the same spot. “You've been Luna's best friend, these last few years. My door will be always open for you, should you need someone to talk to.”
I felt Luna shifting slightly on the bench and, as if mesmerized, shook my head, emerging from my memories. I knew in an instant she was ready to talk to me.
I led her into my home and seated her on the sofa, briefly leaving her alone while I fixed some tea for us both. Pouring a generous amount of firewhiskey into her tea, I thrusted the steaming mug into her small, pale hand. She drank a few hasty gulps and painfully flinched when the hot liquid burned her lips. That pain I could take away, of her other problems I wasn't that sure.
I murmured a simple spell healing the burns, and she raised her tearstained eyes, casting a sad, yet thankful glance at me. I emitted a surprised shriek and jumped up, pouring my hot tea all over me. Suppressing the four-letter words I was just about to say, I quickly dried myself off and knelt down in front of her, taking a careful look at her face.
The ugly, red trace of four fingers on her left cheek were clearly visible, even by the faint candle-light.
I gently touched her face, wishing I could be somewhere else right now. I wanted to scream out loud; I wanted to hit something hard with my fists until the snapping sound of a broken bone would bring me out of my rage.
It was superfluous to ask what had happened to her. I ached to learn, however, why it had happened, but I didn't want to ask her about it. It was her call whether or not she would tell.
At first, she hissed from the pain when my fingers touched her swollen, purple skin. I quickly pulled my hand away but she grabbed it and snuggled her cheek back into my palm. It was hot; it was burning my skin and I felt my insides boiling with anger. How on Earth could Ron have done anything that low? For crying out loud, this is your wife, the mother of your daughter, you insensible, daft, sorry excuse of a man? How could you, you two-faced idiot, who had risked your life for saving others on more than occasion, do anything similar to the person who loves you more than her own life?
“It's my mistake, Harry,” Luna whispered. She must have felt my inner storm, because she took my hand and squeezed it gently. Now, it was my turn to flush red with shame. It was I who was supposed to comfort her now, and not vice versa. I muttered something incomprehensive and reached for my want to heal her bruises. She tried to object meekly saying that she'd been a bad mother and she deserved it but I wanted nothing of this crap; with a few small wand movements – basic healing spells, first year of Auror training – got rid of the bruises, then, not being able to restrain myself, kissed her gently on the same spot.
It wasn't right, it just wasn't, I knew that. We both sinned, we both – unwillingly – hurt people we wanted to hurt the least, when we engaged into our secret relationship. She loved me, had been loving me way back, even before she got together with Ron, and I could do nothing against my blossoming feelings towards her.
We still didn't speak; I knew she would tell sooner or later. So I just silently stood up and pulled her up as well and, still holding her hand, went outside into the small backyard. The roses Mum had planted were in full blossoming; their sweet scent filled the nightly air and apart from the buzzing of a few bumblebees who seemingly didn't notice it was well after midnight there was complete silence.
We comfortably sat down on a bench and she laid her head on my shoulder, closing her eyes. I raised my head and looked into the pale disk of the full moon, illuminating the landscape in the clear night. It felt as if it wanted to tell me something and I almost jumped up when I heard the soft voice. It took me a few heartbeats to realize that it was Luna who spoke.
“It was full moon the night I was born, Harry,” she whispered as if not willing to break the magical silence. “That's why Mum named me 'Luna'. She was the goddess of the Moon in Roman mythology.”
I looked at her silhouette as she was staring at the celestial object. She had something of a goddess, I had to admit. When in her company, however, one had to be patient if he wanted to discuss a particular matter; she did like to blurt out things absolutely not belonging to the moment.
“Did you know that I have a second name as well? I'm Luna Selene Lovegood,” she continued after a brief silence, stressing the name, looking at me with a curious glance. I calmly answered her glance, looking into those incredibly blue eyes, now at the faint moonlight only a lighter shade of grey.
“It's a beautiful name, Luna. Let me guess, is it also mythological?” I asked, trying to look well-read, which I obviously wasn't. She smiled, approvingly patting my shoulder and snuggling into my embrace.
“Good boy. Selene was also a lunar goddess, well before Roman times if that matters. See, Mum was fascinated with ancient times and cultures.” I nodded.
The first time I saw Aranrhod Lovegood, she was dressed in a simple white tunic, barefooted, her golden hair falling freely well below her waist tamed only by a simple wreath on her head. Pretty much like a Greek goddess on a fresco or in an “ancient history” school book.
It happened shortly after I'd come to the Shadowlands. After the initial shock of meeting my parents, my deceased teachers and friends wore off, one evening Luna dropped by at my place. Not saying a word, she took my hand and Apparated us away. The next thing I remembered was materializing in front of an impeccably clean, two-storey house laid from simple white brick, surrounded with a neat little garden.
The woman answering the door was exactly how I'd imagined Luna twenty years from now. Without saying a word, she reached out with her both hands and pulled me into a cluse hug; being a few inched taller than her, the leaves of the wreath she was wearing were tickling my nose and I sneezed loudly, flushing pink in embarrassment. That evening was one of the weirdest, but at the same time one of the most pleasant experiences in my entire life.
Aranrhod was a very kind woman, always speaking in a hushed voice. Apart from that, her voice sounded exactly like Luna's; in the beginning I was turning my head around trying to figure out why was talking. Later, I started to distinguish the two voices; Aranrhod spoke with a very slight, almost uncatchable accent due to her Welsh origins, as I was told. A few times during the evening, the two women, each other's best friends, uttered a few phrases in a foreign language, bursting out in angelic laughter. Later Luna answered my question; it was Gaelic they spoke.
Aranrhod Lovegood was a very powerful witch as well. Magic was radiating from her; the kind of powerful magic that electrified the air around her, causing the small hairs on my neck stand up. Either her magic was different from ours, or she was even more powerful then Albus Dumbledore; I never felt anything similar in the presence of my old mentor. The few times our hands incidentally touched I could swear I was feeling an electric discharge on my skin. She effortlessly conjured fire without a wand; nothing like Hermione's blue flames or the red fireballs Veela's were so proficient in. She researched and practiced the magic of the ancient Druids, this method of creating fire being a part of this almost forgotten art.
We talked much that night, of things important and unimportant, of good and bad things, drank foul-tasted herbal teas, ate weird fruits and berries I'd never heard of before. The hours flew by unnoticed and by the time dawn had almost broken in I felt almost all my pain and doubts being washed away. Leaving Hermione and our unborn child behind, in the world of the living, was still lying on my chest as a heavy rock, this pain would never go away, but I finally managed to make peace with the fact that I was dead, thanks to these two angelic creatures. I instantly liked Mrs. Lovegood, and Luna, well, she'd been a very good friend of mine ever since my fifth year.
When I, exhausted but for the first time in months smiling, was taking my leave profusely thanking the duo for everything, Aranrhod drew me aside. Closing her eyes, she muttered something in a language I couldn't place and drew a strange symbol on my forehead with her index finger. “This rune will defend you from anything dark, be it inside you or coming from the outside, Harry,” she whispered as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss my forehead on the same spot. “You've been Luna's best friend, these last few years. My door will be always open for you, should you need someone to talk to.”
I felt Luna shifting slightly on the bench and, as if mesmerized, shook my head, emerging from my memories. I knew in an instant she was ready to talk to me.
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