The Chasm

True to her word, Luna returned promptly at five o'clock, appearing once again at Percy's office door as if she'd Apparated there, though Percy knew that she hadn't. He had not yet entirely made up his mind as to whether or not he would be going with her this evening. He had been arguing with himself since she left earlier, and it seemed to be going in circles.

The truth was, he didn't want to go to his flat. (How she knew that, he couldn't be sure, and he was trying very hard not to consider that she may have been watching him for far longer than he realized.) It was hardly more comfortable than his office, the only extras there being a bed (which felt cold, as he hardly ever slept in it, and the sheets never quite took on the shape of his body) and his own shower, rather than the one the Aurors used, which was sometimes less sanitary than he would have liked. All he would do when he got to his flat was, he knew, invent things to tidy and shop for food to replace what had rotted in his absence. It was a waste of money -- and time -- he knew, to keep doing that, but what else did he have to spend his Galleons on? At least it kept up the illusion of a normal life. A visit with Luna Lovegood would, at the very least, delay the painful drudgery a bit and bring him a few hours closer to Monday.

But the fact remained that she was stark raving mad. A decent cook, perhaps, and not bad to look at (Percy shook his head violently at that particular thought, as though she might be lurking nearby, Ogling Ocs at the ready), but undeniably mad. Wasn't she? She persisted in speaking of Fred like they'd just had tea together last Wednesday, and that was troubling at best. At worst, it was dangerous.

What made it worse was that he very nearly believed her, in all of her queer earnestness, which made him suspect that she was more than capable of driving him mad, as well. Would that be such a terrible thing, though? a macabre voice in the back of his head kept asking him, to be mad? Then he could put weeds in his hair and wander uninvited wherever he pleased and comment on peoples' backsides, too. And he could escape from his own rather sharp and wounding sanity, which reminded him hourly of what he had done. It was sorely tempting, though Percy doubted, somehow, that his brand of madness would carry quite the same charm as Luna's did.

Ultimately, however, it wasn't Luna's charm that brought Percy to her home. It was her body. Fully clothed though she was when she returned (both wrists now adorned with grass), she was no less startling. Without so much as a "Hello, Weatherby," she came through the door and immediately pressed her full length against Percy's back, winding her arms around his waist. He had barely time to sputter a "Miss Love..." and grab at her shoulder before he felt the familiar, squeezing sensation of Apparition.

Shortly thereafter, they were standing in an overgrown garden at the front of a small, squat building with weathered, though brightly-painted (it appeared to have been recently done), siding. Luna continued to hold tightly to Percy's waist for several seconds after their feet touched the earth, until Percy, recovering from his surprise, spun out of her arms, red-faced, to stare at her.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" he sputtered.

"Side-Along Apparition," replied Luna, simply.

"I know that! Why... are you... have you even passed the test?!"

"Of course I have. I've never even splinched. You smell nice. Very masculine." Luna started walking toward the building and stretched her arm out, gesturing for Percy to follow.

"Miss Love..."

"Luna."

"This amounts to kidnapping, you realize? I never gave my permission, and I haven't got any of my things..."

Luna stopped, turning around to look at Percy. "You don't have to stay. I'm not going to body-bind you, you know. I'm not that kind of girl. What things do you need? I have lots of things."

"My work, to begin with."

"You're miles ahead on all of it. It's all right. You're a very hard worker." She met Percy's eyes and tugged at the grass at her wrist. Regarding him openly, she asked, "Are you going to stay?"

Percy stared back. He was already here, though he wasn't entirely sure where here was. It didn't look like any place in Ottery St. Catchpole he'd ever seen. Luna's home seemed to have sprung out of the middle of a field, with much of the dirt and root still attached, by the look of things. Still, it smelled earthy and wet, and the crooked shutters and kaleidoscope of flowers around him reminded him of the Burrow. The sensation that hit his chest at that thought made him feel, for a second, as though his heart had been splinched. He inhaled deeply, and it shook on the way out.

"Yes, I suppose so. You went through a rather lot of trouble to get me here, so you must have a good reason."

Luna smiled. "It wasn't any trouble. But I'm glad you're here. I do have a reason. I bet you're hungry again," she said, her eyes coming to rest on his midsection. "I am."

____________________________________________________________


Over dinner (which, Percy hoped, again contained nothing "naughty," though Luna did not give him any specific reassurance this time), Percy learned quite a few things about Luna, though not the reason she had brought him here. She was, indeed, seventeen. She had left her father's home after the War and moved here (a bad infestation of Mucklethrakes there, she claimed, made the walls close in on her, making it hard to breathe.) Her favorite color was yellow. And she had put a Clearing Draught in
his tea to help get rid of his Sicklehorn Pikes. Percy almost spat the whole thing across the table. Only his sense of propriety -- and fact that, after ingesting three-quarters of it, he hadn't yet turned into an ironing board -- forced him to keep it down. He hadn't even noticed a funny taste.

"They're headaches," he admonished her. "Constricted blood vessels."

"That's what they want you to think," she answered, without a trace of irony.

And then, something truly extraordinary happened. Struck by the serious look on Luna's face and full of a good amount of shepherd's pie, Percy smiled. A genuine smile, not one of those yes-sir-right-away smiles, or one of those oh-no-you're-not-interrupting-me smiles. It startled him to feel the muscles in his face stretching, and he realized they hadn't worked of their own accord in quite some time. It didn't go unnoticed. Luna laughed outright at him. "What?" he asked sharply, drawing his eyebrows together.

"No, don't stop," Luna said, snorting. "Your smile is funny! I like it!"

Percy grew slightly indignant. "What's funny about it? It's just a smile."

Luna took a few deep breaths, composing herself before she answered. "It's not just a smile. It makes your nose crinkly, like a cute little bat. You have a bat nose!"

Before Percy had time to wonder if bats had noses (and if they did, whether they were, indeed, cute, or whether Luna was poking fun at him, or whether he should tell Luna that she was the only batty one present), the dishes had been cleared, and he was staring down at an empty table, and Luna was tucking her wand back behind her ear for safekeeping. "Did you have enough?" she asked.

"Yes, quite. Thank you, Miss... Luna."

Luna smiled. Then her face grew pensive. "I have something to show you." She came around the table to stand very near to Percy and leaned in so their faces were level. Her eyes were compelling. "But you can't run away."

Percy instantly grew anxious. This was what she had brought him here for. This had something to do with his brother. This had the potential to unravel him, and it made him queasy to think of unraveling at all, let alone with an audience. Still, he had chosen to stay, and he had done so knowing that this was coming. He steeled himself and said, "I don't run away, Luna."

Luna studied him carefully. "Yes, you do," she said quietly. It was almost a whisper.

Percy felt something rise up in his chest. His hands began to tremble in his lap, and he was about to round on her, but something in her face stopped him. There was no accusation there. No judgment. None of the insults he had been hurling at himself, silently and desperately, for what felt like forever. Her face was fair and warm and lovely. She surely wasn't going to kiss him, but that's what her expression reminded him of: that pause before something intimate happened, before two people shared breath. He knew that she was right.

"I won't now," he finally said, having drawn up his courage.

Luna reached down and tugged Percy's hand from his lap, urging him up. Wordlessly, he dropped her hand and followed her.

She led him into her bedroom. It was neat, but cluttered with folded stacks of clothing, crooked shelves filled with books, and various curious little treasures, most of which Percy would need to inspect more closely to identify. She had painted a mural across one entire wall of what looked like dragons and merpeople and several strange creatures Percy didn't recognize. The windows were bare, and, during the day, Percy surmised, the room was probably bathed in bright light. Now, with the twilight setting in, the room had a silvery cast that mirrored Luna's eyes and her robes.

Luna touched Percy's hip quietly and nudged him toward her bed. He sat down on the edge of her cheerful, fraying quilt and watched her pull open a small drawer in her bedside cabinet. From it, she withdrew a single, large stone and cupped it between her hands. She sat down beside Percy and drew her legs up so that she was facing him. He turned to look at her.

"A rock?" he said, now completely confused.

"It's a special rock. It's Fred's rock."

"Fred's rock?" Percy repeated, watching Luna run her fingertips over it like it was a bit of fur. It was gray. Building stone. Like...

"It fell on him," she said softly. "In the castle."

Percy drew back like he'd been slapped. He grabbed at his thighs, and he could feel his fingertips with a bruising hardness. All of the air inside of him had become trapped and was starting to burn his lungs. Luna made no move to comfort him, just turned the stone over in her hands.

She continued. "I was down the corridor when it exploded. I didn't see it fall, but I heard the noise, and when I turned around, the passage was almost blocked. I had to climb over a whole mess to get out. I didn't blast through it. I didn't want to hurt anyone." Luna moved her palm aside. "I saw you walking away, holding him."

Percy couldn't look at her. He was holding himself as rigid as he could, afraid that if he moved at all, he would bolt for the door like a coward or burst into sobs that might never cease. He didn't cry. Ever. And he had promised that he wouldn't run. So he sat, trembling with the effort of holding himself together, on Luna's bed, refusing to look at the dull brown stain that she was tracing with her fingernail.

"I tripped and fell. And when I looked down, I saw it."

The air was still. Percy hadn't breathed. Couldn't breathe. Luna reached out with one of her small, sturdy hands and pressed it flat against his back, and the air rushed out like a tremulous gale. Without turning to her, Percy, fighting for control of his voice, whispered, "Why?"

"We find what we're supposed to find, Weatherby."

"What," Percy coughed. His voice came out through a throat that was suddenly as narrow as a straw. "What does this have to do with anything? Why are you telling me this? Why did you show me that? It's... it's lurid. It's ghastly. There's something wrong with you."

Luna's hand closed on his arm fiercely, in the only gesture of any urgency he'd seen her make. "No. He left it for me." Percy tried to get up, but neither his wobbly knees nor Luna were letting him. "Don't run away," she said again. "This is how I know. About your name. Percy..."

Percy's head whipped around when she used his proper name. Behind his glasses, his eyes looked dangerous, but not in an angry way. In a broken way, Luna thought. His thin shoulders were shrinking into themselves. His lips were drawn tight.

"Percy. Weatherby. You can be stormy. But listen. When I sleep some nights, he talks to me. He's very funny, Fred." Her mouth lifted in an almost shy smile.

"You're having dreams," Percy said in a low voice.

"No," Luna answered. "Blood is important. When blood talks, it is very foolish not to listen." She sounded like she was repeating someone's advice; advice that she had taken straight to heart. Luna paused, eying Percy. "He hasn't changed so much, except that he worries. And I told him not to! I told him that once you're finished here, you're not supposed to worry. But he's like you."

Percy narrowed his eyes. The only similarities between him and Fred, other than their parentage, had been the color of their hair and the freckles on their skin. He shook his head.

"He is," Luna said, nodding in a sage sort of way. "Stubborn. You are both worse than Ronald." She paused. "I like him, though. I always liked him. He thought I understood, and I did. And I told him I'd help him."

"Understood what?" Percy said, his voice slowly starting to sound like his again.

"I'll show you," Luna said. "I have permission."

"Show me what?"

"What's underneath. Fred wants you to see what's underneath." Percy looked at Luna. She was replacing the stone in her cabinet. The drawer closed lightly, and she turned to meet his gaze. There was a question scrawled across her brow, as plain as if it were written in ink.

"Okay," Percy whispered, not knowing what she meant, not knowing if he could stomach what she meant, but feeling as though, now, there was hardly anything left for him to lose.

Luna's eyes took on a sort of glow, and she encircled Percy's thin frame with her arms. He sat stock still as she laid her cheek against his shoulder. His stiffness didn't deter her. She embraced him like she meant to pull him all the way inside of her, through her robes and through her skin and into that strange, boundless, four-chambered place beneath her ribs that pulsed with a life that he'd forgotten existed.