How High the Moon?

How High the Moon?

Chapter 1: In An Azure Mood

Drifting, dreaming

In an azure mood

Stardust gleaming

Through my solitude

Here in my seclusion

You're a blue illusion

While I'm in this azure interlude

I'm not wanted

I'm so all alone

Always haunted

By the dreams I own

But though I'm tormented

I must be contented

Drifting, dreaming

In an azure mood

-- Azure, Duke Ellington

It was one of those days that begged people to come outdoors and slumber beneath the azure sky, but the young woman at the counter seemed to take no notice. In fact, she seemed to take no notice of anything - her blank stare was fairly spooky to the few customers that deemed their errand urgent enough to waste a moment of the glorious day. George always scolded her, a little, when he saw her like this, but he didn't know... Didn't know something that she couldn't say, something that made sense in that fog just after waking but could not be put into words when the sun touched her and showed the madness for what it was. Because what else is it, the voice in Virginia's head whispered, when you dream of Tom Riddle and wish he were back?

And so she was silent, and did not speak, but sometimes the reveries would come during the day and she would scare herself, wishing it would never end. No one wanted to tell her that her eyes glowed slightly scarlet; Virginia Weasley had not been entirely... stable... since Voldemort's defeat at Harry Potter's hands.

That was the beginning of the quiet, the silence that she knew made her mother fret, her brothers wonder, and the professors frown and shake their heads - where was that old, joyous Ginny Weasley? But it had been a dream, all of it, that last year at Hogwarts and all the years since.

An owl entered the shop with a whoosh, startling her; the eyes returned to their normal brown and the shop seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. The owl (Tawny, the voice of the old Ginny Weasley, Animal Lover Extraordinaire, prodded) looked at her with wide amber eyes as it settled on the cash register, begging adorably for an owl treat as she scanned the parchment.

Ginny--

How's dinner at Ron's and my flat?

Harry

The smile, she rationalized as she absentmindedly fed the longing owl its treat, is because the thing's written in eyeliner. And the smile faded after a moment, and she picked up the quill despite the guilt, and wrote "No" large enough to be read meters away.

It's not because Harry killed Tom, she assured herself as she sent the owl away, as he didn't know what in the hell he was doing. But who picks scabs? Anyway, she had a hard enough time at family dinners, Christmas... It was as if no one understood that she wanted to be left alone with her lovely nightmares (with Tom) and silence.

Her eyes became red and focused on nothing, and the shop emptied quickly as a gloom settled over all as if it had always been there.

()

Harry Potter rarely laughed, so Ron always tried to get past the pale stoic man that constituted his lover. Ron cringed, then, when their owl came back with Gi - Virginia's letter. No. Well, he figured, but it had been such a waste of their eyeliner... Not that they wore it most of the time, but oh, how Harry had laughed when he'd put it on - eyes still smarting from all the blinking and the unsuccessful attempts to apply it. He'd looked vaguely Egyptian; Bill would be pleased. If he wasn't dead.

"What I can't understand is, why'd she blame me? It was Voldemort that bewitched her, or whatever it was he did. But it's horrible to see her like she is... Oh, damn him, damn him!" Even Ron knew that this was not the time for a wise remark, and so he stayed silent, feeling the waves of Harry's fury and knowing again that this was not a man he envied. Nor, come to think of it, did he envy his sister.

"He's damned already, though, Harry. Maybe you did it, or maybe he damned himself. But either way, she doesn't blame you - doesn't know, probably, who she blames. She's not Ginny any more. I don't know; Hermione's the smart one!" It was not often that Ron said wise things, and the ideas rushed from him then in such a fury that he usually kept his mouth shut. But Harry's eyes sparkled and he wondered if that was almost as effective as his jokes. And, just like that, they were seated, Ron's arms about his lover, whispering in his ear.

"Yes. Well, if Hermione's the smart one, she'll be feeling rather threatened. And speaking of Hermione, she's inviting guests. And no, she wouldn't tell me who," he said, demeanor already brightening. Harry liked to cook, since Ron had failed miserably. It was comical, almost, the way Harry had begun to enjoy all of those small things after the Dark Lord's defeat. Maybe he'd always been that way, but Voldemort had always been bigger, darker, and more important. But they eyes were still green, the hair was still veritably wild, and the lightning scar was still soft under his fingers. But Harry was so happy now that it was hard to believe that he still attempted to banish the darkness, that he was an Auror, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. And Ron had loved him when he was fated to destroy the Dark Lord of die trying, and Ron loved him now.

"Probably some Ancient Runes scholar who doesn't understand that talking about work on pleasurable occasions makes one look like a horrid git. Or someone who eyes us like we're going to grow horns if he looks at us strangely. Hermione may be brilliant - I'll give Snape that much credit: hiring her was one of his better acts. But Hermione has the worst taste in men!"

"Yours is better, of course," Harry replied, smirking a little. Laughing - Ron thought he might die if Harry would laugh because of it.

"Certainly." Then he rose, stretched, and groaned. "I have to write something for the Prophet on how the Good Olde Days of Quidditch were better. Any ideas?"

"Write about how some of the new spells are making Quidditch too easy... Or about the players not being as good, and getting in for political reasons. Nothing Percy can control, or anyone else, unless the people under him adopt super-strict guidelines and actually adhere to them. Why are you writing this sort of crap anyway?"

"Quidditch Off-Season. They need something to fill the sports section. And to charge people for; you know the Prophet's more bloodthirsty for money than vampires are for blood. Besides, I can write it in ten minutes and they'll pay me five times as much as I usually make in a week."

"They're corrupt."

"No, they're being human. They're not afraid anymore - you saved them from their worst fear."

"And this is why I saved them? So they could rejuvenate the horrors of human nature, when it's obvious that that was what made Voldemort so evil, so horrible? So they could stare at us when we walk on the street, living our lives just like the rest of them, better than the rest of them?"

"You scare them, Harry. You save them, and then, because you're so famous, they all get wind that you're in love with your best friend, the guy who helped you defeat the Dark Lord..."

"You are not `the guy who helped me.' You're Ronald Weasley, whose application of Quidditch tactics was key to Voldemort not being able to kill me before I got my wand out. And maybe Hermione's book-brilliant, but hey, you have more common sense - remember our first year? And you can make me laugh like no one else. Furthermore, your taste in men happens to be better than anyone's, short of my own, of course. And, if that's not enough for you, you write excellent articles for the Prophet. `The guy who helped me' couldn't have done all that and still have such a dumb title, right?"

Ron admitted that he was insecure; Harry had learned this, learned to love him despite it, or so he let on. They'd grown since the Triwizard Tournament, he guessed.

"Do you know where Virginia lives?" he asked, not knowing how to thank Harry appropriately.

"Yes," he said. "Why?"

"Perhaps we could send Hermione and her guests there. I'd guess that it's dark and dingy, knowing Virginia now. It's better than just talking to ourselves and you feeling so guilty. You could cook whatever, leave it there; Hermione and her guests could be that ray of sunshine that Virginia needs. And furthermore, do you know how monumental an effort it is taking not to kiss you?"

"I have an idea." And from the grin on Harry's face, there would be laughter this evening.

()

"Harry and I are moving dinner to Virginia's house," came Ron's voice amidst the titters of her fifth-year Gryffindor-Ravenclaw class. And she'd just gotten them quiet, too.

"Virginia's? Are you serious? And my guests..." she hissed at the face in the fire, almost comically red at this point.

"You know how horrible she makes Harry feel. We're - he's cooking and leaving the food there; don't worry. If worst comes to worst, you can pretend she's a doll and leave early." Why was Ron's voice so loud? And why had he picked the most unruly class to send the message? They'd all be asking about the sex lives of her best friends instead of listening for the contents of the Runes of Medieval China test next week.

"Sure, Ron. Then I guess I won't see you there," she said, waving her wand, and Ron's face disappeared from the grate as abruptly as it had entered. "Now, class, the second section will review the number runes - and be careful; you've had trouble with that in class. Yes?" A hand, as expected, was raised.

"How does it feel, having two best friends that are gay lovers?" a Gryffindor girl asked her, smirking.

"May I remind you," Hermione replied, almost forgetting Professor Granger in her fury, expected though the question was, "may I remind you that my best friends saved our world? How would you like it if you saved my life - mine and my family's - and I was to scorn you for your personal life? Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who you so narrowly referred to as `gay lovers' not only love each other better than many of you will ever care for another, regardless of gender, but contribute more to Wizarding society than you could ever dream. Ron writes those articles that so many of you read during my classes, and Harry, despite immense physical and psychological damage obtained when fighting Voldemort, leads the Order of the Phoenix and works as one of the Ministry's best Aurors; he continues to fight the darkness that remains, as does Ron. Furthermore, my personal life, or that of my best friends is entirely my business. Twenty points from Gryffindor, not only for your uncouth remark, but also for your failure to recognize true courage. Class is dismissed - the test is on Monday, mind!" It was Friday.

After a few minutes of resolute silence, for no one in the class had any desire to stay to ask a question, she noticed the twinge in her stomach - tonight was going to be painful, and it was extraordinarily hard not to cry. Virginia (Where had Ginny, her old confidante, gone? Down with Voldemort, damn him.) would only stare at her blankly, and oh, how she had been looking forward to tonight! It had been a week when she regretted teaching, staying at Hogwarts, a week when she'd wished that Ron and Harry and been there to laugh away the tears that were now coursing down her cheeks as she sobbed. Sobbed for feeling lost and doomed, and for something that she could not explain, Hermione Granger though she was.

"Come, Miss Granger. Surely your own House would not reduce you so?" the voice came, and she became aware of how strange she probably looked - hair pulling out of the already-messy bun, eyes going red, nose running.

"No, Snape," she replied after struggling to collect herself - she would not embarrass herself in front of the Headmaster, though she still shuddered a little. "Dinner plans have changed. We're dining at Virginia Weasley's." There it was again, the twinge, that little biting fear.

"Ah." Even Snape understood, and handed her a handkerchief. "Am I still invited?"

"Of course," she replied, as formally as possible when drying her eyes. "But it will be horrible; she'll just stare at us and eat her food as if we're just wax figures, and..."

"And you think Severus Snape is afraid of a little silence?" he asked, slightly amused. She knew then that he would not mention the incident in her classroom, and was grateful.

"N-no. But don't you remember her when she was Ginny Weasley? She would tell me everything - so happy, I thought, and she always made me feel so brave and good; I always wanted to make her smile, she was so..." Then she stopped, her face gone a red to make Ron Weasley proud; she had said too much. It wasn't good policy, after all, to tell her employer what would upset her so. "And Remus is coming - do you have any idea how horrible it will be for him?"

"The man wallows in self-pity; there is virtually nothing you can do to help him." Snape's voice was as contemptuous as it had been when she was a schoolgirl.

"Then perhaps he can keep Virginia company. And at least he does not take his circumstances out on his students - he is still the best Defense Against the Dark teacher I've ever seen." Snape's face was dangerously white, and she said nothing more. The silence became something tangible, and Hermione packed her bag, not taking her eyes off Snape. Suddenly, he smiled ruefully.

"You have learned from your old self-pitying Potions master. I'll meet you at the Great Hall in an hour." And, as was his wont, he swept off with nary a sound.

It was only than that she realized she had been blushing since his voice had swept into the room, and it was only then that the fear ebbed a little.

()

As Virginia sat silently, spookily, throughout the day, so silently she Apparated to her flat in Diagon Alley, the usual pop barely distinguishable. The night promised to be as beautiful as the day had been, but what did that matter? Being frugal to the point of obsession, she had no windows. Moreover, there was some sound near the kitchen; it couldn't be that family upstairs - they'd left weeks ago. Suspicious, she entered the kitchen, and wand at ready, went on to the dining room.

She had to stand, blinking, for what seemed like an eternity; it was too strange not to be a dream. Virginia Weasley could not remember when people had last been to her flat for dinner, despite living there for nearly four years. It was only the pleading note that was obvious in Hermione's eyes that forced her to take her place at the table.

"Hello," she said, almost whispering. Remus Lupin smiled wanly at her, but Hermione and Snape said nothing. Suddenly, she was mad at them, intruding and breaking the silence. "Excuse me," she hissed, "but do you realize that you are intruding on my privacy? What would you do if I entered your home and began to eat dinner, make you do what I wanted you to do? You are absolutely horrid, loud, horrid, and you expect me to eat dinner with you?"

"Virginia," Hermione said, her voice barely anything but a moan, "Please. It was Harry and Ron... They thought you'd like it."

"I..." Somehow this reaches her somewhere, and she does not know what to say. "I like the silence. I like the darkness and the dinginess - moreover, Tom does. And Tom is kinder to me than you are; he comes and kisses me and tells me that he will make me queen. And you come and break it all - you killed him! Am I supposed to enjoy that?"

"Gi - Virginia. None of us knew what we were doing," Remus Lupin says wearily. Snape looks mildly shocked, as if he never expected the man to open his mouth. "We never knew you loved him. I am sorry, my dear."

After Hermione and Snape left, dinner barely touched and not seeming to realize how easily his arm fit about her shoulders as they Apparated, she put her arms around Remus Lupin, called him "dear," kissed him. They cried, and the bitterness was assuaged, a little. He was silent when he kissed her, took her into his arms; she could almost pretend that it was Tom.

When she awoke, the bed was empty and the day was just as silent as the day before.