Observing Ron

He isn't talking to her. She isn't even sure if he's registered she's there. He just happens to be standing by her on the grass as they watch some of the seventh years practising counter-hexes and charms, the spells flashing in intermittent bursts, a new piece of magic every few seconds. She wonders why he isn't down there with them, but doesn't ask, humming a tune to herself as she watches one of his eyebrows twitch. She's always liked watching him. He thinks through a lot more than he says, and Luna likes that, it makes her laugh.

"Defence exam first thing tomorrow," he mutters. "Practical."

She doesn't say anything, but she tilts her head a little to listen to him, discovers she likes the position, and tilts it a little more, all her hair sliding in one long trail past one ear.

"Something's going to go wrong," he says to himself, shifting a little as he concentrates. "I mean, think of Herbology in the OWLS, and then that wimple-leafed thing just crumbled into dust before I even touched it, and I had Fred and George teasing me for two weeks after I got the results, saying I must've got hold of an early sample of their Dimming Draught to fail Herbology. I've got to slip some of that to Hermione," he says, remembering it suddenly, his face cracking into a brief smile.

Luna is still watching him, but she glances up at the sky at the same time he does, and watches the flight of the owl across the clear blue air, seeming to move so slowly. She's been telling everyone for days about the new article in The Quibbler, the one about the Owl Kidnap Charms the Ministry have in development, so they can suspend owls briefly in time and search the letters without anybody knowing. She'd loved the idea of an owl being frozen in mid-flight, but Hermione Granger had snapped out bullet-points from Theory of Charms as to why such a spell was quite impossible, and he'd retrieved Pigwidgeon from the teapot and said he wished someone would freeze him.

"But it's not like Herbology," he says, looking back towards the seventh years again. "I could've got B for Brain-Damaged Troll in that and no-one would've really cared, but if I fail Defence, they'll never let me train to be an Auror, even if Dumbledore does manage to wangle my Potions grade by saying I'm colour-blind, or something. And I dunno what I'll do if I'm not an Auror, I mean what else is there, these days, I mean imagine spending years and years training in Muggle Relations, or something, when all this is going on." He frowns slightly again. "And I know I'm going to mess up that Triple Mallicus counter-hex, I don't know how Hermione does it. I swear her wrist turned all the way round when she was showing me how to hold the wand - "

He goes on, but she can't hear what he's saying now. He is talking to himself, then. Well. She doesn't mind. She sees another owl swoop over the Quidditch Pitch, and wonders if she is stupid for believing in the Owl Kidnap Charms, as Hermione had neatly explained to her during dinner yesterday. The truth is, she thinks, I'm very good at believing. It was a talent, after all. Some people were good at dissecting and arguing, latching onto the weak point in an argument, shaking it all to pieces and blocking it away with their hands over their ears. Luna was good at believing, taking something up against her heart and feeling it ring true. It didn't simply extend to strange creatures, either; she believed people, at least when they believed themselves. She'd seen the truth in Harry's eyes in fourth year when he'd told his story about Voldemort, had believed the first year who'd told her just last week there were two dragons hatching in a hole in his floorboards. If it was true to them, it was to her, and she couldn't grow out of that.

"But then I thought, it isn't even much good being an Auror, is it?" He's forgotten where he is. He's stabbing the air to mark his point, eyes still fixed on the dancing mass of spells and students. "I mean, there's more and more of them getting killed each day, everyone knows that, and they're rushing them all through training, and all so - "

He's watching Harry now. She watches Harry too, casting a quick Petrification spell on Susan Bones, who is partnering him in practice for the duelling section of their exam, performing the counter-curse before she can even topple to the ground. She looks back at Ron. He's even more distant, staring blankly away, and she's truly fascinated now.

"I mean - that's how it'll end up, isn't it?" He shakes his head. "If I get to be an Auror. There'll be a group of us one night, rushing in to try and protect him, or something connected to him, because we could all die before they'd let him go." He doesn't look angry. He simply looks puzzled. "And no-one'll know we used to play Exploding Snap, like this morning, and I blew up half his cards and won three Sickles off him. Because he'll be the Boy Who Lived, and he'll go off and do things, and I'll just be - " He stops. He doesn't seem to know what comes next. "I'll just be one of the others," he says.

Luna feels her nose tickle, and in a moment she sneezes, a huge, exploding sneeze. Ron's eyes snap back into focus, and he looks almost alarmed, as if he's handed her a large platter of delicate objects and he doesn't quite know what she'll do with them. It's funny, the way he changes, and Luna watches even more closely; he starts slouching again, hunching down into the nonchalant, cool expression that he borrowed from Fred and George, along with the spare robes and the seventh year textbooks. He's careful to casually look over at the crowd of seventh years again, sticking his hands in his pockets. He almost starts whistling. "I'd better go and practice," he says casually, but his ears have gone red. "Defence exam tomorrow, I reckon I'll mess it up - " He breaks off.

"I believe you can do it," she says, even as he begins to wander away from her, as if he was never standing here at all. And she does. For a moment she can believe that he'll be the best in the year, with perfect quadruple hexes, let alone triple, and full marks in the exam. It's as clear in her mind as the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks were, in fourth year, and the Grinches, in fifth.

"What?" He pretends he hasn't heard, but she sees the corners of his mouth lift again, and his shoulders go back a little. Then he remembers. "But you believe in bloody Owl Kidnap Charms."

"Of course I do," she says serenely. "They're real, you know." There was believing and believing, after all, she thinks. There were different ways of knowing what was true, for different things. Different shades of the truth. Not shades of grey, that wasn't right, but shades of purple.

And she lets him go down to the crowd of students, which gradually looks tenser, more panicked, more desperate, where he casts thirteen spells in total, nine of which work correctly, and he doesn't look at Harry once.