Divinest Sense

divinest Sense

On the hundredth day of the sixth year, a Tuesday, Luna shows up for breakfast with no hair on. Not even her fellow Ravenclaws are prepared for this--there is a wash of murmurs throughout small parts of the Great Hall when she enters. All that remains is light, gold fuzz, and it makes her head look a bit like a peach.

When asked, Luna explains that she had shaved her head in the middle of the night because she was curious about the shape of her skull, and also because she was afraid of her hairbrush. Hermione is not the sort of person who deals well with things like this, and she murmurs that it's such a shame, to shave hair as pretty as Luna's was.

"Insubstantial," Luna had answered, with an almost ceremonial air. "Yours, though. Your hair is substantial." And she reached out and brushed a stray tuft from Hermione's face, then wandered away.

Hermione spends the rest of that day glancing nervously in reflective surfaces, and spends that night in fevered dreams of peaches. She wakes up sweaty and abstract, just before dawn.

On Wednesday, Hermione can't concentrate. This is a bad thing, because N.E.W.T.s are quickly approaching, and Defense is one of the most important subjects in times like these. Luna is in the class, because Luna has been in nearly three-quarters of the battles, and Luna sits directly in front of Hermione. Luna's neck is long and lean, her skull perfectly round. Hermione wants to touch the fuzz, to see if it was as soft and bizarre as it looked.

"It's true," Luna says quietly, halfway through the lesson. She doesn't turn around, but Hermione knows that she's talking to her. "What they say about losing your body heat through your head. I'll need more hats, I think."

It is January, and Hermione doesn't know how Luna manages in the cold stony castle. She finds herself knitting--she hasn't knitted anything since her fourth year, and had almost forgotten how, what with the war on--and presents Luna with a wooly purple hat on Thursday morning, sporting a blush. Luna smiles--it's the first time Hermione has ever seen her smile that widely, or look that lucid--and reaches out to touch Hermione's hair, just to the left of her neck. Hermione can feel the warmth from her hand, and Luna's fingers tangle there, and it might be incredibly awkward if it wasn't Luna. It is, though, so Hermione allows herself to reach out and touch Luna's hair, just behind her right ear. It's the softest thing she's ever touched.

They stand like that for a long, silent moment, and then somewhere a bell sounds and the rush of students washes the moment away.

On Friday, Luna wears the hat all day. Hermione incorporated a charm to make the wool twinkle and spark to reflect Luna's mood, because it's very simple and it seems like the sort of thing Luna might like. All morning, the hat sparks magenta and violet--rich, vivid shades that make the Slytherins nervous. In the afternoon, it's gold and vibrant orange, which makes the Hufflepuffs giggle and hug Luna at sporadic intervals. Luna doesn't appear to mind, and when she seeks out Hermione in the evening, the hat is twinkling crimson, which looks very nice with the purple.

She takes the hat off before saying anything, and holds it in both hands, close to her body. Hermione doesn't even think before reaching out to stroke the fuzz just behind Luna's ear, and Luna closes her eyes and leans into the touch, catlike. It's a moment before Hermione quite realizes what she's doing, and Luna looks disappointed when she pulls away.

"Thank you very much for the hat," Luna tells her. "It keeps my thoughts nice and cozy." She's gone before Hermione can remind her that that doesn't make any sense.

Saturday is for sleeping late and doing very little. Hermione uses Saturdays like they're the same as Tuesdays, though, and Luna finds her in the Library, entrenched in a veritable fortress of books about necromancy.

"It's too pretty today for death," Luna informs her, and Hermione jumps. She hadn't heard her come up behind her. "Look, it's so sunny. Come breathe the air today, it's good air."

"It's cold."

"Insubstantial. I've a hat, and you've got your substantial hair, we'll be warm. Do you keep things in it?"

Hermione has to turn around and look properly at Luna, at that. "Keep things in what?"

"Your hair." Luna touches her hair, pushes her fingers through as if searching for something. "Quills or sweets or Nargles? You could keep seashells in your hair, to remind you of the salt."

It doesn't make any sense. Luna's hat is twinkling turquoise then magenta then lime green and it almost seems to glint in the pale, bright sunlight that streams in through the high, remote Library windows. Hermione sees the spot where she dropped a stitch, and had to fix it with yarn from a different dye lot. The purple is darker, the wool thicker. It doesn't make any sense at all.

Luna leaves, and that night Hermione dreams of spinning Voldemort's shattered soul into yarn so she can knit a matching purple scarf.

Sunday, the castle sighs and naps. It's eery and peaceful and this time Hermione goes to find Luna. She marches right into the Ravenclaw common room, because she is an honorary member and no one really minds so long as she promises not to be too loud. Hermione, Gryffindor that she is, isn't as quiet as most Ravenclaws, but she's not so loud as to disturb anyone. She comes up behind Luna, and Luna looks around at once, smiles, and turns back to her book on South American Trade Disputes. Hermione leans over the back of Luna's chair, and slides her fingers up under the edge of the hat, just at the nape of Luna's neck. The fuzz is impossibly soft there, and Luna leans back into the touch and sighs happily, her eyes closing.

"I'm going to kiss you," Hermione informs her. "Upside-down."

"Yes, I know."

Some of the sparks from Luna's hat get caught in Hermione's hair, and several Gryffindors later compliment her on her House pride, her frizz emitting crimson twinkles when she moves her head.