Fantasy and Nonsense

Fantasy and Nonsense

There were flames; a red and orange blaze engulfed trees, turning the brown bark a sickly ashen grey. There was screaming coming from all directions; a hundred voices crowding the air, calling for help. For mercy. There was pain and fear, and it was as dense as the black smoke that quickly filled the scene.

There was Luna Lovegood sitting amongst it all, twirling her hair around her wand, and singing softly to herself as the world burned down around her.

Ron was used to bad dreams; Harry had had them for as long as he could remember. And as a consequence of their friendship, and of a world suddenly turned upside down, Ron was having them, too. But unlike the other dreams, even that worst which found him jolted awake in tangle of sheets soaked with sweat and tears, this one was the most horrid. This was the worst of the lot because he wasn't asleep; he was wide awake, and the sight played out before him as if it wasn't a dream at all.

It was only a few weeks after Sirius's death and Number 12 Grimmauld Place would no longer welcome any of them. The house refused them entry and they were forced to hold Order meetings in a different location each week; meetings Ron was still not privy to. This summer he would be at home, separated from his friends until the start of the new term.

It was a hot afternoon in June and he was at the Burrow in the paddock behind the house, under the tree with the forked trunk. This was reality as he knew it to be mere seconds before. Until it wasn't real anymore.

He couldn't deny the fire that scalded his face, nor the screams that stabbed his eardrums. Not the pain that pricked his skin. Not the fear that twisted his gut. Not the smoke that burned his eyes.

Then he blinked and the vision vanished, and he was once again in the paddock behind the house where he remained long after the sun had sunk past the horizon.

The visions had started almost immediately after the events at the Department of Mysteries and only grew more vivid each day. He had learned to deal with the dreams; after too many restless nights he dragged out his grandfather's old books and found the recipe for a Dreamless Sleep Draught. With the Ministry finally acknowledging the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, and the Order regrouping and recovering, it seemed only fair to give the students some leeway in regards to underaged magic. With each vial he emptied, he was more and more grateful that he was granted those privileges. But now it seemed that even that wasn't enough. The ghastly images that plagued his nights found their way into his days, and there was yet to be potion created that could stop that.

~*~*~

Luna's family didn't live too far from the Burrow. Though he normally stayed away from the Lovegoods', that summer he visited their home several times a week. Each time he found it deserted. They were gone, probably on some insane expedition, and all Ron could do was sit and wait in the garden where she had planted rows of tin cans and rubber shoes, and stare at a house painted bright yellow with pink doors and black trimmed windows.

The summer came and went, and for the first time in his life Ron thought it was far too long. He couldn't ever remember a single instance when he wanted to get back to school so badly, but all he could think of for weeks was finding Luna and making sure she was all right...or as all right as someone like Luna could be.

This would be his first train ride without Harry, who was already at school, where he was undergoing some private training. Ron thought idly that at one time in his life that would have bothered him. Somehow, Harry was considered deserving of special instruction and he, Ron, who had been by his side throughout almost every battle, was not worthy of the same dispensation. The thought came and went as he ran to catch the train just as it was leaving the station.

Hermione gave him a quick hello and a hug before leaving to make her rounds. She too was otherwise occupied this summer: with her family, some research work for the Order, and Terry Boot. He thought, almost amusedly, that this would have bothered him once, too. Yet neither thing affected him in the least.

Ron had other things on his mind.

He had spent last seven weeks of summer trying to differentiate between the tangible world and the one that seemed to exist only to him. As the long months progressed, the images got stronger and stronger until the point where he needed to leave notes to remind himself where he was: it's July 11, Friday, Charlie to visit today, Tonks to meet Bill at 6 PM, Mum making fried fish for dinner. He kept these notes in his pocket and would occasionally pull them out just to remember.

Once he went through a whole week with nothing happening, leaving him feeling as though everything was fine. Perhaps, he was finally over whatever was giving him these horrid visions. Then, suddenly, he'd black out and found himself wandering through St. Mungos looking for a friend among a dozen unseeing faces. The only constant throughout all his visions was Luna Lovegood; in this case, she was sitting next to a catatonic Neville, reading him a bedtime story.

She appeared in the most unusual places: sitting amid smoldering ruins of buildings, floating underwater and swimming through the wreck of ships, hovering in the air over the Earth as it quaked and split open beneath her, dancing around the skeleton of a basilisk in some dark cave, running with a werewolf as it tore a body to shreds. In every instance the world was falling apart around her and she was happily ignoring it all, oblivious to the devastation that surrounded her.

It was clear to Ron that Luna was in danger and she was unable to see it coming, or perhaps unwilling to acknowledge it. He didn't think Luna was so stupid as not to realize that there was something unpleasant going on and that she was in the middle of it. He did think, however, that she had a odd sense of things, a distorted view of reality, and should he not intervene she might find herself in a position she would not be able to get out of.

He opened every compartment he passed and made inquiries of each student, the train engineer, and the lady with the trolley of sweets; no one had seen Luna. In fact, no one had seen her since the end last term. Ron felt his stomach twist with every, "Haven't seen her" and "Don't know where she is." He had to restrain himself from doing bodily harm to Zacharias Smith, when he answered Ron with a haughty, "Who cares?" but didn't bother to restrain himself at all when Draco Malfoy said she was probably "wandering around London and doesn't even realize she's lost." While there was a possibility that Draco was right, Ron could never turn down a chance to hex the little ferret.

When they had finally arrived at Hogsmeade Station, nearly four hours later, Ron was exhausted; he hadn't sat down once during the entire trip...and he hadn't found Luna Lovegood.

Ron was in a panic. He realized quite suddenly how much Luna had invaded his thoughts over the last few months, how frantic he was that she might be hurt, and how much it meant to him to keep her safe. Even now, as students all rushed about gathering their belongings, calling to each other across the crowded platform, all Ron could think of Luna and how he wanted to reach out to her. To hold and her and protect her from anything that would attempt to do her harm.

~*~*~

She wasn't at the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast. She wasn't at breakfast the next morning. He corned Ginny in the common room that night only to find out that Luna wasn't in any of the classes they shared. Ron asked around for days, but most of the students either didn't know her or didn't care. He asked his professors and got a "You needn't worry, I'm sure she's fine," from Professor Flitwick, a "Perhaps you should be a bit more concerned with finding your way to class, Mr. Weasley," from professor McGonagall, and a "ten points from Gyffindor for inane question asking," from Snape.

He couldn't understand why no one was concerned that a student was missing. There was a war going on, wasn't there? Had everyone forgotten that there were maniacs on the loose? Was he truly the only one who cared that she might be hurt? Just because Luna was a bit bizarre didn't mean she didn't deserve his concern. Or his compassion.

Luna saw the world differently than most. She said what was on her mind even if no one else truly understood. Was that a bad thing? In truth, Ron admired that about her. One if his greatest fears was looking a fool in front of his family and friends. Luna didn't seem to care in the slightest what others thought. She let their words wash over her without even bothering to blink. She never stammered or blushed or apologized needlessly. He envied that.

Ron sometimes thought he's like to visit the world Luna lived in. He wanted to see a place he always imagined was full of bright colors and odd sounds. He wanted to see Blibbering Humdingers and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. He wanted to see Narlges in the mistletoe.

Something stirred inside Ron when he thought of Luna, something that told him that keeping Luna safe meant keeping part of him safe, too. The part of him that still believed in fanciful creatures and extraordinary things. In flights of imagination and the stories of his childhood.

He didn't understand it all, didn't understand when he started to think of things like this, but he was. He was seeing the world differently. He was seeing Luna differently. He paused as he wondered which caused which.

It was three days into the term and she still hadn't turned up. Dumbledore was away tending to changes at the Ministry. Hagrid was doing whatever Hagrid did with the animals in his care: Ron didn't ask too many questions. Filch was busy with his whining and his cat. There was no one left to ask and just the night before he saw Luna singing lullabies on a battlefield littered with dead bodies.

The time had come for drastic measures.

In a panic he remembered Umbridge's old office, and wondered briefly if the Floo network was still hooked up. He sprinted to room which had remained locked since Umbridge left the school so many months ago. No one wanted to use it after Umbridge; they couldn't get rid of the smell of mothballs and catnip no matter what spells they used. With a quick "Alohomora" the door popped open.

The room was bare save a desk, a chair, and several empty bookshelves all covered in a thick layer of dust. The fireplace was cold and empty. Ron shouted "Incendio" as loudly as he could, and the unfilled space in the hearth crackled and burst into flames. He grabbed a handful of the Floo powder that remained on the mantel and clearly stated Number 75 Astrid Road, Wiggaton. Seconds later, he tumbled in the Lovegood's sitting room. He lay sprawled on the ground, sputtering soot and wiping his eyes only to open them and see the end of wand pointed at his nose.

"Odd," said a wonderfully familiar voice. "I'm not hunting Weasleys today."

"Luna!" Ron cried. "Where in blazes have you been?"

"I've been in Mozambique," she said casually. "I've never been to Blazes. It is in South America?"

Ron sat up and smiled. It was glorious to hear her ridiculous banter again. "Yes, South America. I think that's right," his voice was laced with a sarcasm he knew she wouldn't detect. "What were you doing in Mozambique?"

"Can't tell you." she said dully. She stuffed her wand behind her ear and quickly twirled her long blond hair. She then took her wand and slid it through the loose bun so that it held her hair in place. "I've been on a secret mission for Dumbledore and I can't tell anyone about it."

Ron jumped up off the ground, "You've been going on secret missions? Are you insane? Do you realize the danger you're in?"

"It's only dangerous if one doesn't know how to properly handle a three-toed, purple-striped, horned Flazeebo, Ronald, and I've known all my life."

"A three-toed, purple-striped, horned Flazeebo?"

"Yes," she said brightly. "Beautiful creatures. Very Rare."

"And you went to find these things?" he asked half incredulous, half impressed. "Why?"

"They have the ability to see perfectly in pitch blackness and can throw their claws like spears for great distances with perfect accuracy. The claws release a poison that makes their victims speak in tongues. I discovered them while going through some back issues of The Quibbler. I went to Dumbledore straight away and he agreed that they could instrumental in defeating Voldemort forever."

Ron felt the beginning of the headache he should have seen coming. "A three-toed, purple-striped, horned Flazeebo? It makes people speak in tongues."

"Yes," she said, somehow making her already buggy grey eyes widen.

"And how exactly is that going to be instrumental in the defeat of the Dark Lord?" he asked warily.

"Because each victim will speak in a different tongue."

"And?"

"Oh, silly Ronald. They very well can't communicate with one another if they are all speaking different languages. They'll get all confused and panic, and in the commotion we can run in and capture them." Her eyes sparkled and she was smiling. Ron had never really seen her smile before; she always seemed to have a more neutral expression on her face. She looked different when she smiled, almost normal.

An odd feeling came over Ron. The usual annoyance he felt when Luna started talking about one of her odd creatures was replaced with something else. She was completely serious and totally sincere. Part of him wanted to laugh and tell her exactly how insane her ideas were, but he didn't. He was surprised to find that her logic, as peculiar as it was, made sense in a way. Yes, it was harebrained, but it was also fantastic and whimsical, even hopeful. Part of Ron wanted to laugh, but part of him found he truly wanted to believe her.

If this past summer taught him anything it was that not everything is what we think it is. That one cannot always believe what is before one's eyes because reality can become distorted and confused. That one must sometimes have faith in things, even if they make little sense at the time. Luna held these bits of fantasy and nonsense and dreams to be truth. Accepted them to be as real as anything else she could touch or taste. Perhaps, even more so because she couldn't touch or taste them. They could only exist if she believed in them, so she did, she did believe in them with all her heart, and through that they found life.

So many things in Ron's life until that point were a bit ridiculous, weren't they: a mad man coming out of a diary, a murderer hiding as his pet rat for twelve years, a polyjuiced professor spiriting his best friend away, a centaur teaching Divination. Why were Luna and her creatures so difficult to accept?

She stared at him with the same scrutiny with which he stared at her, and quite suddenly she asked, "Why are you here, Ronald?"

Her words roused Ron from his thoughts. He had nearly forgotten why he was there, why he needed to find her in the first place. "I've been seeing you...in my dreams. Well, they're not really dreams because I'm not sleeping, but I see you, and you're hurt."

Soon he began talking of his summer. He spoke of burning trees and wrecked ships and earthquakes and werewolves and blood and death and Luna did nothing more than stare unblinkingly as he went on and on. He surprised himself with the details he remembered, with the minutiae that he was able to repeat and how descriptive he could be.

Ron was nearly out of breath when he finished, when he said all he could, and waited for her response. Luna's expression stayed neutral, in fact, it had hadn't changed one bit throughout his entire diatribe. He thought she would begin crying or screaming or something other than just staring at him. Didn't she hear him? Didn't she understand that she was in danger?

"I thought you said I was hurt," she said plainly.

Ron's eyes went wide. "Didn't you hear what I've been telling you? Did you not hear about the fires and the ruins and everything?"

For the first time in his recollection Luna looked thoroughly confused. "It sounded to me like the rest of the world of hurting, but that I was all right. It sounded like everything else was falling apart, but I was unharmed. I was the only one who was safe, Ronald."

Ron made a sputtering noise that was meant to be a response but it died on his lips before he was able to utter a full word. She was right. Loony Lovegood was right. The visions didn't show that Luna was in danger at all. They showed that she, above anything or anyone else, was untouched.

And suddenly Ron's reality twisted again. For months he worried that this person, as silly as the creatures that she constantly spoke of, was going to be hurt. He was so consumed with that he thought of little else. But, perhaps his visions were not meant to show that he must protect Luna, but that he must listen to her. Perhaps he needed to learn to believe in bits of fantasy and nonsense and dreams. Perhaps the key to the world lay in the hands of those who are willing to trust in things that one could not touch or taste, but that one had to have faith in, to believe in with all their hearts.

"Luna," he said shakily. "Did you ...did you catch a three-toed, purple-striped, horned Flazeebo?"

"No." Luna smiled brightly. "I caught two."

Finis