Fic: "Turn to Me With Frozen Lips," Luna/Dean, NC-17 Title: Turn to Me With Frozen Lips Author/Artist:green_amber Pairing(s): Dean/Luna Summary: A Christmas gift from Luna Lovegood is never dull. Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 2665 Warnings: Um. I honestly have no idea whether Luna would be 17 or 18 at the time of this fic, so I'd better warn for underage just in case. Author's notes: This was written as a gift for bsafemydeers at smutty_claus 2007, for the prompt "school uniforms and happiness"! :) Thanks to misfit_ragdoll and wook77 for the hand-holding and to aoibhe for the tuneage. Also. Hannah Abbott has a cameo role and I've put her in the wrong pub. It was an accident, but I think it makes more sense this way, so I'm sticking to it.
She was gone when he emerged from the shower. "Luna," he called, but the only answering sound was a soft tinkling waltz from the Crumple-Horned Snorkack ornament she'd made for the tree in the next room.
Dean finished toweling off and looked around for a note. It wasn't like Luna to leave without a word, and he'd been hoping they could go out for breakfast together, spend a quiet Christmas Eve in each other's company before the family visits they'd planned for Christmas Day.
His investigation turned up two presents under the tree that most certainly hadn't been there before. The larger of the two bore a sign: "OPEN ME FIRST." Dean tore away the paper and opened the box to reveal what was quite possibly the most bizarre gift he'd ever received, not least because it was already his.
It was his old school uniform, right down to the Gryffindor patch on the cloak and his name written in his pants. Another note fluttered out of the bundle of cloth. "PUT THIS ON--EVEN IF YOU THINK IT'S SILLY." Dean smiled and shook his head, wondering what in Merlin's name Luna was up to. If it made her happy, though, he'd do it.
It didn't fit right. The trousers were loose at the waist (he guessed from the months spent on the run) yet high-water at the ankles, and the shoes were too small. Dean was glad he remembered a few alteration spells from school. He doubted he'd retained any of the lessons about Muggle mending his mother had tried to teach him. Feeling ridiculous, he knotted his tie and topped the outfit off with the Gryffindor cloak, and picked up the second box.
If he'd thought the uniform was a strange gift, it was nothing compared to what he found in the second box: an empty butterbeer bottle, sans cork. "Luna? What do you want me to do with this?" he asked the air. He pulled the bottle from the box and felt a tug at his navel.
Oh, a Portkey, he thought as he was unceremoniously deposited in a drift of snow.
Dean looked around. He recognized the place instantly: the High Street, in Hogsmeade. Every shop was adorned for the holiday, dancing candle flames and fluttering fairy lights reflected in the tiny facets of the snow. Somewhere, someone was caroling, lilting voices raised to the low, slate-grey sky.
"Madam Puddifoot's," read the sign in front of him.
He'd been here once before, two years ago now, with Ginny. They'd rowed about something; he couldn't remember what anymore, only that it was probably something stupid. They'd been forever rowing about stupid things. He wondered where Ginny was now; they'd been colossally ill-suited, but he wished her well.
Luna waved at him through the diamonds of the window, her smile wide and welcoming, her hair liquid gold in the candlelight. Dean smiled back. There were times it seemed their relationship had come out of nowhere, a bolt from the blue, but there were other times it felt like fate had tugged him here, to this place and this moment, as surely as the butterbeer bottle had. His mind played tricks with the past, limning moments he'd never known were important, not at the time: Luna surprising him with her skill in the DA meetings, Luna making him laugh with her Quidditch commentary, Luna's hands gentle and sure as she cut his bonds.
He went in, sighing with relief at the warmth that enveloped his hands, and sat down across the small table from her. She was in uniform, too, and somehow the Ravenclaw colors surprised him. Of course he knew they hadn't been in the same House, but the whole House thing seemed so small now, when there had been a time the two towers might as well have been separated by miles. No one had really spent time with students from the other Houses. It was dumb, really, now he thought about it.
"So, what's the occasion?"
"It's Christmas Eve," Luna said brightly.
"I'd figured that out," he said. "But why the uniforms?"
"Mmm, not telling yet," she said.
Madam Puddifoot served them a delicious breakfast of crepes Suzette and steaming tea. Dean and Luna talked about ordinary things--that is, if there were ever anything ordinary about a conversation with Luna. They spoke of their families, Christmas gifts, Blibbering Humdingers, and the snow, which was falling harder now, filling in the footprints that dotted the High Street. Luna didn't bring up the question of their clothing again, and Dean knew better than to press the subject. She'd tell him when she was ready.
When they'd finished their meal, Luna tugged Dean out into the white-blanketed street. She led him into shop after shop. He wasn't sure what she was after, since she didn't seem to linger over any particular thing, didn't seem to be shopping for anything at all. The only thing she bought was a sugar quill from Honeydukes; he laughed as she tickled him on the back of the neck with it, then tried not to stare as she sucked the candy into her mouth.
Back in the street, snow dusted Luna's reddened cheeks. She's got to be freezing, he thought; the wind whipped her cloak to reveal the thin white knee socks of her uniform, and the snow was almost deep enough to swallow her little black shoes whole. Got to get her inside soon.
"My lips are cold," she said, and the solution to that seemed obvious enough. Dean bent to cover her mouth with his own, tasting sugar, tracing her lips with heat.
"That was nice," she said. "I don't think we can just walk around all day doing that, though. We might walk into things." Her eyes were wide and serious.
"Yes, of course. Can't have that," Dean said, though he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more than kiss Luna until the snow was up to their knees.
"I've got an idea!" she announced. "Let's go to the Three Broomsticks."
Shaking off snow from their cloaks and shoes, they went into the pub. "Morning, Madam Rosmerta," Dean called to the blonde woman behind the bar, but when she turned around she was not Madam Rosmerta at all.
"Hannah?"
"Hi, Luna; hi, Dean! I haven't seen either of you in ages. Come, sit down!"
"You work here now?"
Hannah nodded. "Madam Rosmerta's sort of taken me under her wing; she's teaching me everything she knows. And how about you two? You went back to school, I guess…"
"No, Luna's been helping her dad with the Quibbler, and I've been studying magical portrait-making."
Hannah blinked. "But the outfits…"
Luna gave Hannah a coy smile. "It's a long story."
Hannah nodded slowly, her expression seeming to say something like oh, another odd idea of Luna's. "All right, then. Would you two like some hot cider?"
"Yes, two please," said Luna.
The cider was wonderful, blessedly hot and spiced with sweet herbs. Dean smiled to see Luna warming up, loosening her blue-and-bronze scarf and dangling one shiny shoe from her toe. She took another sip, licking a drop of cider from her lower lip, and stripped off one mitten to place her hand on his. "You asked about the uniforms."
Dean nodded.
"Remember the talk we had a few weeks ago?"
"Which one?" Dean racked his brain, trying to remember what they'd talked about weeks ago, coming up with so many possible subjects he couldn't begin to imagine what Luna was talking about.
"I asked you if you had any regrets. About us."
It all came together in an instant. I said, "I just wish I'd noticed you sooner. When we were in school."
"This was the kind of date we might have had. If we'd gone out when we were at Hogwarts."
If it hadn't taken war and terror and blind chance to bring us together.
"Luna…" There was a lump in Dean's throat and he didn't know what to say. "You didn't have to…"
"But I wanted to," she said, tightening her grip on his hand. "Because I wish I'd noticed you back then, too."
"Miss Lovegood, the room's all ready," said Madam Rosmerta's familiar voice. Dean glanced past Luna to see her standing on the stairs, a feather duster in one hand.
"Thanks, Madam Rosmerta!" said Luna.
Dean grinned. "I don't remember that being part of any of my dates when I was at Hogwarts."
"I embellished a little," said Luna, grinning back.
They went upstairs hand in hand, taking the last of the cider with them. Madam Rosmerta had laid a blazing fire and heaped the bed high with fluffy, mismatched quilts. The room's one window gave them a view of the blank winter sky and the castle in the distance.
Luna sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. Dean stood transfixed for a moment, unable to move, just watching her: the graceful curves of her calves, the insouciant childlike way she wiggled her toes at the fire, the way she looked at him like he was good enough to eat. That somehow this unpredictable, delightful girl loved him, really loved him, was something he never quite got used to, something that was--like the shining face of the moon--forever made new again.
"Come here," Luna whispered, reaching out to take hold of his necktie. She pulled him in, tugging gently until he'd crawled into the bed with her, then until he covered her. Her body was soft beneath him. He pressed against her, self-conscious when his erection brushed her thigh, but she leaned into the contact, hands grasping his arse to bring him closer.
Dean was unbuttoning Luna's crisp white blouse when she suddenly gasped, recoiled. A little noise of alarm escaped her lips.
"Luna! Are you all right? Am I hurting you?"
Her eyes were fixed somewhere above him. "Mistletoe," she said, pointing.
Dean followed her gesture with his eyes. Sure enough, Madam Rosmerta had hung a sprig of mistletoe in the rafters above the bed. "You know what that means, don't you?"
"It means Nargles."
"Nargles?"
"Nasty little creatures. Live in mistletoe. We've got to get rid of it."
Dean stroked Luna's face and hair, trying to soothe her. "If it makes you feel better, I'll take it down. Where'd you hear about these Nargle things, anyway?"
He already knew the answer before she said it. "My dad."
"It's weird, I've been to your house, and your dad's got mistletoe growing in the yard, doesn't he? But the Nargles must be pretty shy, because they never attacked me then."
"Oh, they wouldn't. Daddy was quite clear; it's the kissing that really makes the Nargles angry. If you don't, they'll just leave you alone."
"What if your dad just made up that story to keep you from kissing blokes?"
"But Daddy wouldn't--" Luna fell silent for a long moment and closed her eyes; when she opened them again, there was something shadowed there that made her look years older. "I suppose I don't know what my dad would and wouldn't do, would I?"
Dean cursed himself for a fool and an ass. Now he'd gone and made her sad, when that was the last thing he'd wanted. He hugged Luna tight. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I'll take the mistletoe down."
Luna bit her lip. "No, leave it. I think we're a match for any old Nargle that comes along, don’t you?"
With that, she kissed him, long and slow and fierce. When they came up for air, Luna gave Dean a considering look and rubbed the material of his shirt between her fingers. "You look quite handsome in that outfit, Dean."
"Er…thank you. And you do, too. Look really pretty, I mean."
" I think I want to see you out of it now."
Dean had tied and untied his Gryffindor tie more times than he could count during his time at Hogwarts. Yet somehow watching Luna undress while he did it played havoc with his manual dexterity. It seemed like hours before he finally wrestled the damned thing off, and then he broke one of the buttons off his shirt at the sight of Luna leaning back against the pillows in nothing but her bra, knickers, and white knee socks. He forgot he was still in his trousers in the face of the irresistible urge to touch her, to have his hands on every part of her body.
He kissed her toes, her ankles, kissed his way up one of her legs until he met bare skin. "Let me get you out of these wet things," he murmured against her thigh, peeling the socks from her, running his hands over soft warm skin.
"I've got something else on that's wet," she said.
"Let's have a look, then," said Dean, slipping one hand between her thighs. He felt the heat from her before he even touched her. "You're right," he said as his fingers found the sodden fabric of her knickers. "Better get these off too."
Luna lifted her hips so that Dean could strip the panties off. "That's better," he said. He slid two fingers deep inside her, his thumb circling her clit slowly, firmly. With his mouth he kissed her nipple through the thin cotton of her bra; she moaned as his tongue echoed the rhythm of his hand. Yes, always new again, the thrill of her nipple hardening between his lips, the way she bucked against his hand to let his fingers move deeper.
Luna's breath turned to little soft whimpers; he was afraid he'd spill in his pants right then and there. Somehow he held on, distracted himself by focusing on her, stroking her harder in time with the sounds she made, until she gave one long keening moan and fell limp.
For a minute or two she was silent, still, a dreamy smile playing at her lips, lost in her own world. Luna was always beautiful to him, but she seemed even more so tonight, bathed in the firelight, content as a cat in the sun.
Her eyes opened, and met his. "Right," she said. "Where were we?"
Then Luna's hands were busy at Dean's trousers, fumbling with the button, brushing the length of him as she undid the zip. She caressed him through his underpants until he moaned aloud and shoved them off. In one quick movement Dean was inside Luna, held tight in that wet heat. He kissed her again and again as he moved within her.
"Merlin," he muttered, yes, just like that, yes. Luna moved her hips, rising to meet him, and too much, oh God, he was coming, spilling inside her.
They lay entwined for--he didn't know how long. The sunless sky did nothing to indicate the time, and Dean had an odd feeling of timelessness. As if somehow, this room was outside time, and as long as they stayed here, nothing would change, not a minute would pass in the world outside.
"Knut for your thoughts?" asked Luna.
"I was just thinking about time. And us." Dean thought about the wasted years, all that time at Hogwarts when they could have been together if he'd had the sense to really see her, and he wondered if maybe it was better that it hadn't happened then. Maybe they'd only have made a botch of it, broken up over the foolish sorts of things people rowed about in school. Maybe it had taken a year of hell to turn them into the right people for each other. He couldn't be sure.
All he knew was that here in this room, they were happy. And Dean intended to keep on making Luna happy for the rest of his life.
"And you know what?" said Luna. "No Nargles."
"No Nargles," Dean agreed, and once again did what people were supposed to do under the mistletoe.