|Ronald B. Weasley (geroffme) wrote in wished,|
@ 2010-01-07 22:03:00
|Entry tags:||!1998: 01, !incomplete, !plot, argus pyrites, harry potter, hermione granger, npc, rodolphus lestrange, ron weasley|
Who: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Xenophilius Lovegood, Fenrir Greyback, Rodolphus Lestrange, Argus Pyrites
What: Trying to get a grip on the Deathly Hallows
Where: The Lovegood house
Luna's home, as expected, had given them quite a bit to take in. Her father might have put out an honest article or two, but Ron was pretty sure he was truly insane, and creepy in a way he thankfully hadn't passed on to his daughter; the house itself was filled with all sorts of things he thought he would probably rather not know about, no matter how glad Lovegood seemed to be to talk about them. Hearing an old, familiar children's story warped into something sinister hardly seemed that unusual, here. Ron still wasn't sure what it meant, if it meant anything. It seemed likely that Lovegood - cracked as he undeniably was - had spent too long studying fairy tales and taken to wearing a nonsense symbol the same way he might decide that it made sense to hang a bunch of dirigible plums around someone's head to make them ... well, he still didn't understand that either. But he suspected none of it was worth spending much time thinking about. Magical objects that somehow allowed one to cheat Death were absolutely the sort of thing he'd expect to see in the Quibbler, and nowhere else.
Lovegood had left them to go fetch something to eat - hard to get excited about, considering the man's taste in everything else, but at least it left him alone for a while with Harry and Hermione. Ron was pacing slowly around the spiral staircase that ran through the house, being very careful not to touch anything, vague thoughts of an unbeatable wand drifting through his mind - when he glanced up the stairs to the next floor, and saw Harry's face staring back down at him. He blinked, and climbed a bit further up. His jaw nearly dropped as the ceiling of the room above came into view: someone had done it up in a mural, a very well-done mural, of Harry's face - and his, Hermione's, Ginny's, and Neville's. They were all connected by a flowing golden chain made up of one word: friends. It took him a moment to find his voice. He cleared his throat and looked away, oddly embarrassed. "My nose is not that big," he muttered, even as he decided that he rather missed Luna.