Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: eeyore9990From: ozma_katiebellTitle: Silver and GoldCharacters/Pairings:
Dean/Luna (Fleur/Bill mentioned in the background)Rating:
Hair-eroticism, fingering, oral, outdoor sex, masturbationOther Warnings/Content:
Canon character deaths mentionedWord Count:
"Even in the darkest hours, Luna makes everything brighter." A story about Dean Thomas learned to paint in colour again. Author's Notes:
Thank you so much to S for the last minute beta and suggestions. You made this far better than it was. To my recipient, Happy Kinky Kristmas, and I hope this didn't venture to far into the dark side for you. Thank you for letting me tell a story that has been lurking in the back of my mind since 2007.
I don't like to talk about that winter all that much. I reckon my mum would say I'm trying to bury my feelings, and that I'll never be free of them if I pretend they don't exist. But it's sort of her job to say rubbish like that, and, let me tell you, it isn't easy to be the only son of a single mum who shrinks other people's heads for a living but never quite worked through her own abandonment issues.
Truth is, I don't need posh words to explain what I'm feeling and what I felt. It's all there, just waiting to escape through my fingertips. Every emotion ever felt during that fucked up year; every moment of sleepless fear that I'd wake up to find a wand at my throat, (if I ever woke up again) every pang of my empty stomach, the stench of the homeless camps, the long, serious, whispered conversations with Ted--they're all there on parchment.
Some of the pictures of that year were made on the run, scribbled on whatever bit of parchment or paper I could find (sometimes with actual charcoal from the fire). There is even a quick sketch of a mournful eye featured on the back of a Tesco receipt, of all things. But even the later scenes, the ones from the cottage--they're all grey. The eternally gray winter sky, the 'dove' grey top of my grubby tent, my filthy, tattered (formerly white) socks, Ted's thick, steely hair, Ragnok's colourless, lifeless body.
Luna was the first bit of colour I could bring myself to paint. Of course, even that started out grey. Her eyes, as grey as my heart, drew me in--but instead of despair, they were filled with compassion and understanding. I was vaguely aware she probably went through far worse than I did, but she treated me like a rather large, injured pet, whom she felt inclined to nurse back to health.
I'm afraid I was rather impatient with her at first, and I rebuffed her advances, desperate to be alone with the sketchpad and charcoal Ron's brother had kindly procured for me. I never considered what else she'd decided to do with her time once she'd stopped trying to claim a portion of mine. I saw her huddled with Ollivander from time to time and, of course, across the table at the few meals I showed up to.
On a walk one afternoon, I came upon her unexpectedly. She was in the cove, floating far out past the gentle waves. The contrast of her golden hair, spread around her like a crown of kelp on the silver water, absolutely mesmerized me and I felt that old familiar charge that had my heart speeding up and my skin breaking out in goosebumps. I needed
to paint the waves of silver and gold mingling together, even if it meant using Fleur's stupid, poncy watercolours. I had to get it out of my head or I'd go mad.
I finished it in one afternoon; a sea of gray and a splash of yellow mirroring the gloomy sky and the sun struggling to break through the mist.
It's still one of my favorite pieces.
When I caught her looking at it a few days later, I felt violated. It was akin to her having looked at me naked, and I'm afraid I was a bit short with her then, too.
She didn't snap back at me, not Luna--she just kept looking back at me with eyes full of understanding. There was a bit of hurt in there too. It gave me a pang, I don't mind admitting, but also a little glimmer of sick satisfaction which me wonder if I'd have had it in me--had I'd been left longer in that dungeon--to join in and hurt people on purpose, the way my father had reportedly done.
Luna's voice pulled me away from my darker thoughts. "It's really lovely, Dean, and I'm sorry I looked at it without asking. Maybe someday you'll show it to me on purpose?" As she turned and drifted serenely away, it occurred me that she hadn't tried to point out that I had violated her privacy even more by my painting her without permission, and I felt my cheeks burn in shame.
Later that day, I tried to smile at her across the table at dinner, but she seemed to be looking everywhere (and at anyone) but me.
I lay in in my makeshift attic bed for hours that night, tossing and turning, my thoughts, as usual turning to Ted. Would he have gotten away if he hadn't been firing away in my defense? Did he understand what he'd meant to me? Did his wife even know he'd died?
I didn't want to think about Ted. I had so many pictures of him in my head that I wasn't ready to paint. As I frantically tried to fill my mind with images of anything but my months spent on the run with him, I was presented with a picture of Luna, holding my painting almost reverently.
Of course, that brought its own guilt with it, so I thought specifically about her face. I painted it in my mind, lingering on her eyes; so wise and compassionate. It was all so clear in my head that I threw aside my covers and lit a candle, sitting down at the window. I'd left it open a crack, (an action likely to engender Fleur's muttered Gallic disapproval the next day) so the candle flickered and wavered, but I managed to scratch out the lines of Luna's eyes on the parchment. I smudged and softened the lines with a tissue, and that was when I knew I'd got it right. There was nothing sharp about Luna, other than that brilliantly unbalanced brain of hers.
I wasn't sure I was going to be able to manage her smile, as tired as I was, so I saved it for the next day.
I still tossed and turned, but the thoughts that filled my head were mostly good--so good, in fact, that after some time, I lay on my stomach, cock in hand, grinding down into the mattress until my hand and sheets became covered in spunk.
After the sun rose the next morning, I tried to work on Luna's smile. After what seemed like hours of fruitless labour, it occurred to me that it had been a while since I'd actually seen
her smile, and maybe that was my own damn fault.
Breakfast had long since been eaten while I'd struggled with my charcoal and parchment. Fleur had left out some coffee and pastries and I could hear her out in the garden, singing. They'd probably shagged that night. She always sang after they shagged.
I grabbed a couple of croissants and poured a glass of milk from the jug on the counter.
Might as well not spend the day under the thrall of Fleur's (likely stronger than usual) brand of magnetism, I thought. Instead I walked down the steep, winding trail to the shore.
I reached the cove to discover that Luna had obviously just finished a swim. She now lay on the beach, framed by a bright blue blanket, her hair golden in the sunlight, her skin pink-kissed ivory, her swimsuit silver.
"Hey, Luna," I said, feeling a bit creepy about once again watching her unobserved.
She turned and blinked slowly at me. "Hello, Dean. Are you here to swim, too?"
"Huh?" I asked. "Oh, no; I don't swim much, actually. And anyway, I don't have a suit." Stupid,
I thought. What did she care about my nonexistent wardrobe? It was lucky that Bill and I were somewhat of the same size, or I wouldn't even have had any clean underpants.
"Oh," she said, nodding, her face seeming somewhat puzzled. I waited for her to say something else, but she just kept looking at me blankly.
I continued, "Actually, I came here to look for you."
A small rise in the corners of her mouth suggested she could have been pleased that I'd sought her out. At least that's what I was hoping. Fingers crossed, I tried to make amends.
"Luna, I'm sorry I was such a prick yesterday. I don't know what's come over me lately. But I had a lot of nerve having a go at you for looking at a painting that never would have happened if I hadn't invaded your privacy in the first place."
"I didn't mind, Dean," she said. "We're all a bit out of sorts lately, aren't we? I'm told it's a common enough side effect from the war. I know it can't have been easy for you, running from Snatchers for months on end. I suppose I was lucky. The worst had already happened, and I did have Mr. Ollivander for company, at least. I'm very sorry to hear you lost your friend."
I had forgotten how painfully blunt her observations could be, and quite frankly, I felt ashamed that she'd felt the need to defend me to myself. Really, I had no right to complain. At least I hadn't been tortured, had I? What horrors had she been subjected to before I got to the dungeon? Ollivander's hands had been crushed, anyone could see that. I shuddered to imagine not being able to use my hands. If old Ollivander felt even remotely about wandmaking the way I felt about my sketches, it had to feel like part of him had died. What would they have done to me if I'd stayed?
Luna interrupted my self-flagellation, saying perhaps, the one thing that might have distracted me from the guilt I was sure I'd earned.
"I thought perhaps it was because I hadn't been wearing one that day. A bathing suit, I mean. I thought you were embarrassed that I'd found you looking, and that was why you were cross with me. But then it occurred to me that you might have been offended that I hadn't worn one too, so I started wearing one again."
"I don't-". I sputtered, my mind reeling. Truth was, I hadn't even noticed. Seamus would have been so ashamed of me. I'd had an impression of a mermaid or a kelpie, but at the time, I'd been seeing her through the lines of a paintbrush. I had coveted her as a subject, not as a naked girl.
But it was certainly something I needed to address. I wasn't a pervert, after all. Much. "I didn't--I didn't mean to spy on you, Luna. I'm sorry."
"Oh, I don't mind," she said, waving away my obvious embarrassment. "Why should I care if someone sees me without clothes on? Especially when it inspired you to paint something so beautiful."
I could feel my cheeks heating up. Yeah, I'm as susceptible to flattery as the next bloke. And maybe she'd got me thinking about seeing her starkers, too--I'm only human. I tried to change the subject. "Isn't that water freezing?"
"It would be, but the Weasleys know their Warming Charms."
I nodded, feeling sort of stupid. There were so many things that I didn't know, hadn't heard of and wouldn't have thought of, growing up Muggle. Pretending that I understood had become an ingrained habit.
"They're not fond of swimsuits either," Luna continued, "Fleur and Bill, I mean. When they come out here to swim at night. They put up privacy charms, but it's not hard to tell."
I coughed, unsure how to reply. Finally, I blurted out, "Luna, may I paint you? I mean, I know I already did, but--would you sit for me?"
Luna sat up. "Right now?"
"No, I haven't got my sketchbook with me," I explained, and, come to think of it, I was disappointed. The light here was absolutely brilliant and Luna, looking sea-kissed and ethereal, would have made an even more brilliant subject. How I missed my wand and the ability to Summon things. (And the ability to cast a simple Cleaning Charm, I mused, my cheeks heating up at the memory of my stained sheets this morning). "Maybe this afternoon?"
"Will you let me look at it when you've finished?"
"I'd like that very much."
I drew her in the garden, surrounded by lavender. Fleur was upstairs tending to her two wounded charges, singing both of them into afternoon naps. The Holy Trinity were huddled together on the far side of the property as usual, plotting their Very Important Business.
Luna was a perfect model; she had the ability to sit still for longer than anyone else I'd ever drawn, including Seamus while he was sleeping. After an hour or so, I studied the sketch on my lap, knowing I was rapidly approaching the point where adding more to it would make it worse, not better. However, I still wasn't quite happy with the thing.
For one thing, Luna wasn't smiling. But I'd got the shape of her mouth down fairly well, and the luminosity of her eyes, (which had been easy, this second time) and I think I managed to convey how her hair reflected the sunlight in a way which brought to mind renaissance angels.
I suspected it needed colour more than anything. The silvery purple of the lavender behind her and the pale blue of her sarong, perhaps. I made plans to break out the watercolors later that evening.
So focused was I on with what was wrong with the sketch that I didn't notice Luna had abandoned her pose until I felt her hand on my shoulder.
"Oh," she said. "I hadn't realized I looked so sad. I wonder why?"You would know,
I thought, as I looked up at her and smiled, trying to lighten up the mood. Frowning really didn't suit her. Of course, what she was saying also sounded like one of the tactics my mum used when she was trying to get me to talk about my feelings. Not that I suspected Luna of anything so underhanded. I tried to make a joke. "I'm told it's a common enough side effect of war."
"I suppose it is," she said, and turned those remarkable eyes of hers on me fully, making my stomach flop around a bit and causing me to completely forget what I was going to say next. Apparently, she'd felt something like it for she began to lean down towards me, bringing her face close to mine. Kissing her seemed inevitable, though it had never occurred to me before (not even the night before, as I'd had a wank while thinking about coming across she and Fleur and Hermione mid-threesome).
I moved to meet her the rest of the way, licking my lips just before I pressed them to hers. She sighed into my mouth, my breath hitched as I dropped my charcoal and reached up to touch the side of her face. I noticed I'd left a sooty smudge there as I closed my eyes, parting my lips and sliding my fingers into her hair. It was as soft as I'd always imagined; spun silk gliding over my fingers. I turned on my stool, my sketchbook slipping off my thigh and falling to the ground between my feet. Luna sat down in its place, curling into my body, her arms wrapped around my neck.
She parted her lips against mine and drew my tongue into her mouth until it was tangled around hers. I groaned into her mouth, she made the oddest little whimper.
This wasn't precisely how I had planned on this going but, as far as I was concerned, things had definitely taken a turn for the better. I pulled her into my arms, smelling the salt of the sea in her hair and tasting it on her lips. Her swimsuit was still faintly damp from the water, her skin was cool to the touch and covered in goosebumps. I was fairly certain that it had more to do with the cool water she'd bathed in than what we were doing but, as I moved my hands over her skin, she shivered, burrowing closer to me.
My eyes closed, I memorized her body; the graceful lines of her slender arms, the gentle curve of her jaw, each bumpy ridge of her backbone, the remarkable softness of the spot where her waist began to swell out into her hip. She was touching me too, and her fingertips moved rapidly over my skin, feather light and curious, bringing out the goosebumps on me, too.
Her skin was beginning to heat up under my hands, I felt my body begin to stir; hell, I'd felt the blood rushing to my groin the moment she'd plopped down on my lap. I moved my hand up her waist, astonished at how small it seemed in comparison to the size of my hands. I 'd always been a great deal taller than her, but I'd never imagined how tiny and delicate her frame was, and I couldn't help but notice how much thinner she was than she'd been at the end of last term. Fucking Malfoys.
How could somebody have hurt this girl on purpose? She didn't have a mean bone in her body. And how was it, after everything she'd been through, that she still had her open heart, her empathy and her kindness? Why wasn't she angry, like I was? I knew why--she was way, way too good for me. She was probably lonely and missing her family. She was probably looking for a bit of comfort--a cuddle, really--and here I was, fingertips creeping toward her tits, turning it into something else entirely.
I abruptly disengaged my mouth from hers, moving down to kiss on her neck instead. I pulled her even closer, turning the kiss into an embrace, one that spoke more of comfort than of passion. She didn't seem to mind the change. She tucked her face into my neck, inhaling deeply, her body relaxing against mine. I was reminded of the way my mum used to put my sisters to sleep, and I murmured nonsense words against her neck that even I didn't understand. She left a trail of light kisses against my throat, her hands linked tightly together behind my back.
"I'm sorry," I muttered against her skin. "I didn't meant to-"
Luna released her hands and pulled back to look at me solemnly.
"Whatever is there to apologise for, Dean? That was perfectly lovely."
I couldn't help but laugh. She really was the oddest bird.
That night at dinner, she wasn't avoiding my eyes. In fact she was seeking them out again, and whenever they met, hers would light up and I'd feel that odd flopping of my stomach that I'd first felt in the garden. It was a dammed sight better than the roiling of guilt that I'd felt the night before, but it was equally unsettling. Had Harry and his sidekicks (and Ragnok, too, oddly enough) not been acting so strange and jumpy, I'm sure everyone would have noticed how distracted I was.
Once again, I lay in bed that night unable to sleep. I really wasn't sure how I felt about this development. Had it happened because we'd all been forced to spend so much time together? It didn't help that Harry, Hermione and Ron had been off in their own little world. I suppose with them distracted, our hosts wrapped in newlywed bliss, and both of us having narrowly escaped death (or worse) we were bound to be drawn together. Two healthy normal teenagers recovering from trauma, separated from our family and friends, in an idyllic setting--it was something straight out of the plot of one of my sister's teen romances. It was a fucking cliché if there ever was one. But it was the first good thing I'd felt in ages and I wasn't sure I was ready to dismiss it. On the other hand, I knew damn well I was a mess. I'd seen things and done things in the last year that I wasn't proud of, I'd discovered things about myself (and my father) that I was ashamed of. Was it fair to mix up a sweet, uncomplicated girl like Luna with someone like me?
Apparently, I'd made the common mistake of underestimating Luna Lovegood. Not long after I'd come to the conclusion that she was better off without me, I heard the trap door begin to open and saw a familiar pair of grey eyes emerge from underneath it, lit by candlelight. "Oh," Luna said. "Isn't this cozy?"
"Jesus, Luna," I sputtered, reaching out to help her in an unconscious gesture while attempting at the same time to pull the covers over my chest. Thank god I'd slept in the baggy bottoms of my borrowed pyjamas, at least. "What
the--What are you doing?"
"Coming to see you, of course," she replied, laying down her candle carefully and sitting on the edge of my mattress. "I thought, you might like to do a bit more kissing. I really liked that."
She was mad, completely and utterly loony. But again, I I'd always been susceptible to praise, not to mention girls who didn't mind telling you what they wanted. I was still staring at her, my mouth agape, probably with a completely stupid look on my face, when she lifted my covers and crawled into bed beside me. Her feet felt like ice when they brushed against my legs, and that
managed to wake me up in a hurry. "Luna, you can't
Her face fell bit. "You mean you don't want to?"
Cursing myself, I hastened to explain. "Of course
I want to, but…I mean. Don't you think Bill and Fleur would get a bit mad?"
"I don't see why," Luna said. "Unless my ears deceive me, they seem to be very much for
the act of making love. It's one of their favourite pastimes, I suspect."
It was pure Luna logic and I was too tired to come up with an intelligent argument to the contrary. I certainly didn't relish being caught with a girl the very same age as Bill's sister reminding him that, at one point, I'd done more than he liked with that same sister. But at this point, Luna had begun kissing me, and my attempts at caution seemed weak to my own ears. "Wait, Luna," I groaned, as she kissed a spot under my ear that I'd never realized was so sensitive.
"Am I doing it wrong?" she asked, and I had to laugh at her guileless expression. Why on earth was I objecting anyway?
"No," I managed to reply, just before giving in to the urge to nip my way along her jaw line that I'd been suppressing, since I'd got so close the afternoon before. God, she smelled good, especially the spot above the pulse on her neck. I could feel the way it fluttered under my lips, and her palpable excitement--such a strong contrast to her usual placid demeanor--only increased mine. "You're brilliant," I added. "I just-"
I groaned as her cool fingertips found their way to my chest. The temperature raised gooseflesh over the areas it touched but the touch itself made me feel overheated desperate for more contact, stronger contact.
"You just what?"
What had I been saying? Her fingertips found one of my nipples and it circled the surface slowly, making it pucker up beneath her fingers. I hissed. "I just---Why?"
Good old Luna Lovegood, too clever by half, knew precisely what I meant and she smiled as she took my face in her hand and kissed me firmly on the mouth. "Because you're beautiful, your art is beautiful, and you made me see things I'd never seen about myself. I can't paint as well as you, but I can
show you how beautiful you are to me and what that painting made me feel with my body. I've spent a good part of the year alone and afraid, and when I touch you I feel like you know how it felt, and maybe you'd like to feel something strong, something good, with someone who understands, if only to see if you can still feel anything important again."
Her fingers had made it down to my belly now, and she was circling my navel, and I didn't know if it was her words or her fingers' proximity to my cock that suddenly had my ears roaring. I reached out and pulled her close, away from the edge of the mattress. "Jesus, your feet are cold," I hissed as they came in full contact with my calves. The rest of her was warm though, especially the bits that were pressed up next to me, including her hot, open mouth. She wrapped her arms around me, inserting one of her legs between mine, her thigh coming in direct contact with the fly of my pyjamas. "Oh,"
Luna exclaimed, and it took me a moment to realize that the explanation for her outburst was the novelty of my cock--apparently the first she'd come in direct contact with. She reached down to cup me through my pyjamas, with fingertips that were a fair bit warmer than they'd been the first time she'd laid a hand on me. Up and down, beneath, between, and as she gripped me through my pyjamas, her mouth opened up beneath my own.
I could have come right then, it had been so long since another person had touched me that way, but I'd hardly touched her yet. I rolled her onto her back, grinding into the hand that lay between my still hard cock and the mattress. I moved my body over her, kissing her deeply as I began to attempt the tiny French buttons of Luna's borrowed nightgown. They were way too small for fingers the size of mine, but hey, they were used to doing delicate things. The end result was worth it. Her breasts were small, pink-tipped, softly curving above her slender torso. I moved my hands over her, taking note of the contrast of her skin and mine, the way it felt beneath my fingers, softer than I'd ever imagined. I rolled a nipple between my thumb and forefinger, causing her to gasp against my mouth. I kissed my way down her neck, across her collarbone, memorizing the sharp lines and soft curves.
Taking one pale pink nipple between my lips, I sucked, and Luna made the most delicious little shiver beneath my body. I begin to struggle with more buttons, they seemed to go all the way down the bloody thing, Luna pulled away momentarily, pulling the nightdress up and over her head. As she lay back, I sucked in a breath. "God, Luna you're-"
"Completely loony?" she offered, and it took me a moment to get the joke.
"Completely brilliant," I said, and moved over her again. She wanted to feel something important, did she? I kissed my way over her belly, stopping to lick a circle around it, to pass my hands over her stomach, her hipbone, her upper thighs. She began to open her legs to my hands, and I slid one of them up her thigh, toying with the sensitive skin that bordered the soft patch of pale hair between her thighs. Back and forth, I drew my fingers, her legs widening and her back arching with each pass, until suddenly I reached the slick flesh of her outer lips. Around and around, I circled my fingertips, closer to the centre each time, my fingertips passing lightly over her clit, and each time being rewarded with another series of twitches and a faint moan. I kept going as long as I could stand it, my cock objecting vehemently to the loss of concentration on it. But I loved seeing Luna this way.
Finally, I plunged a finger inside of her, causing her to cry out. I really hoped no one in the house would hear us, so I stifled her scream with my mouth, following it up by kissing her as I moved the finger inside of her, in and out, her walls squeezing around me as her body reacted to the stimulation. I added another finger, twisting them, scissoring them. I added a third finger, just holding it there for a moment, letting her get used to it. Luna closed her legs around my lower arm, trapping my wrist there as my fingers were squeezed inside of her. She rocked against my hand and reached down between us, grabbing my cock again, but this time, through the opening of my pyjamas. She began to stroke me again, moistening her hand with her own juices I tried to move my fingers as best as I could, opening them inside her, feeling her contract around me in response. When I added a thumb, when I made slow circles over her clit, she cried out again, her body squeezing almost painfully around my fingers as the blood in my ears reared and my cock finally pulsed into her hand.
When my vision cleared and the noise faded, I found Luna still pressed against me, her body still surrounding my fingers, which were far more soaked than I might have expected. The walls of her cunt still spasmed around me from time to time. Her hands were still on my cock, sticky with come. Fleur was probably going to kill us both.
"Damn," was the only thing I could think to say. I reached into my tiny pile of clothing for some underpants, using them to clean us both up. At least I had a couple of those to spare, and could hand wash them in the bathroom without magic.
"Luna," I breathed, as I found her watching me. "I just…Wow."
"Yes," she said, and moved to cuddle up against me, apparently here to stay, at least for the night. "That is a good word for it, I suspect. Wow.
Thank you, Dean. That was lovely."
It was cold the next day, but we volunteered to go down to the beach to 'collect driftwood.' We found a little sheltered area at the base of the cliff and she sat on my lap, grinding against me through our clothes as we snogged desperately. I had trouble meeting Fleur and Harry's eyes when we returned.
That night, when she once more climbed into my bed, I went down on her, I dunno if it was any good, as I'd never done it before, but she seemed to cry out a lot more than anything else we'd done. Not long afterwards, she barely had to touch my dick with the tip of her tongue when it spurted all over her face, even getting into her hair. Again, my trusty spare underpants came to the rescue. At this point, I was going to spend every spare moment washing my clothes in the sink.
I'd been a bit nervous at the prospect of actual shagging. Luna seemed enthusiastic about the idea, but I held back. For one thing, one major
thing, we were in the middle of a war and unexpected kids would have really slowed us down.
Turns out, I needn't have worried. Luna told me she'd gone to Fleur to request contraceptive potion, only to discover that Fleur had made up some extra the first time she'd spotted us kissing in the garden and had been contemplating the best way to slip it into our drinks.
Not long after this, Ted's son-in law-came to visit and to announce the birth of his son. I was in shock once I finally made the connection between my old Defence teacher and Ted's beloved daughter. They named the kid after Ted. Clearly, they already knew he was dead. Would they have wanted to hear how it happened from someone like me? The person who might have been the reason they lost him? Especially on such a joyful day?
I didn't say anything.
That night I felt empty inside. Luna curled up behind me and, whenever my dreams started to get too intense, woke me up with kisses. Somewhere around midnight, I slipped inside of her, and we rocked together gently until we both came.
Old Ollivander sent her a wand the next day, made of driftwood and Veela hair. (a family heirloom of Fleur's apparently). The day after that, we woke up to find the trio missing.
We knew, the moment that we realized that they'd snuck out that our little idyll wasn't likely to last long. We spent most of that day on the beach, talking about what we wanted when the war was over. I felt sort of reckless, almost as though I was tempting fate, but with Luna such dreams could not be impossible to believe.
Less than twenty four hours later, she took my hand in the middle of a battle. In the midst of the gray clouds of dust and smoke, she smiled at me, an improbable bit of golden optimism. She never stopped believing we'd somehow make it through.
She's a bit weird that way, my Luna.
Of course, as usual, she was right.