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wook77Title: Sweden, Snow and Serenity
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wook77
Pairing: Dean Thomas/Luna Lovegood
Summary: Six months after the Second Battle of Hogwarts, Dean's burnt out from his experiences with the war. When Luna invites him to accompany her to Sweden to look for the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack, he finds more than he bargained for.
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Spoilers for DH
Wordcount: 10675ish
Author's notes: Many many thanks to my betas:janicechess & yodels. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to my "Swedepicker", sulky_rhino for putting up with all my questions regarding Sweden. Originally written for deena_s at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
smutty_claus.
It's his first day in Sweden and he's already overwhelmed by the beauty of the countryside. When Luna had invited him to accompany her on a trip, he hadn't even hesitated before agreeing. No questions, no further information needed, the only thing that he'd needed was to know that they were travelling far, far away from ravaged England.
He'd been stuck in a rut, an awkward rut between the Muggle world where they didn't know of anything that had happened and the Wizarding world where he'd been helping survivors look for their family members. Luna's question had come on the day that he'd been about to break. He'd just decided that this door – this door where a worried Muggleborn family waited for news of their loved one – was his last. This would be his last time telling someone that their magical child had died. No more telling people that their husband, brother, father, sister, mother, wife, daughter, son, had passed simply by dint of blood. It'd been time for him to start his own healing from his experiences during the war.
In the past week, he's thought he might just be insane to travel to Sweden in the winter. After all, England is more than cold enough for him but at least there are creature comforts nearby. Now that he's here, he can feel that though it's cold, it's not much colder than Scotland and Hogwarts.
Örebro has a small Wizarding section and Dean takes a moment to absorb the differences between this and Diagon Alley. Other than Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley and the Wizarding section of Dublin, he's never been anywhere else that's imbued with magic. While he's gawking at the people and the different language, Luna wanders over to visit with someone. They ramble on in Swedish and Dean slowly makes his way over. He's not at all uncomfortable as he waits for her to finish her conversation; there are far too many new experiences and sights.
He's tempted to sit on the steps just to the side of the shop they're standing in front of, but he doesn't want to dig through his rucksack to find his graphite pencils so that he can sketch out the town. Instead, he stares hard at a woman with the most beautiful wrinkles on her face and then at the man with some sort of animal antlers on his hat. The colours here are much more vibrant than back home, though whether that's due to the contrast of the white of the snow and the colour on the walls or whether it's because he associates Diagon Alley with the dark and sad place he's left, he's not at all sure. Either way, it makes him wish he'd brought along more colours than he had. Perhaps, with the right type of shading or blending he might be able to get the right colours. Maybe if he…
"Dean?" Luna's high-pitched voice interrupts his pondering.
"Yeah? Done with your conversation?" He asks as he stands and slings his rucksack over his shoulder
"You were smiling," she says with wonder.
"Was I?" He wonders why it is that a smile should be so amazing and wonderful that it deserves to be remarked upon but then he realises that he hasn't smiled in a long time, not since he'd joined the Muggleborn Reunion Squad.
"You were. You should do it more often." It's said matter-of-the-factly and then she holds out her hand. "I want you to see something."
"Yeah?" Dean holds her hand and allows her to tug him along behind her. "Is it fantastic?"
"Oh yes, very. I think you'll like it." She doesn't stop as they weave through the crowds. It's almost as if she's cast a spell, everyone moves, just so, out of their way.
"I'm sure I will. This is a pretty spectacular place, Luna. I'm glad you asked me along. It looks like there's plenty for us to see here."
"This isn't where we're going, though. This is just where we're at." Dean nods though he doesn't quite understand.
"Where're we going?" He asks and she only smiles over her shoulder and answers with a, "you'll see".
She takes him from shop to shop, picking up a feather here, what looks to be a used butterbeer cork there, along with other bibs and bobs that he can't even begin to identify. When they finally finish their shopping, his curiosity bubbles over and he can't resist asking, "What's all that for?"
"You'll see," she says as she sits on the steps outside of the last stop and starts pulling things from her rucksack and sorting them. He can tell she means 'no more questions' so he doesn't ask anything else. If she wants to carry all sorts of oddities around, well, it is Loony Luna Lovegood, after all. He might've known her for years, but in the past few months, he's got to know her and he understands that there are things that simply won't make sense to him no matter how hard he tries.
"Are you hungry or are you ready to go?" She's finally finished repacking her rucksack. Just as she asks, Dean's stomach grumbles and he offers her a hand up from the steps. It's warm in his grasp and he hadn't realised how cold his hands had got until he had her small hand in his grasp. He doesn't let go as they start down the street.
"I could eat, yeah, sure. Where do you recommend?"
"You'll see." He's beginning to think that she's overusing the phrase but he doesn't have time to finish this thought as the tug of Apparition hits and he's suddenly in the middle of a snow-drenched forest.
It looks like a postcard. It's that pristine and clean. Untouched. There's too much to see and he gawks at everything he can, neck swivelling as far it'll go in either direction without stopping. It's just so perfect hat he's afraid to move, as he'll mar the beauty with his footprints. The fanciful part of his mind says that they're the first to ever be here. That can't possibly be right as Luna had Apparated them and she had to know about this place to get here, hadn't she?
He starts focusing on the details and that's when he notices the small footprints of some animal, the deep green and dark brown of the pine trees in the midst of the sea of white and then there's the large grey boulder to the side of the clearing. There's a bird high up in the tree or maybe it's a squirrel that's making a branch bounce and snow cascade down in a light shower. Squinting, he can't quite make out what sort of animal it is because it's so hidden in the midst of the snow.
When he finally speaks, he whispers because this place is so beautiful and peaceful that it reminds him of the church his mum had dragged him to one Christmas. "How'd you find this place?"
"You like it, good! I thought you would." So absorbed in the scenery that he doesn't notice when Luna squeezes his hand and walks away. He finally moves, sedately shifting in a slow reverent circle. He notices the contrasts, the colour in the midst of the white and it appeals to him, makes him want to pull out his paints and immediately set it down so that he'll always have it.
"Go ahead, Dean," Luna says and he's startled out of his contemplations. Turning the rest of the way, it hits him like a bolt of lightning, making him freeze in place.
Luna is beautiful. Sure, he's known her for years but until right now he'd never realised how beautiful she was. He hadn't seen her, not like this. The barely perceptible contrast of alabaster and white combines with the vibrant reds and oranges of her clothing. He can't quite move, he's torn between just staring and pulling out something, anything, to capture her as she stands there serenely under his gaze.
"Dean? Have you been bitten by a Flibberwidget already?" Luna starts to cross the clearing back to him and he raises his right hand.
"Stay right there." He pulls his rucksack around to the side and starts to rummage through it with one hand.
"You have been, let me see. Dad says that you have to treat a –"
"I just want to paint you, haven't been bitten at all. I promise." She stops in her path and cocks her head to the side. She looks distinctly uncomfortable and Dean wonders if she doesn't want to be painted. "Would that be alright?"
"But there are better things to paint. I haven't even shown you what's out here."
"I won't paint you if you don't want me to."
"That's alright, you can paint me. Do I have to stand here and be still?" She doesn't move and her intense concentration makes Dean smile.
"You can move a bit, just stay sort of where you are. I need to get the light before it goes away. When's the sun set, anyway?" He finally drops his hand and, using both of them; he's able to pull out his paper and pencils. It's awkward trying to draw and stand while balancing his rucksack on his back. Pausing, he looks at the ground and wonders how cold it would be and if it would start to melt. He doesn't know any spells that would keep it from happening, not off the top of his head while the colours are swirling. Eventually, he decides to go for it and focuses on Luna and his sketch. He looks up and then back down while shoving pencils behind his ears, in his mouth and across his bag.
Sitting there in the snow, Dean doesn't care that his arse is getting wet or that it's cold. He's too focused on Luna and his sketch. She comes to life in front of him while the sky turns pink and then blue. She smiles throughout and, try as he might, he can't quite catch the quirkiness of that smile; the way that it says so many things eludes him. It's close, though, really close.
"Alright, done." He looks up in enough time to see her grin spread and then she skips across the snow to sit down next to him.
"That's nice, Dean, really nice. You're quite good at that."
"It's not quite perfect but it's enough that when we get back, I can fix it, make it better." He fiddles a bit more with the red, strengthening the shadows.
"Sometimes, if you keep trying to improve things, eventually, it's not at all what you were going for in the first place."
Her comment makes him nervous because he knows she's not just talking about the drawing. She's talking about the war and fixing Ted Tonks's death through his work with the Muggle Reunion Squad. Dean's right back to the morose thoughts he's here to shake off. Trying it literally, he shakes his head and then stows his sketchbook and pencils.
Once everything's packed, he stands and then offers his hand. Luna smiles shyly and takes it, letting him pull her up. "So where are we? I don't think you ever said."
"Welcome to Kilsbergen."
"Kilsbergen? That's," he gestures around with his free hand, waving it in the air to encompass the entire area, "this?"
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" She gives his hand a squeeze and then lets go.
"How'd you find this place?" He waves his newly freed hand.
"Kilsbergen is known for its unique flora and fauna. It's home to a variety of magical species, including the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Dad and I have been coming here for years." She looks towards the trees.
Dean's first instinct is to tell her there's no such thing but after spending so much time with her he doesn't. Instead he says, "Maybe we'll see one this time."
"They're very shy creatures, but there are ways to try to lure them out. Maybe you'll even get to sketch one." She looks to the horizon and then starts pulling things out of her own rucksack. "We should set up camp before it gets any darker."
"Only time I've been camping is with the Finnigan's at the World Cup so I don't really know what you need done but if you'll tell me, then I'll do it."
Luna's quick to show him how to set up the tent and get things settled in a proper area of the clearing. When he asks why they're setting the tent almost completely under a tree, Luna explains, at length, about how the Snorkack like open spaces to congregate. If the tent were further into the clearing, they'd never get to see one. Once the tent is up and secured they crawl in, and Dean will never get over the wonder of wizard tents.
The Lovegood's tent is very different from the one the Finnigans used at the World Cup. It's the only other time he's been in a tent but that wasn't really camping, not in his head. Seamus's tent was large but it felt so small because there had been so many beds for Seamus's large family. This one was much smaller than Seamus's but it feels larger. There's a nice kitchen area in the very back and two beds next to each other opposite the sitting area. It's cozy and the couch looks especially comfortable.
"Which bed's mine?" He asks as he looks around, taking in the faded floral pattern on the walls and the carpet.
"You can have that one," she says as she gestures towards the one closest to the door. "I'll just get the fire going."
When it roars to life, Dean is gobsmacked. He wonders about how flammable the walls are and if they're properly warded. "Isn't that going to set the tent on fire?"
"It's perfectly safe. My parents bought this tent when they were first married. When I was a little girl, we'd go camping all the time when mum could get away from her research." Luna starts unpacking as she speaks and Dean quickly follows suit.
Soon, the tent's warm and Dean forgets that they're in Sweden and it's December. He forgets all about the snow outside.
~~**~~
For a moment, when he wakes, Dean thinks that he's back with Seamus at the Quidditch World Cup. The air smells just like it had back then – all woodsmoke and fire and mustiness. It's the same muted light and snapping canvas sounds. When he opens his eyes, he remembers that he's not in a field ready for a day of revelry with the Finnigans. He's not fourteen and he's not quite so innocent any more.
He's nineteen and he's in Sweden with Luna Lovegood. A grin splits his face as he rolls onto his back, flopping his arms to the sides, outstretched. Blessed freedom from all the regular trials and tribulations beckons and he's excited for the day to come. He laughs to himself and then Luna appears off to the side.
"You're awake. Would you like breakfast?" She asks as she stands at the side of the bed, wrapped in a towel and dripping. Her hair is plaited and she looks very different then he's ever seen her. He takes in the curve of her neck, the way that it seems a hair too short in clothing and just about perfect without covering. Her eyes seem less bulbous with her hair pulled back in twin braids that drip water across her chest. He can't quite help himself from watching the trace of water down over the upper curve of her breast and then the way it's absorbed into the towel. It's not at all surprising that his body reacts
She must have seen the path his eyes take because her skin takes on a rosy flush and he blushes and quickly averts his eyes. Crawling out of bed, he hurries towards the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "Whatever you want, no worries. Mind if I…"
He's in the doorway and still refuses to look over his shoulder at Luna.
"Of course, mind the Hindalugs. Ever since Father and I got back from Romania, we've had an infestation of them." He can hear her rustling in the dresser so he scampers into the bathroom before he realises that he left everything in the other room. He bangs his head against the door and then opens it minutely.
"Luna? You decent? I, err, that is, I forgot my clothes." Dean's very certain that his face is flaming red what with the heat radiating off of it, so warm that he thinks he could melt the snow outside just by walking out there. Then again, he's not willing to do that considering that Luna's probably naked out there right now. If he looks out the door, just right, he'll be able to see her and see if her breasts are as beautiful as he thinks they're going to be. Shaking his head, he pushes the thoughts back as they're far too much like what Seamus would've been thinking and he's not a pervy bastard like Seamus, he's a gentleman, dammit. His mum would box his ears if she knew what he's thinking.
"Ok, Dean, you can come out," Luna calls out and Dean gingerly opens the door. He takes one, two, three quick looks. Reassured that she's dressed, he walks out and gathers his things, tucking his pants into his denims so that Luna can't seem them. Yet again, the wrath of Seamus strikes as the only pants in his pack are all obnoxious colours, thanks to his best mate's wicked sense of humour. It's the absolute last time he lets Seamus sit in his room while he's packing, he vows, as he hides the bright pink pants.
"I'll be right out," he pledges and then hurries back into the bathroom. He's quick to discover that he's forgotten his bathing things and he sighs. Dropping the clothes onto the toilet, he walks back out into the main room and gathers his bathing accoutrements and then walks back into the bathroom for the third time, Luna's delighted laughter ringing in his ears.
He showers quickly, lathering and rinsing in the camp shower as he doesn't want to take the time for a proper bath. The scent of bacon and pancakes float through into the misty, humid room and his stomach growls. The smell spurs him on to greater speeds and he's out in a trice, towelling off quickly.
When he steps into the kitchen, he sees Luna in an old-fashioned apron with gingham and ribbons. It's something like the ones his mum wore when he was young. "Smells good in here."
"Thanks, they're a recipe dad and I found the first time we came here," she answers over her shoulder and scoops thin pancakes on to a plate.
"Need any help?" He asks as he peers over her shoulder at the food. The bacon pops and sizzles and there's a hiss as she pours more batter onto the flat griddle.
"Could you pour the tea?"
"Sure thing, anything to help." Now that they're cooking and dancing around the kitchen and each other, Dean can start to forget that trail of water and his embarrassing display of absentmindedness of just a few minutes ago. Soon enough, breakfast is ready and on the table. He pokes at the pancakes, picking one up and examining it. He gestures with his fork-speared pancake, "What're these?"
"Pancakes," she responds and he grins at his stupid question.
"And these?" He gestures towards the red berries in a bowl next to the pancake platter.
"Cowberries. Though they're also called foxberries. And lingonberries. The Crumple-Horned Snorkack really likes them. From what we can find, they immigrated to Sweden because of the availability of lingonberries."
"Oh, I see," he says while piling his plate high with everything. The berries burst over his tongue when he bites down and he's instantly in love with them. They're rich in flavour, so very different from blueberries or strawberries. He makes a mental note to pick up some for his mum.
"They use the berries as an aphrodisiac." It's said so innocently that it takes Dean a moment to figure out what she'd said. When the light finally dawns, he sputters.
"So you're saying the Snorkack gets turned on by this?" Dean gestures with his fork towards the berries.
"Yes, of course. They use the berries as part of the mating rituals. It's very intense and intricate, you know. From what Father and I have been able to determine, there are seven main steps to the mating ritual. The berries are step four."
"What're the others?"
"Various texts have various ideas. For example, one Russian text says that Snorkacks actually use beets instead of lingonberries. That's one of the reasons that I wanted to come here, to see if the Snorkack used the berries." Luna's gaze darts around the room and then lands on the pile of pancakes. "You'll want to start eating, the food is getting cold."
"Oh right." He gets down to the business of eating. By the time breakfast is over and done with, he's eaten three-quarters of the food while Luna's finished off the rest.
"I'll clean up, yeah?" He waves off her protestations and starts gathering up the dirty dishes, "You cooked, it's only fair that I clean."
"Alright, Dean, thanks." She starts humming as she wanders over to the sitting area and starts reading a book. The tune's familiar to him though he can't quite recall where he knows it from. Mind on his task, he starts humming in tune with her. By the time the dishes are clean and the table wiped down, Dean's almost completely forgotten the way they'd started out the morning.
When he turns, he sees that she's reading a book on fantastical beasts. Sitting on the sofa next to her, he watches the pictures roar and scamper across the pages. Her finger traces along the words as she reads and she's adorable with the fierce look of concentration on her face. The page turns and there's an artist's rendition of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Before she can turn the page, he puts his hand over hers and makes her pause.
"So how do we go about finding one of these? You think the lingonberries'll be enough?" She twists her hand and curls her fingers around his hand.
"They're a good start. There's a few other things that I've heard work. They'll come when they want to, of course. If not this trip, then the next and if not the next?" She shrugs, "Then it'll be the next."
"Won't stop us from doing what we can to get them to appear this time, though, right?" He hasn't bought into the existence of the creatures but considering that he's not at work, he's willing to give anything a go. Besides, if it makes Luna happy, then it's worth it. The thought doesn't give him pause, not after their months at Shell Cottage and the way that he's gotten to know her.
She's not Loony Lovegood any longer. He can see that she's odd but she's just different from the rest and that's what he finds appealing. He likes the way that she can see into people and situations, come up with a solution or a saying that seems to make everything better.
While he's been reflecting, Luna's shut the book and turned to face him on the sofa. "Come on, I'll show you the clearing."
"Alright. Is it far from here?" He asks as he stands and then, with their hands still wrapped around one another, tugs her to her feet. She's so much smaller than him, face barely coming to the top of his chest and he feels gangly, all awkward angles and length, next to her. If he were to kiss her, she'd have to stand on the sofa, he thinks. He stops dead in his tracks. Where the bloody hell had that come from? They're not going to be kissing; this is a platonic trip, no matter what Seamus had teased while Dean had been packing.
"Not too far, it's an easy walk." Dean nods and they both slip into their boots and coats then head out into the cold.
As they walk through the woods, Dean slowly becomes more and more aware of Luna's breathing and the way that her hand fits in his. With a squeeze, she pulls away and he feels momentarily lost as she skips away. Then she's skipping back and grabbing his hand to tug him in one direction. Another repeat of the squeeze and skip and return and tug and they're off in another direction. He's so turned around that he has no idea where the tent is. He can only pray that she knows.
"Those are the tracks of a hopping hilowick," she says and points to the ground. To Dean's city-trained eyes, he thinks they look like rabbit tracks but who's he to judge? He's only seen rabbits in the park, after all, so he nods his agreement. From there, she points out the elk tracks and then tugs him to a tree with a unique growth of moss, brown and brittle in the cold of a Swedish winter. She's quick to point out a thousand things that Dean wouldn't have noticed on his own.
He decides she's like a bird, a magpie, even. Flitting from one object to another, there are so many things for them to see and he can tell that she's curious about all of them. No matter how much she says that things happen as they're meant, he can see that she thinks everything is really meant to happen soon.
She's living life, he realises. She's living, absorbing and being. When she turns, looking over her shoulder at him with a luminous smile on her face while her hand stretches out straight in front of her, Dean returns it and runs after her. With a giggle, she scampers off into the woods. He can't help but laugh as he chases her.
His laughter redoubles as she waves her wand, dumping a pile of snow on his head. Shaking it off like a dog, he picks up speed. When she goes left around a boulder, he goes right, launching himself at her. They land in a snow bank, laughing and giggling like children.
They arrive, hours later, to the clearing. They've already used three drying spells apiece but Dean can still feel the melted snow trickling down his neck. Luna paces off a circle. When she's done, she claps her hands over her head, swinging her arms from down by her sides up over and then swinging them back down. She repeats the gesture once, twice, three times. With a laugh, she skips along the trodden line and arrives back at Dean's side.
"What're the claps for?" Dean can't help his curiosity.
"To seal the circle. Snorkacks will know that it's a friendly spot now without any traps because I warned them that it was sealed. They're very shy." She cocks her head and sways her hips. From anyone else, Dean would take the gesture as flirtation but this is Luna and, instead, he assumes that it's excitement at the possibility of seeing that fabled animal. Before he can respond, his stomach grumbles and she laughs once more. "Your stomach's saying you're hungry. Wouldn't want it to scare the animals, shall we go back and get some lunch?"
"Sure, that'd be good." With that, they're off and it only takes five minutes to walk back from the clearing to the tent. Dean only shakes his head and holds the door to the tent for Luna.
~~**~~
The woods are beautiful but Dean can't quite concentrate on the scenery. He's remembering his time on the run, before and after Ted Tonks found him, rescued him. These woods don't bring back fond memories, not while he's walking them alone and he's stuck with the bitter cold and the gnawing hunger. And the overpowering fear that, at any moment, he, they, could be killed or, worse, captured. When they'd sat around the fire, they had acted like it wouldn't happen but it was a nightly occurrence to look at one another and wonder if the others might just cut and run instead of staying together. Safety in numbers, as Ted had said. They practise defence between fishing and moving on, they practise their defensive circles and casting in tandem.
These trees and rocks had looked so beautiful to him with Luna there beside him just yesterday. It had been divine with the way they'd walked and the light had covered everything, highlighting it so the trees were covered in frosting. In the murky light of a now cloudy day, though, it feels ominous; there are shadows hiding behind trees and the snow crackles in the midst of the sunlight.
The little clearings make him feel exposed so he hurries through them, art supplies clacking and shifting in his rucksack. Shaking off the morbidity, he chastises himself for his continued response. He's a bit like those dogs in that study that his mum talked about, the one where they'd slobber when they'd hear a whistle - Dean sees a shadow and flinches and he hates the comparison. In fact, it spurs him on his journey, causing him to boldly walk through a clearing right in the center. There aren't any Death Eaters any longer and even if there were, they wouldn't be in the woods in Sweden. There's no Snatchers out looking to sell Muggleborns, either. There's no reward for his capture and no one's going to torture either him or Luna. He's in a beautiful forest in Sweden and that's that.
He nods, repeats that's that in his head and then sets off in the direction of the lake that Luna had said was somewhere out here. She's doing something to prepare for the Snorkacks in that clearing and she'd sent him off to wander on his own. He'd jumped at the opportunity to take some time and just sketch to his heart's content. He hadn't had that kind of free time in he couldn't remember how long. First there'd been running and then there'd been helping the Muggleborn Reunion Squad. All in all, his life had been one big pile of shifting jumbled emotions.
When he reaches the next clearing, no repetition of that's that helps and his hands shake as he takes the first step. The shadows encroach on the clearing and turn menacing. Giving up for now, he turns and hurries back to the tent and the safety of the well-lit clearing without any of those creepy shadows or boulders big enough to hide people. Even more importantly, there's no way that any evil memories can attack him when Luna's near. As soon as he's back by the tent, panic ebbs slightly though he's out of breath and his heart still races.
"Dean?" Luna's concerned voice comes from behind a large boulder. When he circles it, he sees her sitting, barefoot in the snow, with a sketchbook in front of her.
"What're you drawing?" He tries to sound normal but there's still a slight tremor to his voice.
"Did you see one?" She seems excited until she looks up. She has to see the fear, must see it with the way it feels like it's leeching out of him with every breath, a giant puff of cowardice that hangs in the air around him. "What happened? Were you attacked?"
"It's nothing," he starts to say but she lunges up and her hands roam his face, chest, shoulders, stomach and back. They feel good on him but he resists the temptation to let her continue. Grabbing them, he gives them a squeeze and tries to look reassuring. "I'm fine, just bad memories."
"Oh Dean," she sighs as her hands squeeze his. She sounds so unbearably sad that it makes his heart ache.
"It's alright, it's just being back in the woods and with the weird light and stuff it… it reminded me of Ted and being on the run and – " he stops and lets go of her hands to wave them about in the air. "It happens sometimes, is all."
She still looks so sad that he wracks his brain to think of a way to reassure her. It isn't so bad most of the time; after all, he can control the fear and the panic when they sweep over him. Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek and, before the touch registers, she shifts and hugs him as hard as she can. Her face presses against his sternum and her hands snake up his back so that her forearms reach up his back and hold him securely. His arms stay, ineffectively at his sides, until he finally raises them to hold her, resting them against her back with a shy lightness.
"I'm sorry if that, well," he stumbles while still searching for the right words, "if that upsets you or something. I don't mean to hurt you."
She just squeezes harder and he hugs back, at a loss to even begin to comprehend what's going on. As the uncomfortable silence stretches, Dean scrambles for something to say and settles on, "Your sketchbook's in the snow, Luna, it'll get ruined."
"That's alright."
"Don't you want to show me what you were drawing?"
"If you want."
"I do," he says and breathes a sigh of relief that she seems to be cheered up by the prospect of showing him her artwork. They sit with their backs resting on the boulder and Luna rhapsodises over the animals that she's sketched, coming up with fantastical stories behind each and every one of them. It's a much better way to spend his day and they sit out there until the sun starts to set.
~~**~~
Ted Tonks falls in front of him, his body contorting under the Cruciatus Curse. Dean hasn't seen it since Hogwarts and Moody teaching it in fourth year. He has a moment to think that it looks so much more horrible when used on a human instead of a spider before he's hit with it himself. His nerves explode and his spine feels like it's about to snap as it bows. It hurts so much, he can't shout or yell. He's left with tears and blood bursting over his tongue as he bites his inner lip.
As the pain spreads, Dean steps out of himself and watches as Ted leaps up, casting some spell but not getting a chance to finish it as green light envelops him. Greyback's laughter rings in his ears and he finally screams
He sits straight up in bed as he pulls himself out of the memory disguising itself as a dream. Sweat drips down his face, neck and back as he pants. The tent is quiet but that only makes his panting seem that much louder. His hands shake where they grip the bedding and he fights back the urge to cry. It's been months and he's been getting better. This is only the tenth time since the Battle of Hogwarts that he's had this nightmare.
His throat is parched and he wonders if he actually screamed in his sleep. Seamus had told him that it varied from nightmare to nightmare. As much as he hopes that this was a silent night since Luna's sleeping in the bed next to him, he knows that it wasn't. A glass of water appears next to him and he takes it gratefully.
"Thanks," he mutters after he's drained the cup and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He's embarrassed when he feels the tear tracks down his face.
"It's alright, Dean. We all have our demons." The bed dips as she sits on the edge and grabs his hand, tracing the raised veins along the back of his hand.
"You never seem to." It's out of his mouth before he thinks. He knows about her mother and the explosion. He also knows about her torture at the hands of Bellatrix and the rest. She has her demons and he shouldn't just dismiss them like that.
"Of course I do. It's just that sometimes, you have to remember the happy things. I don't really think about my mother dying. I remember us camping or her braiding my hair. I like the happier memories."
"What about Malfoy Manor?" He asks and he wants to snatch the words back.
"I remember you and Harry and Hermione and Ron arriving. I remember how we escaped and how much fun we had at Shell Cottage."
"Yeah," he says and the memories of Shell Cottage go through his mind. He can remember how crushed Harry was as they'd buried Dobby. Then there was Ollivander and Griphook, brutally injured and barely able to move. He remembers the way that Luna's face had been swollen and bruised. She'd limped for a week afterwards and he remembers how she'd startle at an odd noise, whether she tried to hide it or not.
"Dean?" Luna taps him on the shoulder and when he startles at her voice and touch, she raises his hand and kisses the back of it. "The past is important but sometimes, you have to remember that you live in the now, too."
"Hm?" He knows what she means, no matter how he tries to pass it off. He's spent the past six months living in the past, mired in loss and pain – both his own and others. "You're right, Luna."
"Of course I am," she says drolly and then winks at him before humming that tune of hers. The familiarity of it trips along his memory, he knows he knows the song but he just can't remember it. Her soft humming starts lulling him to sleep and before he knows it, his head is pillowed on Luna's lap and he's snoring.
When he wakes in the morning, there's a moist breeze on his cheek. As his brain catches up, he feels a light weight on his waist and there's something solid pressing against his bent knees. His first instinct is to roll over, away from whatever it is, but instead he opens his eyes. Luna's exhale puffs from her open mouth, moist air flowing across his face. Her arm twitches causing her hand to slip off his waist and rest on the bed between them.
His mum's voice echoes in his head, urging him to be a gentleman and pull back, roll out of bed before Luna can notice that they've slept together. Seamus's voice comes and urges him to move closer, touch her waist with his hand like she'd been touching his, and maybe even slide his face closer until he can kiss her parted lips. They fight back and forth so he stays where he is. When she shifts, mumbling something in her sleep and then starts to open her eyes, he slams his eyelids shut and hopes he can fake sleep.
Her hand reaches out and traces his cheek. The bed dips and rolls as she moves and then her lips cover his. It's a soft kiss, sweet and innocent. Dean's eyes fly open and Luna's completely blurred in front of him but she really is kissing him. His hand drifts until it rests on her shoulder then skims along her collarbone, up her neck and then delves into her hair, embedding itself within the thin and light strands of hair. Shyly, he opens his mouth and his tongue darts out, tracing her lips and then her teeth. He's slow to press the advantage, slow to move this further than Luna's comfortable with as he has no idea how much experience she has at this sort of thing.
Her tongue comes out, touching his and he can tell just from the hesitation that she hasn't kissed many people before. Moving even more slowly, he pushes his fingers deeper into her hair and massages her scalp while his tongue delves into her mouth. It's slow and lovely. It feels wrong to think of the kisses with Ginny right now but when he'd kissed Ginny, she'd been forceful, thrusting into his mouth and tugging at his hair or hands or skin. It hadn't been because she'd been all that experienced but because she was so much more forceful as a person. Luna, though, Luna's quiet and her kisses reflect that, they're soft and gentle. He likes being the one in charge as he deepens the kiss just a bit more.
Lungs screaming, he's tempted to pull back but, instead, he breathes through his nose. His hand slips from her hair to roam back over her neck, collarbone, shoulder, down her arm and then brushes the side of her breast. Luna pulls back and pats his cheek before rolling out of bed and, with a grin, darting into the bathroom. He's completely and totally confused. For a moment, he wonders if he really had kissed Luna and then he wonders if she'd liked it or if she'd run off to the bathroom to hide from him. Maybe he'd pulled her hair or maybe he'd been too forceful or maybe even not forceful enough.
"Breakfast?" She asks as she comes out of the bathroom and he nods and then heads into the bathroom.
When he comes out, there're those small thin pancakes and the bright berries once more. He reaches up with one hand, scratching the back of his head and then his neck, wondering if maybe he should apologise for something.
"Luna, I'm sorry about earlier. Things got away from me. Won't happen again."
"Didn't you enjoy it?" He looks up from his contemplations of the faded pink rose patterned rug to see her staring at him with a surprised and hurt expression on her face.
"Course I did," he says vehemently.
"Alright then." He has no idea what that means but he walks over to the table and sits down, stuffing food in his mouth so that he doesn't ask the questions that are tripping over themselves in his head.
When breakfast is over, Luna says something about preparing a ceremony or something to see if she can see Snorkacks and grabs her rucksack filled with bibs and bobs. Dean heads out with his sketchpad and a sandwich in his rucksack. At the clearing, they part and Dean gives a wave as he turns away from her. This time, he refuses to think about what the shadows, trees and boulders could be hiding and, instead, concentrates on the way the snow gilds the trees with reflected light or the way that it contrasts with the dark greys of the rocks.
Without realising it, he walks through the clearing that had scared him so much yesterday. Today, though, he's thinking only about the way Luna's hair had twined itself around his fingers and that quick brush of her breast. He's remembering her lips and the taste of her. His cock's hardening and by the time he reaches the lakeshore, he's having problems walking. Refusing to wank, he pulls out the sketchpad and starts drawing the line of the lake and how it curves out of sight, ice a light light blue for as far as he can see.
A rabbit, no, he corrects himself mentally, a hopping hilowick, crosses his path. It stops, sniffing the air and he sketches it as quickly as he can, light slashes of pencil on paper capturing the way that its body is tense as it senses him. When it looks at him, he freezes and then it disappears into the woods in a blink. He keeps sketching, even as lunchtime passes and he munches on his sandwich. The book starts to fill up as he does quick sketches to set a scene. Örebro comes to life under his pencils, the angles and architecture taking shape. Then there's the old woman with the wrinkles. Soon, she's grinning out from the paper. They're not the best sketches but they're enough that he can come back and rework them, improve them.
Dusk creeps in and it takes awhile for Dean to notice that the sky has darkened so much that he's straining to see the figures on the paper. With a sigh, he stows his sketchbook and pencils and walks back to camp. As he passes the clearing where Luna had paced off the circle, a glint of light catches his eye and he turns towards it, walking through the trees until he can peer into the clearing. There, framed by trees and branches and snow, he sees Luna. Frozen in place, he watches as she pirouettes, foot pointed behind her as she turns in a circle, head tilted back and her hair a waterfall of light. She looks like one of those dancers from the public access channel only much more real. Those dancers are all skin and bone, wearing dresses that only accentuated their skinny frames. Luna, though, is all alabaster skin on a white background. It's a subtle contrast but there, in the moonlight, he can see the way that she glows in the midst of all the rest.
Seamus had always rattled on about angels and saints and there, in front of him, was an angel. Dean's sure to get a teasing over it by his best mate but he doesn't care because it's true. As quietly as he can, he pulls his sketchbook out and then rummages until his hand grabs hold of one of the pencils. He barely looks at the paper as he sketches, hoping to go more by feel because he simply can't take his eyes off of her. By now, she's finished her turn and starts to sing as she leaps, once, twice, three times across the circle and then spins there, as well. Her song's in another language – French, he thinks, as it sounds like the song Fleur would sing as she cooked during their days at Shell Cottage – and he's torn between keeping his eyes open or getting closer to listen to her.
Dean feels like a voyeur as he watches her dance naked in the moonlight. He hadn't even realised she was naked until she'd leapt graceful as a gazelle. That's when he realised that she wasn't wearing light coloured clothing but that it was just her pale skin reflecting the light. He's so uncomfortable watching but at the same time, he can't look away, he really can't stop himself. His mum's voice chastises him in his ear and Seamus's voice only chuckles knowingly. When she leaps and spins in the air, he decides that the dancer analogy was wrong because she's much more like one of those fairies in the books his mum would read him or, even better, the ones he'd seen at Seamus's house. Luna doesn't stumble as she dips backwards, hair brushing snow and then with a swirl of her arms, stands back up and goes right into a spin. Dean's amazed, impressed, intrigued and overwhelmed.
As she dances closer, Dean can see the way her nipples have hardened in the cold. They're a dark, dusky pink on a gentle small swell and his palms itch to touch them even as he continues sketching. He wonders how they would taste, what they would feel like on his tongue and between his teeth.
His cock is hard in his trousers and he wills his mind to stop that path of thought, make his eyes look away. These are the sorts of thoughts that are going to make it hard for him to lie in his bed while Luna sleeps chastely in her own bed right there next to him. They're friends, regardless of the kiss this morning. But she kissed you, comes Seamus's voice, the devil on his shoulder, and then it goes on to detail the way that she was always holding on to him, touching him without thought. His brain feeds him images of Luna laying in her bed, hair in twin plaits, as she smiles up at him then him kissing her lips, her cheek, her jaw line, her neck, her collarbone, the upper curve of her breast and then sucking her nipple into his mouth. In his mind, his hand slips up her side and then cups her breast, squeezing it until he can suck most of it into his mouth. As she pauses, looking off to the side so he can see her silhouette, he stares at her breast and thinks that he could fit all of it in his mouth. The wind in the trees sounds like her moans and his brain taunts him with thoughts of how she'd arch into him as he touches her other breast, moulding it with his hand. He can see the way that her head would fall back and she'd sigh his name.
"Dean?" It's too close, too loud, to be part of his fantasy. He flushes and scrambles to hide how hard he is by sliding his sketchbook over his crotch but then he realises that his other hand's already pressing into his groin and he flushes more.
"Luna, I can explain," he stammers but he can't, not really. There's no explanation other than, 'hey, Luna, oh so sorry for wanking while you were dancing naked. I'm not going to jump on you, honest.'
Instead of answer, she leans in and presses her lips to his. He's shocked enough that he doesn't kiss back. Instead, he pulls away and then he leans forward and kisses her, hands coming up to cup her cheeks. She opens her mouth and he licks across her lips and then thrusts into her mouth. She tastes of lingonberries. He won't ever be able to taste them without thinking of right now and the soft little mewling noises Luna makes in the back of her throat. His hand shifts from her cheek down her neck to her shoulder. He realises that she's still naked. He pulls back quickly and falls over a rock, crabwalking and looking anywhere but at her.
"Dean? What went wrong?" She sounds confused.
"You're naked."
"Of course I am. The Snorkack needs to think of me as one of the forest creatures. They don't go around in jumpers and denims, you know." She takes a step towards him as she talks and he scoots another step back.
"But you're naked!" He repeats with a bit less panic.
"Were you bitten by a Flibberwidget today? Is that why you don't want to kiss me?" He looks up, gaze skimming past her bare legs and mound and up over her breasts to see how disappointed she looks. "Come inside, I'll help you with your bites."
He accepts her offered hand and stands next to her. "I didn't get bitten by anything, Luna. You're naked and I was kissing you and…" Dean's so scattered that he can't think of what he'd intended to say so he tosses his hands in the air and says, much more calmly, "you're naked."
"Oh," she says and she starts to wander back to the tent. He watches the way her hips and arse sway as she walks and his hand's pressing against his cock again before he knows it. "So you don't want to kiss me when I'm naked? I thought that's what people did. I thought for sure that you had to be naked to have sex."
"Sex?" At least, he'd meant to ask 'sex?'. Instead, it came out as a high pitched squeak that embarrassed him. She turns and looks over her shoulder at him so that the soft swell of breast teases him. He pulls his hand away from his cock quickly.
"Are you sure you weren't bitten?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
She shrugs her shoulders and then continues walking back to the tent. He hurries after her and holds the door, eyes averted towards the moonlight trees.
"Aren't you coming in?" She asks and Dean realises that he's been standing there like an idiot for quite a long time.
"I need a minute," he says, thinking of how he's still half-hard.
"Alright, then." She shuts the door behind her and he concentrates on other things, like McGonagall in her nightgown or Griphook that time he'd been bathing in the river and Dean forgot to call out a warning. His cock softens enough that it wouldn't embarrass him or Luna and he walks inside.
Only to have Luna press up against him and kiss him once more. His hands grip her shoulders, intent on pushing her away but they encounter cotton where he'd expected bare flesh. The momentary pause gives Luna enough time to press her advantage, deepening the kiss and slipping her arms around his waist to hold on to his arse. The feel of her tiny hands kneading his arse surprises him and, with the devil disguised as Seamus's voice shouting encouragements, he succumbs to the want and the need. Moaning into her mouth, his hands roam down her sides and then back up, edging up her sweater to grasp her bare waist and pull her closer, flush against his chest and cock. He steps so that she's between his legs and spears a hand into her hair, bending her neck while his other hand roams behind to grip her arse and push them even closer.
"God, Luna," he sighs as he breaks the kiss to nibble at her jaw and her neck. He moves from her hair to her neck, pushing her jumper out of the way so that he can nibble her neck. She moans and her hands explore his body just as much as his hands are exploring hers. He pulls back and tugs first his jumper off and then her's, and her hands stop their exploration. "What is it? Am I going too fast?"
"I thought we had to have our clothes on," she answers and he groans.
"No, that was, I felt weird that you were naked and I was dressed and I didn't want you to think that the reason I came along with you was to take advantage of you or have this happen and I wasn't really prepared for it, either and… and we just need to both be naked, that's all." He's rambling, one big long sentence that doesn't make sense out of his head. It seems like Luna understands him, though, because her hands fumble with his belt buckle and then the fastenings on his denims. Sooner than he's ready, he's standing almost naked with the tip of his cock poking out of his tight white pants. Her thumb brushes it and he groans at the lightning excitement that explodes through his nerves.
"You're very beautiful," she whispers as she watches her thumb brush the tip again. When liquid wells out of it, her thumb brushes once more and then she licks it off. He'd thought it impossible to be any harder but she just proved him wrong as his cock throbs within the confines of the pants. More of it pokes through the opening. Boldly, she grasps it within her hand and gives it an experimental squeeze. His hand quickly covers hers, making her stop.
When she looks up questioningly, he answers, "You keep that up and I'm going to come in my pants. I'd rather be in, err, bed. With you."
"Oh, well then," she grins up at him and then walks to her bed, stripping as she goes so that by the time she's taken all of the five steps needed, she's completely naked. She turns and beckons him closer and he shucks off his pants and hurries over. Her thatch is golden and his hand touches her stomach, fingertips drifting lower and then skimming back up before descending even further. Soon, he's brushing across the top of it and then back up past her belly button. Deciding to act as boldly as Luna had, his hand delves between her legs, feeling the dampness. His cock throbs again as he rubs his thumb and index finger along her as her stance widens and allows him to touch more. "My knees are weak."
"Bed?" He asks and then sits, pulling her between his legs. With a grin, he leans backwards and brings her with him. She lands on his chest, her breasts pressing into his chest. Her hands press down to either side of him and she arches back so that she can stare down their bodies. Dean's cock nestles into her body, the dampness coating him where it touches.
He's only done this one before and that had been an absolute miserable failure that had resulted in Ginny accusing him of groping her as they went through the portrait so he's not at all sure of what he's supposed to be doing to make it good for Luna. He's relieved when Luna pushes her hips down, causing his cock to slide deeper between her legs before raising them and then pushing down again.
"That feels so good, Dean, so good," she breathes out as she keeps up the rhythm. His hands roam over her back and her arse, pushing against her when she presses down.
He could come just from this but he really wants to be in her, wants to know if she's as wet inside as she is outside or if she'd moan even more when he thrusts deep. He wants to feel her clenching at him, holding him in place. Flipping them over, he pulls her legs further apart. His hand shifts so that he can hold his cock and position it before thrusting inside. She cries out and he stops, freezing in place as she stares up at him.
"Oh," she moans and he wonders if she really is as inexperienced as he'd thought. Ginny had cried that first time, cried and pushed at his shoulders, pummelling his chest and trying to get him off of her.
"You alright?" He asks.
"I'd expected more."
"More pain?"
"More anything, really. In the books, the woman always feels fireworks going off and there weren't any fireworks." She looks disappointed and Dean isn't sure whether he should be insulted or entertained.
"We're not done, yet."
"Oh." This time, it's said with quite a bit more excitement. Dean draws back and then thrusts back in. He repeats the gesture while his hand shifts from her belly up to her breast and pinches a nipple. She moans, "Oh!"
"Better?" He teases and she nods before raising her hands to cup his arse and trace the line of his spine.
"Much better, I think I'll like this." She grins and Dean responds with one of his own before picking up the pace, thrusting faster and then slower and then harder.
"Good to know," he moans as her walls clench at him and now he knows that she's even wetter inside than out. It's divine but she hasn't come yet and he's not going to let himself come without her coming first. He moves her legs wider and then rubs his thumb over her nub, matching the rhythm of his hips. She comes, arching her back and touching her belly to his while her hands dig in to his arse almost painfully. She squeezes him and the pressure is too much, he's spilling into her before he can realise. Stars burst behind his clenched eyes as his orgasm sweeps over him.
Her hands are soft and gentle as they caress his sweat-drenched flesh. Fingertips touch the top of his cleft and then walk up his spine and then back down again. He wants to collapse but he's still lying between her legs and he doesn't want to crush her. Rolling to the side seems rude, though, after what they've just done. He can't stay where he is, though, his arms are wobbly and he's going to drop any time now.
"That was fun, Dean, thanks." She beams up at him and he lowers his head to drop a kiss on her lips. He chuckles lightly.
"Did you see fireworks?"
"They were blue and green and red." She looks quite serious.
"That's good." He settles on dropping to the side and pulling her close. She sprawls over him, leg resting over his hips while her arm drops onto his chest. As they drift to sleep, Dean realises that his feet are hanging over the edge of the bed. He might not be the smoothest lover but Luna's fireworks were multi-coloured.
~~**~~
"Don't you want to see a Snorkack?" Luna asks as she strips out of her clothes there in the clearing with the circle. The corks and oddities she'd picked up back in Örebro hang from the trees. In the light breeze, they jingle and clack along the edges of the circle.
Dean shakes his head in response, holding on to his denims even as Luna unfastens his belt and pulls it free of the loops. She's unbuttoning his jumper and pushing it down his arms to start on his shirt. He's fighting a losing battle and he knows it but he still protests enough to satisfy his prudishness. Sighing, he opens his arms wide and she beams up at him and undoes his denims and then slides everything off, pants and all.
He's naked in the moonlight with Luna and he can't think of a better place to be. He's shy as he follows her movements. His back doesn't arch as much as hers and he's not as graceful in the steps. None of that matters, though, as they dance together. Luna starts singing that song that's been haunting him this entire trip. He laughs and then joins in, the lyrics coming up from the depths of his memories.
They finally stop, completely out of breath and he sits down on the snow. He flinches as he feels the cold snow on his bare arse but he's so happy and flushed from the dancing, singing and laughter that he doesn't care. He especially doesn't care when Luna drops onto his lap and snuggles against his chest.
"We're like Muffle-Eared Tomtingles," she says after kissing his collarbone.
"What're those?" Dean hasn't a clue, though he's sure they don't actually exist outside of Luna's imagination, but he waits for her creative explanation. He's learning a lot about her fantastical creatures and he's almost believing in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. If he can believe that, then a Muffle-Eared Tomtingle, whatever that is, isn't too much of a stretch.
"They're these beautiful small creatures that sing to one another – that’s how they find mates, they sing together and, eventually, a pair will develop their own song so they can find one another from miles away just by singing." She leans further into him and he wraps his arms around her. Her hands massage his scalp and he barely resists humming in pleasure.
"Can we have a better song than Hoggy Hogwarts?"
"It takes years for a pair to develop their duet so we have time to work on one, if you'd like," she says shyly, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck.
"We'll have to work on it, then." Dean closes his eyes and relaxes into the feel of her fingers in his hair. He's saying he'd like more than the song and this trip and he thinks, hopes that Luna picks up on it. He's much better with a quill than he is worth words. These sorts of words are even worse for him because he's never used them, not with anyone else, not even Ginny.
"Alright, then." He can hear, in her voice, that she knows what he's trying to say.
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.
Author/Artist:
wook77Pairing: Dean Thomas/Luna Lovegood
Summary: Six months after the Second Battle of Hogwarts, Dean's burnt out from his experiences with the war. When Luna invites him to accompany her to Sweden to look for the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack, he finds more than he bargained for.
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Spoilers for DH
Wordcount: 10675ish
Author's notes: Many many thanks to my betas:
janicechess & yodels. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to my "Swedepicker", sulky_rhino for putting up with all my questions regarding Sweden. Originally written for deena_s at smutty_claus. It's his first day in Sweden and he's already overwhelmed by the beauty of the countryside. When Luna had invited him to accompany her on a trip, he hadn't even hesitated before agreeing. No questions, no further information needed, the only thing that he'd needed was to know that they were travelling far, far away from ravaged England.
He'd been stuck in a rut, an awkward rut between the Muggle world where they didn't know of anything that had happened and the Wizarding world where he'd been helping survivors look for their family members. Luna's question had come on the day that he'd been about to break. He'd just decided that this door – this door where a worried Muggleborn family waited for news of their loved one – was his last. This would be his last time telling someone that their magical child had died. No more telling people that their husband, brother, father, sister, mother, wife, daughter, son, had passed simply by dint of blood. It'd been time for him to start his own healing from his experiences during the war.
In the past week, he's thought he might just be insane to travel to Sweden in the winter. After all, England is more than cold enough for him but at least there are creature comforts nearby. Now that he's here, he can feel that though it's cold, it's not much colder than Scotland and Hogwarts.
Örebro has a small Wizarding section and Dean takes a moment to absorb the differences between this and Diagon Alley. Other than Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley and the Wizarding section of Dublin, he's never been anywhere else that's imbued with magic. While he's gawking at the people and the different language, Luna wanders over to visit with someone. They ramble on in Swedish and Dean slowly makes his way over. He's not at all uncomfortable as he waits for her to finish her conversation; there are far too many new experiences and sights.
He's tempted to sit on the steps just to the side of the shop they're standing in front of, but he doesn't want to dig through his rucksack to find his graphite pencils so that he can sketch out the town. Instead, he stares hard at a woman with the most beautiful wrinkles on her face and then at the man with some sort of animal antlers on his hat. The colours here are much more vibrant than back home, though whether that's due to the contrast of the white of the snow and the colour on the walls or whether it's because he associates Diagon Alley with the dark and sad place he's left, he's not at all sure. Either way, it makes him wish he'd brought along more colours than he had. Perhaps, with the right type of shading or blending he might be able to get the right colours. Maybe if he…
"Dean?" Luna's high-pitched voice interrupts his pondering.
"Yeah? Done with your conversation?" He asks as he stands and slings his rucksack over his shoulder
"You were smiling," she says with wonder.
"Was I?" He wonders why it is that a smile should be so amazing and wonderful that it deserves to be remarked upon but then he realises that he hasn't smiled in a long time, not since he'd joined the Muggleborn Reunion Squad.
"You were. You should do it more often." It's said matter-of-the-factly and then she holds out her hand. "I want you to see something."
"Yeah?" Dean holds her hand and allows her to tug him along behind her. "Is it fantastic?"
"Oh yes, very. I think you'll like it." She doesn't stop as they weave through the crowds. It's almost as if she's cast a spell, everyone moves, just so, out of their way.
"I'm sure I will. This is a pretty spectacular place, Luna. I'm glad you asked me along. It looks like there's plenty for us to see here."
"This isn't where we're going, though. This is just where we're at." Dean nods though he doesn't quite understand.
"Where're we going?" He asks and she only smiles over her shoulder and answers with a, "you'll see".
She takes him from shop to shop, picking up a feather here, what looks to be a used butterbeer cork there, along with other bibs and bobs that he can't even begin to identify. When they finally finish their shopping, his curiosity bubbles over and he can't resist asking, "What's all that for?"
"You'll see," she says as she sits on the steps outside of the last stop and starts pulling things from her rucksack and sorting them. He can tell she means 'no more questions' so he doesn't ask anything else. If she wants to carry all sorts of oddities around, well, it is Loony Luna Lovegood, after all. He might've known her for years, but in the past few months, he's got to know her and he understands that there are things that simply won't make sense to him no matter how hard he tries.
"Are you hungry or are you ready to go?" She's finally finished repacking her rucksack. Just as she asks, Dean's stomach grumbles and he offers her a hand up from the steps. It's warm in his grasp and he hadn't realised how cold his hands had got until he had her small hand in his grasp. He doesn't let go as they start down the street.
"I could eat, yeah, sure. Where do you recommend?"
"You'll see." He's beginning to think that she's overusing the phrase but he doesn't have time to finish this thought as the tug of Apparition hits and he's suddenly in the middle of a snow-drenched forest.
It looks like a postcard. It's that pristine and clean. Untouched. There's too much to see and he gawks at everything he can, neck swivelling as far it'll go in either direction without stopping. It's just so perfect hat he's afraid to move, as he'll mar the beauty with his footprints. The fanciful part of his mind says that they're the first to ever be here. That can't possibly be right as Luna had Apparated them and she had to know about this place to get here, hadn't she?
He starts focusing on the details and that's when he notices the small footprints of some animal, the deep green and dark brown of the pine trees in the midst of the sea of white and then there's the large grey boulder to the side of the clearing. There's a bird high up in the tree or maybe it's a squirrel that's making a branch bounce and snow cascade down in a light shower. Squinting, he can't quite make out what sort of animal it is because it's so hidden in the midst of the snow.
When he finally speaks, he whispers because this place is so beautiful and peaceful that it reminds him of the church his mum had dragged him to one Christmas. "How'd you find this place?"
"You like it, good! I thought you would." So absorbed in the scenery that he doesn't notice when Luna squeezes his hand and walks away. He finally moves, sedately shifting in a slow reverent circle. He notices the contrasts, the colour in the midst of the white and it appeals to him, makes him want to pull out his paints and immediately set it down so that he'll always have it.
"Go ahead, Dean," Luna says and he's startled out of his contemplations. Turning the rest of the way, it hits him like a bolt of lightning, making him freeze in place.
Luna is beautiful. Sure, he's known her for years but until right now he'd never realised how beautiful she was. He hadn't seen her, not like this. The barely perceptible contrast of alabaster and white combines with the vibrant reds and oranges of her clothing. He can't quite move, he's torn between just staring and pulling out something, anything, to capture her as she stands there serenely under his gaze.
"Dean? Have you been bitten by a Flibberwidget already?" Luna starts to cross the clearing back to him and he raises his right hand.
"Stay right there." He pulls his rucksack around to the side and starts to rummage through it with one hand.
"You have been, let me see. Dad says that you have to treat a –"
"I just want to paint you, haven't been bitten at all. I promise." She stops in her path and cocks her head to the side. She looks distinctly uncomfortable and Dean wonders if she doesn't want to be painted. "Would that be alright?"
"But there are better things to paint. I haven't even shown you what's out here."
"I won't paint you if you don't want me to."
"That's alright, you can paint me. Do I have to stand here and be still?" She doesn't move and her intense concentration makes Dean smile.
"You can move a bit, just stay sort of where you are. I need to get the light before it goes away. When's the sun set, anyway?" He finally drops his hand and, using both of them; he's able to pull out his paper and pencils. It's awkward trying to draw and stand while balancing his rucksack on his back. Pausing, he looks at the ground and wonders how cold it would be and if it would start to melt. He doesn't know any spells that would keep it from happening, not off the top of his head while the colours are swirling. Eventually, he decides to go for it and focuses on Luna and his sketch. He looks up and then back down while shoving pencils behind his ears, in his mouth and across his bag.
Sitting there in the snow, Dean doesn't care that his arse is getting wet or that it's cold. He's too focused on Luna and his sketch. She comes to life in front of him while the sky turns pink and then blue. She smiles throughout and, try as he might, he can't quite catch the quirkiness of that smile; the way that it says so many things eludes him. It's close, though, really close.
"Alright, done." He looks up in enough time to see her grin spread and then she skips across the snow to sit down next to him.
"That's nice, Dean, really nice. You're quite good at that."
"It's not quite perfect but it's enough that when we get back, I can fix it, make it better." He fiddles a bit more with the red, strengthening the shadows.
"Sometimes, if you keep trying to improve things, eventually, it's not at all what you were going for in the first place."
Her comment makes him nervous because he knows she's not just talking about the drawing. She's talking about the war and fixing Ted Tonks's death through his work with the Muggle Reunion Squad. Dean's right back to the morose thoughts he's here to shake off. Trying it literally, he shakes his head and then stows his sketchbook and pencils.
Once everything's packed, he stands and then offers his hand. Luna smiles shyly and takes it, letting him pull her up. "So where are we? I don't think you ever said."
"Welcome to Kilsbergen."
"Kilsbergen? That's," he gestures around with his free hand, waving it in the air to encompass the entire area, "this?"
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" She gives his hand a squeeze and then lets go.
"How'd you find this place?" He waves his newly freed hand.
"Kilsbergen is known for its unique flora and fauna. It's home to a variety of magical species, including the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Dad and I have been coming here for years." She looks towards the trees.
Dean's first instinct is to tell her there's no such thing but after spending so much time with her he doesn't. Instead he says, "Maybe we'll see one this time."
"They're very shy creatures, but there are ways to try to lure them out. Maybe you'll even get to sketch one." She looks to the horizon and then starts pulling things out of her own rucksack. "We should set up camp before it gets any darker."
"Only time I've been camping is with the Finnigan's at the World Cup so I don't really know what you need done but if you'll tell me, then I'll do it."
Luna's quick to show him how to set up the tent and get things settled in a proper area of the clearing. When he asks why they're setting the tent almost completely under a tree, Luna explains, at length, about how the Snorkack like open spaces to congregate. If the tent were further into the clearing, they'd never get to see one. Once the tent is up and secured they crawl in, and Dean will never get over the wonder of wizard tents.
The Lovegood's tent is very different from the one the Finnigans used at the World Cup. It's the only other time he's been in a tent but that wasn't really camping, not in his head. Seamus's tent was large but it felt so small because there had been so many beds for Seamus's large family. This one was much smaller than Seamus's but it feels larger. There's a nice kitchen area in the very back and two beds next to each other opposite the sitting area. It's cozy and the couch looks especially comfortable.
"Which bed's mine?" He asks as he looks around, taking in the faded floral pattern on the walls and the carpet.
"You can have that one," she says as she gestures towards the one closest to the door. "I'll just get the fire going."
When it roars to life, Dean is gobsmacked. He wonders about how flammable the walls are and if they're properly warded. "Isn't that going to set the tent on fire?"
"It's perfectly safe. My parents bought this tent when they were first married. When I was a little girl, we'd go camping all the time when mum could get away from her research." Luna starts unpacking as she speaks and Dean quickly follows suit.
Soon, the tent's warm and Dean forgets that they're in Sweden and it's December. He forgets all about the snow outside.
For a moment, when he wakes, Dean thinks that he's back with Seamus at the Quidditch World Cup. The air smells just like it had back then – all woodsmoke and fire and mustiness. It's the same muted light and snapping canvas sounds. When he opens his eyes, he remembers that he's not in a field ready for a day of revelry with the Finnigans. He's not fourteen and he's not quite so innocent any more.
He's nineteen and he's in Sweden with Luna Lovegood. A grin splits his face as he rolls onto his back, flopping his arms to the sides, outstretched. Blessed freedom from all the regular trials and tribulations beckons and he's excited for the day to come. He laughs to himself and then Luna appears off to the side.
"You're awake. Would you like breakfast?" She asks as she stands at the side of the bed, wrapped in a towel and dripping. Her hair is plaited and she looks very different then he's ever seen her. He takes in the curve of her neck, the way that it seems a hair too short in clothing and just about perfect without covering. Her eyes seem less bulbous with her hair pulled back in twin braids that drip water across her chest. He can't quite help himself from watching the trace of water down over the upper curve of her breast and then the way it's absorbed into the towel. It's not at all surprising that his body reacts
She must have seen the path his eyes take because her skin takes on a rosy flush and he blushes and quickly averts his eyes. Crawling out of bed, he hurries towards the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "Whatever you want, no worries. Mind if I…"
He's in the doorway and still refuses to look over his shoulder at Luna.
"Of course, mind the Hindalugs. Ever since Father and I got back from Romania, we've had an infestation of them." He can hear her rustling in the dresser so he scampers into the bathroom before he realises that he left everything in the other room. He bangs his head against the door and then opens it minutely.
"Luna? You decent? I, err, that is, I forgot my clothes." Dean's very certain that his face is flaming red what with the heat radiating off of it, so warm that he thinks he could melt the snow outside just by walking out there. Then again, he's not willing to do that considering that Luna's probably naked out there right now. If he looks out the door, just right, he'll be able to see her and see if her breasts are as beautiful as he thinks they're going to be. Shaking his head, he pushes the thoughts back as they're far too much like what Seamus would've been thinking and he's not a pervy bastard like Seamus, he's a gentleman, dammit. His mum would box his ears if she knew what he's thinking.
"Ok, Dean, you can come out," Luna calls out and Dean gingerly opens the door. He takes one, two, three quick looks. Reassured that she's dressed, he walks out and gathers his things, tucking his pants into his denims so that Luna can't seem them. Yet again, the wrath of Seamus strikes as the only pants in his pack are all obnoxious colours, thanks to his best mate's wicked sense of humour. It's the absolute last time he lets Seamus sit in his room while he's packing, he vows, as he hides the bright pink pants.
"I'll be right out," he pledges and then hurries back into the bathroom. He's quick to discover that he's forgotten his bathing things and he sighs. Dropping the clothes onto the toilet, he walks back out into the main room and gathers his bathing accoutrements and then walks back into the bathroom for the third time, Luna's delighted laughter ringing in his ears.
He showers quickly, lathering and rinsing in the camp shower as he doesn't want to take the time for a proper bath. The scent of bacon and pancakes float through into the misty, humid room and his stomach growls. The smell spurs him on to greater speeds and he's out in a trice, towelling off quickly.
When he steps into the kitchen, he sees Luna in an old-fashioned apron with gingham and ribbons. It's something like the ones his mum wore when he was young. "Smells good in here."
"Thanks, they're a recipe dad and I found the first time we came here," she answers over her shoulder and scoops thin pancakes on to a plate.
"Need any help?" He asks as he peers over her shoulder at the food. The bacon pops and sizzles and there's a hiss as she pours more batter onto the flat griddle.
"Could you pour the tea?"
"Sure thing, anything to help." Now that they're cooking and dancing around the kitchen and each other, Dean can start to forget that trail of water and his embarrassing display of absentmindedness of just a few minutes ago. Soon enough, breakfast is ready and on the table. He pokes at the pancakes, picking one up and examining it. He gestures with his fork-speared pancake, "What're these?"
"Pancakes," she responds and he grins at his stupid question.
"And these?" He gestures towards the red berries in a bowl next to the pancake platter.
"Cowberries. Though they're also called foxberries. And lingonberries. The Crumple-Horned Snorkack really likes them. From what we can find, they immigrated to Sweden because of the availability of lingonberries."
"Oh, I see," he says while piling his plate high with everything. The berries burst over his tongue when he bites down and he's instantly in love with them. They're rich in flavour, so very different from blueberries or strawberries. He makes a mental note to pick up some for his mum.
"They use the berries as an aphrodisiac." It's said so innocently that it takes Dean a moment to figure out what she'd said. When the light finally dawns, he sputters.
"So you're saying the Snorkack gets turned on by this?" Dean gestures with his fork towards the berries.
"Yes, of course. They use the berries as part of the mating rituals. It's very intense and intricate, you know. From what Father and I have been able to determine, there are seven main steps to the mating ritual. The berries are step four."
"What're the others?"
"Various texts have various ideas. For example, one Russian text says that Snorkacks actually use beets instead of lingonberries. That's one of the reasons that I wanted to come here, to see if the Snorkack used the berries." Luna's gaze darts around the room and then lands on the pile of pancakes. "You'll want to start eating, the food is getting cold."
"Oh right." He gets down to the business of eating. By the time breakfast is over and done with, he's eaten three-quarters of the food while Luna's finished off the rest.
"I'll clean up, yeah?" He waves off her protestations and starts gathering up the dirty dishes, "You cooked, it's only fair that I clean."
"Alright, Dean, thanks." She starts humming as she wanders over to the sitting area and starts reading a book. The tune's familiar to him though he can't quite recall where he knows it from. Mind on his task, he starts humming in tune with her. By the time the dishes are clean and the table wiped down, Dean's almost completely forgotten the way they'd started out the morning.
When he turns, he sees that she's reading a book on fantastical beasts. Sitting on the sofa next to her, he watches the pictures roar and scamper across the pages. Her finger traces along the words as she reads and she's adorable with the fierce look of concentration on her face. The page turns and there's an artist's rendition of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Before she can turn the page, he puts his hand over hers and makes her pause.
"So how do we go about finding one of these? You think the lingonberries'll be enough?" She twists her hand and curls her fingers around his hand.
"They're a good start. There's a few other things that I've heard work. They'll come when they want to, of course. If not this trip, then the next and if not the next?" She shrugs, "Then it'll be the next."
"Won't stop us from doing what we can to get them to appear this time, though, right?" He hasn't bought into the existence of the creatures but considering that he's not at work, he's willing to give anything a go. Besides, if it makes Luna happy, then it's worth it. The thought doesn't give him pause, not after their months at Shell Cottage and the way that he's gotten to know her.
She's not Loony Lovegood any longer. He can see that she's odd but she's just different from the rest and that's what he finds appealing. He likes the way that she can see into people and situations, come up with a solution or a saying that seems to make everything better.
While he's been reflecting, Luna's shut the book and turned to face him on the sofa. "Come on, I'll show you the clearing."
"Alright. Is it far from here?" He asks as he stands and then, with their hands still wrapped around one another, tugs her to her feet. She's so much smaller than him, face barely coming to the top of his chest and he feels gangly, all awkward angles and length, next to her. If he were to kiss her, she'd have to stand on the sofa, he thinks. He stops dead in his tracks. Where the bloody hell had that come from? They're not going to be kissing; this is a platonic trip, no matter what Seamus had teased while Dean had been packing.
"Not too far, it's an easy walk." Dean nods and they both slip into their boots and coats then head out into the cold.
As they walk through the woods, Dean slowly becomes more and more aware of Luna's breathing and the way that her hand fits in his. With a squeeze, she pulls away and he feels momentarily lost as she skips away. Then she's skipping back and grabbing his hand to tug him in one direction. Another repeat of the squeeze and skip and return and tug and they're off in another direction. He's so turned around that he has no idea where the tent is. He can only pray that she knows.
"Those are the tracks of a hopping hilowick," she says and points to the ground. To Dean's city-trained eyes, he thinks they look like rabbit tracks but who's he to judge? He's only seen rabbits in the park, after all, so he nods his agreement. From there, she points out the elk tracks and then tugs him to a tree with a unique growth of moss, brown and brittle in the cold of a Swedish winter. She's quick to point out a thousand things that Dean wouldn't have noticed on his own.
He decides she's like a bird, a magpie, even. Flitting from one object to another, there are so many things for them to see and he can tell that she's curious about all of them. No matter how much she says that things happen as they're meant, he can see that she thinks everything is really meant to happen soon.
She's living life, he realises. She's living, absorbing and being. When she turns, looking over her shoulder at him with a luminous smile on her face while her hand stretches out straight in front of her, Dean returns it and runs after her. With a giggle, she scampers off into the woods. He can't help but laugh as he chases her.
His laughter redoubles as she waves her wand, dumping a pile of snow on his head. Shaking it off like a dog, he picks up speed. When she goes left around a boulder, he goes right, launching himself at her. They land in a snow bank, laughing and giggling like children.
They arrive, hours later, to the clearing. They've already used three drying spells apiece but Dean can still feel the melted snow trickling down his neck. Luna paces off a circle. When she's done, she claps her hands over her head, swinging her arms from down by her sides up over and then swinging them back down. She repeats the gesture once, twice, three times. With a laugh, she skips along the trodden line and arrives back at Dean's side.
"What're the claps for?" Dean can't help his curiosity.
"To seal the circle. Snorkacks will know that it's a friendly spot now without any traps because I warned them that it was sealed. They're very shy." She cocks her head and sways her hips. From anyone else, Dean would take the gesture as flirtation but this is Luna and, instead, he assumes that it's excitement at the possibility of seeing that fabled animal. Before he can respond, his stomach grumbles and she laughs once more. "Your stomach's saying you're hungry. Wouldn't want it to scare the animals, shall we go back and get some lunch?"
"Sure, that'd be good." With that, they're off and it only takes five minutes to walk back from the clearing to the tent. Dean only shakes his head and holds the door to the tent for Luna.
The woods are beautiful but Dean can't quite concentrate on the scenery. He's remembering his time on the run, before and after Ted Tonks found him, rescued him. These woods don't bring back fond memories, not while he's walking them alone and he's stuck with the bitter cold and the gnawing hunger. And the overpowering fear that, at any moment, he, they, could be killed or, worse, captured. When they'd sat around the fire, they had acted like it wouldn't happen but it was a nightly occurrence to look at one another and wonder if the others might just cut and run instead of staying together. Safety in numbers, as Ted had said. They practise defence between fishing and moving on, they practise their defensive circles and casting in tandem.
These trees and rocks had looked so beautiful to him with Luna there beside him just yesterday. It had been divine with the way they'd walked and the light had covered everything, highlighting it so the trees were covered in frosting. In the murky light of a now cloudy day, though, it feels ominous; there are shadows hiding behind trees and the snow crackles in the midst of the sunlight.
The little clearings make him feel exposed so he hurries through them, art supplies clacking and shifting in his rucksack. Shaking off the morbidity, he chastises himself for his continued response. He's a bit like those dogs in that study that his mum talked about, the one where they'd slobber when they'd hear a whistle - Dean sees a shadow and flinches and he hates the comparison. In fact, it spurs him on his journey, causing him to boldly walk through a clearing right in the center. There aren't any Death Eaters any longer and even if there were, they wouldn't be in the woods in Sweden. There's no Snatchers out looking to sell Muggleborns, either. There's no reward for his capture and no one's going to torture either him or Luna. He's in a beautiful forest in Sweden and that's that.
He nods, repeats that's that in his head and then sets off in the direction of the lake that Luna had said was somewhere out here. She's doing something to prepare for the Snorkacks in that clearing and she'd sent him off to wander on his own. He'd jumped at the opportunity to take some time and just sketch to his heart's content. He hadn't had that kind of free time in he couldn't remember how long. First there'd been running and then there'd been helping the Muggleborn Reunion Squad. All in all, his life had been one big pile of shifting jumbled emotions.
When he reaches the next clearing, no repetition of that's that helps and his hands shake as he takes the first step. The shadows encroach on the clearing and turn menacing. Giving up for now, he turns and hurries back to the tent and the safety of the well-lit clearing without any of those creepy shadows or boulders big enough to hide people. Even more importantly, there's no way that any evil memories can attack him when Luna's near. As soon as he's back by the tent, panic ebbs slightly though he's out of breath and his heart still races.
"Dean?" Luna's concerned voice comes from behind a large boulder. When he circles it, he sees her sitting, barefoot in the snow, with a sketchbook in front of her.
"What're you drawing?" He tries to sound normal but there's still a slight tremor to his voice.
"Did you see one?" She seems excited until she looks up. She has to see the fear, must see it with the way it feels like it's leeching out of him with every breath, a giant puff of cowardice that hangs in the air around him. "What happened? Were you attacked?"
"It's nothing," he starts to say but she lunges up and her hands roam his face, chest, shoulders, stomach and back. They feel good on him but he resists the temptation to let her continue. Grabbing them, he gives them a squeeze and tries to look reassuring. "I'm fine, just bad memories."
"Oh Dean," she sighs as her hands squeeze his. She sounds so unbearably sad that it makes his heart ache.
"It's alright, it's just being back in the woods and with the weird light and stuff it… it reminded me of Ted and being on the run and – " he stops and lets go of her hands to wave them about in the air. "It happens sometimes, is all."
She still looks so sad that he wracks his brain to think of a way to reassure her. It isn't so bad most of the time; after all, he can control the fear and the panic when they sweep over him. Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek and, before the touch registers, she shifts and hugs him as hard as she can. Her face presses against his sternum and her hands snake up his back so that her forearms reach up his back and hold him securely. His arms stay, ineffectively at his sides, until he finally raises them to hold her, resting them against her back with a shy lightness.
"I'm sorry if that, well," he stumbles while still searching for the right words, "if that upsets you or something. I don't mean to hurt you."
She just squeezes harder and he hugs back, at a loss to even begin to comprehend what's going on. As the uncomfortable silence stretches, Dean scrambles for something to say and settles on, "Your sketchbook's in the snow, Luna, it'll get ruined."
"That's alright."
"Don't you want to show me what you were drawing?"
"If you want."
"I do," he says and breathes a sigh of relief that she seems to be cheered up by the prospect of showing him her artwork. They sit with their backs resting on the boulder and Luna rhapsodises over the animals that she's sketched, coming up with fantastical stories behind each and every one of them. It's a much better way to spend his day and they sit out there until the sun starts to set.
Ted Tonks falls in front of him, his body contorting under the Cruciatus Curse. Dean hasn't seen it since Hogwarts and Moody teaching it in fourth year. He has a moment to think that it looks so much more horrible when used on a human instead of a spider before he's hit with it himself. His nerves explode and his spine feels like it's about to snap as it bows. It hurts so much, he can't shout or yell. He's left with tears and blood bursting over his tongue as he bites his inner lip.
As the pain spreads, Dean steps out of himself and watches as Ted leaps up, casting some spell but not getting a chance to finish it as green light envelops him. Greyback's laughter rings in his ears and he finally screams
He sits straight up in bed as he pulls himself out of the memory disguising itself as a dream. Sweat drips down his face, neck and back as he pants. The tent is quiet but that only makes his panting seem that much louder. His hands shake where they grip the bedding and he fights back the urge to cry. It's been months and he's been getting better. This is only the tenth time since the Battle of Hogwarts that he's had this nightmare.
His throat is parched and he wonders if he actually screamed in his sleep. Seamus had told him that it varied from nightmare to nightmare. As much as he hopes that this was a silent night since Luna's sleeping in the bed next to him, he knows that it wasn't. A glass of water appears next to him and he takes it gratefully.
"Thanks," he mutters after he's drained the cup and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He's embarrassed when he feels the tear tracks down his face.
"It's alright, Dean. We all have our demons." The bed dips as she sits on the edge and grabs his hand, tracing the raised veins along the back of his hand.
"You never seem to." It's out of his mouth before he thinks. He knows about her mother and the explosion. He also knows about her torture at the hands of Bellatrix and the rest. She has her demons and he shouldn't just dismiss them like that.
"Of course I do. It's just that sometimes, you have to remember the happy things. I don't really think about my mother dying. I remember us camping or her braiding my hair. I like the happier memories."
"What about Malfoy Manor?" He asks and he wants to snatch the words back.
"I remember you and Harry and Hermione and Ron arriving. I remember how we escaped and how much fun we had at Shell Cottage."
"Yeah," he says and the memories of Shell Cottage go through his mind. He can remember how crushed Harry was as they'd buried Dobby. Then there was Ollivander and Griphook, brutally injured and barely able to move. He remembers the way that Luna's face had been swollen and bruised. She'd limped for a week afterwards and he remembers how she'd startle at an odd noise, whether she tried to hide it or not.
"Dean?" Luna taps him on the shoulder and when he startles at her voice and touch, she raises his hand and kisses the back of it. "The past is important but sometimes, you have to remember that you live in the now, too."
"Hm?" He knows what she means, no matter how he tries to pass it off. He's spent the past six months living in the past, mired in loss and pain – both his own and others. "You're right, Luna."
"Of course I am," she says drolly and then winks at him before humming that tune of hers. The familiarity of it trips along his memory, he knows he knows the song but he just can't remember it. Her soft humming starts lulling him to sleep and before he knows it, his head is pillowed on Luna's lap and he's snoring.
When he wakes in the morning, there's a moist breeze on his cheek. As his brain catches up, he feels a light weight on his waist and there's something solid pressing against his bent knees. His first instinct is to roll over, away from whatever it is, but instead he opens his eyes. Luna's exhale puffs from her open mouth, moist air flowing across his face. Her arm twitches causing her hand to slip off his waist and rest on the bed between them.
His mum's voice echoes in his head, urging him to be a gentleman and pull back, roll out of bed before Luna can notice that they've slept together. Seamus's voice comes and urges him to move closer, touch her waist with his hand like she'd been touching his, and maybe even slide his face closer until he can kiss her parted lips. They fight back and forth so he stays where he is. When she shifts, mumbling something in her sleep and then starts to open her eyes, he slams his eyelids shut and hopes he can fake sleep.
Her hand reaches out and traces his cheek. The bed dips and rolls as she moves and then her lips cover his. It's a soft kiss, sweet and innocent. Dean's eyes fly open and Luna's completely blurred in front of him but she really is kissing him. His hand drifts until it rests on her shoulder then skims along her collarbone, up her neck and then delves into her hair, embedding itself within the thin and light strands of hair. Shyly, he opens his mouth and his tongue darts out, tracing her lips and then her teeth. He's slow to press the advantage, slow to move this further than Luna's comfortable with as he has no idea how much experience she has at this sort of thing.
Her tongue comes out, touching his and he can tell just from the hesitation that she hasn't kissed many people before. Moving even more slowly, he pushes his fingers deeper into her hair and massages her scalp while his tongue delves into her mouth. It's slow and lovely. It feels wrong to think of the kisses with Ginny right now but when he'd kissed Ginny, she'd been forceful, thrusting into his mouth and tugging at his hair or hands or skin. It hadn't been because she'd been all that experienced but because she was so much more forceful as a person. Luna, though, Luna's quiet and her kisses reflect that, they're soft and gentle. He likes being the one in charge as he deepens the kiss just a bit more.
Lungs screaming, he's tempted to pull back but, instead, he breathes through his nose. His hand slips from her hair to roam back over her neck, collarbone, shoulder, down her arm and then brushes the side of her breast. Luna pulls back and pats his cheek before rolling out of bed and, with a grin, darting into the bathroom. He's completely and totally confused. For a moment, he wonders if he really had kissed Luna and then he wonders if she'd liked it or if she'd run off to the bathroom to hide from him. Maybe he'd pulled her hair or maybe he'd been too forceful or maybe even not forceful enough.
"Breakfast?" She asks as she comes out of the bathroom and he nods and then heads into the bathroom.
When he comes out, there're those small thin pancakes and the bright berries once more. He reaches up with one hand, scratching the back of his head and then his neck, wondering if maybe he should apologise for something.
"Luna, I'm sorry about earlier. Things got away from me. Won't happen again."
"Didn't you enjoy it?" He looks up from his contemplations of the faded pink rose patterned rug to see her staring at him with a surprised and hurt expression on her face.
"Course I did," he says vehemently.
"Alright then." He has no idea what that means but he walks over to the table and sits down, stuffing food in his mouth so that he doesn't ask the questions that are tripping over themselves in his head.
When breakfast is over, Luna says something about preparing a ceremony or something to see if she can see Snorkacks and grabs her rucksack filled with bibs and bobs. Dean heads out with his sketchpad and a sandwich in his rucksack. At the clearing, they part and Dean gives a wave as he turns away from her. This time, he refuses to think about what the shadows, trees and boulders could be hiding and, instead, concentrates on the way the snow gilds the trees with reflected light or the way that it contrasts with the dark greys of the rocks.
Without realising it, he walks through the clearing that had scared him so much yesterday. Today, though, he's thinking only about the way Luna's hair had twined itself around his fingers and that quick brush of her breast. He's remembering her lips and the taste of her. His cock's hardening and by the time he reaches the lakeshore, he's having problems walking. Refusing to wank, he pulls out the sketchpad and starts drawing the line of the lake and how it curves out of sight, ice a light light blue for as far as he can see.
A rabbit, no, he corrects himself mentally, a hopping hilowick, crosses his path. It stops, sniffing the air and he sketches it as quickly as he can, light slashes of pencil on paper capturing the way that its body is tense as it senses him. When it looks at him, he freezes and then it disappears into the woods in a blink. He keeps sketching, even as lunchtime passes and he munches on his sandwich. The book starts to fill up as he does quick sketches to set a scene. Örebro comes to life under his pencils, the angles and architecture taking shape. Then there's the old woman with the wrinkles. Soon, she's grinning out from the paper. They're not the best sketches but they're enough that he can come back and rework them, improve them.
Dusk creeps in and it takes awhile for Dean to notice that the sky has darkened so much that he's straining to see the figures on the paper. With a sigh, he stows his sketchbook and pencils and walks back to camp. As he passes the clearing where Luna had paced off the circle, a glint of light catches his eye and he turns towards it, walking through the trees until he can peer into the clearing. There, framed by trees and branches and snow, he sees Luna. Frozen in place, he watches as she pirouettes, foot pointed behind her as she turns in a circle, head tilted back and her hair a waterfall of light. She looks like one of those dancers from the public access channel only much more real. Those dancers are all skin and bone, wearing dresses that only accentuated their skinny frames. Luna, though, is all alabaster skin on a white background. It's a subtle contrast but there, in the moonlight, he can see the way that she glows in the midst of all the rest.
Seamus had always rattled on about angels and saints and there, in front of him, was an angel. Dean's sure to get a teasing over it by his best mate but he doesn't care because it's true. As quietly as he can, he pulls his sketchbook out and then rummages until his hand grabs hold of one of the pencils. He barely looks at the paper as he sketches, hoping to go more by feel because he simply can't take his eyes off of her. By now, she's finished her turn and starts to sing as she leaps, once, twice, three times across the circle and then spins there, as well. Her song's in another language – French, he thinks, as it sounds like the song Fleur would sing as she cooked during their days at Shell Cottage – and he's torn between keeping his eyes open or getting closer to listen to her.
Dean feels like a voyeur as he watches her dance naked in the moonlight. He hadn't even realised she was naked until she'd leapt graceful as a gazelle. That's when he realised that she wasn't wearing light coloured clothing but that it was just her pale skin reflecting the light. He's so uncomfortable watching but at the same time, he can't look away, he really can't stop himself. His mum's voice chastises him in his ear and Seamus's voice only chuckles knowingly. When she leaps and spins in the air, he decides that the dancer analogy was wrong because she's much more like one of those fairies in the books his mum would read him or, even better, the ones he'd seen at Seamus's house. Luna doesn't stumble as she dips backwards, hair brushing snow and then with a swirl of her arms, stands back up and goes right into a spin. Dean's amazed, impressed, intrigued and overwhelmed.
As she dances closer, Dean can see the way her nipples have hardened in the cold. They're a dark, dusky pink on a gentle small swell and his palms itch to touch them even as he continues sketching. He wonders how they would taste, what they would feel like on his tongue and between his teeth.
His cock is hard in his trousers and he wills his mind to stop that path of thought, make his eyes look away. These are the sorts of thoughts that are going to make it hard for him to lie in his bed while Luna sleeps chastely in her own bed right there next to him. They're friends, regardless of the kiss this morning. But she kissed you, comes Seamus's voice, the devil on his shoulder, and then it goes on to detail the way that she was always holding on to him, touching him without thought. His brain feeds him images of Luna laying in her bed, hair in twin plaits, as she smiles up at him then him kissing her lips, her cheek, her jaw line, her neck, her collarbone, the upper curve of her breast and then sucking her nipple into his mouth. In his mind, his hand slips up her side and then cups her breast, squeezing it until he can suck most of it into his mouth. As she pauses, looking off to the side so he can see her silhouette, he stares at her breast and thinks that he could fit all of it in his mouth. The wind in the trees sounds like her moans and his brain taunts him with thoughts of how she'd arch into him as he touches her other breast, moulding it with his hand. He can see the way that her head would fall back and she'd sigh his name.
"Dean?" It's too close, too loud, to be part of his fantasy. He flushes and scrambles to hide how hard he is by sliding his sketchbook over his crotch but then he realises that his other hand's already pressing into his groin and he flushes more.
"Luna, I can explain," he stammers but he can't, not really. There's no explanation other than, 'hey, Luna, oh so sorry for wanking while you were dancing naked. I'm not going to jump on you, honest.'
Instead of answer, she leans in and presses her lips to his. He's shocked enough that he doesn't kiss back. Instead, he pulls away and then he leans forward and kisses her, hands coming up to cup her cheeks. She opens her mouth and he licks across her lips and then thrusts into her mouth. She tastes of lingonberries. He won't ever be able to taste them without thinking of right now and the soft little mewling noises Luna makes in the back of her throat. His hand shifts from her cheek down her neck to her shoulder. He realises that she's still naked. He pulls back quickly and falls over a rock, crabwalking and looking anywhere but at her.
"Dean? What went wrong?" She sounds confused.
"You're naked."
"Of course I am. The Snorkack needs to think of me as one of the forest creatures. They don't go around in jumpers and denims, you know." She takes a step towards him as she talks and he scoots another step back.
"But you're naked!" He repeats with a bit less panic.
"Were you bitten by a Flibberwidget today? Is that why you don't want to kiss me?" He looks up, gaze skimming past her bare legs and mound and up over her breasts to see how disappointed she looks. "Come inside, I'll help you with your bites."
He accepts her offered hand and stands next to her. "I didn't get bitten by anything, Luna. You're naked and I was kissing you and…" Dean's so scattered that he can't think of what he'd intended to say so he tosses his hands in the air and says, much more calmly, "you're naked."
"Oh," she says and she starts to wander back to the tent. He watches the way her hips and arse sway as she walks and his hand's pressing against his cock again before he knows it. "So you don't want to kiss me when I'm naked? I thought that's what people did. I thought for sure that you had to be naked to have sex."
"Sex?" At least, he'd meant to ask 'sex?'. Instead, it came out as a high pitched squeak that embarrassed him. She turns and looks over her shoulder at him so that the soft swell of breast teases him. He pulls his hand away from his cock quickly.
"Are you sure you weren't bitten?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
She shrugs her shoulders and then continues walking back to the tent. He hurries after her and holds the door, eyes averted towards the moonlight trees.
"Aren't you coming in?" She asks and Dean realises that he's been standing there like an idiot for quite a long time.
"I need a minute," he says, thinking of how he's still half-hard.
"Alright, then." She shuts the door behind her and he concentrates on other things, like McGonagall in her nightgown or Griphook that time he'd been bathing in the river and Dean forgot to call out a warning. His cock softens enough that it wouldn't embarrass him or Luna and he walks inside.
Only to have Luna press up against him and kiss him once more. His hands grip her shoulders, intent on pushing her away but they encounter cotton where he'd expected bare flesh. The momentary pause gives Luna enough time to press her advantage, deepening the kiss and slipping her arms around his waist to hold on to his arse. The feel of her tiny hands kneading his arse surprises him and, with the devil disguised as Seamus's voice shouting encouragements, he succumbs to the want and the need. Moaning into her mouth, his hands roam down her sides and then back up, edging up her sweater to grasp her bare waist and pull her closer, flush against his chest and cock. He steps so that she's between his legs and spears a hand into her hair, bending her neck while his other hand roams behind to grip her arse and push them even closer.
"God, Luna," he sighs as he breaks the kiss to nibble at her jaw and her neck. He moves from her hair to her neck, pushing her jumper out of the way so that he can nibble her neck. She moans and her hands explore his body just as much as his hands are exploring hers. He pulls back and tugs first his jumper off and then her's, and her hands stop their exploration. "What is it? Am I going too fast?"
"I thought we had to have our clothes on," she answers and he groans.
"No, that was, I felt weird that you were naked and I was dressed and I didn't want you to think that the reason I came along with you was to take advantage of you or have this happen and I wasn't really prepared for it, either and… and we just need to both be naked, that's all." He's rambling, one big long sentence that doesn't make sense out of his head. It seems like Luna understands him, though, because her hands fumble with his belt buckle and then the fastenings on his denims. Sooner than he's ready, he's standing almost naked with the tip of his cock poking out of his tight white pants. Her thumb brushes it and he groans at the lightning excitement that explodes through his nerves.
"You're very beautiful," she whispers as she watches her thumb brush the tip again. When liquid wells out of it, her thumb brushes once more and then she licks it off. He'd thought it impossible to be any harder but she just proved him wrong as his cock throbs within the confines of the pants. More of it pokes through the opening. Boldly, she grasps it within her hand and gives it an experimental squeeze. His hand quickly covers hers, making her stop.
When she looks up questioningly, he answers, "You keep that up and I'm going to come in my pants. I'd rather be in, err, bed. With you."
"Oh, well then," she grins up at him and then walks to her bed, stripping as she goes so that by the time she's taken all of the five steps needed, she's completely naked. She turns and beckons him closer and he shucks off his pants and hurries over. Her thatch is golden and his hand touches her stomach, fingertips drifting lower and then skimming back up before descending even further. Soon, he's brushing across the top of it and then back up past her belly button. Deciding to act as boldly as Luna had, his hand delves between her legs, feeling the dampness. His cock throbs again as he rubs his thumb and index finger along her as her stance widens and allows him to touch more. "My knees are weak."
"Bed?" He asks and then sits, pulling her between his legs. With a grin, he leans backwards and brings her with him. She lands on his chest, her breasts pressing into his chest. Her hands press down to either side of him and she arches back so that she can stare down their bodies. Dean's cock nestles into her body, the dampness coating him where it touches.
He's only done this one before and that had been an absolute miserable failure that had resulted in Ginny accusing him of groping her as they went through the portrait so he's not at all sure of what he's supposed to be doing to make it good for Luna. He's relieved when Luna pushes her hips down, causing his cock to slide deeper between her legs before raising them and then pushing down again.
"That feels so good, Dean, so good," she breathes out as she keeps up the rhythm. His hands roam over her back and her arse, pushing against her when she presses down.
He could come just from this but he really wants to be in her, wants to know if she's as wet inside as she is outside or if she'd moan even more when he thrusts deep. He wants to feel her clenching at him, holding him in place. Flipping them over, he pulls her legs further apart. His hand shifts so that he can hold his cock and position it before thrusting inside. She cries out and he stops, freezing in place as she stares up at him.
"Oh," she moans and he wonders if she really is as inexperienced as he'd thought. Ginny had cried that first time, cried and pushed at his shoulders, pummelling his chest and trying to get him off of her.
"You alright?" He asks.
"I'd expected more."
"More pain?"
"More anything, really. In the books, the woman always feels fireworks going off and there weren't any fireworks." She looks disappointed and Dean isn't sure whether he should be insulted or entertained.
"We're not done, yet."
"Oh." This time, it's said with quite a bit more excitement. Dean draws back and then thrusts back in. He repeats the gesture while his hand shifts from her belly up to her breast and pinches a nipple. She moans, "Oh!"
"Better?" He teases and she nods before raising her hands to cup his arse and trace the line of his spine.
"Much better, I think I'll like this." She grins and Dean responds with one of his own before picking up the pace, thrusting faster and then slower and then harder.
"Good to know," he moans as her walls clench at him and now he knows that she's even wetter inside than out. It's divine but she hasn't come yet and he's not going to let himself come without her coming first. He moves her legs wider and then rubs his thumb over her nub, matching the rhythm of his hips. She comes, arching her back and touching her belly to his while her hands dig in to his arse almost painfully. She squeezes him and the pressure is too much, he's spilling into her before he can realise. Stars burst behind his clenched eyes as his orgasm sweeps over him.
Her hands are soft and gentle as they caress his sweat-drenched flesh. Fingertips touch the top of his cleft and then walk up his spine and then back down again. He wants to collapse but he's still lying between her legs and he doesn't want to crush her. Rolling to the side seems rude, though, after what they've just done. He can't stay where he is, though, his arms are wobbly and he's going to drop any time now.
"That was fun, Dean, thanks." She beams up at him and he lowers his head to drop a kiss on her lips. He chuckles lightly.
"Did you see fireworks?"
"They were blue and green and red." She looks quite serious.
"That's good." He settles on dropping to the side and pulling her close. She sprawls over him, leg resting over his hips while her arm drops onto his chest. As they drift to sleep, Dean realises that his feet are hanging over the edge of the bed. He might not be the smoothest lover but Luna's fireworks were multi-coloured.
"Don't you want to see a Snorkack?" Luna asks as she strips out of her clothes there in the clearing with the circle. The corks and oddities she'd picked up back in Örebro hang from the trees. In the light breeze, they jingle and clack along the edges of the circle.
Dean shakes his head in response, holding on to his denims even as Luna unfastens his belt and pulls it free of the loops. She's unbuttoning his jumper and pushing it down his arms to start on his shirt. He's fighting a losing battle and he knows it but he still protests enough to satisfy his prudishness. Sighing, he opens his arms wide and she beams up at him and undoes his denims and then slides everything off, pants and all.
He's naked in the moonlight with Luna and he can't think of a better place to be. He's shy as he follows her movements. His back doesn't arch as much as hers and he's not as graceful in the steps. None of that matters, though, as they dance together. Luna starts singing that song that's been haunting him this entire trip. He laughs and then joins in, the lyrics coming up from the depths of his memories.
They finally stop, completely out of breath and he sits down on the snow. He flinches as he feels the cold snow on his bare arse but he's so happy and flushed from the dancing, singing and laughter that he doesn't care. He especially doesn't care when Luna drops onto his lap and snuggles against his chest.
"We're like Muffle-Eared Tomtingles," she says after kissing his collarbone.
"What're those?" Dean hasn't a clue, though he's sure they don't actually exist outside of Luna's imagination, but he waits for her creative explanation. He's learning a lot about her fantastical creatures and he's almost believing in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. If he can believe that, then a Muffle-Eared Tomtingle, whatever that is, isn't too much of a stretch.
"They're these beautiful small creatures that sing to one another – that’s how they find mates, they sing together and, eventually, a pair will develop their own song so they can find one another from miles away just by singing." She leans further into him and he wraps his arms around her. Her hands massage his scalp and he barely resists humming in pleasure.
"Can we have a better song than Hoggy Hogwarts?"
"It takes years for a pair to develop their duet so we have time to work on one, if you'd like," she says shyly, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck.
"We'll have to work on it, then." Dean closes his eyes and relaxes into the feel of her fingers in his hair. He's saying he'd like more than the song and this trip and he thinks, hopes that Luna picks up on it. He's much better with a quill than he is worth words. These sorts of words are even worse for him because he's never used them, not with anyone else, not even Ginny.
"Alright, then." He can hear, in her voice, that she knows what he's trying to say.
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no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 12:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-13 05:52 am (UTC)*loves*
no subject
Date: 2008-01-10 04:08 am (UTC)SO much love for that!
Oh, of course he'd be nervous in the woods. Brilliant.
*cries*
Ahem. *g* Seamus is always nearby of course.
So much love for 'sex' squeak and Seamus the Devil on his shoulder and such a lovely first time. I've just been aching for this.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-13 05:54 am (UTC)I just really wanted to explore the possible PTSD that Dean might just have and the way he would deal with it and this was my way of doing that.
I'm so glad you loved this! *LOVESLIEKWHOA*
no subject
Date: 2008-01-16 03:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-20 06:08 pm (UTC)I'm very glad that you enjoyed this! It was wicked amounts of fun to write. I struggled with getting that "outside of time" feeling to it and I'm super happy that you picked up on it. :D:D:D:D
Thanks so much for letting me know and plz to be forgiving me for my fail at responding?
Perfect
Thumbs up to you
hppyflwr
Looking forward to another D/L Fiction from you.
Re: Perfect
Date: 2008-02-20 06:09 pm (UTC)Dean/Luna has had a special place in my heart since DH but this is the first time I've written it. It makes me super happy that people are still continuing to enjoy the pairing :D.
I apologise (rather profusely and on bended knee) that you forgive me for my lack of timely response to your comment.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-28 03:28 am (UTC)Hope to read more D/L from you.