she's got red lipstick and a bright pair of shoes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophieisgod) wrote2008-05-09 07:45 am
sophieisgod) wrote2008-05-09 07:45 am
Entry tags:
FIC: Hallelujah Child
Title: Hallelujah Child
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Luna (what the devil?!)
Rating: G
Word Count: 470
A/N: Happy birthday, Elyssa![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anythingbutgrey!
she made it rain
she called the wind and then it came
oh, with the wave of her hand
she brought the sunshine right in
she was the sky
beyond steeple and the choir
oh, the preacher's amen
his hallelujah child
-- Coughing Colors, Tilly & the Wall
First day of fifth year, steaming through the north of England, he pretended not to recognise her.
It was the summer between third and fourth year, between Sirius and everything that came after, before Quidditch and Death Eaters and Cedric, and Ron was bored. He walked for hours, striding up and down the hills on awkward legs, swiping at the too-long grass with a stick. The sun was low and fiery, turning the back of his neck an angry pink, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He almost relished the dull throb of pain; at least it gave him something to ignore. He reached the top of a particularly steep hill and flung himself to the ground face-first, wishing someone was there to witness the dramatic gesture.
“Oh, hello. Are you looking for Nifflers, too?”
The voice floated across to him like a breeze. He slowly turned his head to see a girl lying about ten feet away, looking straight at him. There was soil on her face.
“Are you talking to me?”
A smile curved her mouth as she cocked her head at him.
“You can smell them, you know, and if you find one of their nests you can see all their treasure. My father told me.”
“Treasure?”
And that was how, an hour later, Ron had earth in his ears and under his tongue and up his nose. Spitting out something muddy, he admitted defeat, rolling onto his back to look at the sky.
“I don’t really think we’re going to find anything today, you know,” he said, folding his hands behind his head.
“Oh, well,” said the girl, trailing one mucky hand across her forehead. “It’s going to rain tomorrow anyway, and everyone knows that a damp Niffler leaves its nest if the moon is full.” Her smile lit up her face, large pale eyes fixed on Ron.
“Right,” he said, shaking his head slightly, wondering what he was doing on this hill with a strange, confusing girl. She was sitting up now, leaning back on her hands and squinting into the (completely cloudless) sky, bare toes scrunched into the grass. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was still looking at her, except that the sunset was doing strange things to her tangled hair, bouncing orange and red across it, making her glow.
“Your head looks like it’s on fire,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else.
“Thank you,” she said, a lilt of something in her voice . “I like your freckles.”
He couldn’t be entirely sure, because of the sunburn, but he thought he might be blushing.
The next day, the heavens opened. He stood at his window, hands shoved in pockets, and watched the fat droplets slide down the glass. Secretly, he wanted to go out and dance in it.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Luna (what the devil?!)
Rating: G
Word Count: 470
A/N: Happy birthday, Elyssa
anythingbutgrey!she made it rain
she called the wind and then it came
oh, with the wave of her hand
she brought the sunshine right in
she was the sky
beyond steeple and the choir
oh, the preacher's amen
his hallelujah child
-- Coughing Colors, Tilly & the Wall
First day of fifth year, steaming through the north of England, he pretended not to recognise her.
It was the summer between third and fourth year, between Sirius and everything that came after, before Quidditch and Death Eaters and Cedric, and Ron was bored. He walked for hours, striding up and down the hills on awkward legs, swiping at the too-long grass with a stick. The sun was low and fiery, turning the back of his neck an angry pink, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He almost relished the dull throb of pain; at least it gave him something to ignore. He reached the top of a particularly steep hill and flung himself to the ground face-first, wishing someone was there to witness the dramatic gesture.
“Oh, hello. Are you looking for Nifflers, too?”
The voice floated across to him like a breeze. He slowly turned his head to see a girl lying about ten feet away, looking straight at him. There was soil on her face.
“Are you talking to me?”
A smile curved her mouth as she cocked her head at him.
“You can smell them, you know, and if you find one of their nests you can see all their treasure. My father told me.”
“Treasure?”
And that was how, an hour later, Ron had earth in his ears and under his tongue and up his nose. Spitting out something muddy, he admitted defeat, rolling onto his back to look at the sky.
“I don’t really think we’re going to find anything today, you know,” he said, folding his hands behind his head.
“Oh, well,” said the girl, trailing one mucky hand across her forehead. “It’s going to rain tomorrow anyway, and everyone knows that a damp Niffler leaves its nest if the moon is full.” Her smile lit up her face, large pale eyes fixed on Ron.
“Right,” he said, shaking his head slightly, wondering what he was doing on this hill with a strange, confusing girl. She was sitting up now, leaning back on her hands and squinting into the (completely cloudless) sky, bare toes scrunched into the grass. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was still looking at her, except that the sunset was doing strange things to her tangled hair, bouncing orange and red across it, making her glow.
“Your head looks like it’s on fire,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else.
“Thank you,” she said, a lilt of something in her voice . “I like your freckles.”
He couldn’t be entirely sure, because of the sunburn, but he thought he might be blushing.
The next day, the heavens opened. He stood at his window, hands shoved in pockets, and watched the fat droplets slide down the glass. Secretly, he wanted to go out and dance in it.