An Uneventful Quidditch Match (drarry) (COMPLETED)

chapter fifthteen

Luna knows a lot of things-- it's something that runs in her blood, courses through her veins (and vibes) and provides her a certianty on issues others deem unknown. It's... a gift, for sure, but it's equal parts a curse.

It's because of this blessing (blessing, burden, curse) that Luna knows that things done for the Greater Good are... not always good. They're necessary. It's not the same thing.

Everything involving Voldemort-- this war and great amount of chaos in the aftermath-- applies to this.

Harry Potter stayed with the Dursley's because of the blood wards.

James and Lily Potter died to protect their son.

Mothers were made widows-- children made orphans-- innocents made traumatized-- teenagers made soldiers-- the living made dead--

... For the Greater Good. Luna surveys a community lost to war and she knows, like not many do, that there is freedom in learning how to live again but none when you're trapped in the past.

Luna also thinks, though it may be childish, that the ones left living deserve a happy ending (to live a life the dead would approve of; to live twice as long as their ancestor's, twice as happily.)

So when Luna Lovegood, "that freak who does not deserve shoes and does not deserve friends," watched Draco Malfoy steal and disguise Harry Potter's wand for the upcoming unceremonious ceremony... she knows that the Greater Good is taking one more well earned happy ending. (But she also knows, in that heart she's buried oh so deep, that, perhaps, their Happy Ending is not over, it's just melting, changing, into something... different. Different but not more.)

Luna doesn't want it to happen, but she'll watch it. She doesn't particularly like it-- it makes her feel like she's playing God, something that the likes of Albus Dumbledore excelled at. She does not like being like him-- an odd senile coon, making decisions for everyone, caring out the never ending will of the Greater Good.

It's necessary-- she knows this like she knows the sun to set but it doesn't make it any better, it never does. Harry Potter needs to be trapped in animal form, a body that is not his own with souls to match, so Voldemort can not use him for acts of misdeeds.

Luna's never been one to hate. She does not hate the bullies who now regard her as both a freak AND a hero. She does not hate the Quizbits who deceived her. She does not hate the teachers who crushed her beliefs time and time again. But she thinks that Voldemort, He Who Shall Not Be Named, that insufferable Dark Lord, is an exception to a lot of things (death, morals, death again)... including Luna's inability to dispise.

They're in the Room of Requirement, she and her little group (who she wants tocall friends but knows better than to hope.) It's time. Things will not be the same after this. (For the Greater Good.)

Draco will be the one to cast the spell, to trap his love as a bird with only two evil assholes who made Harry born to war as company. It's fine (it's not.)

"Harry," Draco whispers, standing beside him. He doesn't know how to continue. (There's a million things he should say, a million things he can, but none of them he will.)

"Don't seem so down, Dray," Harry smiles (if everyone involved can tell it's a bit more forced than usual, they don't state so.) "It's not goodbye; it's see you later. Or 'chirp chirp,' as you'll soon come to know."

Draco doesn't laugh at the poor atempt of a joke. It's not goodbye, for it's not death, but it sure as hell feels like it. "I love you," he says ('I'm sorry' goes unbidden.)

"I love you, too," Harry says. It's happier than the first time he said it; for this time it is not cause for condemnation (dispite however much it may feel like so.)

"On with it you--" Pansy breaks off in a giggle, "--lovebirds-- ahahaha--" Blaise hits her lightly on the side of her head but chuckles as well.

Draco leans in for a kiss, hoping to make it count-- for it's their last kiss, Harry will be a bird from now on. Harry's lips, chapped and dry, are warm against his. It is, objectively, imperfect but Draco's judges in a more subject way (Harry's love is perfect and his lips are no exception.). It's a short embrace but it's enough (it's everything.) His hand traces Harry's jaw while they stand, faces stuck together.

He'll miss this, he thinks. It's fine (it's not.)

"Okay," says Harry, in a shuddering breath, once they seperate, "I'm ready."

He closes his eyes and one moment, there stands a man and the next a bird of unothordox and beautiful colors.

Draco raises the wand, Harry's disguised, and mutters the spell so carefully designed by Hermione Granger and then finished by Blaise: "Possidebit yeeted."

Harry feels magic wash over him, binding him to his new form. It's oddly constricting, uncomfortable (but necessary.)

Harry tries to change back to human form and finds that he can't; the spell did what was intended. He's resigned himself to a fate he'd rather not have but holds nonetheless. It's fine (it's not.)

Luna mourns the loss of not hope but normality, for the soul that sacrifices a peacful and domestic future (for the Greater Good) for people who would never do anything for anyone bust themselves. The Greater Good is not Great. It's not even Good. Watching Draco stare at the now bird form of his lover reminds Luna that, quite simply, it's cruel.

Later, Harry will fly into the owlery and congregate amongst them. Later, he will take to following Draco around, a soundproof bubble cast around him to ensure he can't pick up on info that could be valuable to Voldemort. Later, Jackson will screech at him while their form sleeps, his anger never ending.

Later, later, later. But for now? He weeps.