Into Your Gravity ( Luna Lovegood & Tom Riddle )

Chapter twenty-one: Goodbye

Tom could feel his upper lip curling back, and tried to force himself to stop.

Luna rose from the couch and walked to the window. He stared at her silhouette framed by the sunlight until she turned back to face him. The same sad smile was on her face. "But I suppose its nothing to how much I'll miss you. I've never had anyone like you before."

Her words entered his brain slowly, and it took several moments for him to process them. Once he had, he was off the couch and had crossed the room to her in less than a second. He grabbed both of her arms. "What do you mean, miss me?" he demanded.

"I have to go back home, Tom. I found out yesterday. I don't want to go, and that surprises me. I miss everyone. But I really, really don't want to go." A single tear slithered down her cheek and still the sad smile never left her face.

"Then don't go," Tom whispered violently, unaware that his hands were shaking as they clutched her.

She slowly shook her head, her gray-blue eyes never leaving his dark ones. "I don't have a choice." She shrugged.

Something inside of Tom exploded. "You can't just go," he hissed, releasing her from his grip as if she had burned him. "What was your dream about last night? About Harry? Is that what is making you leave?"

"Tom, you're being irrational."

"Oh, you're one to talk about being irrational, Luna!" he raved.

She wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly until he stopped struggling. She then buried her face in his bare chest, and he could feel several more tears make their way from her eyes. "I would never leave you over a dream," she murmured. "I wouldn't leave you even if Harry came back and begged me to come home, or anybody else. I'd like to think that I would, but I wouldn't. Please understand that."

He was completely still in her embrace, refusing to let himself wrap his own arms around her. "So why are you going?" he asked in a monotone voice.

Her arms tightened around him again. "I have to," she whispered, shuddering.

"I understand," he said coldly.

"No. No you don't, Tom. You don't understand. I love you," she whispered.

He carefully but firmly released himself from her arms. "Fortunately, I don't love you." His already bruised heart took another blow when he watched her react to that.

She looked like he had slapped her. Her lower lip quivered, but then she set her jaw, and behind her eyes, he saw that she was angry with him. "That isn't true," she insisted.

He raised one eyebrow. "Isn't it?" he asked in a cold, mocking tone.

"No. It isn't." Several more tears brimmed over her eyes even in her anger. Then her resolution broke, and her face truly crumbled for the first time since he had met her. "But if you want to live as though you never loved me from now on, if that's really easier for you...." She trailed off. "I really wish that you could know, really know. But it would be so wrong of me to - ." Her voice broke. She took a deep breath before she began again. "Someday you'll know, Tom. But it will be too late. I want to believe that you won't...but you will." She swallowed audibly.

He shook his head, forcing himself to not reach out to her, to not try his best, however bad it was, to make her stop. "As usual, I don't have any idea what you're talking about. However, if it makes it easier for you to live as though I loved you, be my guest. May I have my clothing back now so that I may leave?" He could feel his teeth grinding together.

Her eyes clenched shut and more tears leaked out. "If you don't mind turning around while I get dressed," she said quietly.

Tom rolled his eyes, but turned his back on her. He could barely hear her moving about the room, so light was her movement. Only when he heard the door close quietly did he turn around. His shirt was folded neatly on the couch where they had made love, and she was gone. Tucked into the breast pocket, she had left him a small note, and it simply read:

I love you.

He stared at it in silence for several long, quiet minutes, shaking again. He then crumpled the small piece of paper in his fist. When he realized that his nails were digging into his palm, he opened his hand again, and the ball of parchment fell unnaturally slowly to the floor.