The first time he hears her speak-really, truly hears what she is saying-is at Slughorn’s party. She stands next to him, appearing so suddenly that he jumps when she starts talking.
“She’s in love with Ronald,” is what she says.
He takes a minute to calm and assess what she has said. “She’s here with me,” he returns forcefully, cheeks reddening as she takes her time gazing about. His date is here, but she’s barely with him at all. The look on Loony’s face is mildly curious, but she says nothing of Hermione’s notable absence.
“You’d be far more attractive if only you sneered less,” she offers randomly.
He’s not sure if she intends to be infuriating, but he has little patience regardless. “Go away!” he demands, perhaps a shade louder than actually necessary. She doesn’t even blink, just glides away to meet up with an incoming (and obviously angry) Ginny Weasley.
The younger Gryffindor glares at him threateningly, but Loony pats her shoulder and then links arms with the redhead before leading her away. “Nargles,” he can hear her saying as she waves a hand back to indicate him.
He grinds his teeth, knocks back his punch (why hadn’t anyone spiked it with Firewhiskey yet?), and goes off in search of his date.
~0~
The first time he hears her sigh-truly, wistfully sigh-it is at Dumbledore’s funeral. She’s not crying, like every other girl in sight; she’s not even looking particularly devastated, as much of the boys. She looks, rather, wistful, like Dumbledore had gone off on some extended holiday, but would be back one day. It’s like she doesn’t even realize Dumbledore was gone for good.
“I am familiar with the finality of death,” she chirps in response to his query (another overly heated remarks that now has Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom glaring at him menacingly). “But what’s the worse is what he had to have known going into that death.”
“What are you on about?” he snaps, returning the glare of his fellow Gryffindors with equal ferocity because, really, Loony is beyond maddening at the moment. She gives him a look, a sad, pitying look. “He must have known, things are going to get much worse.”
And he has nothing to add because she’s terribly right some of the time.
~0~
The first time he hears her giggle-a real, carefree, joyous giggle-is when they slip off the train at the start of his seventh year.
“More imaginary friends?” he asks, his mood still sour from the Death Eater invasion of the train earlier. “What do you call them? Sillybillies? Whirliburlies?”
“Not a wrackspurt in sight,” she announces cheerfully. “And it has allowed you to live up to your full potential at last.”
He hasn’t the mental prowess required to hold a conversation with her in her more spectacular moods. “Huh?”
“On the train,” she reminds him. “You stood up to them, in front of everyone. You were the first to do so.”
“And?”
She smiles dreamily, eyes wandering off to locate her friends in the crowd. “A Gryffindor after all,” she murmurs happily.
His ears go red, he’s sure, and he spins on his heel. “Enough already,” he snarls.
She continues to giggle behind him. He’s loathed to admit, even to himself, that it is a slightly less aggravating noise than he previously assessed it to be.
Really, Truly Part 1
The first time he hears her speak-really, truly hears what she is saying-is at Slughorn’s party. She stands next to him, appearing so suddenly that he jumps when she starts talking.
“She’s in love with Ronald,” is what she says.
He takes a minute to calm and assess what she has said. “She’s here with me,” he returns forcefully, cheeks reddening as she takes her time gazing about. His date is here, but she’s barely with him at all. The look on Loony’s face is mildly curious, but she says nothing of Hermione’s notable absence.
“You’d be far more attractive if only you sneered less,” she offers randomly.
He’s not sure if she intends to be infuriating, but he has little patience regardless. “Go away!” he demands, perhaps a shade louder than actually necessary. She doesn’t even blink, just glides away to meet up with an incoming (and obviously angry) Ginny Weasley.
The younger Gryffindor glares at him threateningly, but Loony pats her shoulder and then links arms with the redhead before leading her away. “Nargles,” he can hear her saying as she waves a hand back to indicate him.
He grinds his teeth, knocks back his punch (why hadn’t anyone spiked it with Firewhiskey yet?), and goes off in search of his date.
~0~
The first time he hears her sigh-truly, wistfully sigh-it is at Dumbledore’s funeral. She’s not crying, like every other girl in sight; she’s not even looking particularly devastated, as much of the boys. She looks, rather, wistful, like Dumbledore had gone off on some extended holiday, but would be back one day. It’s like she doesn’t even realize Dumbledore was gone for good.
“I am familiar with the finality of death,” she chirps in response to his query (another overly heated remarks that now has Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom glaring at him menacingly). “But what’s the worse is what he had to have known going into that death.”
“What are you on about?” he snaps, returning the glare of his fellow Gryffindors with equal ferocity because, really, Loony is beyond maddening at the moment. She gives him a look, a sad, pitying look. “He must have known, things are going to get much worse.”
And he has nothing to add because she’s terribly right some of the time.
~0~
The first time he hears her giggle-a real, carefree, joyous giggle-is when they slip off the train at the start of his seventh year.
“More imaginary friends?” he asks, his mood still sour from the Death Eater invasion of the train earlier. “What do you call them? Sillybillies? Whirliburlies?”
“Not a wrackspurt in sight,” she announces cheerfully. “And it has allowed you to live up to your full potential at last.”
He hasn’t the mental prowess required to hold a conversation with her in her more spectacular moods. “Huh?”
“On the train,” she reminds him. “You stood up to them, in front of everyone. You were the first to do so.”
“And?”
She smiles dreamily, eyes wandering off to locate her friends in the crowd. “A Gryffindor after all,” she murmurs happily.
His ears go red, he’s sure, and he spins on his heel. “Enough already,” he snarls.
She continues to giggle behind him. He’s loathed to admit, even to himself, that it is a slightly less aggravating noise than he previously assessed it to be.
~0~