Shadow Walks |h.p/h.g|

ch. 2

"G'devening," Ron said in a slurred voice with mock formality, as he stood in the open doorway, swaying slightly. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his clothing wrinkled and dirty. He had not even changed out of his Quidditch practice uniform before leaving the flat.

"Hello, Ron," Luna said, as if his arrival had been perfectly normal. "Would you like some dinner?" Ron lurched more fully into the flat, but appeared to have forgotten that the door was still open. Harry got up, and wordlessly shut it behind his best mate.

Ron shook his head ponderously for a long moment, before he realized that he wasn't actually saying anything, and managed a thick,

"No." He struggled for a moment, and added a, "Thank you, love." Luna made a strangled noise in the back of her throat that could have been interpreted any number of ways, as she moved toward him. She wrapped her arms around his middle, in an effort to keep him upright, and her gaze connected with Harry's around the curve of Ron's shoulder.

They had acted in this scenario many times. Luna's sharp eyes went to the knuckles of his right hand, which were smeared with half-congealed blood. Part of the sleeve of his keeper's uniform was jaggedly torn at the shoulder seam.

"You weren't fighting again?" Her brow was creased in worry and hurt. "Please tell me that a frumious bandersnatch attacked you on your way home."

"He...deserved it. Ssshoulda heard wha' he said." Ron was unapologetic. "He had - hada nerve to - to shay..." he paused, and seemed unable to remember what exactly had gotten him so incensed in the first place.

"By the Snorkack's Horn, Ron!" she breathed, in understated exasperation. "When are you going to start thinking of consequences? If this gets out - you know what the manager said! If he has to kick you off this team, you'll never make it above semi-professional Quidditch again."

"Shemi-profeshnal." This was said with a snort of disgust. Ron's keeping abilities had been deserving of attention, and after only a half-season in the lower leagues, he had been called up to the big-time. But his drinking and belligerence were constant problems, and he had bounced from team to team, too problematic to keep, but too talented to wash up completely. Then, rather unexpectedly, he blurted, "You sound like her," his voice mumbling and barely intelligible, but his eyes lucid. Harry watched as a flush burned its way up Luna's pale cheeks. They went through this every time too. Ron would make some sodden, but usually accurate remark about her, and Harry would be torn between the desire to pound Ron to a pulp, or hole up in his bedroom and Obliviate himself.

Just the thought of forgetting her was enough to send him into a momentary panic, and he felt his breath come faster. It was true that remembering her caused him inevitable pain, and he did his best to get through every day by not thinking of her at all. But to forget her altogether, to be unaware of the profound touch that she'd had on his life, and to be unaware of his ignorance...the mere concept was more frightening than anything else he'd encountered.

"Shower or bed?" Harry asked, reaching for his serviette to wipe his mouth, abandoning the futile attempt to eat dinner. His plate was half-full, but what remained of his food was going to end up in the bin, he was sure.

"Just his bed, I think," Luna said quietly. "He's pretty far gone. He did it quickly tonight." Ron was swaying in her arms, utterly oblivious to Luna's attempts to steady him, and was humming something tuneless under his breath. Harry came round to Ron's other side, and they began to Levitate him slowly down the hall.

Together, he and Luna disengaged the charm, not particularly gently, so that he tumbled abruptly onto his rumpled mattress, still unmade from the night before. When Luna had stayed in here, she'd made up the bed everyday, complete with coordinating throw pillows. Once, in a rare moment of levity, Harry had teased her for being so girly.