shocfix (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shocfix) wrote,@ 2001-01-27 01:00:00 |
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The Legendary Menagerie - R/L - NC-17
Story Title: The Legendary Menagerie
Author Name:shocfix
Team: Het
Prompt: Joy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ron/Luna
Length: 3062
Summary: Ron finds happiness through Luna and her enjoyment of the simple things in life.
Author notes: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR; anything else you recognise is out of copyright and the result of an amazing bunny from the lovelyyaaronet.
So, basically, I own nothing.
Betaed by my darlingmagicofisis - any points I get for ‘use of prompt’ I dedicate to her!
The Legendary Menagerie
****
I think Mum has just about given up expecting any of us to be ‘safe’. She has learned to say, “As long as you are happy, dear,” without sighing too loudly, and she must be used to it - a curse breaker, a dragon wrangler, two idiots who blow themselves up continually, and me.
After three years of me being in constant danger in the war, I came home and hugged her, then turned right round and joined the Aurors.
She is almost used to me being injured by now, coming home battered and bruised and scarred, and she has come to accept that she has bred a litter of what Harry calls ‘adrenaline junkies’ and what Hermione calls ‘idiots’.
Harry, on the other hand, is her poster boy, and having had enough of near death experiences, is playing Seeker for Puddlemere.
Yes, Puddlemere.
Of course I’d have preferred the Cannons, but what could I do when Oliver asked him, personally? And, you know, they were in bed at the time.
I’m not sure how the conversation went, but a best mate whining, “Choose the Cannons, Harry!” cannot compete with, “Fuck me now, Oliver, I want your cock inside me!” “Only if you join Puddlemere!”
But me and Harry couldn’t be closer, his unexpected bed partner notwithstanding, and, in between risking life and limb at work, I never miss a game – how could I miss my Harry playing professional Quidditch? It’s like a dream come true.
And he comes over to our place a lot, and we have a drink and talk about work and bitch about the Ministry and have another drink and talk about our sex lives.
The usual, for best mates, and the sex thing isn’t as uncomfortable as you’d think, even if I am sometimes a bit out of my depth. Not nearly as uncomfortable as when we tried to talk about Ginny and Hermione. Because my girl is pretty adventurous in bed, and we’ve tried just about everything that Harry has mentioned that only needs one cock. And she has offered to find a spell to help us experiment further, if you get my meaning.
Big on research, my girl.
And I help her with her work. If she has to travel, I try my best to go with her on her hunting trips, which are an absolute blast, but can be pretty dangerous, too.
It’s sometimes best to let my mum think I’ve been scorched and scratched and bruised at work, rather than by a mythical creature.
It’s definitely best to let my mum think I’ve been scratched and bruised at work, rather than by my girlfriend.
Her hunting trips are still a bone of contention with Hermione, by the way, but she tries so hard to show an interest, because Luna’s work is important to her, and Luna is important to me.
I’m still surprised how important, sometimes. She doesn’t push, she doesn’t nag, she supports me in everything I want to do, she has the most enthusiastic outlook on life I have ever seen and she gets under your skin until you can’t breathe without her.
She and Ginny and Neville had turned up and joined us about a year into our Quest, and Harry had protested and Ginny was shrill and Nev was stubborn. And Luna was serene and said it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?
And she took the wind right out of his sails, as always. And she made him smile, as always. And I thought she was a godsend.
A rather pretty one.
And, when I was knocked unconscious when we blew up the Cup, and I came round to find myself lying with my head in her lap as she smiled down at me and plaited my hair, to keep some sort of spirit out of my unguarded brain, well, I decided that maybe it would be worth trying another wartime relationship.
So I sat up and kissed her and Ginny gasped and Harry smothered Hermione’s startled exclamation and Luna tipped her head to the side and said, “Are you assuming you’ve died and heaven is a seraglio, and you can kiss the angels?”
“I don’t know what a seraglio is,” I’d said. “And I hope I haven’t died, but I’d like to keep on kissing you.”
And she’d smiled and nodded and said, “I’ve always wanted to be a concubine,” and Harry had had to drag Hermione out of the room and Luna had raised an eyebrow and said, “I think Hermione is worried that you’ll need more than one concubine. Or, oh dear, maybe poor Harry is worried you’ll need eunuchs to guard me.” And Ginny had pulled a boggling Neville away, and Luna had frowned and I’d shaken my head once to rid myself of the image of her worrying about Harry’s balls and again to rid myself of the image of Harry’s balls, and I’d leant in for another kiss and she’d sighed against my lips and flowed into my arms and we fitted together with an almost audible click.
Things had been getting a bit grim, with just the three of us, alone against the world, and, while Hermione could fight for abstract and profound issues, I had been fighting for Harry. Now I could fight for the right of my best mate and my sister to get a fucking room, for god’s sake, and for everything to be over as quickly as possible, so I could take Luna up on some of her more athletic suggestions as she sat in my lap and whispered in my ear.
And I was so proud of how Hermione coped when I got together with Luna, who I know rubs her up entirely the wrong way, although it really isn’t on purpose, and it’s such a shame, because they’re both simply brilliant, but they look at the world in completely different ways. Hermione and me had made a stab at a relationship, during the war, and I don’t know if it was the war or our volatile personalities or the fact that she really isn’t experimental in bed, however shallow that makes me sound, but we really are better off as friends and she is the best friend you could wish for.
She and Harry came over, the other day, and they both gave me a hug and kissed Luna, who did offer to make tea but was easily distracted by her new baby – project baby, not baby baby, we’re neither of us the most responsible people in the world, but we’re not stupid – and she wandered off, so I boiled and warmed and spooned and brewed and took my tray back into the lounge.
“Where’s Luna gone?” Hermione asked politely, bless her.
“She’s busy with her new project,” I said, kicking a teetering pile of Quibblers off the coffee table and putting down the tea things. “Shall I be mother?”
Harry sniggered and sat on the couch and accepted his tea and Hermione started to move a cushion but jumped and screamed when it moved back. It was a mournful, feathery thing, like a ragged mop, and it made a sad noise, ruffled its feathers and settled back on the couch.
“Goodness,” Hermione said, choosing an armchair instead. “Another of Luna’s projects?”
“Yeah,” I said, picking up the twittering creature and putting it on a bookshelf.
“I love it here,” Harry said happily. “My place is at least half Muggle, and Hermione’s is even worse, but you two? Everything here is so casually and insanely magical.”
Hermione frowned at him and I shrugged and opened my mouth to reply when a bellowing, whistling noise rang out from the garden, with a kind of sneeze in the middle.
“What on earth was that?” Hermione asked.
“That was Kermit,” Luna said, walking into the room with what looked like a small green pig lying blissfully in her arms, like a baby.
“Kermit?” Hermione asked weakly.
“Dean Thomas named him,” Luna explained, sitting beside Harry on the couch and scritching Kermit behind his ears. “I am pretty sure that he meant it as a joke, because he is a nice boy and he was laughing so hard, and I don’t want to think he was laughing at me.”
“He said it was a Muggle thing,” I explained, joining them on the couch and winding a lock of Luna’s hair around my fingers.
“Well, I imagine he meant Kermit from the Muppet Show,” Hermione said. “There was a frog, called Kermit, who was in love with a pig.”
Luna wrinkled her nose and looked dubiously at Hermione. “Are you sure?” she asked. “That doesn’t sound very likely, does it?”
“It’s a television programme,” Harry said swiftly, knowing Hermione doesn’t enjoy Luna doubting her sanity. “An American programme.”
“Ah, well, that explains it then,” Luna said happily.
“But where did you get a green pig from, anyway?” Hermione asked.
“He isn’t a pig,” Luna said. “He’s a rath.”
“A what?” Harry asked, scratching Kermit’s belly and receiving a sneezy whistle for his troubles.
“We found him living in a slate mine in Snowdonia,” Luna said. “Didn’t you read my article on our expedition in last month’s Quibbler?”
“Um,” Harry said. “I think I missed that one.”
Luna handed Kermit to him, tucked her wand behind her ear, went over to the bookshelves and started rummaging among back issues of the magazine, humming under her breath.
It took her a little while to find what she was looking for, because she files them alphabetically, by headline, rather than by date, and I admired her arse and Hermione sighed and Harry played with Kermit.
“Here,” she said happily, handing it to Hermione and sitting in my lap. “Ronald was such a help on the expedition, I was so desperately proud of him. I’d never have got close to them otherwise; I don’t think they’d seen red hair before, especially living in the dark.”
“They who?” Harry said.
“Kermit and Chudley,” I said, slipping one hand round Luna’s waist and the other under her bum. She bit her lip and wriggled against me.
“Chudley?” Harry asked.
A sad noise chirruped from the bookcase and Harry turned to look at the mop of feathers who was still perched there.
“The borogove,” Luna said, her eyes losing a little focus and her eyelashes fluttering as my fingers moved under her.
“I named him,” I said unnecessarily and Harry laughed.
“There’s no such thing as a borogove,” Hermione said flatly, her eyes moving from the miserable bird to the triumphant headline in the Quibbler.
Lovegood-Weasley Expedition Traps Dodgson’s Legendary Menagerie.
Over a Wizarding photograph of a sooty and scorched me holding Chudley, and a beaming Luna holding Kermit.
I was periodically patting at parts of my robes that were still smoking, Chudley was fluffing his feathers and chirrupping mournfully, Luna was holding tight to my arm and smiling up at me and Kermit was going cross eyed and sneezing.
“You… you haven’t… you, no!” Hermione stammered, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her.
“These creatures are fictional,” she said firmly, glaring at me.
“What have I done?” I asked, smirking as my fingers pressed into the heat pulsing between Luna’s legs and unfortunately irritating Hermione even more.
“Fictional!” she shrieked and Kermit bellow, whistle, sneezed again.
“Oh, Hermione,” Luna said. “Oh!”
“What?” Hermione snapped.
“I’m sorry,” Luna said, her eyelids fluttering closed for a moment. “I was distracted by Ronald touching me.”
I removed my hand swiftly and held it guiltily behind my back and Harry choked with laughter and Hermione snorted.
“You never believe in the creatures I write about, anyway,” Luna told her sadly.
“This is different,” Hermione said stubbornly.
“How?” Harry asked.
“Because.” Hermione flailed for a moment, her good manners as a guest warring with her despair at Luna’s interests. “Because usually they are just creatures that don’t exist,” she said finally. “But this time they are actual, fictional animals.”
There was a ringing silence and Harry cleared his throat.
“Is it just me,” he said. “Or is there something particularly wrong with the phrase ‘actual fictional animals’?”
Hermione glared at him.
“They’re famous, fictional animals,” she said. “From a famous poem, by Lewis Carroll. They. Do. Not. Exist.”
“But here they are,” Harry said, lifting the green pig, who whistled lovingly at him and whirled its tail.
“And you said they weren’t just creatures that don’t exist,” Luna said. “You can’t have it both ways.”
“You can have it both ways,” I whispered into her hair. “You can have it any way you like, you strumpet.”
“Will you excuse us a moment?” Luna said, getting daintily to her feet.
“Yeah,” I said. “We have something else to show you.”
“And it’s better if Ronald ravishes me in private,” Luna added, leaving the room.
“Um,” I said, shifting from one foot to the other and not meeting Hermione’s eyes.
“Go on,” Harry laughed. “You ravish away; I’ll calm Hermione down.”
Hermione grunted and threw the Quibbler on the floor.
I dashed up the stairs, two at a time, to find Luna already naked and holding the sword that lay on her dressing table.
“I didn’t mean you ravish me better in private,” she said earnestly. “I’m sure you’d have ravished me beautifully downstairs, but it’s a manners thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I know. Um, could you put the sword down while I do the actual ravishing?” I asked, swiftly stripping.
“Of course,” she said, laying it back on the dressing table and taking a running jump into my arms.
I kissed her soundly and tossed her onto the bed and she spread her arms and legs and made a bed angel and smiled up at me.
“God, I love you,” I whispered, crawling up her body and leaving a trail of open mouthed, random kisses. “I love having sex with you.”
“Hmmmm, inside me,” she murmured, parting her legs further and sighing happily as I slid into her.
“We’d better be quick,” I said, kneeling up and thrusting slowly and deeply, despite my words.
Her arms were thrown back, above her head, her hair was wild, her smile bright, her breasts flushed, her legs thrown over my shoulders and she made me so happy I could scream.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I told her.
“This is wonderful, Ronald,” she said, one hand straying down to rub her clit. “But I think it would be rude to take too long and leave Kermit and Chudley to entertain our guests. Poor Hermione is very annoyed with me.”
“Luna,” I panted, my hips snapping forward as I fucked her. “What have I told you about mentioning Hermione while we’re having sex?”
“That I should impersonate her while you’re taking me up the arse, because she never let you,” she said happily, stroking herself to her climax and pinching her nipple with her free hand as I lost my rhythm and bellowed as I came inside her.
She laughed at my stricken face.
I grabbed her and turned her over my knee and smacked her bottom.
“Evil wench,” I chastised.
The bottom wriggled happily under my hand and I caressed it and ran a finger between its cheeks and let my mind wander a bit with plans for later.
“I brewed some of my special anal lube, earlier,” she said, reading my mind. “Cherry flavour.”
“The sword,” I said firmly, bending to bite her bottom and she laughed and slipped out of my lap and we both Tergeod and dressed and she picked up her sword and seriously handed it to me and we went downstairs.
Hermione was over by the bookcase, glaring at poor Chudley, who looked more mimsy than ever.
Harry had an ecstatic, smitten and prone Kermit in his lap, whistling and sneezing as he had his tummy rubbed.
Luna beamed at them fondly and sighed at the look on Hermione’s face.
I shuffled into the room, behind her, a bit embarrassed at having left my friends for a quick shag, but I met Harry’s eyes and he winked and I grinned and sat on the coffee table before him.
“Here,” I said, holding out the sword. “What d’you reckon?”
Harry took it in his rathfree hand and hefted it, experimentally.
“Wonderful balance,” he said. “It feels almost weightless.”
I watched his shining face and his confident wrist movement as he thrust in mid air and I thought of him killing a Basilisk when he was just twelve and my heart swelled with love for him, the git.
“How is it so light?” he asked.
“It’s a vorpal sword,” Luna said proudly. “It was my great-great-great-grandfather’s: Charles Dodgson gave it to him.”
Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat and came over and snatched it from Harry’s hand.
“That poem was a work of fiction,” she said tightly.
“That story was one of the most important research papers that my great-great-great-grandfather ever ran,” Luna said quietly. “It was the Quibbler’s top selling issue of the 1870s.”
Hermione whimpered.
“It was fictional,” she snapped.
“It was an amazing achievement,” Luna almost snapped.
“There is no such thing as a rath,” Kermit sneezed, “or a borogove,” Chudley fluttered his feathers, “or,” Hermione swallowed, “or a jabberwocky.”
Luna bent and picked up the discarded copy of the Quibbler.
She opened it to the centre pages, turned it upside down, and handed it to Hermione.
“Ron,” Hermione breathed, dropping the sword as her hand came up to her throat.
“Blimey,” Harry said, looking over her shoulder.
“He was so brave,” Luna said, taking my hand and beaming up at me.
Kermit peered at the picture of me, filthy and grinning insanely and standing in front of the twitching corpse of a huge, winged, dragon-like creature, with a bloodied, vorpal sword in one hand and the long toothed head, with eyes still guttering with flame, in the other.
He sneezed, loudly.
Hermione looked up at me.
I can’t usually read seventeen different emotions on someone’s face, but awe was visibly warring with terror and a spot of ‘I’m going to have to apologise to Luna’.
“Ron,” she said, swallowing audibly and I beamed at her. “You really… you found… you killed it?”
“Why else would I have a vorpal sword?” I chortled in my joy.
Story Title: The Legendary Menagerie
Author Name:
shocfixTeam: Het
Prompt: Joy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ron/Luna
Length: 3062
Summary: Ron finds happiness through Luna and her enjoyment of the simple things in life.
Author notes: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR; anything else you recognise is out of copyright and the result of an amazing bunny from the lovely
yaaronet.So, basically, I own nothing.
Betaed by my darling
magicofisis - any points I get for ‘use of prompt’ I dedicate to her!The Legendary Menagerie
****
I think Mum has just about given up expecting any of us to be ‘safe’. She has learned to say, “As long as you are happy, dear,” without sighing too loudly, and she must be used to it - a curse breaker, a dragon wrangler, two idiots who blow themselves up continually, and me.
After three years of me being in constant danger in the war, I came home and hugged her, then turned right round and joined the Aurors.
She is almost used to me being injured by now, coming home battered and bruised and scarred, and she has come to accept that she has bred a litter of what Harry calls ‘adrenaline junkies’ and what Hermione calls ‘idiots’.
Harry, on the other hand, is her poster boy, and having had enough of near death experiences, is playing Seeker for Puddlemere.
Yes, Puddlemere.
Of course I’d have preferred the Cannons, but what could I do when Oliver asked him, personally? And, you know, they were in bed at the time.
I’m not sure how the conversation went, but a best mate whining, “Choose the Cannons, Harry!” cannot compete with, “Fuck me now, Oliver, I want your cock inside me!” “Only if you join Puddlemere!”
But me and Harry couldn’t be closer, his unexpected bed partner notwithstanding, and, in between risking life and limb at work, I never miss a game – how could I miss my Harry playing professional Quidditch? It’s like a dream come true.
And he comes over to our place a lot, and we have a drink and talk about work and bitch about the Ministry and have another drink and talk about our sex lives.
The usual, for best mates, and the sex thing isn’t as uncomfortable as you’d think, even if I am sometimes a bit out of my depth. Not nearly as uncomfortable as when we tried to talk about Ginny and Hermione. Because my girl is pretty adventurous in bed, and we’ve tried just about everything that Harry has mentioned that only needs one cock. And she has offered to find a spell to help us experiment further, if you get my meaning.
Big on research, my girl.
And I help her with her work. If she has to travel, I try my best to go with her on her hunting trips, which are an absolute blast, but can be pretty dangerous, too.
It’s sometimes best to let my mum think I’ve been scorched and scratched and bruised at work, rather than by a mythical creature.
It’s definitely best to let my mum think I’ve been scratched and bruised at work, rather than by my girlfriend.
Her hunting trips are still a bone of contention with Hermione, by the way, but she tries so hard to show an interest, because Luna’s work is important to her, and Luna is important to me.
I’m still surprised how important, sometimes. She doesn’t push, she doesn’t nag, she supports me in everything I want to do, she has the most enthusiastic outlook on life I have ever seen and she gets under your skin until you can’t breathe without her.
She and Ginny and Neville had turned up and joined us about a year into our Quest, and Harry had protested and Ginny was shrill and Nev was stubborn. And Luna was serene and said it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?
And she took the wind right out of his sails, as always. And she made him smile, as always. And I thought she was a godsend.
A rather pretty one.
And, when I was knocked unconscious when we blew up the Cup, and I came round to find myself lying with my head in her lap as she smiled down at me and plaited my hair, to keep some sort of spirit out of my unguarded brain, well, I decided that maybe it would be worth trying another wartime relationship.
So I sat up and kissed her and Ginny gasped and Harry smothered Hermione’s startled exclamation and Luna tipped her head to the side and said, “Are you assuming you’ve died and heaven is a seraglio, and you can kiss the angels?”
“I don’t know what a seraglio is,” I’d said. “And I hope I haven’t died, but I’d like to keep on kissing you.”
And she’d smiled and nodded and said, “I’ve always wanted to be a concubine,” and Harry had had to drag Hermione out of the room and Luna had raised an eyebrow and said, “I think Hermione is worried that you’ll need more than one concubine. Or, oh dear, maybe poor Harry is worried you’ll need eunuchs to guard me.” And Ginny had pulled a boggling Neville away, and Luna had frowned and I’d shaken my head once to rid myself of the image of her worrying about Harry’s balls and again to rid myself of the image of Harry’s balls, and I’d leant in for another kiss and she’d sighed against my lips and flowed into my arms and we fitted together with an almost audible click.
Things had been getting a bit grim, with just the three of us, alone against the world, and, while Hermione could fight for abstract and profound issues, I had been fighting for Harry. Now I could fight for the right of my best mate and my sister to get a fucking room, for god’s sake, and for everything to be over as quickly as possible, so I could take Luna up on some of her more athletic suggestions as she sat in my lap and whispered in my ear.
And I was so proud of how Hermione coped when I got together with Luna, who I know rubs her up entirely the wrong way, although it really isn’t on purpose, and it’s such a shame, because they’re both simply brilliant, but they look at the world in completely different ways. Hermione and me had made a stab at a relationship, during the war, and I don’t know if it was the war or our volatile personalities or the fact that she really isn’t experimental in bed, however shallow that makes me sound, but we really are better off as friends and she is the best friend you could wish for.
She and Harry came over, the other day, and they both gave me a hug and kissed Luna, who did offer to make tea but was easily distracted by her new baby – project baby, not baby baby, we’re neither of us the most responsible people in the world, but we’re not stupid – and she wandered off, so I boiled and warmed and spooned and brewed and took my tray back into the lounge.
“Where’s Luna gone?” Hermione asked politely, bless her.
“She’s busy with her new project,” I said, kicking a teetering pile of Quibblers off the coffee table and putting down the tea things. “Shall I be mother?”
Harry sniggered and sat on the couch and accepted his tea and Hermione started to move a cushion but jumped and screamed when it moved back. It was a mournful, feathery thing, like a ragged mop, and it made a sad noise, ruffled its feathers and settled back on the couch.
“Goodness,” Hermione said, choosing an armchair instead. “Another of Luna’s projects?”
“Yeah,” I said, picking up the twittering creature and putting it on a bookshelf.
“I love it here,” Harry said happily. “My place is at least half Muggle, and Hermione’s is even worse, but you two? Everything here is so casually and insanely magical.”
Hermione frowned at him and I shrugged and opened my mouth to reply when a bellowing, whistling noise rang out from the garden, with a kind of sneeze in the middle.
“What on earth was that?” Hermione asked.
“That was Kermit,” Luna said, walking into the room with what looked like a small green pig lying blissfully in her arms, like a baby.
“Kermit?” Hermione asked weakly.
“Dean Thomas named him,” Luna explained, sitting beside Harry on the couch and scritching Kermit behind his ears. “I am pretty sure that he meant it as a joke, because he is a nice boy and he was laughing so hard, and I don’t want to think he was laughing at me.”
“He said it was a Muggle thing,” I explained, joining them on the couch and winding a lock of Luna’s hair around my fingers.
“Well, I imagine he meant Kermit from the Muppet Show,” Hermione said. “There was a frog, called Kermit, who was in love with a pig.”
Luna wrinkled her nose and looked dubiously at Hermione. “Are you sure?” she asked. “That doesn’t sound very likely, does it?”
“It’s a television programme,” Harry said swiftly, knowing Hermione doesn’t enjoy Luna doubting her sanity. “An American programme.”
“Ah, well, that explains it then,” Luna said happily.
“But where did you get a green pig from, anyway?” Hermione asked.
“He isn’t a pig,” Luna said. “He’s a rath.”
“A what?” Harry asked, scratching Kermit’s belly and receiving a sneezy whistle for his troubles.
“We found him living in a slate mine in Snowdonia,” Luna said. “Didn’t you read my article on our expedition in last month’s Quibbler?”
“Um,” Harry said. “I think I missed that one.”
Luna handed Kermit to him, tucked her wand behind her ear, went over to the bookshelves and started rummaging among back issues of the magazine, humming under her breath.
It took her a little while to find what she was looking for, because she files them alphabetically, by headline, rather than by date, and I admired her arse and Hermione sighed and Harry played with Kermit.
“Here,” she said happily, handing it to Hermione and sitting in my lap. “Ronald was such a help on the expedition, I was so desperately proud of him. I’d never have got close to them otherwise; I don’t think they’d seen red hair before, especially living in the dark.”
“They who?” Harry said.
“Kermit and Chudley,” I said, slipping one hand round Luna’s waist and the other under her bum. She bit her lip and wriggled against me.
“Chudley?” Harry asked.
A sad noise chirruped from the bookcase and Harry turned to look at the mop of feathers who was still perched there.
“The borogove,” Luna said, her eyes losing a little focus and her eyelashes fluttering as my fingers moved under her.
“I named him,” I said unnecessarily and Harry laughed.
“There’s no such thing as a borogove,” Hermione said flatly, her eyes moving from the miserable bird to the triumphant headline in the Quibbler.
Lovegood-Weasley Expedition Traps Dodgson’s Legendary Menagerie.
Over a Wizarding photograph of a sooty and scorched me holding Chudley, and a beaming Luna holding Kermit.
I was periodically patting at parts of my robes that were still smoking, Chudley was fluffing his feathers and chirrupping mournfully, Luna was holding tight to my arm and smiling up at me and Kermit was going cross eyed and sneezing.
“You… you haven’t… you, no!” Hermione stammered, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her.
“These creatures are fictional,” she said firmly, glaring at me.
“What have I done?” I asked, smirking as my fingers pressed into the heat pulsing between Luna’s legs and unfortunately irritating Hermione even more.
“Fictional!” she shrieked and Kermit bellow, whistle, sneezed again.
“Oh, Hermione,” Luna said. “Oh!”
“What?” Hermione snapped.
“I’m sorry,” Luna said, her eyelids fluttering closed for a moment. “I was distracted by Ronald touching me.”
I removed my hand swiftly and held it guiltily behind my back and Harry choked with laughter and Hermione snorted.
“You never believe in the creatures I write about, anyway,” Luna told her sadly.
“This is different,” Hermione said stubbornly.
“How?” Harry asked.
“Because.” Hermione flailed for a moment, her good manners as a guest warring with her despair at Luna’s interests. “Because usually they are just creatures that don’t exist,” she said finally. “But this time they are actual, fictional animals.”
There was a ringing silence and Harry cleared his throat.
“Is it just me,” he said. “Or is there something particularly wrong with the phrase ‘actual fictional animals’?”
Hermione glared at him.
“They’re famous, fictional animals,” she said. “From a famous poem, by Lewis Carroll. They. Do. Not. Exist.”
“But here they are,” Harry said, lifting the green pig, who whistled lovingly at him and whirled its tail.
“And you said they weren’t just creatures that don’t exist,” Luna said. “You can’t have it both ways.”
“You can have it both ways,” I whispered into her hair. “You can have it any way you like, you strumpet.”
“Will you excuse us a moment?” Luna said, getting daintily to her feet.
“Yeah,” I said. “We have something else to show you.”
“And it’s better if Ronald ravishes me in private,” Luna added, leaving the room.
“Um,” I said, shifting from one foot to the other and not meeting Hermione’s eyes.
“Go on,” Harry laughed. “You ravish away; I’ll calm Hermione down.”
Hermione grunted and threw the Quibbler on the floor.
I dashed up the stairs, two at a time, to find Luna already naked and holding the sword that lay on her dressing table.
“I didn’t mean you ravish me better in private,” she said earnestly. “I’m sure you’d have ravished me beautifully downstairs, but it’s a manners thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I know. Um, could you put the sword down while I do the actual ravishing?” I asked, swiftly stripping.
“Of course,” she said, laying it back on the dressing table and taking a running jump into my arms.
I kissed her soundly and tossed her onto the bed and she spread her arms and legs and made a bed angel and smiled up at me.
“God, I love you,” I whispered, crawling up her body and leaving a trail of open mouthed, random kisses. “I love having sex with you.”
“Hmmmm, inside me,” she murmured, parting her legs further and sighing happily as I slid into her.
“We’d better be quick,” I said, kneeling up and thrusting slowly and deeply, despite my words.
Her arms were thrown back, above her head, her hair was wild, her smile bright, her breasts flushed, her legs thrown over my shoulders and she made me so happy I could scream.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I told her.
“This is wonderful, Ronald,” she said, one hand straying down to rub her clit. “But I think it would be rude to take too long and leave Kermit and Chudley to entertain our guests. Poor Hermione is very annoyed with me.”
“Luna,” I panted, my hips snapping forward as I fucked her. “What have I told you about mentioning Hermione while we’re having sex?”
“That I should impersonate her while you’re taking me up the arse, because she never let you,” she said happily, stroking herself to her climax and pinching her nipple with her free hand as I lost my rhythm and bellowed as I came inside her.
She laughed at my stricken face.
I grabbed her and turned her over my knee and smacked her bottom.
“Evil wench,” I chastised.
The bottom wriggled happily under my hand and I caressed it and ran a finger between its cheeks and let my mind wander a bit with plans for later.
“I brewed some of my special anal lube, earlier,” she said, reading my mind. “Cherry flavour.”
“The sword,” I said firmly, bending to bite her bottom and she laughed and slipped out of my lap and we both Tergeod and dressed and she picked up her sword and seriously handed it to me and we went downstairs.
Hermione was over by the bookcase, glaring at poor Chudley, who looked more mimsy than ever.
Harry had an ecstatic, smitten and prone Kermit in his lap, whistling and sneezing as he had his tummy rubbed.
Luna beamed at them fondly and sighed at the look on Hermione’s face.
I shuffled into the room, behind her, a bit embarrassed at having left my friends for a quick shag, but I met Harry’s eyes and he winked and I grinned and sat on the coffee table before him.
“Here,” I said, holding out the sword. “What d’you reckon?”
Harry took it in his rathfree hand and hefted it, experimentally.
“Wonderful balance,” he said. “It feels almost weightless.”
I watched his shining face and his confident wrist movement as he thrust in mid air and I thought of him killing a Basilisk when he was just twelve and my heart swelled with love for him, the git.
“How is it so light?” he asked.
“It’s a vorpal sword,” Luna said proudly. “It was my great-great-great-grandfather’s: Charles Dodgson gave it to him.”
Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat and came over and snatched it from Harry’s hand.
“That poem was a work of fiction,” she said tightly.
“That story was one of the most important research papers that my great-great-great-grandfather ever ran,” Luna said quietly. “It was the Quibbler’s top selling issue of the 1870s.”
Hermione whimpered.
“It was fictional,” she snapped.
“It was an amazing achievement,” Luna almost snapped.
“There is no such thing as a rath,” Kermit sneezed, “or a borogove,” Chudley fluttered his feathers, “or,” Hermione swallowed, “or a jabberwocky.”
Luna bent and picked up the discarded copy of the Quibbler.
She opened it to the centre pages, turned it upside down, and handed it to Hermione.
“Ron,” Hermione breathed, dropping the sword as her hand came up to her throat.
“Blimey,” Harry said, looking over her shoulder.
“He was so brave,” Luna said, taking my hand and beaming up at me.
Kermit peered at the picture of me, filthy and grinning insanely and standing in front of the twitching corpse of a huge, winged, dragon-like creature, with a bloodied, vorpal sword in one hand and the long toothed head, with eyes still guttering with flame, in the other.
He sneezed, loudly.
Hermione looked up at me.
I can’t usually read seventeen different emotions on someone’s face, but awe was visibly warring with terror and a spot of ‘I’m going to have to apologise to Luna’.
“Ron,” she said, swallowing audibly and I beamed at her. “You really… you found… you killed it?”
“Why else would I have a vorpal sword?” I chortled in my joy.