Entry tags:

114, luna, springtime_gen

Freshwater Plimpy Soup
Title: Freshwater Plimpy Soup
Rating: PG
Word-count: ~2,150
Warnings: None
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Luna reconstructs her family's life, with a little help from her friends.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my beta, Minnow, who magically transformed a puny, sad fic into something readable – and all that without a wand.

Written for the 2009 springtime_gen, here



Voldemort was dead. Really dead. His body lay crumpled on the floor of the Great Hall, while the army of wizards and witches around him stood as if turned to stone, unable to move for sheer shock.

Then, suddenly, a victory cry was heard, followed by the roar of the crowd cheering Harry. Ron and Hermione flung their arms around him, and Ginny. Neville and Luna soon joined them, until he was invisible in the crush of well-wishers surrounding him.

After a few minutes, Luna quietly stepped away and observed her surroundings. Family members and friends were standing close together, some vociferously recreating the final battle, some still wide-eyed and silent, others weeping unashamedly. A handful of official-looking wizards were wasting no time in apprehending any remaining Death Eaters, who were as shocked by defeat as the winners were by victory.

At a distance from the crowd, forgotten by all, the three Malfoys huddled together, not looking at anything or anybody, possibly unsure whether they were about to be hauled to Azkaban or allowed to go free.

Luna walked through the crowds, past the groups celebrating or mourning together, searching for someone with authority, someone who could tell her where to find the person she was looking for. She had no idea what had happened to him. All she knew was what Hermione had told her, that the Death Eaters had stormed the Lovegoods’ house right before she, Ron and Harry managed to escape.

Secretly, Luna hoped her father had been sent to Azkaban, because the alternative was too painful to think about. Voldemort's men had free rein to dispense "justice" as they saw fit. She had nightmares in which Xenophilius vanished in a blaze of green light as Harry and his friends ran full pelt from her house. At other times she dreamt of her father’s body blown to pieces when the house exploded. After these nightmares, she would wake up in a cold sweat, her only comfort the hope that Xenophilius might be in Azkaban after all.

Funny how Azkaban could be a better choice.

***

She finally managed to corner Shacklebolt, who had just been named interim Minister for Magic.

“Mr Shacklebolt…” She hoped that was the right way to address him. “I wanted to ask if you’ve heard anything about my father, Xenophilius Lovegood. I was hoping…well, I was hoping he might be in Azkaban.”

Shacklebolt didn’t reply, but stared at her as if she’d said something strange. Well, she was used to that, though she couldn’t for the life of her see what was wrong with asking about her father. But then, he wheeled round and shouted to the group of men flanking him protectively. “Proudfoot. Savage. I want you two to Apparate to Azkaban at once, and release any innocent inmates. Use your common sense, won’t you?”

In the midst of their celebrations – or mourning – everyone had forgotten about the people who were not free to fight.

***

As the morning was breaking, Luna got word that her father had indeed been in Azkaban and, like the other prisoners, had been taken to St. Mungo's for a thorough check-up. She immediately Apparated to the hospital, where, after much running around, she was directed to his bed.

Xenophilius looked much the worse for wear. It was obvious that he had been tortured before being sent to Azkaban – and maybe even while in custody. One arm was lying at a strange angle and the bruises on his face seemed fairly recent. Luna tried to get a Healer to see him, but was told that the staff were very busy with more serious cases, and she would have to wait. She did, sitting patiently at his bedside until a Healer finally hurried by to reset his arm and tend to his wounds. After being given a pain killing potion, he was discharged. The beds were needed for the battle survivors.

The Lovegoods were given a Portkey to their house, but when they tumbled on to the zig-zag path, Luna saw only a rubble of stones where her home had once stood. She put her face in her hands to stifle a sob. Even the strongest building spells wouldn’t be powerful enough to make it habitable any time soon. If she and her father worked hard, they might be able to rebuild in a couple of months, but he was hardly in a state to start casting the requisite charms.

In fact, he was swaying on his feet next to her. The potion he'd received had made him sleepy, and it was up to her to try and sort something out. They needed – he needed – a place to sleep while the house was being rebuilt. She thought about conjuring some sort of shelter, like the tents she and her father used when they went on camping trips in search of strange beasts and undiscovered plants. But she didn't think she would be able to do that kind of magic. She was still drained from the battle and the stress of the long wait to hear of her father's whereabouts.

Next to her, Xenophilius seemed to be coming out of his semi-trance.

“Where on earth have you taken me, Luna? I need to be at home, in my own bed. I’m sure these ruins are fascinating, but perhaps we can look round them some other time.”

“It’s all right, Father,” Luna soothed. “I’ll work something out.”

“Soup,” declared Xenophilius. “That’s what I need. Some of your Freshwater Plimpy soup. And a good nap. And then I’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.”

He closed his eyes, and Luna noticed he was swaying so much that he could hardly stay upright. If he didn’t lie down soon, he’d fall, and what would become of them then? Luna felt powerless, depressed and alone.

Then she remembered that the Weasleys lived fairly near by. They would probably have a tent they could lend her. And, besides, she needed a bit of support from her friends.

Her friends. The people who accepted her as she was. The people she could count on.

The grass had grown wild and Luna decided that it would probably be soft enough for Xenophilius to lie on while she tried to get shelter for them.

He grumbled at first when she tried to settle him in the middle of the overgrown front path.

“Really, Luna! You’re wasting my time. Why can’t we go home?”

“We’ll be home soon,” Luna said. “I have to go and catch some Plimpies, though, or I won’t be able to make your soup.”

“Oh, all right.”

She helped her father down, and he stretched out on the ground. Luna put his cloak round him, though it was a warm summer day, so he wouldn’t catch a chill. Mercifully, the potion was obviously a strong one, and, before she’d even got ready to Apparate, he'd fallen into a deep sleep and was snoring softly.

***

Luna Apparated to the road that ran past the Burrow and, as she walked up to the house, she noticed it was uncommonly quiet. Normally there would be smoke curling up the chimney and, even from a distance, one would be able to pick up the smell of Mrs Weasley’s excellent cooking. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, She hadn't eaten anything of substance since the battle had started, only a stale chocolate frog she’d found in her pocket. St. Mungo's food was horrid, and besides she’d been glad to see her father finish his plateful of shepherd’s pie.

The lack of smoke probably meant that the Weasleys weren’t home, and she groaned at the thought. She didn't know anyone else who could help her, which meant that she would have to do her best to conjure shelter, whether she felt up to it or not. She wouldn't mind sleeping on the grass – she'd done that many times, and she found it very relaxing. But her father needed the comfort of a soft bed.

She decided to knock at the door anyway; maybe Mrs Weasley wasn't home, but surely Ron or Ginny would be there, and they’d be happy to help. She raised her fist to knock hard at the door, then remembered that the Weasleys were in mourning. She rapped softly instead.

The door was opened almost at once by a red-faced Mrs Weasley who, upon seeing Luna, enveloped her in a bear hug and ushered her into the house. All the Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, were sitting at the table, looking somber. Luna’s friends immediately jumped up to greet her, and she felt that warmth inside that came from being with people she liked and who liked her.

"Sit down, Luna," Mrs Weasley fussed. "I was just going to make some tea. We've...we've just arrived home from..."

She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. Luna was pretty sure that the family had been collecting Fred’s body and saying their final farewells. They’d obviously not been home long enough to light a fire or put on a cauldron to boil.

"Don't worry, Mrs Weasley. Not on my account. I have to get home soon, anyway. I only dropped in to see if I could borrow a tent while we repair our house."

"No!" Molly exclaimed. "There’s no need to borrow a tent. You can stay here. We can easily fit another bed into Ginny's room."

"Thank you, but I can't. My dad needs me. He's in no condition to do anything for himself at the moment."

"Your dad?" Ron asked. "I thought he was- " He stopped abruptly.

Luna looked at Ron with a half-smile. "He's alive. But he's ill. They mistreated him badly in Azkaban."

"Well, he sort of deserved it, didn't he?"

Shocked, Luna asked, "Why d’you say that?"

"Didn't you hear? Your father was ready to hand Harry to You-Know-Who.” Ron hesitated for a moment. “To Voldemort, I mean."

"Of course I heard," Luna answered. "You told me hundreds of times while we were at Shell Cottage, remember?"

"Ron," Harry interrupted. "I didn't mind, really. Mr Lovegood did what he had to do."

"Harry, he could have had you killed. And we all would be under Voldemort now – him included," Ron snorted.

Looking at him sadly, Luna replied, "I think my dad would rather live in a world, any world, where I was alive, than in freedom without me."

With those words she turned away, refusing to wait another minute, shaking her head at Mrs Weasley's suggestion that she stay for tea while they looked for the tent. Ron's words hurt a lot. Yes, she knew that her father had done a terrible thing, bartering Harry, and the future of the wizarding world, in exchange for her well-being. But it was right at the same time; she was his daughter, the only person he had in the world. They had always been a close-knit family, the three Lovegoods, and Xenophilius had become even closer to his daughter after the accident that killed his wife.

Since then, Luna had looked after her father as much as he’d looked after her. She was the one who cooked and who tried to keep order in the house. But their relationship had never been one-sided, even though her father was such a busy man. From him, Luna had learned about natural history and exotic animals. In fact, she had secretly decided to be a naturalist when she left Hogwarts

She Disapparated from the spot where she’d landed, her heart aching with Ron's harsh words and the equally hurtful silence of her other friends. Of course, Harry had attempted some sort of apology, but she realized that even the Weasleys condemned her father's action.

Well, from now on, it would have to be Luna and her father against the world. She was used to that. The two of them would rebuild their lives together.


***

The tent Luna conjured up was an unpleasant greenish color and full of holes, but it stayed upright, and Luna managed to salvage a few things from the rubble that used to be her house. She Transfigured a broken chair into a bed for her father, and the charred, faceless bust of Rowena Ravenclaw became a very fine cauldron.

That night, under the stars, she and Xenophilius ate a savory batch of Freshwater Plimpy soup.

***

By the end of the first week, Luna and her father had managed to clear the ground sufficiently to start laying the foundations of the new house. The tent had been holding up well, Luna had been catching enough Freshwater Plimpies for soup every day, and Xenophilius's memory had improved. He still had no idea of what he'd done: in fact, he wasn't able to recollect anything that had happened the day he was arrested, all those months ago.

Luna certainly was not about to remind him. He would probably be devastated if he remembered. She knew he'd acted out of desperation and, if he had forgotten it all, why bring it back?

They stopped for tea. Xenophilius was in an expansive mood, and drank three cups of Gurdyroot infusion, talking all the while.

“I am so sorry, Luna, my dear, that the horn of the Crumpled-Horned Snorkack was destroyed. I propose that we go on another quest for it this winter.”

“That would be wonderful, father,” Luna agreed. “I have a feeling that we’re going to stumble across a whole nest of them this time.”

She was interrupted by the sound of multiple Apparitions, and saw five people walking up the front path, each carrying what appeared to be a large bundle of food.

She couldn’t believe her eyes at first, but then they were standing beside her, Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron, grinning and looking very pleased with themselves.

“I’m so sorry,” Xenophilius said politely. “We don’t want any today, thank you.”

“We’re not selling anything, Mr Lovegood," said Harry."We’ve come to help with the house. Hermione’s been learning every building spell in the book.”

“If you don’t mind turrets,” Ron mumbled a little awkwardly. “Listen, we’re really sorry, Luna.”

Luna put up her hand to shush him. There was no need to apologize; their presence. their smiling faces, said it all.

Her friends.


***

The new house was much better than the old one. The explosion had taken care of the clutter, although Xenophilius, who had started publishing The Quibbler again, was doing his best to start messing up the place. Luna smiled benevolently and cleaned up after him as best she could.

A couple of years after the war, when things were back to normal, Luna was helping her father with a new issue of the paper when one of the job advertisements caught her eye. Rolf Scamander, the grandson of the famous naturalist Newt Scamander, was looking for an assistant. The ideal candidate would have a deep interest in exotic animals and be willing to travel.

She watched her father, busy with the printing press. He was all right. She had nursed him back to health and he'd do fine on his own. She could leave home now, to live her own life. She knew she would always come back to visit the house near Ottery St. Catchpole, a short walk from the stream where the best Freshwater Plimpies could be found.