[Castling] Chapter 73

My nervous laughter cut off as sharply as it had started. Despite the exhaustion, a wave of euphoria crashed over me—bloody hell, we’d actually survived and destroyed that damn Horcrux! My throat tightened with emotion, my chest felt like it might burst, and I stood there grinning like a loon, trying to share that joy with Snape. But all I managed were choked giggles and the occasional incoherent whoop.

“Pull yourself together, Weasley, and stop that hysterics,” Snape snapped irritably. He flicked his wand at me, and immediately I felt calmer. “Get a grip. I understand it’s the aftermath of prolonged mental strain, but I’m barely standing myself—I’ve no strength left to babysit you. Now, tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Need a piss and something to eat,” I admitted bluntly, tuning in to my body at last. “Not sure which more. Legs are numb, head’s spinning… bloody hell!” I flinched as a wave of diagnostic magic passed over me. At least the urge to pee vanished.

“I haven’t got time to mollycoddle you,” he muttered, handing me three vials one after the other. “Two sips from the first, one from the second, and no more than five from the last—you’ll know when to stop.”

I drank as instructed. By the end of the third, I was feeling loads better. My head still felt a bit like it wasn’t mine, but the fog had lifted, and strength was returning to my limbs.

“You able to stand?” he asked in a brisker tone, taking a swig from the same vials himself and tucking them away in his robes.

“Think so,” I said, giving my legs a tentative flex, then rising to my feet.

“Then let’s go.”

“What about the ring?” I asked, suddenly remembering, eyes darting about the room.

“I’ve got it. You’ll get it later—once we’ve left this place.”

Despite his steady voice and no-nonsense air, the man was clearly swaying. But the moment we stepped outside, he raised his wand again.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned, imagining another few hours of waiting.

“Stop whining. I’m knackered too, if you hadn’t noticed,” he muttered, then sent a pale blue pulse from his wand. It vanished into the hut, and the silence that followed was thick and final. Snape shut the shack’s door carefully and turned back to me. “That clears any magical trace of my spellwork,” he explained, although I was beyond caring—I just wanted to get the hell out of there. “A wizard’s personal magic fades quickly, but powerful spells always leave a signature behind—it lingers. And if someone catches that trace in time, they can identify who cast it.”

“Sir, can we please leave now?” I whined, knowing full well I was pushing my luck. “I’ll even listen to another of your lectures, but preferably sitting down. With a cup of tea. And I have to be home by seven or Percy’ll give me a proper grilling. And trust me, sir—when he gets going, he’s worse than you.”

“Let’s go, Weasley,” he grumbled, not looking back as he set off down the trail. I followed, dragging my feet, and a worrying thought struck me—how were we supposed to Apparate if he was barely on his feet? One wrong move and we’d both end up splinched.

By the time we dragged ourselves out of the woods, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Sir, no offence, but are you sure you're up for a joint Apparition? Maybe we should freshen up a bit and just call the Knight Bus instead? You’re liable to pass out mid-jump…”

“You think I didn’t account for that possibility, Weasley?” he shot me a withering look, pulling a length of rope from his pocket. “Grab on.”

The Portkey dumped us straight outside his house.

“Sir, I’ve just realised—why go through all that danger and hassle with the wards?” I asked, suddenly animated. “You could’ve just burned the whole hut down with Fiendfyre. Much faster. Toss the locket in with it too. Job done…”

After Snape had doused us both in a dozen disgusting brews and I’d demolished a whole plate of sandwiches, I felt so energised I could barely sit still. Definitely a side effect. I’d been buzzing about the living room for the last half hour, sipping tea and bombarding Snape with questions like I’d been hit with a Babbling Hex.

Snape, on the other hand, looked rough—even cleaned up. A healer would probably call his condition “stable but critical.” But he was replying, slow and tired as he was, like only my yammering was keeping him from passing out. At least he wasn’t snapping, so I guessed he knew about the potions’ side effects.

“Doing what’s easier isn’t always the same as doing what’s right, Weasley,” he muttered, cradling his teacup. “Ever wonder why Fiendfyre’s a forbidden curse?”

“Nope,” I said cheerfully. “But mental potions are banned too, sir, and that didn’t stop you.”

“Fiendfyre, just so you’re aware,” he said, giving me a sharp look, “feeds on magic. First from the one who conjures it, then from anything it touches. That’s why it’s only used on known magical objects—otherwise it runs wild, devouring every magical trace in sight until it burns itself out.”

“Blimey. Didn’t know that.”

“You saw how many wards and traps were on that house,” he went on. “Not to mention the ruins nearby—the Gaunt place. There’s still a flicker of power left there, and who knows what charms still linger? I wouldn’t have been able to control the fire. No one could. And if the Dark Lord ever found out the shack had gone up in magical flames, he’d put two and two together fast. He’d start checking on his other hidey-holes. Merlin knows how many more Horcruxes he’s stashed away. And Dumbledore’d get curious too—I can’t lie to him if he asks outright.”

“Then yeah, you were right,” I admitted. “Definitely worth the effort. You were incredible, sir. I couldn’t take my eyes off your spellwork. It was like watching a dance with death! Like fighting a hydra! You’re a proper master…”

“Speaking of which, Mr Weasley,” he said suddenly, setting down his cup, “since we’re on the topic—I’ve fulfilled our agreement to the letter. And you yourself just praised my contribution. I do recall that all trophies from this operation technically belong to you, per our contract—but I’d like to ask for the stone. As a token of appreciation. Or I’m willing to buy it—just name your price.”

His casual posture and almost indifferent tone didn’t quite match the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched tight around the armrests, or the look in his eyes—quiet hope mingled with something like sorrow, staring straight through me. He wanted that stone—badly—but didn’t want to let me see it.

For a moment, I felt a surge of anger. But it fizzled out almost instantly, the second I remembered the way he’d smiled—truly, openly smiled—back in that shack. Snape really had done more than anyone else to bring the Dark Lord down. And he still had to deal with Nagini. I couldn’t stay mad at him. Not now, when it was all behind us and we were both alive. I just made a mental note, once again—he’s still a bastard. But a useful bastard. He got us through. And let’s face it, I’d never outplay him—he’s got age and skill on his side. I’m no match.

“You used me again, Professor,” I said with mock reproach, sighing dramatically. “You risked your life—and mine—for that bloody stone. And not just us—you risked His return. But you know what? I’ll give it to you.”

I saw the flicker of hope in his eyes, just before it faded into something like frustration.

“Yeah. You’ll get the stone—after the Dark Lord’s truly finished.”

Even disappointed, Snape visibly relaxed after hearing my promise. He slumped back into the chair a little, just slightly more at ease.

“Thank you, Weasley. I won’t forget that,” he said curtly.

“Nor will I, Professor,” I chuckled, letting out a theatrical sigh and reaching for my tea again. “Though fat lot of good that’ll do me. Life’s taught me nothing when it comes to you…”

Half an hour later, we stood. He handed over the stone—reluctantly, I might add—and I tucked it into my bag under his watchful gaze. The ring itself had shattered when the Horcrux was destroyed, and he’d already burned the remains with a spell.

He’d recovered enough to take me back to the ruins, and disappeared almost at once with a muttered, “Farewell, Weasley.”

“See you later, sir!” I called cheerfully after him, but he was already gone. On the way home, I dropped the stone in its usual hiding spot.

Thankfully, Percy wasn’t back yet. So I reheated dinner and sat down to wait, going over everything Snape had said. Each time we met, he was a little more open. Like I’d earned his trust—or he was trying to earn mine to get that stone. Still, we’d saved each other’s skins more than once by now, which earns a certain level of… understanding.

Anyway, now it was just the cup, the snake, and Voldemort himself. And none of that was my problem anymore. Time to start thinking about my own future—focus on school. Flitwick had approved my application for the Advanced Charms elective. First step sorted.

For now, I wrote Charlie a normal-looking letter with a couple of hidden phrases—he’d know what to do, and he’d loop in Bill. They’d keep me posted.

Dinner dragged out, but Percy was too busy banging on about work to notice me nodding off. The potions had worn off, and that weird artificial energy was gone, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion. I’d never appreciated my bed and the silence of my room more.

The next morning, after breakfast, time stretched. Luna had gone out with her dad to Diagon Alley for school shopping. I’d thought about asking to go along but chickened out. Loads of time till two o’clock, though, so I went out to practice blocking shots. I enchanted some apples—just slapped a few runes on about ten of them—and set them flying at me every minute or so at random speeds. It didn’t last long—took more time to set up than to enjoy. The apples exploded on contact with my broom anyway. So I headed back inside and ran through the charms I’d been studying.

After not seeing her for so long, Luna looked older to me. More grown-up. Only her bright-eyed, childlike gaze and a bit of teenage awkwardness still reminded me of the girl I used to know. She hugged me with that usual gentle joy—no hesitation at all—while I stood there stiffly, unsure what to do with myself.

We had tea, then sprawled on the carpet in the games room among the cushions, talking for ages. She was thrilled I'd become a prefect and told me about Africa—about the animals, the magic, the local wizards. Their spells were powerful but closed off to outsiders. Not even the blood rituals with black cockerels and snakes, or the summoned and bound djinns, fazed her. To Luna, all magic was just energy—something to understand and respect. She showed me sketches of the creatures they'd seen and little trophies: leaves, fangs, teeth.

Listening to her, nodding, smiling gently, I felt oddly sentimental. I found myself watching her for longer than I should, wondering how time flew so quickly—how she’d grown up so fast. It wouldn’t be easy, bringing up the subject that might wreck our friendship. Or at the very least, change it forever. Good or bad, I didn’t know. But I couldn’t keep putting it off. If I did, she’d always see me as just a friend. And I had no intention of turning into another Snape—letting happiness slip through my fingers.

Later, I got sidetracked telling her about Grimmauld Place, and then we read the latest issue of The Quibbler—fresh off the press. I couldn’t stop laughing at the article about Black.

“You reckon anyone’s going to believe this nonsense?” I asked between gasps, wiping away tears of laughter.

“I don’t think so,” Luna said seriously, knitting her pale brows. But then she smiled again, lifting her clear, bright eyes. “But those who care about mysteries will know the truth—that Black’s innocent, and it’s the little one, Peter Pettigrew, who’s guilty. Bordman is his mother’s maiden name. And Mrs Perkins—nee Hoggart—had a fling with Pettigrew back in their Hogwarts days.”

“How d’you know that?” I blinked.

“Perkins was in Ravenclaw when my parents were at school,” Luna shrugged. “You didn’t really think my dad would go against the Ministry just to clear Black’s name, did you? But the magical world deserves the truth, even if not everyone can see it. The Quibbler’s mainly printed for Ravenclaw alumni—only they can sort fact from fiction in it. Dad was part of the ‘Scholars’ Society’ at Hogwarts and still wears his club ring. They published the ‘school sheet,’ and everything in it was written in riddles and puzzles—just like Rowena would’ve wanted. ‘A clever mind is worth more than gold.’ There’s no other way for Ravenclaws,” she added, shaking her head.

“So that article about Fudge and the goblins—that’s true as well?” I asked, surprised.

“Well, mostly,” Luna replied, unfazed. “Fudge supports those in the Wizengamot who believe financial power shouldn’t lie with a hostile non-human race like the goblins. It makes wizards vulnerable and dependent. And everyone knows about his blatantly intolerant views on non-human beings and magical creatures. The bit about torture, though, that’s made-up. Anyway, tell me more about Black,” she prompted. “Did you lot really spend the whole summer just cleaning?”

“Pretty much,” I said, lounging back into the pillows as Luna flopped down beside me, swinging her legs.

“…so just picture it—he takes this beautiful ornament and—bang—smashes it right into the wall…”

“Oh! We’ve got some like that,” Luna perked up. “With the Gamp and Lovegood family crests. Everyone who could afford it used to order them from Master Andruz. He only made three a year. Let’s go have a look, Ron,” she suggested, springing up and dashing to the cupboard. “Dad and I haven’t decorated the tree properly in years.”

“Dad always conjures our tree—comes fully decorated,” I said, helping her reach the top shelf.

“Mine too,” Luna admitted, sitting cross-legged on the floor as she opened a box. “But… we always used to decorate it together—me and Mum… and after she died, I didn’t want to do it on my own anymore. Look! A Slytherin carriage!” she added, switching topics and pulling out a green glass ornament.

We spent ages looking through the enchanted decorations. She gently dusted them off one by one, chatting dreamily about childhood memories, and I placed each one carefully into a second box.

“Wait, there’s another set of baubles on the shelf,” she remembered as I was putting the box away. I handed her a smaller one.

Inside were black, silver-swirled globes with zodiac signs painted on the sides.

“This is the ‘Zodiac’ set,” Luna said, a bit wistfully as she took one from its little holder. “They’re usually gifted to boys when they turn fifteen—see how they’re black? They glow in the dark and get hung around the bed canopy. These were Dad’s. Mum always said they were too dull for the tree, though,” she added with a shrug, handing one to me.

As she chatted about constellations, the bauble in my hand shimmered with silver mist—and the constellation of Aquarius morphed into… a witch on a broomstick.

She was flying low, clinging to the broom handle as wind whipped her robes about—more than a bit, really. A strong gust blew off her tilted witch’s hat, and she reached for it in a flurry, her corset just barely covering anything as the breeze lifted her robes even further. Lace frills weren’t hiding much, and the little minx giggled, clearly embarrassed, trying to shield herself—not that she was doing a very good job.

“And this one’s Gemini,” Luna went on, handing me another bauble. The one in her hands had gone back to just showing stars, but mine now showed two witches playing strip poker. They were clearly flirting—licking their lips, winking, undressing each other far too slowly to be innocent. One leaned in, undoing the other's corset with deliberate care, and I panicked, shoving the bauble back at Luna.

“Ron? Are you alright?” she asked gently, touching my shoulder with concern. Meanwhile, I was overheating at the thought of her seeing what I just had.

“Erm… Luna. These baubles… how do I put this…” I muttered, struggling for the right words. “They don’t just show constellations. There’s witches. Not, like, completely naked… but let’s just say, it’s not the sort of thing you’d look at with a girl.”

“Oh, that explains why Mum never liked them,” she said calmly, returning them to the box and tucking it back in the cupboard.

“Luna,” I said, taking her hands as I helped her put everything away. “There’s something I want to tell you… I like you.”

“I like you too, Ron,” she smiled softly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re my friend.”

“I like you a lot more than just a friend,” I said, finally taking the plunge. “I’d like us to start dating… you know, holding hands, going on proper dates… kissing,” I added, trying to remember what people our age were supposed to do in a relationship.

“Right now?” she asked without any trace of embarrassment, brow furrowed in thought.

“No,” I said quickly, pulling her close and stroking her hair. “Whenever you want to. I’m in no rush—I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“That’s good, Ron,” she said, her voice quiet but full of relief as she looked up with a soft smile. “I’m not quite ready for dates just yet. But I don’t mind holding hands. And I will tell you when I feel ready to kiss.”

We’d just shut the cupboard when a dusty bit of cardboard fell and landed squarely on my head.

“Oh! It’s the shadow theatre box!” Luna clapped her hands, bright-eyed. Hard to believe this same girl had just had a talk about relationships. “I thought we lost it!”

I eyed the overly flat box, which looked more like it held a photo frame than a game.

“Never heard of one,” I admitted.

“Then let’s watch it together,” she offered, fixing the frame onto the wall and tugging me back down onto the cushions.

One flick of her wand and the curtains drew closed. In the dark, the frame lit up—and a raspy, old storyteller’s voice drifted out, as though from another century.

It was a bit like one of those Muggle film strips, but done with silhouettes—like a proper shadow theatre. The figures moved in a way that felt like real animation. We watched a few tales—or maybe legends—and at some point, I must’ve nodded off, lulled by the steady, droning narration.

Waking up, I felt someone watching me. In the dim light, I made out Xenophilius Lovegood, just… staring at me. Silently. I shifted, meaning to sit up and say hello—only to realise Luna was curled right into me, fast asleep, her head resting on my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. The wall still flickered with moving silhouettes and the old storyteller’s voice was still droning on. I swallowed, a bit too loudly.

Xeno watched me closely as I gently wriggled free. I tucked the blanket over Luna, careful not to wake her, and stood. He waited until I was up, then turned and walked ahead without a word.

“Er… sir, please don’t get the wrong idea,” I blurted the second we stepped out onto the landing. “We were just watching stories and nodded off. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Your brother’s waiting in the front hall,” he said instead, not slowing his step as he started down the stairs. I hesitated, then called after him.

“Wait—sir! I just want you to know… I’m serious about your daughter. One day, I’m going to ask her to marry me, and I’ll be the happiest man alive if she says yes. I told her how I feel today, and I’ll wait as long as she needs.”

The man stopped. Slowly, he turned and gave me a look—one that felt like it saw straight through skin and bone.

“I won’t stand in her way,” he said at last. “You’re no better or worse than anyone else. But my girl needs someone like you. The world inside my dreams is far too lovely to ever want to come back, but you… you can keep her grounded in the real one. If she chooses you, I’ll welcome you as a son. But don’t doubt for a second—if you ever hurt her, I will kill you.”

“I’d never hurt her,” I said steadily, meeting his gaze without flinching. Whatever he saw in my eyes seemed to satisfy him, because he gave a slight nod, turned, and continued downstairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, I was met by a thoroughly unimpressed Percy. He immediately launched into a long-winded lecture about decorum and what was and wasn’t appropriate under someone else’s roof while setting the table for tea.

I nodded along vaguely.

But truth be told, my mind was somewhere else entirely.