milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Okay, he's back. Jittery, (though he knows better than to show it,) and watching the bar from a place in the corner (where he can have his back to a wall) and fingers curled tight around his glass.

But he is here.

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"Does it taste the same?"

He reaches out for it, tentatively.

“I’m not sure. You should try it.”

Try it he does, because Jack's a trusting sort.

Luna pushes her glasses firmly up her nose, and stares at him through them.

“Is it nice? Have I poisoned you?”

"Yes, and I hope not."

He shrugs.

"It is... toast."

“Orange toast,” she agrees.

“I’m good at charms, so I think you’ll be okay.”

"It is soggy, though."

He makes a face and sets it down.

"I will stick to my icecream. You may share the rest of it, if you would like?"

Given that hers is a bit of a mess.

“That would be nice, yes.”

She licks the worst of the dripping ice-cream off of her hands, and charms the rest of it away.

He flags down a rat for another spoon, and touches a finger to the side of the dish, to make it cold again.

"That is my magic."

Kneeling up, she dips her spoon into the ice cream, just to be sure.

Curiously, “Can you make snow?”

"Yes."

And suddenly, for them, a foot or so around, it's snowing.

"See?"

Throwing her head back, Luna laughs, wild and delighted.

“Snow in July! Just wait till I tell daddy about this!”

She opens her mouth wide, tries to catch flakes on the tip of her tongue.

"It is October."

He wrinkles his nose at her.

“No it isn’t.”

She frowns.

“It’s July. I ought to know, I’m on my summer holiday.”

"Oh. Well, in the bar, it is October. Time is strange that way."

He shrugs.

"Have you been here long?"

“Today is my first day.”

She drops her voice to a hushed whisper. “I was trying to find my kitchen.”

"Ah!"

He gestures happily with the spoon.

"And I have been here a year! We match!"

“Oh! Happy… barday! Do you have a door? Mine seems to have disappeared. Or it might just be hiding,” she adds.

"Yes, to my home. Do you have any money?"

He looks concerned.

"Because you will need a place to sleep, if the door is not there."

“I might do.”

A delve into her pockets (there are many) finds a mushroom, a ball of string, several brightly coloured balloons, a mouse (live, and making a courageous bid for freedom before Luna catches hold of it and stows it away again) and, eventually, a tiny gold key.

“This is my Gringotts vault key. Do you think it will work?”

"No. No, you will let me get you a room, or come and find one in my home, there are lots of rooms there. And then you can keep checking for the door and you will be safe."

He nods.

"There is a fund for bound people that will give you all the food you need, I promise. We had a stripping-for-charity night to put money into it, so it is all full."

“Oh.”

She considers, head cocked and licking absent-mindedly at his ice cream.

“Rooms aren’t expensive, are they? I shouldn’t like for you to pay for an expensive room.”

"Not very," he says dubiously, "I have never had one. I used to sleep out in the woods, and then I found my home. It is a pocket from imagination. Whatever you wish to be there, is there. Well, for me. Other people cannot, but I can."

Curiously,

“What do you wish it as?”

"White space, because I cannot be that complicated. A soft bed, with full, goosefeather blankets. Furniture that I need, and a bath and rugs. Dressers with glass things on them, a chest with my clothes, and lots of books. A gamaphone and old records to listen and dance to."

He loves it.