Work Text:
Many years ago, Neville gave Luna a tray of newly-planted seedlings. He carefully labelled them: orange dirigible plums, water daily. Admittedly, they didn’t look like anything alive. They might have been bits of damp, green tissue paper.
Luna took them in solemn silence, then never mentioned them again. Neville didn’t know what to think. He tried roses and puffapods with the same disquieting result.
Back in the greenhouse, the rest of the plum plants thrived. Their leaves thickened into broad wedges of green that lazed in the sun. Above them bobbed the ripening plums, plump and juicy as summer dreams.
~~~~
The next autumn, she said, “I don’t know who you are.” What was there to say? Neville knew plants, not philosophy. “I’m nobody,” he said. And that was that.
Yet, he couldn’t help but watch her. So he noticed when she wore earrings made of orange plums. Each one was perfectly preserved, a botanist’s dream.
They swung with every turn of her head. They reminded Neville of the pendulums in Divination class. He followed them with his eyes, wishing they would point firmly to yes or no. Just one clear answer. Instead, like Luna, they pointed to nothing he understood.
~~~~
Years later, he’s still nobody. Silly people might call him a hero for lopping off the head of a snake, but Neville doesn’t call himself anything. Words are not something he worries about. He’s got more important things to do. There are tomatoes to tend, grandchildren to hug. He always did talk better with his hands.
As for Luna, she is a question from a dream that he barely remembers. It might be nice to know what the answer to that question is -- or what it used to be -- but he’s long past expecting clear answers from life. He’s happy.
~~~~