Disclaimer: Still Applies

Chapter 9

"Are you quite sure this is safe?" Luna asked. The boat had remained the same in its pitch black glory. Tom had merely added wings. "I'm allergic to feathers…"

"Foam wings aren't as practical or aesthetically pleasing."

They had been floating about for a bit and they were both getting colder. "The baby is kicking," she muttered and had a horrible feeling she knew why. Rigor mortis all around him…she was a cheaply brought coffin.

He wasn't being friendly at all, either. Not one, little bit. He stared off in the distance, stared past her, and crossed his arms. His jaw was set and as straight as the horizon.

"I think you're being silly…" she offered. Her mood could be poor too.

"Hmm. From you, that's a compliment."

"I wasn't trying to be any way. You know that."

"I know you were trying to punish me with your vendetta. Such childish pride, to think your little, insignificant feelings are the center of the world, such self-absorption, such pitiful, clinging passive-aggressive tripe. You live for it, don't you? To live at the bequest of every one else and revel in your--."

He seemed to be so angry that he was beyond himself. She blinked, slipping.

"To show me and then hold it over my head," he said coldly, focusing back in on her like she was the worst person that he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. .His worst enemy. "I see through you."

"To what you want to see." This had gone from bad to worst, and she had an empty, hollow feeling in her chest. She looked past him, now, and tried not to think.

He stared at her, unblinking, and it seemed as if she was dismantled by his gaze, in hateful detail. A horrible, enraged stone idol of a god. Not a real boy by any measure.

"I sincerely apologize for any misunderstanding. I didn't mean to do you any harm. That's the…that's the last thing I wanted. It's my fault."

"Shut your mouth," Tom said coldly, his arms crossed.

"You're being…a bit of a baby about this," Luna said, her long dormant feelings overriding her—and at the time, it was a realization.

And then things fell apart.

He hissed in pain before he could object to her opinion and Luna felt rather than saw the figure in the shroud race by them at such a maniac speed that the boat rocked in its wake.

She gasped at the wound in his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Do I look-."

There was a blur by the side of the boat. In retrospect, Luna would call what Pan did a barrel-roll. She merely saw that the wings were in his chubby hands and that there was a smile on his cherubic face.

"Finders, keepers," the birl said happily.

They seemed to hover for a moment, stunned, and then they fell like a stone. She lost contact with the boat completely, and she felt herself flung through the air. The gravity appeared to have multiplied with intent to make her zoom down to earth and leave a crater. What weighs more does fall faster.

Tom zoomed by her, his robes flapping behind him…well, if there was a way for robes to possibly flap eloquently with speech, that would be it.

On a broom. Where did he hide a broom, she had time to wonder, before she saw him quickly transfigure a piece of driftwood into a broom and rather carelessly tossed it at her. She grabbed for it—nearly lost it—but managed to pinch a bristle and drag it towards her.

She floated there, in midair, nearly out of her mind at the idea of her still being alive.

"Pay attention!" Tom yelled, and Luna jerked her head back just in time to avoid Pan's sword. The birl grinned at her, with eyes with something foreign and cold behind them that did not match his smile. Demon. It had to be.

Then she felt bad for it. Tom, on the other hand, was in heavy competition. Pan was a good flyer and to her surprise, so was Tom. They had to outdo each other, and the result, she feared, was both of them being undone.

Pan was like mercury, a glaze of silver, as he moved through the net and mesh of curses like a needle through cloth. It seemed as if hitting him before he got you would be an impossible feat (fate), especially with all the taunting involved.

Tom, however, was just as resourceful as he was with the spider. He nearly-nearly-so close it almost counted-got Pan when he let some curses gather behind the child as he was merrily and smugly avoided all the curses. Then he pulled them back with a simple flick of his wand.

Pieces of shroud and not-quite-blood went everywhere but Pan emerged. Somehow unharmed. Then he started to yell and flail about.

The curses must have held fragments of feelings, she observed. Peter Pan was…falling apart was the polite term. He was regressing to what he had been at the time of death, and her heart…she started to regret what they had done.

He had just wanted to live.

Pan seemed stuck and in pain, and Luna suddenly knew that a feeling of some sort was missing. An important one. The last key ingredient.

She felt the presence and the weigh and the feeling of life within her. Then she knew for sure what it was.

Luna raised her hand towards the struggling figure—Tom was giving no mercy this time—and thought and willed as hard as she could.

"No child born is ever unwanted," she said.

And with that, Pan fell.

Tom had stopped his countless curses to watch Pan's descent, his good robes draped lightly around his knees.

She realized, looking at him up above her, that he was angry because she…

Luna felt like she had changed. She used to be a Peter Pan, brought forth to be a Wendy by hardship and misfortunes, and it hadn't twisted her like it had him, all those hardships and loneliness and want. The feeling that the world has nothing to satisfy the curiosity, the heart, the mind, and it wouldn't want you, spitting you out of the womb of life unto death. As soon as possible.

She discovered that she did have something that made her, that she wouldn't change for the world. It must have been love, and she realized now, one moment too late.

He smiled lightly at her, a promise that he would remember her, and he kept that promise. Tom Riddle started to fade into the blue, the deep, and she felt the tugs of the Other Selves waking up, leaving this world.

Everyone was leaving.

She blinked and he was gone, and she had been born too late to make a real difference in his life, his fate, his end. Always dreaming, she had dreamt too late, grown up too late.

She had failed him and felt it, the emptiness burrowed in her chest, her heart: it carried.

Luna woke up in tears.


She thought it was over. That it was gone like the dream.

Rolf was surprised at her change, and he began to constantly chant 'Pregnancy hormones' like a mantra. Luna could feel again. In a way, Tom had saved her. Whether it was in the middle of his things to do or the last possible thing he meant to do, he had done it. She was happy with being a mother.

But she thought that was as far as it went. She should have known better. She should have known the minute her son began to kick so ferociously that she thought she'd end up with a hole in her stomach. He was very, very eager to get out.

She caught a clue when her very blonde Rolf asked her in a falsely cheerful voice, "Did anyone in your family have dark hair?"

What a lark.

What had it been like, her time in captivity? She wouldn't know, she couldn't recall. Methodical Tom had taken something away from the dream. He was always learning, just not always the right things. So late in the date did not change the fact of an act. There was a reason they had met. Free-will was made by one's nature, and what one was, one is. It was Fate, after all.

Luna tried to think of all the angles, staring up at the St. Mungo's hospital ceiling and seeing the cracks. Clever, clever Tom, going in a full circle.

When the baby was placed in her arms, looking so small, his dark hair already showing, she thought he could just be clever in his corner. He had given her a gift, no matter what his intentions…Better than the best.

What his complex, web-like intentions were Her mind thought in possibilities, and his, realities in the impossibilities. Conceding: he was the cleverest. Far more. She saw his bone-whites smile in the darkness, in the silence, in the loneliness. He had her remorse. What better could he find her with, even in death which always remembers, and it seems.

When she met her son—with his eyes— little Luna was a lost girl.

To end this story on a happier note:

She was very good mother.

Credits:

"No child born is ever unwanted"-- is from the movie The Locker, J-horror.

The spiral mentions-- from Uzumaki, J-horror. There are alot of spirals in the world, seriously.

"I do unto others as they do unto me. Only worse". -- Jimmy Hoffa, I believe.

"Laugh when they're wounded and you cry while you bleed." -'Defeat You' by Smash Mouth.

-Boa-wearing is from a spork somewhere about Voldemort, so I took that line.

Peter Pan is by J.M. Barrie, and 'The cleverness of me' is his line. The three Fates were influenced by Neil Gaiman, with some additions of my own. The Lost Boys were influenced by the old movie the Brood. The vampire's less than healthy birth theory is from Poppy Z. Brite's Lost Souls. The disintegrating chicken image is from Robot Chicken.

I know the ending of the series indicates that Luna has two sons. I wonder what to do about it, and thought of three different endings, but I went AU for this.

I hope you guys enjoyed this. Thank you for reading, I appreciate it.