The first time she saw him, he had wondered off of the Weasley territory and into the strawberry bushes on the outskirts of the neighboring territory. His hair was cut short and a chain with a single dragon's tooth attached. She recalled worrying horribly over what pains the dragon must have felt in having such a thing taken from him. She sat in silence, hidden in a blanket of strawberry bushes, and watched him.

He was mindful of every step he took.

She thought he was the prettiest picture she'd seen in some time.

The second time she saw him was a decade after the first. She was an adult. Ginny had allowed her to pick a color other than the plain green that adorned the other bridesmaids.

"The maid of honor has to stand out somehow," Ginny suggested when the rest of her friends had all left, "so how about same dress different color? Or a lace ribbon as a belt?"

Luna picked yellow. She had worn yellow at Bill Weasley's wedding, and she thought of making it her own standing tradition: clad in yellow at all Weasley weddings she would attend. All she said in response, though, was, "I think yellow will do nicely."

And it did. Not that anyone noticed she was in a different color; all eyes were on Ginny, as they were meant to be. The wedding wasn't perfect. There were several hiccups, but Luna handled them with the whimsical ease she was born with.

Luna, along with the rest of the brides maids, was left to her own devices during the reception. Having successfully seen neither party left at the alter, the guests were celebrating manically in the burrow's garden.

The brothers of the bride were finding any excuse to toast the couple, and they were quite good at it. After only two hours of partying, the Weasley's had managed to get the majority of the guests (and all family) absolutely plastered. Luna thought everyone looked absolutely etherial in their intoxicated bliss.

Especially him.

His suit was rumpled, his hair had grown out, and his dragon tooth necklace dangled in lieu of a tie. He spoke to her in an enthusiastic slur about his job on the reserve.

"Oh, I think I would like to visit Romania. I've heard there is quite the infestation of Holly-Gobbits in those parts," Luna said when Charlie took a break from talking to take a pull of his drink.

"Don't know what those are," Charlie said, "but if you're ever in the country, let me know. I can give a right good tour of the reserve." It was a polite invitation he extended to anyone he spoke to about his work.

No one ever took him up on it, so really it was a harmless offer.

The third time she spotted him, he was already looking at her through squinted eyes. His right hand was raised to his forehead as a visor against the sun. His left hand hovered above his wand.

"Who are you and what is your business here?"

She hopped off of the boulder she'd perched herself on earlier, and clapped her hands together. His fingers twitched and lowered to take hold of his wand. "Charles, I didn't know you were left handed!"

The look of confusion on his face hurt her for reasons she couldn't yet place; she'd been looked at that way so many times, she'd become accustomed to it.

"It's Charlie," he said. "How do you know me?"

"We were introduced at Ginevra's wedding," she said simply. "You were quite drunk."

Charlie nodded and let his left hand fall to his side, wand in holster. He got a sound lashing from his mother for his shit faced shenanigans. He tried to think back to that night, but he knew there was no memory after the I-dos that hadn't been obliterated by the firewhiskey.

"Well, why are you here then?"

"You invited me."

"I did?"

"You did."

Charlie sighed, "Yeah, I probably did."

At this point, he let his visor-hand fall from his face and beckoned for her to follow him. She didn't hesitate to grab up her bags and follow him.

After several minutes of walking with nothing but the earth's sounds, Luna spoke without looking at him. "You've cut your hair short since the wedding. It looks nice."

Charlie stopped walking but Luna continued.

"Who are you?"

She turned on the tips of her toes with the grace of a ballerina.

"I'm Luna Lovegood."

Luna marked each time she saw him with a tally mark in her diary when she started staying on the reserve because she was afraid of losing count. She had been enlisted as help in the breeding and labor ward of the reserve (dragons, not humans) and given leave to do her Holly-Gobbit research in her time off. And so she continued for many months, content in the friendships she was making and the work she was doing.

Until the four thousand twenty eighth time she saw him.

Luna was never a drinker. She was small and naturally giddy, so really there was no need. That night, however, a group of her coworkers invited her out to a pub for some dinner and drinks. It was Luna's first invitation from work friends. She went and enjoyed herself.

Until she saw Charlie for the four thousand twenty eighth time. He was attached at the face to a girl with pretty black hair.

Luna had a drink.

And another.

And another.

Luna went back to her room drunk and sad.

The four thousand twenty ninth time she saw him was like most other times. Charlie had just sat down across from her at a picnic table in the courtyard of the reserve, as he did most days. Luna wasn't in the mood to amicably chat like they would normally; instead, she limited her responses to single syllabus. She knew she was upset with him, but she couldn't place why.

"Luna, you're being awfully quiet. Are you feeling okay?" Charlie reached across the table and felt her forehead.

She recoiled from his touch.

"Thank you, Charles, but I am quite well," she said, shoving her strewn about things into her rucksack. "I should be getting back to my work."

Each time they saw each other was becoming briefer. This was intentional on Luna's part, and more than unintentional on Charlie's.

Luna stopped going to the courtyards, electing to spend more time on her Holly-Gobbit research. At least, that was the excuse she gave Charlie. Still, she marked each time she saw him in her diary. Even the briefest sighting of him warranted a tally mark.

Charlie was upset. Luna wouldn't so much as breathe in his direction when they'd gotten on so smashingly before. He had never known a woman so unabashedly open and sincere before, and now she was closing herself off to him.

It was driving him bloody mad.

The few months he'd known her had been interesting and, well, nice. And now she was ruining it by shoving him aside. Were her new friends in breeding really so great?

He had tried plenty of times to talk to her, but she was tiny, fast, and skilled at avoiding him. Each time she refused to meet his eyes in the steadfast way she normally would, his stomach turned.

He wanted his friend back; his Luna with all her Gobbly-goops and Whoozity-whatsits.

If she was going to cut him out of her life, she would have to explain why.

A few weeks later, Luna saw Charlie for the five thousandth time. He was wearing the same suit he had worn at Ginny's wedding, but he looked much more put together without several pints of alcohol flooding his system. He took his assigned seat next to her.

"How are you, Luna? I feel like we haven't talked in a while," he said, squinting slightly as he looked at her. She was wearing a bright yellow dress and the same necklace that adorned each of Hermione's bridesmaids.

"I thought that Hermione and Ron weren't doing assigned seating," she said, not wanting to tell him how she felt at that moment and not willing to lie.

Charlie grabbed his seat and scooted closer to Luna. "I asked them to," he said. "You've been avoiding me."

"I have."

Charlie flinched at the hurt of her admission, but he was glad to know she was still the same, honest Luna. "Why?"

Luna glanced over her shoulder as if someone had called her name. Without looking back at him, she responded, "Because you're very nice, and I like you."

"What?" Charlie was confused. She never made very much sense before, but she was making even less so now.

She whipped her head around to look at him, and he noticed the thin layer of unshed tears in her eyes. Her brow was furrowed in very un-Luna-like upset. "I love my friends very much, and I like that we can all get together and have fun. Being apart of a group is nice," she said, a small smile on her lips for a moment at the thought of belonging. Her face quickly returned to its stern position, though, and she continued quietly, "But I don't want to share you. I know it's selfish to think like that, so I figure not being friends at all will keep me from feeling that way."

Charlie, without thinking, grabbed Luna's arm and pulled her under the table they sat at. The table cloth hung far enough that no one would be likely to notice them were they not looking. The small area pushed the two together. Charlie still didn't know what he was doing. Even as he whispered "You don't have to share me," he didn't know. Even as he slowly pulled her towards him, he didn't now. Even as they kissed, he didn't know.

When they stopped, he knew; he knew he didn't want to stop.

Their coworkers on the reserve were relieved when the two returned to Romania hand in hand. No one could stand Charlie's Luna-induced moodiness any more.

Luna's yellow ballgown made her look like the sun as her father guided her down the aisle. Charlie cried when he saw her, though he would contest that fact each time his family mocked him with it. He cried at the thought of what would have happened had he not made her talk to him; what would have happened if he had been sober at Ginny's wedding and never invited her!

Luna didn't see him cry. Among the many quirky things she'd asked upon agreeing to a wedding ceremony (she'd just wanted to go to the ministry, but Molly refused), Luna had said she would not open her eyes until the ceremony was over.

So when Charlie had finished crying and Ginny had started; when vows were said and the rice throw, Luna opened her eyes and saw Charlie Weasley, for the first time, as her husband.

AN:

I do not ship Ron and Hermione. Their wedding only took place in this story to further a poetic narrative.