I have a sudden, irrational fear of inspiration. Why? Because right now I should be studying for my finals and instead I'm writing a Neville/Luna fiction. Wonderful.
This disclaimer will win the award for understatement of the year, as I am a college student and in debt up to my hair line.
So this is sort of an experiment and I'd be lying if I said I knew where it came from. Um. I wanted a different perspective on Luna because I don't think she's as out there as the world thinks. So, yeah, she's the aware one in this. Um…I know it might be weird. So…uh. Read and review? But try not to be too harsh? Thanks.
--
It started on a night in midwinter (November something, he can't really remember) and he gave her his jacket because she was cold and he was an icicle by the end of the night. He made her laugh twice though, so it was okay that he nearly lost seven fingers.
They had taken a walk and she had insisted they waltz when it started to snow because she's just eccentric like that. Their peers said she did those sorts of things because she was weird and it was that simple, but he had taken to hexing people whenever they hinted at that explanation for her behavior.
He didn't really know how it had happened, though, and it scared him that he had lost so much control over his feelings because he hadn't felt much of anything before her.
--
After the final battle in the rubble of the castle that passed June, he had found her crying. It wasn't normal, seeing those big blue eyes, normally so mystical, detached, whatever, doing something so horribly human and it made him want to puke or kill someone. Though, he was fairly sure he already had that night and once was more than enough for him. Meaning the killing part, he had developed something of an iron stomach during that year and vomit was a rarity now a days. Getting tortured by way of punishment did that to a person, you know.
He had held her that night out of duty more than anything, though later he couldn't quite banish the strangely giddy heat in his chest. This was after they parted, of course.
--
She liked cigarettes, which confused him because she didn't seem the type to do something so conforming. She smoked them a lot when they went to Hogsmeade; they had taken to spending the entire trips with each other. Hermione was the only one who commented on it, which wasn't as annoying as he thought it would be, mostly because it was her and not Ron because Ron was just plain tactless. And, you know, he didn't want to have to defend himself to the boys he lived with because they would never understand that him and her, they were just friends.
Boys just don't get things like that, well, other than him because he knew you could be infinitely close to someone and not be their lover.
Or something like that.
--
He took her stargazing on a whim in February and realized halfway through the night that it was Valentine's Day and she was watching him warily. That was a weird thing, she wasn't the wary type. He took it upon himself to fix it.
"So have you thought about your future at all?"
Stupid question. Her eyebrows flew up into her bangs and she stared at him as though he had grown a second head which, honestly, just didn't work. Really, the expression had to go.
"Sorry, I don't know what to do."
She nodded her understanding and reverted back to mystical and he started breathing again.
--
He didn't believe in fate because, well, he just didn't like the idea. He was making his own life, you know, and she was a big part of it, despite the fact that he was going to be gone in less than three months and she was still going to be there, still had a year of schooling to go. They wouldn't drift apart, that's what owls were for, right? Letters worked, though she didn't seem quite the type to write about her life and whatnot, but surely she'd do it for him.
He bought her a quill in Hogsmeade and asked her to use it to write to him and the look she gave him a look that was so knowing it scared him to death.
--
In May she kissed him and when it was over he asked why she had done it.
She smiled that dreamy smile and shook her head, "You never did get it, Neville."
And when Luna Lovegood tells you that you don't get something, it's time to change everything.
He was talking himself in circles now.
--
It haunted him, that kiss, and he caught himself touching his lips on more than one occasion, reliving the tingling and joy. She noticed more often than not and smiled in such a devious way that it made him want to run as far away as fast as he could. He wasn't used to seeing such a twist to her mouth and, though it suited her face in a strange, unfamiliar way, he wasn't sure if he liked it.
Twice he almost kissed her back, but irrational fear of what might happen next held him back.
--
She knew, he decided at the beginning of June, that he was being a coward. She had never struck him as an impatient person before, but then again there was a whole new side of her that made short appearances whenever they were alone. It intimidated him, this new Luna, this cool, controlled, and almost manipulative version of the dreamy girl he had gotten on so well with barely a year before. Ginny, that was who he blamed; the other girl must have rubbed off on her or something because this could not have been here all along, hiding. Because that just wasn't right.
Not to say that he didn't like her like this, the new Luna, for all his fear, ignited strange feelings in the pit of his stomach as well. Things were changing and, he realized stupidly, they had grown up.
--
On the day of his graduation, she must have gotten fed up because she whisked him away from his grandmother's side and dragged him headlong into the Forbidden Forest. She didn't stop, either, she led him deep into the trees and there was a wild look in her eyes that scared him when she stopped.
"I though Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," she accused and he choked on nothing. This was it, his last chance, and he wasn't really sure how he was supposed to not blow it.
"We are," he said stupidly and did she just roll her eyes? He still wasn't used to her new, more grounded behavior.
"You've been terrified of me for a month. That's not bravery. Especially since it's obvious you liked that kiss as much as I did," she folded her arms and looked at him and he struggled not to turn and high tail it out of there.
"I'm scared," he confessed before he could stop himself. She nodded slowly.
"I know."
"Why did you bring me here, then?" She was moving closer. He shrank against a tree like the coward he was.
"To show you that you don't have to be."
She kissed him again and, for all his shaking and uncertainty, he held her waist this time. He didn't really remember much after that, but knew it was just as wonderful his dreams had told him it would be. He wanted to say it afterwards, but she shushed him, smiled dreamily at the sky through the crisscrossed branches of the surrounding trees, and sighed.
They didn't go back to the castle for hours, they just lay their draped in perpetual peace and Neville couldn't say he really minded. This was nice, far nicer than any raucous party the Common Room could offer him, and he had never been comfortable at those sorts of things anyways.
He was comfortable here, though, finally, and Luna was looking triumphant.
"Still scared?" she asked softly, her fingers lacing their way into his. He smiled at her, no weakness behind the gesture.
"No."
She smiled, not with victory, but with the simple, dreamy quality he had grown to know so well and love so much and he returned the gesture before turning his head to look back up at the stars.