DISCLAIMER: I'm not Just Kidding when I say I'm not J.K.(R.)

Okay, well I guess this little plot bunny's given up so much blood that I can't bear to stab it anymore. (In other words, I've lost inspiration.) Many apologies to those of you who wanted this to go on forever...but, if it's any consolation, I'm going to take the vow to write one chapter of 2000 words every day for NANOWRIMO! The story which I will be working on is the long-neglected Pour le Bien de Tous, which you can find under my profile. Thanks so much for reading this story, even though it's so off the beaten track!

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The Final Touch

Snape and Poppy Pomfrey were to be married some weeks later, at an evening ceremony and dinner. The morning of the event, Neville called over to Luna's via the Floo.

"At what time should I call for you?" he asked, noting with surprise that Luna was already in the process of doing her hair. I know some girls take forever to get ready, but Luna's not like that. What's she doing with the curling iron already?

"Oh, you won't be needing to do that," she said with a smile, "I'm going to have to be there early, you see."

"Why is that?"

"I have to help the bride get dressed and things like that. I'm the Maiden of Honor."

Neville felt his eyebrows singe as they shot up in shock.

"What?!"

"Didn't I tell you?"

He sighed. "No, dearheart, you didn't. Why are you the Maiden of Honor?"

"Well," Luna began, putting her combs down, "as Poppy said, she has no friends that are not married or not too old to be called 'maidens'."

"But why you?" asked Neville, still rather incredulous.

"Because I spent all that time volunteering in the hospital wing."

"Wait," Neville asked, "when did you do that? At Hogwarts?"

"Of course! It was my favorite thing to do, when I was younger, since I didn't really have friends my own age. And Poppy liked to talk to me, and she liked me to talk to her. It was like...having a mother again."

At that point, Neville began to understand. I often forget how she's also lost a parent. Of course, she never talks about it much. It makes sense that she would adopt a substitute--especially someone as nice and matronly as Madame Pomfrey.

"So," Luna continued, "I did spend rather a lot of time there. It was only natural that after the war, I should continue to do so, helping her bring Professor Snape back to health."

Ah! Neville realized. That's how come she's so important to Madame Pomfrey! I never knew she spent so much time in the hospital wing, though. Considering that most of the time I was there, of course, I was usually unconscious or too much in pain to notice things going on around me...and then for such a long time I thought that she wasn't worth looking at just because of what other people said about her...

"I rather think I helped edge things along with them romantically," Luna added pensively, "though that might be a bit conceited on my part. But they did need a little bit of a catalyst, if you understand what I mean. Professor Snape was too full of self-pity and doubt, and Poppy was too fluttery and shy, so I helped. A little."

Neville chuckled at this. "So you're a Florence Nightingale and a matchmaker. Well, well."

"Not much of a matchmaker," Luna said soberly. "I actually was just talking to Hermione. She said that she needed advice from someone who was a 'cool observer', but I don't suppose she really did. She really just wanted to talk about how nasty Ron's been to her."

"Oh dear," Neville replied, "I know just what that's like. Ginny does the same thing."

"I don't think it's the same thing, not entirely. When she started to talk to me, she said, 'I know you don't like me much, Luna'--by which she clearly meant, 'even though I don't like you much'--but she said that the reason she called me was because she wanted the truth."

And I suppose she got right nasty when you did tell it to her, Neville presumed. "What did you tell her?"

"Well, I didn't want to be rude, so I let her tell me her perception of the truth for a quarter of an hour until she ran a bit out of steam, and then I suggested that if she was so sick of him, why didn't she end it? I was trying to guide her, to show her to be more grateful for poor Ronald, to help put things in perspective for her. So, I was rather hoping that she would tell me, 'oh, no, I won't do that, I love him'."

"But, she didn't," Neville said, filling in the blank.

"Exactly. Oh, Neville!" Suddenly throwing her things down, she dove through the Floo and into his arms. Sitting back with her on his lap, he saw that her eyes were glassy. He hugged her tighter.

"It's okay," he whispered, "what happened next?"

"Then I told her, 'Oh, well, in that case, do that before the wedding, because you don't want him going to the wedding and feeling all happy that you're at his side and thinking about how you two are going to be married and such. And then she asked me why, and then I said that it'd hurt him a lot less if she told him before and not after. And then you know what she said?"

Neville could guess, but he shook his head.

"She said, 'Oh! In that case, by all means, I'll do it after!'"

"What a horrid thing to say!" Neville exclaimed, though he was not surprised at Hermione's vindictiveness. When that witch hated, she hated with a passion. That's one reason I'll never, ever be on her wrong side.

"I know!" replied Luna, nestling her face in his shirt. "I shouldn't have said either of those two things. I shouldn't have suggested to end things with him, and I shouldn't have said to end it after the wedding."

"It's not your direct fault," Neville replied, his finger twisting around a ringlet of her warm just-curled hair. "Hermione's clever enough to come up with things all on her own. Besides, it's probably better for Ron that she end things sooner rather than later, if she doesn't really love him."

"But I could never be so...malignant," Luna replied with a shudder. "She's worse than a Belladonna Fairy. Have you heard of those?"

"No. Tell me about them," Neville replied, eager to seize upon a new subject of conversation. He felt her tears on his shoulder, and they made him unhappy on her behalf.

"They're the most promiscuous of the fairies. They only reproduce asexually, so all interpersonal relationships they have are disposable. They live for twenty years, but in that time have over three hundred mates. They're a bit like the Amazons, come to think of it--they don't take mates for the sake of two souls conjoining, but purely for the physical pleasures of intercourse. And then they kill their mate once they're done."

"Repulsive!" Neville inserted deftly.

"Indeed! And, what's very unfortunate is that their numbers are increasing, all around the globe. They wreak nothing but misfortune and unhappiness wherever they go." So saying, Luna sighed, and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry for being so melodramatic. I'm sure it's not all that bad. But things always seem much more depressing when Aunt Florence's coming. Just another reason I'm glad it's a night wedding, and the colors are dark blue and green so I don't have to wear pastel."

"Wait, you told me about your Aunt Florence before," Neville said, frowning. "But I didn't meet her the last time she was around."

"Oh!" To his surprise, Luna began to giggle, sitting up and putting both hands over her mouth. "Oh!" she said again, and began to laugh fully. Neville, rather perplexed, just waited for her to quiet.

Finally, she explained, "It's a euphemism," she said, still flushed and giddy, "that is perhaps a bit archaic. I picked it up from Poppy."

"A euphemism for what?"

She whispered it in his ear, and he turned very, very red.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but now you know."

"Ah--erm. Of course," Neville blustered, wiggling out from under her and standing up, disconcerted. "I should have pegged that one before."

"Maybe," she replied diplomatically. Standing, she surveyed the room, searching for a new topic of conversation. "That isn't a new set of Chanel graftlings, is it?" she asked, going over to a tray of dainty little buds in miniature pots on a garden tray.

"Yes," Neville said, following her over to examine them. They were part of his master's project; he had been interbreeding the fowl-smelling Shmugoosh Flowers, which recently had been discovered to have great medicinal properties, and he had somehow managed to produce a variety that smelled like Chanel No. 5--a vast improvement to their primitive form. "I've been working on them all night. Ugh!" He yawned. "I'll be needing to take a nap when you leave, I think. When's the absolute latest I can show up?"

"The actual ceremony begins at six, so I suppose you have a good seven hours to sleep," Luna said with a nod. "Eight if I leave quickly."

"Not too quickly, or the Wrackspurts will come after me," Neville replied, smiling.

"Have you been infested lately?" she asked, her head tilting like a curious sparrow's.

"Not particularly. But I think I need to be immunized."

With that, they took a few moments for brief but thorough Wrackspurt Prevention Measures.

I can't wait until June, was Neville's last coherent thought before he settled down for his pre-Wedding nap.

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THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading! I do hope you enjoyed.

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Love and blessings,

A. A.