AN: This one-shot was inspired by an image going around tumblr, which will be linked in my profile in a couple of minutes. I don't own Harry Potter or Doctor Who in any way because my life is sad.
Had she been anyone else, Luna Lovegood might have been concerned that her life made little sense, but a part of her always felt that maybe it wasn't supposed to make sense. Maybe there was a significance to the parts that didn't add up, that she couldn't piece together, that she didn't want to try and fix.
Maybe there was something missing.
Luna knew that she was different. She believed in fairytales and she fancied new worlds with impossible beings that humans - even those who belonged to the magical and already very fantastical world - could never imagine. She wanted to believe in things that no one else could, and she refused to stop believing simply because nobody else did, because somehow she knew. Luna knew that she wasn't mad for having faith in what others could not (and if it did make her mad, she knew that she wouldn't have it any other way).
Being put into the Ravenclaw house was perhaps one of her most significant moments, and she never could tell why. The blue that her house wore with pride made her somehow very happy and very sad, but very lonely at the same time. No other colour made her feel the way that blue did - like something was gone, like something was missing, and like it would not have a way of finding its way back to her even if she did look.
Oddly enough, she could conjure a Patronus very easily, even though she could not remember her happy memory. She knew that it was there and when she tried to remember, her mind was flooded with blurry images and broken sounds. It was bright and blue and warm and loud and there was a man without a face, and she was so overwhelmed by happiness that she almost cried whenever she tried to remember.
When stories were published for the Muggle world to read about Harry's adventures, there was an uproar in the magical community. Many people were opposed, saying that the stories would expose them to the Muggles and that it was dangerous, but Luna could never see anything wrong with it. Although she was fascinated with Muggles and she did not think them any more foolish than witches and wizards, she argued that they would simply read the books as fantastical stories from another plane of reality, much in the way that the magical community read stories of the Silurians or the Sycorax.
Eventually, the stories were published, with minor details altered to protect their secret. Luna collected the books and read them, laughing at the portrayal of her own character. She could always laugh at herself and she knew how she could come off to everybody else, and she loved the way that her character was written.
One day, she happened upon a man who looked very familiar but at the same time very foreign. He was young but ancient, with eyes bright as a child's but old as Dumbledore's were. He looked like somebody she'd seen in a dream, or maybe every dream for as long as she could remember, and he looked like a memory long forgotten that refused to come back. He looked like friendship and familiarity and comfort and home, but she was certain that she had never met him before in her life.
The man was reading the final installment of Harry's adventures, and when he looked at her, he looked proud and happy and satisfied, but also heartbroken. She wanted to take his hand and not say anything until he brightened up and whisked her away for an unforgettable adventure.
"Fantastic read," he said, holding up his book. "Brilliant characters, especially that Luna Lovegood."
She smiled at the time, but when she returned to her home, Luna cried for hours with no idea why. Something about the man's words struck her heart.
That night, Luna watched the stars much later than normal, and she swore that they were watching back.