A/N This piece was part of the Sing Me A Rare OS Competition Autumn 2017 set by the Admins in The Fairest of The Rare Facebook group. I had a choice of song and one character which are Hermione Granger and Moment 4 Life, Nicki Minaj. The Admins of the group then randomly chose the other character or characters.
The voting has now been completed and I am over the moon to say this won The Sabs Award (Thank you Kreeblim Sabs!) and Runner Up for Best Fluff.
Luna's fingers gripped the arms of the throne-like chair she was perched on as she pushed her dainty feet into the pointed shoes sat upon the carpet. She twisted her ankles a little, appraising the pumps irregular sparkle with a slight smile. Luna couldn't remember the last time she had put on such high heels, shoes, in general, weren't really her thing. To Luna even flip flops felt confining, they prevented her from feeling the elements on her skin, the rough texture of the ground beneath her feet. She made an exception for these though. Her shoes, like everything else in that moment, were special.
Their shape was ordinary, nothing like the patchwork house slippers she favoured, with their random lumpy flowers that made her feet look ten times bigger, no, these were artless, conventional, and obvious, at least that was how they had started life. When Luna had first brought the heels, they had been an unassuming pair of deep blue velvet court shoes, almost lost behind layers of much prettier options in the strip lighting illuminated store she had ventured into for the first time. Had she not been looking for something exactly like that, something you could walk past and immediately forget, she would never have noticed them. Forgettable the shoes would have remained if Luna hadn't got hold of them, she spent hours studiously coating the formerly drab fabric in a series of complex charm layers until they almost dripped with magic.
Luna snapped her heels together and bent her body to peer over her knees, holding her hands under her thighs, and clamping her voluminous robe out of the way. She wanted to watch the shoes glisten as they reflected all of the constellations of the night sky, swirling, twinkling and reminding her of who she was.
That was what she needed now.
Luna took a deep breath and let her head rest against the plush cushioning of the chair back, taking a moment to feel the butterflies waking up in her stomach. She pressed her fingers against the bottom of her sternum, as she breathed - in through her nose and out through her mouth - carefully avoiding eye contact with the mirror atop the vanity in front of her.
It seemed silly to be so nervous considering everything she had survived in her relatively short life, and because she had dreamt of this day for so long. Luna scoffed to herself when she realised she was even beginning to sound like Hermione in her inner musings, looking for logic where there was none. Luna knew well enough that there was no predictability to human emotion, even her own, she needed to embrace the feelings rushing through her, grasp at them until she could twist their effects and regain her control.
After a few moments of gentle reflection, Luna stood, wobbling as she negotiated the unfamiliar arch of her feet and moved to the soft silk dress hanging from the back of the door as she fiddled with the frayed tie of her dressing gown. The feather-light, luxuriously soft and hideously expensive fabric was littered with hand painted flowers, which, like the alterations to her shoes, had been applied post-purchase.
When she had received her invitation to talk that evening, on creamy, dense paper adorned with the Ministry's seal, Luna had originally thought that she should tone down her usual appearance to seem, well, more normal. That was the sensible option she had told herself, the one that was best for her career.
Hermione, however, had disagreed with her.
-/-/-/-
Luna tugged on the 'appropriate length' hem of the blue, unimaginative, shift dress she had put on before carefully descending the stairs in the newly purchased matching shoes. After she had relinquished her death grip on the bannister, she came to a halt in front of the worn yellow sofa that sat in their living room.
"Well, what do you think?" Luna asked with false brightness and held her hands away from her body, inviting the - hopefully appreciative - gaze of the curly-haired witch sprawled out amongst the cushions.
Hermione raised her eyes from the manuscript she was editing, Muggle highlighter pen between her teeth, "It's," she began, before stopping abruptly, the muffled word reminding her that she had an obstruction. Hermione rolled her eyes at her own behaviour before wiping out the fluorescent green marker, tilting her head. "You look beautiful Luna," she continued softly, "but not at all like you."
"I know, that's the point," Luna replied a little crossly, trying to stand in a way that would prevent the harsh fabric of the dress rubbing at the skin of her collarbone. "I want to look grown up and believable and-"
"Why?" Hermione interjected, scattering the collected papers off her thighs and sitting forward to give the blonde her full attention.
"Because this is my moment," Luna replied quietly, suddenly feeling small, "I proved them all wrong, every single one of them, and I want to be taken seriously, I deserve to be taken seriously."
Hermione untangled her legs and trudged across the polished floorboards with heavy steps, stopping to wrap a piece of Luna's flaxen hair around her ink-stained fingers.
"I know you do love, but you have done that already don't you see? And on your terms, don't change that now."
Luna made to protest, but Hermione cut her off, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on the very tip of her nose. Warmth filled every inch of Luna's skin, flaring up in the middle of her face and drifting down her neck. There was something magical about being the object of Hermione's affection, the bossy witch could sometimes be distracted and preoccupied, but when she turned her full attention to Luna, she made her feel like she was the only person in the room, in the world. It was like being the only flower in a garden that could reach the sun.
Hermione's fingers trailed over the uniform stitching at the waist of Luna's dress before she took another step forward and stared deeply into Luna's eyes. "Standing in front of all those people will be intimidating, even more so if you do it dressed up as someone else."
"You don't mind?" Luna asked hesitantly, her eyes falling to regard the floor. She wasn't an insecure woman, not really, but that didn't mean she didn't question herself sometimes. Her mind asked whether the sensible, reliable, pragmatic witch in front of her would have preferred a more conventional partner.
The corners of Hermione's eyes crinkled as she smiled, it was the kind of look that Luna had grown up dreaming would one day be directed at her as she had watched the gentle happiness of her parents.
"No, Luna," Hermione replied, linking their fingers together, and squeezing once in reassurance, "of course I don't mind. Not that my feelings should matter, but if you're asking? I prefer you paint splattered and adorned by flowers."
"Is that so?" Luna asked, already wondering how early the shops opened so she could return the dress that was feeling increasingly like a costume before she headed for her favourite boutiques.
"It is," Hermione affirmed primly, with an affected and animated toss of her ridiculous hair. "Well, that, and I'm spiteful enough to want the audience to be reminded of exactly who you are while they are forced to sit and eat crow."
-/-/-/-
Dress on, Luna sat back down in the chair, running her fingers idly over the uniquely carved arms, it was as close to a throne as anything she had ever sat on before, and she wondered whether it might be fun to have a seat like it in her own home.
A short, sharp, buzzing sound began above the door frame, and Luna glanced in the mirror before giving herself a determined nod. She picked up her beloved radish earrings from beside her comb and pushed them through her ears, reaching inside the pocket of her dress to check that the single pressed flower - maintained by delicate charms - was still there. Luna held the single crinkled bloom in her fingers for a moment, feeling the welcome ghost of a warm day, long since passed, floating over her before she gently placed the flower back into her dress.
She was ready.
Luna blinked as she stepped out onto the stage, the hum of voices she had been able to hear from her modest dressing room - noise that had been winding up the tightness in her chest - fell away as soon as her heels clicked against the lacquered wood. The sudden silence made her feel worse, on unsteady legs she made slow progress to the lectern positioned at the front of the stage, it was only five steps, but it seemed like a lifetime. She had never been more aware of the movement of her body, the rotation of her knees and the rise and fall of her ankles, simply walking suddenly felt like an elaborate dance she hadn't practised and she held her breath until she reached the wooden end point.
Once she was finally behind it, Luna instinctively wrapped her slim fingers around the lecturns surface, feeling incredibly grateful to have an object between her and the crowd currently sat in obvious expectation. This was her moment, Luna reminded herself, the first time she would command the notice of an entire room, for the right reasons, and yet, as she rested her palm against the draft copy of her manuscript Luna couldn't remember any of her own words, not a single turn of phrase came to the front of her mind. Though she could remember the words of the Daily Prophet clearly enough…
The elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack, long thought to be a mere myth, has been discovered in Sweden by enterprising young witch Luna Lovegood.
They had certainly changed their tune from the last time they had written about her, when she had come back after a third failed expedition; then the articles had been littered with outward scorn and whispers about her mental state. Before her grand discovery 'enterprising' was an epithet far beyond Luna's reach, the paper would have barely allowed her to be called a witch, and what they thought about her family, in general, was made abundantly clear when they had maligned her father in an article passing itself off as his eulogy.
Luna felt her heart beat heavily in her chest as she looked up, squinting under the glare of the lights lining the edge of the stage and the occasional blinking of cameras. She opened her mouth to begin her well-practised speech, but no words came, not at first. There was nothing there, a void where all of her determination should have been. Her fingers bit into the dark wood of the lectern as she scanned the crowd desperately, and suddenly, thankfully, before panic could take hold of her entirely, Luna felt the achingly familiar balm of warm brown eyes, and years' worth of tension melted from her frame.
'You can do this, Luna, just like we practised.'
-/-/-/-
"I keep telling you! Imagine everyone is naked," Hermione instructed as Luna faltered in her practise recital. "It's a proven technique," she continued, moving from her seated position on the end of their bed to rest up onto her knees.
Luna regarded Hermione possessively from the armchair in the corner of their room, surreptitiously checking that the curtains were closed for the third time since they had started going over the redraft of her speech. They were not likely to be overlooked, even if the curtains had been wide open, but it made her feel better to know they were shut, that this moment was entirely private.
Luna's throat grew tighter, watching as the reflection of the flames in the hearth danced across the pale skin of Hermione's abdomen and she adjusted her stance, unconsciously tipping forwards.
Those that knew them may have decided that Luna was above petty jealousies, her head too far in the clouds to worry about such things, but they were wrong, like they were about so much else when it came to her values and motivations. Luna had spent most of her young life having things taken from her, it had taught her to be protective over what she had, and over nothing more so than the beautiful woman currently on their bed.
"I don't believe it's typically demonstrated quite so literally, Hermione," Luna said dreamily, though she couldn't stop the smile forming on her face as she watched Hermione's breasts subtly bounce as she giggled.
"Well, maybe not," Hermione agreed with a wicked gleam in her eyes, "but you know me, Luna, anything to help."
-/-/-/-
With a soft clearing of her throat, Luna began talking through her findings, how they had eventually tracked the Snorkack down, the discovery of its unique habitat, and the profound importance she placed on keeping it protected, wild and free. She gained confidence as she spoke, and after her opening remarks she signalled to Dennis Creevey and - as practised in The Quibbler office again and again - a large projector appeared behind her. Soon her speech was punctuated by the gentle click of pictures changing, and Luna moved from the relative safety of the shadow of the lectern, to stand beside the images showing the results of her mission.
Some of those seated in the front row moved forward eagerly as she began to describe how the Snorkack meticulously stripped away low-hanging vegetation from any area it decided to nest in. Luna streamed through the ordered photos to evidentiate how the creature would reuse sticks and leaves to make a barrier, of sorts, to keep out smaller predators. The process could take months, and yet, almost as soon as it was completed the Snorkack would move on again, seeking out pastures new. Much like Luna, the Snorkack appeared to understand the importance of walling itself in, even if neither of them had any desire to live that way.
She continued with her findings, observations and expectations, talking broadly about the topic in hand and referencing the work of other explorers in recent years. Hermione had told her that her speech was wonderfully researched and beautifully constructed. It was complete, Luna had thought, though there were many things that she didn't say.
Luna didn't mention how she had cried for hours when they had first found the creature, years of search, ridicule and failed opportunities had led her to that moment, and the relief was of a magnitude that rivalled that emotion she had felt at the end of the final battle. Yet, it was overshadowed, as she could not tell her father about it. Xeno Lovegood had single-handedly instilled in her all of the self-belief she would need to weather the first twenty years of her life, and he had done it all without ever telling her to augment into some 'better version' of herself. He, more than anyone, had deserved to be there, to watch as his daughter furthered his life's work.
As her planned words drew to a close Luna retook her position at the front of the stage and gestured for the lights to be turned back up. She shook her head slightly, feeling her large earrings bounce against the lump in her throat before she asked if there were any questions.
Quick as a flash Rita Skeeter was standing up in the middle of the room, her usual simpering smile plastered across her face, unpleasantly highlighted by cheap lipstick. Unsurprisingly the witch hadn't waited to be called upon by the short man from the Ministry, who had moved himself to the front of the gathered crowd for the express purpose of managing the Q&A. Luna barely blinked, she had been prepared for Skeeter.
The so-called journalist twisted her shoulders, shaking out the lurid feathers on the lapels of her jacket as she began to speak, and though Luna listened hard, there was no question to be found in the exhaustive prose. Rita pulled out phrases Luna had used, riffling through her notes with an air of importance, each time parroting them in a condescending saccharine tone that spoke of derision and, Luna realised with a start, envy.
On and on Rita went, trying to either discredit Luna's findings, or to get a rise out of her, but she failed, eventually retaking her seat with a huff and a little wiggle as if the entire thing had been a massive ordeal, for her. She knew that somewhere in the crowd Hermione would be near boiling point but Luna herself was unaffected, she could have told Skeeter not to bother; nothing would touch her, not tonight, this moment was entirely hers.
Luna looked out into the crowd and noticed a few of her former professors; Professor Flitwick was stood at the side of the hall, surely on top of a box or maybe even a chair, as she could see him even from such a distance. Her former head of house beamed with pride - as far as his goblin blood would allow - and Luna returned his expression gladly.
There were other teachers there, ones she was less keen to share her smiles with, her eyes fell vacantly over them as she continued to answer the questions posed by the crowd. She saw children she had been at Hogwarts with, adults now, like her. Those that had shunned her, those that had stolen from and ridiculed her. All of them with their heads tipped back to regard her on the dais.
-/-/-/-
Not everyone had been happy when Luna returned victorious. Having worked in the publishing industry since before she could talk, and being no stranger to censure, Luna had known this would come, though the vehemence of the negative response still managed to surprise even her.
When the first piece of hate mail came, Hermione said nothing, banishing it away from their breakfast table before she carried on pouring their pumpkin juice as if nothing had happened. When the second arrived, Luna grabbed it from the stack and opened it, her eyes scanning across the accusations scratched into the parchment in angry letters.
"Why?" she asked finally, looking up from her plate to see how Hermione's clenched fists had turned white at the knuckles as she tried to retain a grip on her legendary temper.
"Because you being right means they were wrong, not just about the Snorkack, but because of what they thought
about you, and how they acted."
"I made them look stupid?" Luna asked, catching up with Hermione's assessment and throwing the letter away from herself.
"Yes and no," Hermione replied with a sigh, igniting the paper that Luna had relinquished, "they made themselves look stupid, this is not your fault."
-/-/-/-
It had taken Luna weeks to accept what Hermione had been trying to tell her, but she did, eventually. With a secret smile to herself, Luna took half a step forward, moving closer to the front of the stage, and she watched how all of the assembled heads tipped back just that little bit further.
In this very moment, I'm king.
As Luna stepped down from the podium, she was inundated with requests for pictures and congratulations from distant acquaintances. She remained calm, smiled when she had to, and repeated when her book was due for publication, shrugging anytime she was asked what was next.
Eventually, she made her way over to the back of the hall where Hermione was talking animatedly with Ginny, one of her hands resting on the back of baby James Potter, who was asleep in his mother's arms. As Luna approached the pair, Hermione twisted on her modest heels and slipped her fingers around Luna's wrist as her eyes lit up.
"I am so proud of you."
Of all of the emotions Luna had felt that night that one seemed to hit her with the most force, even though it didn't originate within her. She stepped into the circle as their friends continued to join them and Hermione waxed lyrical about the final edit she had seen of Luna's manuscript. Luna was content to listen to the excited words as they flowed over her skin and she rested her head against Hermione's shoulder, heedless of the occasional flashes of cameras; the outside world seemed like such a distant consideration now.
At one time Hermione was arguably one of the most sceptical regarding Luna's theories, but the blonde had never held that against her. Hermione had never sneered or scorned, and while she might not have believed in Nargles or Grindlefens or any of the things that Luna saw that no one else did, Hermione had always believed in her.
As a waiter drifted past with an elevated tray, Hermione lurched forward to secure two champagne flutes and pressed one into Luna's fingers before offering a clink of her own glass. Luna kissed her on the cheek in thanks, pushing an escaped curl back into Hermione's ponytail, revelling in how easy and straightforward the contact between them was. Their relationship was something that would have seemed unimaginable at one time, but then the whole world had changed in their late teens, and suddenly nothing was inconceivable anymore.
After the war, they had got closer, joined as they were in mutual grief. The boys went off to join the Auror training programme, determined to keep fighting the fight they had been thrown into as children, and the girls went back to school, hoping to reclaim some of that childhood that had been lost. In the newly configured shared dorms, it wasn't uncommon for some of the returning students to share a bed, company kept the nightmares away better than even the potions did, and it wasn't long before Luna spent every night curled up to face Hermione as the older witch twitched and spasmed in her sleep.
Luna learnt that if she whispered reassurances into Hermione's ear - at just the right moment - she could banish the other girl's nightmares before they took hold. She found that while she was covered in blankets with Hermione's armed wrapped around her middle, her mind never drifted back to the cold of the Malfoy Manor dungeons.
Hermione had eventually moved into the Lovegood house after school had finished, and she and Luna spent their days remodelling the home, piecing themselves back together as they realigned each brick.
-/-/-/-
Hermione had been crying again. Luna had watched her walk out into the garden and sit amongst the long grass, her dark curls almost entirely obscured by the spikelets and florets. She watched Hermione long after the rigidness of the girl's back faltered, and her shoulders began to shake. Luna walked out after her, collecting wildflowers as she went, before crouching down to weave them into Hermione's unruly hair.
"Luna?" Hermione eventually asked after they had been sat in silence for what felt like hours. The only indication Luna had of the elapsed time was the sun beginning to slip to meet the horizon and the number of petals trapped in Hermione's curls.
"Yes," she answered, almost afraid to speak lest she disturbed the tranquillity of the moment.
"Do you think I'm unlovable?" Hermione asked quietly, so quietly her words were almost carried away on the breeze.
Luna's fingers stilled, instinctively shaking her head even though the other girl couldn't see it. "Why would you ask me something like that?"
"Because everybody leaves me," Hermione replied, and Luna felt her heart splice in her chest at the desolate tone. They all had their crosses to bare after the war and Hermione more than most, though abandonment, and her fear of it, was what seemed to cripple the beautiful girl the most.
Luna looked up into the darkening sky, drawing in shallow breaths as she tracked the movement of thick clouds, using the peace in the environment to help her to screw up all of her courage.
"Sometimes, I think I'm the worst person ever, so much worse than unlovable," she began, pushing the words past the lump in her throat.
Hermione swivelled on the spot so quickly she stumbled as she turned to face Luna with damp eyes, "How can you say that?" she demanded, her voice clogged and thick from her tears. "You don't have a nasty bone in your entire body."
Luna picked up the last flower from what had been a considerable pile and pressed it into Hermione's fingers. "Because sometimes, I'm glad you ended up alone because it meant that you ended up here, with me, just me," Luna admitted, wincing as she aired a truth that had been gnawing at her since the first time Hermione had lifted her bed covers and asked if Luna would hold her.
Hermione blinked causing unshed tears to trickle down her cheeks as she moistened her lips. "I'm not here because I'm alone," she protested, and Luna instantly believed her, it was a power that Hermione held, one that went far beyond the successful levitation of feathers, she had integrity, painful or otherwise Hermione always told the absolute truth.
"No?" Luna pressed, unable to help herself.
Hermione shook her head almost violently, multi-coloured petals falling from her hair like blossoms on a spring day. "I'm here because it's where you are."
Hermione's hand pressed against Luna's, heedless of the last flower that remained in the blonde's grasp. She made no move that suggested she could even feel it, but Luna knew it was there, compressed between their chilled palms was evidence of the first time Hermione had touched her after they both knew what that contact meant. Luna's mind was full of wrinkled blooms as Hermione falteringly skimmed her soft lips against Luna's own, she didn't stay in place for long, not leaving Luna anytime to react before she jumped back, searching Luna's eyes as if she had done something wrong.
Luna reached her empty hand forward and wiped her thumb over Hermione's cheeks one after the other, collecting the spilt water before she sat up and kissed the soft skin of Hermione's reddened eyelids, her forehead, her jaw, before she attached herself to her lips, pushing into her with intent.
Luna had never been more present in a moment in her life, most of the time she would drift away while those around her were talking, her mind considering a thousand different things while still following the conversation, but not then. She could feel the grass under her knees and Hermione's scratchy jumper under her fingers, chapped lips and a warm nose pressed against her face. It was consuming, overwhelming and brilliant.
She was ready. They were ready.
Luna broke away eventually, smiling broadly as Hermione slunk into her embrace. "I swear that is as fun as it looks," she said into the darkness.
Hermione's laugh rippled out across the field.
No, I'm not lucky, I'm blessed.
-/-/-/-
Luna finished the rest of her glass of fizz and pulled on Hermione's arm gently until she stepped back from the small group, "Ready to go?" Luna asked quietly.
Hermione turned to her with a surprised look, "Do you not want to stay here and enjoy this moment, your moment, for a bit longer?"
Luna reached into her dress and pulled out the single flower, shielding it with her body so only Hermione could see it. "I'd rather go home and relive our moment."
Hermione ran a single finger over the beloved crushed petals and leant into Luna's shoulder. "That, my love, can be arranged."