Disclaimer: I own nothing.

WARNING: Character death and mentions of suicide ahead.

The day I first met you, I thought you were a bit of an oddity.

But, you were a beautiful one.

Your long blonde hair swished around as your head bobbed up and down while you read your father's magazine.

Your silvery eyes were unfocused, physical proof your mind was wandering light-years away.

But that wasn't why I liked you.

No, your first reaction was just- acceptance. Not shock, not surprise, but a casual acceptance of my belief Voldemort had come back.

And in that moment, you were even more stunning than I'd thought.

Until that moment, I'd thought I'd loved another girl from your house.

I was wrong.

The heart's a fickle thing, isn't it?

When you joined Dumbledore's Army, I was pleasntly surprised, but I couldn't act as though I was anything more than that.

Wouldn't be fair to the others, now would it?

And your patronus, a hare, the third real one someone in the DA could produce (after mine and Hermione's, of course) made me notice you more.

I wanted to say something, tell you how I felt.

But I couldn't.

I was dating your housemate, the one I'd thought I'd loved.

But I didn't.

She didn't feel much for me, either. She only used me as an emotional crutch since I'd seen her old boyfriend take his last breath.

I may have broken her heart, yes.

But I don't regret it.

After all, she cried far too much for my taste.

You're amazing, you know. Fighting by my side at the Department of Mysteries, barely getting a scratch on you.

That was something even Hermione couldn't do.

After my godfather died, you comforted me.

In those moments, I wanted to hug you, kiss you, hold you tight and never let you go.

But I didn't.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

In my case, where you were concerned, this was definitely true.

I missed the faraway look in your eyes, your smile, your laugh, and everything else about you.

Most of all, I missed how you treated me as though the scar on the forehead was't there, like I was just an ordinary adolescent male wizard.

I loved you, and I wanted to do was track you down to tell you how I really felt.

But I didn't know how.

When I saw you for the first time in nearly three months on the train, my heart skipped a beat.

You started telling me and the others in the compartment about your adventures in Sweden. Fascinating, wonderful tales.

I wondered if you'd missed me.

The biggest lie I told that day was when that Romilda girl asked me to join her compartment instead.

I referred to you and Neville as my friends.

That was true for Neville; but for you, it was anything but.

For you were not my friend; for me, you were so much more.

I took you to Slughorn's party that Christmas.

I'd asked you as a friend; I almost didn't ask you at all.

For if I did, I'd almost certainly have accidentally told you my feelings towards you.

Besides, I didn't want to mess up our friendship.

But I almost did when I saw how you looked in your dress robes.

You looked like you. Quirky, whimsical, dreamy.

But most of all, you were gorgeous.

And in that moment, I was a goner.

That horrid, horrid night when the man who'd mentored and watched over me for the past six years died, you fought his killer's allies.

No one could believe it- the man who'd been thought to be practically invincible, untouchable, DEAD? It was inconceivable.

And yet, it was true.

But you fought to try and save him.

So did I.

But we failed.

The summer before my seventh year, I knew I had to carry out my former mentor's mission.

I wanted to tell you I was going.

I didn't.

Why? Simple.

I wanted to protect you from harm.

I figured you'd be safe.

But I also figured I'd never see you again.

I was wrong.

That night, at my best friend's older brother's wedding, you were dancing around in your bright yellow dress robes.

You weren't pretty, or beautiful.

You were radiant like starlight, as ethereal as a fairy-tale elf, and luminous as the moon.

But of course, that is where your name comes from, isn't it?

That's when I should've confessed it all to you.

But I never got the chance.

The attack happened, and it split us up.

I thought I'd never see you again.

I was wrong.

That day we went to your father's house, I saw your room.

It broke my heart. No, not broke it; shattered it into a thousand tiny pieces.

Why?

Because that painting on your wall that said "Friends" underneath it?

You know the one, where your five closest friends have scarily accurate portraits (for you really were a brilliant artist)?

I was in that painting. And now I knew what you saw me as.

A friend.

And that was all.

I was horrified to discover you'd been kidnapped.

But I was oddly glad to see you in that dungeon underneath Malfoy Manner.

A little worse for the wear, but still beautifully alive.

What were the odds of that?

You and I escaped, as well as a few others.

But our little savior?

Well, as you know, he didn't make it.

But you helped with his funeral.

And for that, I was grateful.

I didn't tell you how I felt, partly because you were recovering from your lockup, and partly because I knew what you saw me as.

Little did I know that'd be my last chance.

My two closest friends and I left, and were the forces behind the by-now infamous Gringotts Dragon Incident.

But we made it out, and then we made it back to our school, for the first time in months.

Little did I know that'd soon become the worst night of my life.

When I arrived back in the room we'd spent so much time in for the DA, there was cheers, tears, and confusion.

Thank the stars you were there to guide me back to your common room to hunt for that blasted diadem.

How was I supposed to know that was the last time that I'd see you alive?

And then, disaster broke out.

Fighting, fires, hunting to destroy the soul of the one who killed my parents.

Violence, violence everywhere.

Luckily, I completed part of my mission.

But I had to sacrifice myself.

It was for the greater good, supposedly.

I came back, took down my enemy.

We had done it.

We had won.

As we were clearing out the bodies- including my best friend's brother, the former teacher and his wife, and others- I saw long, cornsilk hair.

I gasped.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

Your corpse, lying there, pale, eyes wide, hair splayed everywhere.

And no one there to mourn for you.

That is, no one but me.

I went over to you, almost afraid to touch you.

But I did.

I closed your eyes, to make it seem like you were just asleep.

I crossed your arms over your chest, your wand still in your hand.

I brushed your hair back so delicately, so lovingly.

I transfigured your robes into a simple satin dress, in a bright yellow shade you'd have picked yourself.

I found some wood shards that I formed into a haphazard coffin.

And then, with strength I didn't even know I had, I placed you in it, shut the lid, and picked you up, coffin and all.

I buried you as the sun broke over the horizon, under a crab apple tree on the edge of the lake.

I found a chunk of rock, placed it on your grave, and carved your name into it, as well as a quote:

"Everything you can imagine is real."

It suited you.

And then, I let the tears be shed.

Now, I stand here, at the edge of the astronomy tower.

I know there is only one thing in the entire world that can make me happy.

And that, my darling, is to join you.

So I throw the wand off the edge, and moments later, I follow it.

My last thoughts?

I'm coming for you, Luna.

Written for HPFC's Challenge: Battle Ships. Pairing: Harry/Luna.