Neville had only meant to stop in Diagon Alley for a few things, but as usual, he had been stopped. Even getting into the little street had been a nightmare, getting bombarded with pleads for autographs yet again.

It's a hard life, isn't it, he smiled to himself, as he was thrust another quill and Daily Prophet. He had to admit that making the front cover wasn't quite as shocking anymore; after the end of the second wizarding war, the Golden Trio weren't the only ones whose faces were regularly featured. Neville, Luna, Ginny, and even a few other DA veterans had had to sit through interview after interview, until finally they decided to set their foot (feet?) down. Returning to some state of normalcy was impossible if they were being constantly pursued by the magical paparazzi. Neville heard Hermione had drafted and pushed through some legislature about leaving them alone, in between raging to battles for house elf rights, something about the 'right to privacy.' It had been immediately passed. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but he was grateful. Rita Skeeter nearly blew a vein in frustration when she heard he had taken the opening at Hogwarts, and she was unable to ask him a single question about it. He had heard her tantrum had been something to behold. The only thing she could do was publish one of the old photographs, and there he was, looking as awkward as he had felt: red-hot, from the bright flashing cameras and his own embarrassment.

After a few short visits (and being greeted in every shop with incredibly loud enthusiasm), he stopped in the ice cream parlour. Florean's daughter Florence had taken over, and she seemed determined to shove as many sundaes into his hands as possible before he left. Neville felt slightly awkward about letting any of the ice cream go to waste, but proper arguing was impossible with fudge in your mouth.

"Oh, hello, Neville!"

He looked up. Having been so engrossed in his horror at melting ice cream, he hadn't noticed a certain figure floating through the door. Wearing a disarming (but pleasant) ensemble of a bright yellow sundress and red hat, and carrying a vivid green bag, Luna Lovegood stood next to Neville looking for all the world like a flower caught in the midst of turning into a person.

"Luna!" Neville stood up, attempting to smile with large amounts of melting cream in his cheeks.

"Well, this just won't do," tutted Florence. "Sit down, Luna, I insist! What do you prefer, strawberry or chocolate? Or perhaps you'd like a sundae, like Neville's having?"

"How about you split this with me, Luna?" Neville broke in desperately. "There's no way I can finish all these sundaes by myself."

"All right," said Luna happily, settling down opposite him.

"Would you like to drink anything?" Florence asked. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Are you still serving those lavender infusions? Dad told me they were the best in England, I've got to try one."

"Of course!" beamed Florence. She bustled back into the kitchen.

The quiet was broken only by the sounds of Florence putting the kettle on. Neville shifted in his seat a little. Luna seemed utterly unperturbed by the silence, looking around the shop politely, and then turning to looking at him - directly at him. He shifted a little more. Finally, he burst out:

"Weren't you going to help me finish this?"

"Oh! Right."

Conversation was a little easier with bowls of ice cream between you.

They exited the shop. Neville's cheeks still burned from the exchange that had just taken place. Attempting to leave, he offered to pay for Luna, who of course wanted to pay for her own ice cream (which, for the record, he thought, was not hers, but the ice cream he had received before she had even arrived. He had just shared it with her. So there was no need for her to try to pay). But Florence refused their Galleons "on principle! I'd be ashamed to take money from the people who saved my father!" And she had bustled back into the kitchen to fetch tubs of ice cream to go, leaving Neville bewildered in the middle of the shop, unable to leave without being rude.

"Here's the plan," Neville whispered sideways as he sidled back to Luna. "When Florence gets back, we take the ice cream, I shove the money in the tip jar, and we make a run for it."

"Okay," she whispered back. Her face was suddenly very close to his own, making his cheeks go even redder.

Florence broke them out of their reverie with two large bags stuffed with terrifying amounts of ice cream. Luna distracted her with protests as Neville surreptitiously placed a handful of Galleons in the jar. He flinched as they plinked in, causing Florence to turn around and seamlessly being to scold them. Neville grabbed Luna's hand and dashed from the shop, only barely remembering to grab the plastic-wrapped bundle he'd placed next to him on the table as he pulled Luna away. Florence's voice rang down the street, and they didn't stop sprinting until they reached a quieter side-alley.

They gasped and giggled, their breath beginning to fog the air as the cold in their mouths dissipated.

"You know ... it is … quite cold out ... for … ice cream," Luna observed in a tone of mock-disapproval, any authority she attempted to convey in her wagging finger lost as she clutched her sides.

"You … ate just as much … as … me," Neville retorted weakly, welling up a little from the cold and the mirth. He attempted to wipe his face, but realized he was still clutching the bundle. Luna pretended not to notice that he had tried to wipe his face with a bunch of flowers.

"They're for my grandmother," he explained hurriedly. Normally, he wouldn't have been so eager to explain; but Luna brought out a willingness to entrust private feelings that he had never experienced with anyone else. He was relieved when she nodded. She never acted suddenly embarrassed, by the mention of death he'd experienced; she didn't try to console him or act like it was OK, either. She was the only one who knew about his parents before Harry and the rest found out. Luna was just so easy to talk to, and she understood him. Maybe because she'd gone through something, like him, with her mum.

"Did you grow them yourself?" Luna asked.

Neville was a little surprised, and a lot pleased, that she'd remembered his passion for Herbology. Maybe she just read the article, he told himself, it wasn't an easy one to miss. "Avid DA member and Second Wizarding War Hero to take on Hogwarts professorship." He'd gotten a couple owls about that, from some old Hogwarts mates, but it seemed he'd fallen out of contact with most of them. Grandmother in St. Mungo's, interviews for the position … he'd been busy.

Luna was still looking at him patiently, Neville realized. "Oh, yeah. I'm trying to use the space in Greenhouse 2 while I can, during the summer, before the term starts again."

He turned back to her. She'd changed a bit since their time at school: he'd heard about her capture at Malfoy Manor, and that was sure to age a person. She seemed a little less smiley, perhaps; a little less eccentric (she hadn't mentioned Crumple-Horned Snorkacks once so far). But she still had this glow about her, this pleasant light that shone through her very skin, a quiet patience, understanding without badgering. He'd noticed her before, noticed how amazing she was; but he'd never noticed her until today. She was a flower, but the light she needed to live was one inside herself.

"So, what are you doing in Diagon Alley?" he asked her, suddenly grateful she couldn't hear his thoughts.

"Picking up some things at the Apothecary for Dad," she said, motioning to her purse. "There is an appalling lack of Gurdyroots in the tea room at St. Mungo's, he's been so homesick."

"Your dad's in hospital?" Neville asked.

"Yeah," she said. "The horn blew up again, he's a bit bashed up." She said this in such a tone of nonchalance, Neville didn't question it at first.

"Oh, well, at least… I mean, I hope he's ok." Neville blushed a bit.

"Your parents are in St. Mungo's as well, right?" Luna asked.

Neville was surprised to find that it didn't bother him she'd asked. "Yeah. My gran's happy she gets to see them more often, but she's still real bored in there." He surprised himself even more when he asked her: "I was about to Apparate there, actually. Do you - do you want to come with me? Give your dad those, er, Gurdyroots?"

"I'd love to! Daddy'll be so pleased, he loves visitors."

"Hah! My gran usually hates them, at home, but she's been off the wall recently, being cooped up. You know, she'd like you," he said to her. And there was silence between them again; but, unlike before, their silence was comfortable, full of things being said without words. They were not choking on the five lost years anymore.

It was Luna's turn to blush when Neville grabbed her hand in another fit of daring. In the crushing dark, he felt surprisingly light-headed. He decided he quite liked how she looked when she blushed, and she decided she quite liked how it felt, and they both thought to themselves how they'd both like to do it again.

And suddenly, they were blinking in the semi-darkness of an alley. They didn't let go of each other's hands for a long time.