Author's Note: Hey guys, it's Elle! This is my first fanfic ever, really, and it's about Neville and Luna. Obviously. I apologize if it makes you sick to your stomach, and please let me know if there's anything I can fix. Thank you so much for reading! (Sorry, I'm annoying, so I'm going to advertise... Chapter 2 isn't as boring as Chapter 1, so please try to stick it out! ;) Thank you!)
It was Saturday, and a lovely one at that. The sun was bright and it bathed the grass in sunshine, the kind that lifted one's spirits like a well-delivered Levitation Charm. Neville stumbled down the slight slope behind the castle, heading toward his personal sanctuary, the Greenhouse. It was about nine in the morning, fairly early for a lot of sixth years like himself to be out from breakfast at, so he walked with a bounce in his step, letting of an aura of carelessness. If no one was out, no one was there to torment him. Namely Slytherins.
Oy, Longbottom! he could imagine Draco Malfoy calling in an excruciatingly snide voice at him. "Look at those teeth!" Neville inadvertently began to mimic Malfoy's latest favorite insult. "They'd be big on a horse! Would you like some help removing them?" Just the thought of Malfoy's silver blonde hair was enough to send anger pulsing through Neville's veins.
By the time he had reached the Greenhouse, Neville's blood was boiling and his face was flushed with anger and shame. He wished he wasn't a coward - he'd just looked down and tried to dodge Malfoy's efforts - and he wished he could at least stand up for himself. He wished he was more like Harry. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived - and was somehow one of his closest friends - was the most desired boy in the school. It seemed every respectable girl had longed to hold Harry's hand at least once in their five full years at Hogwarts, and Neville had never even kissed a girl. Ever. Sure, once he'd made up a lie about a girl when Dean and Seamus had bothered him about it, but there was really no muggle Jessica with blonde hair and pink lips. As if. The truth was, Neville was an outcast, and he was painfully alone.
"Longbottom, alright?" Neville whirled around to see Professor Sprout striding toward him with a potted mandrake in her arms.
"Er, yeah," he stuttered, standing up straight and willing the flush that had crept up his neck to recede.
"Then you wouldn't mind helping me replant some mandrakes, would you? It's a first year project, I'm sure you could handle it on a Saturday morning."
"No problem," Neville agreed. He was happy to have something to distract his hands and mind, and there was no denying that Herbology was his calling.
Inside, the rhythmic job of prying the mandrakes from their undersized pots and cramming them into larger ones calmed Neville, somehow. The too-tight pink earmuffs squeezed over his ears left room for no noise except that of his own thoughts.
When the last screaming mandrake had been buried, he waited for Professor Sprout's signal to peel the pink wool from his ears, groaning as he did so.
"Shame I couldn't find a bigger pair. Least I could've done for you," she said, giving him a smile.
He exchanged farewells with her before heading back up to the castle. He had no idea what he was going to do today, or what he'd been aiming to do at the Greenhouse in the first place. That was the thing about Saturdays - he couldn't loaf about because his only witnesses were professors who would know he wasn't actually "too busy" to finish his work. Shame.
Neville slipped in through the doors and headed back up to the common rooms. He heard the breakfast chatter as he walked past, but he did not feel compelled to join it. His stomach still lurched at the thought. I must be in some sort of funk, Neville thought to himself as he came to rest before the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Password?" she requested, weaving her fingers through the air in a posh fashion.
Neville cursed his chronic forgetfulness and began to clamber through his thoughts, searching for the password. It had to be in there somewhere. "Oh, please, you know I'm a sixth year! You know me! Please just let me in!"
"Sorry, dear," the Fat Lady chimed. "That's against the rules! Who knows who you could be hiding behind that face! Or those teeth..."
For an already flustered Neville, that was the breaking point. He glared at the stupid oil painting with all the loathing he could muster and stormed off, clenching his fists to keep from pounding them against the wall. He knew he'd probably end up breaking a knuckle or two anyway, and the last thing he needed was another telling-off from Madam Pomfrey.
"Neville," an airy voice chimed. At first, Neville was afraid to turn and see the infamous Professor Trelawney with her mystical voice, but he was in luck. Luna Lovegood was about ten paces behind him, her flowy blonde hair cascading down her shoulders.
"Hi, Luna," he said, his facial expression immediately softening.
"What's wrong?" she asked, coming to a stop in front of him. She had a scarf around her neck and another, this one a triangle shape embellished with tassels, tied around her waist in her whimsical way.
"Uh - Er, nothing," he sputtered, his cheeks flushing. There was something wrong with his stomach. Was he about to throw up?! He clutched his abdomen, ready to whirl around and take off running, but nothing came. Only more tickles, like the ones before.
"Are you alright?" she asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Immediately, Neville froze. "It's probably just a B-Blubbering Humdinger or something of the sort," she volunteered, stuttering a bit. "Nothing harmful. I get them sometimes."
Neville didn't reply. His heart was racing faster than he'd ever felt it go before. Faster than when they were sneaking through the Ministry hallways last year, faster than anything like that. Why?
"Neville, you sure are acting funny," she said with a tinkling laugh. He looked back up into her silver-laced blue eyes, letting go of his tingling stomach, and it hit him - he was in love with Luna.
If you guys stuck this out, I love you. Thank you so much for reading. -Elle :)