"...this damned second-guess mechanism that comes about being royally screwed too many times in your life. I basically thought: 'I'm happy, what's wrong?'..." - Lettered by EM Sullivan
Snow pelts, falling thickly like disillusioned confetti. It's another cold Christmas in the Closed Ward, a once-more visit with Mummy and Daddy dearest. It's a truly silent night, holy night, all isn't calm as Mummy shakes in her sleep. All is bright as the diffused lighting glares off a white floor.
And you're alone. Melancholy and sickeningly alone, it's your fourth Christmas without Grams and you know you shouldn't be here. You should be at home. There are presents, wrapped tightly in green and red, at the foot of each bed. Christmas presents just in case, maybe, possibly, this time they'll wake up from their insanity.
The swish of the door causes you to awake from your reverie of staring outside the hospital window. The blond is shaking slightly, wearing a big heavy wool coat three sizes too big for her petite frame. There's a pink tint to her cheeks from the cold, bitty pieces of snow scattered about her.
And slowly, cautiously, quietly she comes over to your seat and picks up a clumsy hand from your lap. She tugs lightly and you allow her to lead you like you are a child from the room, down the hall, out of the Closed Ward.
Luna's breath fogs once it hits the air and the Muggle streets are barren. Your left hand, wearing thick-skinned gloves, is intertwined with her right which is adorned with red knit mittens - an early Christmas present from Hermione.
The snow still falls, half blindingly, and you manage to get to an Apparation point, then find yourselves back at the flat. A towering Christmas tree sits in one corner of the wide living room, wizarding Christmas decorations suspended from its branches. Holly adorns the very top of the walls and a fire is roaring in the fireplace.
A cozy picture that looks as if it belongs on a Christmas card rather than in your life. You take this moment of silence between the two of you to reflect on how lucky you are and then begin to strip off your coat and sweater.
She does the same, slowly, and then your wet clothes are dripping, hanging off the misshapen Birch coat rack.
"I love you," she says, enveloping you in a warm hug.
You frown and her bright blue eyes show evident confusion.
"You saw where I was before, Luna. You know I'm not going to be able to give you the perfect life 'cos I'm far from perfect as is. I don't want you to be sad with this turns out to be one more thing in my life that fails."
Her face breaks out into a smile and you can't help but grow angry, you'd been right serious with your statement and she was using it as a joke.
"Silly," she says, "Stop being so melancholy! There are things in life that work out, y'know, and just 'cos you've had a bad time in the past doesn't mean your doomed to an unfortunate future."
"Are you sure you want me?" You question again, half disbelieving what she's saying and half understanding she wants to help make this work.
"Yes!" She says, "More sure than I've been in a while," and she kisses you softly and you break out into a grin.
"Happy Christmas, Neville."
"Happy Christmas, Luna."
Author's Note: inspired by the word 'confetti' cos it just looks cool. this intentionally was to be a blackfic but then morphed into angsty-neville and then, tra-da, fluff! again! romantic fluff! what has come over me?! rudolphus with the bunnies is threatening! long story ... author's note from like, yesterday, on my ron/hermione thing. ANYWAY. i had christmas on my mind even though i really did have christmas in june! i made cards and mailed them (unfortunatly the only adress i knew was my jewish friend's and my grammy's) and ate christmas cookies cos i was at church camp, as a counsoler, and ... i was hyper. credididits to.. ::thinks:: the word confetti, js's 80s hair, watson's jaw, and me missing zane something horrible. capitalization is overrated!
Review, please!