for sangkar's challenge: "porcelain", and for the kind guest. i wish i knew you.
it's the same 'verse as livid as a bruise. the same warnings apply.
Before the war-
The two of you are in awkward juxtaposition- your head, nearly aflame with the weight of Weasley, bobbing alongside her fearfully gangly arms and legs. Luna, a name as pale as her porcelain hair. Perhaps the reason you get along so well is the simple fact that to you, she is not Lonely-Looney-Luna. The ridicule she faces makes her stronger…
….right?
Luna takes the twisted faces and backhanded compliments with a smile. She seems to understand that these conversations are beneath her, and you envy her for that. The baggage that you drag around (and attempt, in vain, to ignore) as the youngest girl of seven means that you are pulled under the current of hate more easily than Luna, even though it's less often directed at you. It's easier to ignore the Slytherins, you think, because they're useless to begin with. Your lovely friend must contend with animosity from her own house, and though you wish you could help her, she remains alone.
It's not obvious, at first-
-why would she hide this, you think. Luna hides nothing. Why now?-
-but Luna has begun to disappear into herself, giving you that signature vague smile and a mumbled explanation that she's not going to be at lunch, she's got to study. You pull the hem of her cloak behind you, towards the Great Hall, because she's already quite thin, isn't she? And everyone likes food.
You watch her choke down a bit of dry toast before she scurries away, head bowed.
She seems defeated, somehow.
After the war-
She is small enough to float away, you're sure of it. A broom would not bend to her will because it would not feel her weight. The two of you board together for a few months after you leave the smoldering wreckage of Hogwarts behind, and you never grow used to seeing Luna's doll-like robes folded on the table.
You managed to grow up, in the battle. You found Harry again- somehow the blood and dust and ashes made you closer- and you found yourself to be happy. Luna, however, became smaller, mentally and physically. The airy smiles and talk of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks has ended. You remember the days of name-calling in your preteens, and you wonder if this is something like that.
Eventually you sit her down and attempt to have a frank discussion.
You've got to stop this, Luna. It's not safe.
She hasn't the faintest idea what you're talking about.
The eating, and the…I don't know. The moping about. Why don't we get a drink with 'Mione and Ron tonight?
The silence Luna was capable of could break anyone's heart.
It's a bit lonely, living this way. You catch a glimpse of a porcelain arm, breakable as any glass, on your way out the door.
But then-
-a hand catches your sleeve, and that smile emerges from a curtain of blonde hair.
I…okay. Maybe this once, yeah.
Your hot-air-balloon heart rises in your chest, and you walk arm in arm to the pub. It's not much, but it's enough.