A/N: Okay, I adore this couple. They just seem to fit. I really wish they could've ended up together in the books, but oh well. This story can be romantic, or just friendship, whichever you prefer for them to be. It has a lot of bold words and italics, so if you don't like that, then DON'T READ IT! I have been told so many freakin' times that it irritates people, but I want it that way. The reader is there to simply read, the author is meant to write, so if you don't like the italics and bold words, then just don't read it. Anyway, I own nothing. If I did, Neville and Luna would've ended up married with three clumsy dorky babies. =P
Luna Lovegood.
She wasn't like all the others.
She was plenty brave.
(Almost too brave. Nothing seemed to faze her, and for that, she was respected, if not feared.)
She was smart.
(You don't get into Ravenclaw for nothing, right?)
She was sweet.
(Never once in her life had she insulted someone.)
The list could go on and on.
She was perfect.
She was so perfect, it was easy to miss, because no one has ever seen true perfection before.
Well, except Neville Longbottom. He had always seen it in her. Always.
He never saw her as the crazy blond who seemed to pop up in the most random times, and wear silly hats, but as a woman of perfection.
From the moment he met Luna, he found pride in himself to be her friend. While Slytherins mocked her, her thoughts, and her way of just being, he could only find himself smiling, because she had enough courage to be herself. To be so brave. So perfect.
Then the war came. Luna was brave as ever, which led to Neville being brave himself. The Ravenclaw made the dormant Gryffindor in him explode.
When everyone around had given up, he found himself, Neville Longbottom, step up. Limping forward, with the Sorting Hat in his hand, he was called out by Voldemort, yet he didn't flinch.
Looking at Tom Riddle, he didn't find himself scared. He couldn't be scared, and he knew why.
Voldemort was nothing close to perfect, so how could he win? And with that in his head, he killed the last Horcrux.
And then, it was over.
Everything was fine.
It was perfect.
And as he sat with an icebag held to his head, perfection sat beside him.
She started talking about how many Wackspurts she felt buzzing around him, and Neville found himself smiling once again.
She was just so damn perfect.
"Thank you, Luna." Neville found himself whispering.
"For what?" She asked.
"For being perfect."
