Written for Round 10 of the Fanfiction Quidditch Competition, as Chaser 2 for the Falcons. :) The prompts were perfume, "I shouldn't have asked," and apologise., and had to be about a platonic relationship in Neville's life, so I wrote about him and Luna. It references my teammate erm31323's fic Rectifying Mistakes. :)

"It was nice of Daddy to leave us alone, don't you think?"

They were standing in the wreckage of Luna's home, the two of them. It was the first time Neville had had time to think since the battle, and it was in the middle of the charred remains of his best friend's house.

Luna bent over to pick something up while Neville watched. It was a piece of a teacup.

"Mum gave this to me," she said, so softly he could barely hear. "I don't think Daddy liked it very much, though."

Xenophilius, as Luna had pointed out, had left for Ottery St. Catchpole to buy them lunches. Neville thought he was embarrassed, being around Neville. Xenophilius Lovegood acted like he was embarrassed to be around everyone. Neville didn't blame him. He would have been embarrassed to be Xenophilius Lovegood too.

Neville squatted onto his legs and began shifting rubble around, trying to help Luna find whatever it was she was looking for.

He decided to ask her. Luna never thought a question was stupid.

"What are you looking for?"

Even though he knew she wouldn't laugh, he still felt the urge to apologise. He pushed it away. He'd found it so easy to be strong when he was up against the Carrows, so easy to grab that sword and swing it at the snake's head. Talking to his friends, however, seemed like it would never be easy.

"I'm not looking for anything, really," said Luna, dropping the piece of the teacup in a small beaded bag Hermione had given her for the occasion. "At the same time, I'm looking for anything I can find."

"I shouldn't have asked," he managed.

"Cheer up," she said simply before turning back towards the rubble.

"What do you want to do with your life?" he asked suddenly.

Luna turned and grinned at him, her face lighting up. She reminded Neville of the pictures of deep-sea creatures Dean had once shown him, the ones with bulging eyes and luminescent skin. He should tell her that sometimes. He had a feeling if anyone would like the comparison, it would be her.

"I don't know," she said, enunciating each word very clearly. "Isn't it exciting? I don't know! I could do anything, anything at all. And what are you thinking of picking, Neville Longbottom?"

"Auror," he said automatically. "My Gran says I should be an Auror. But that's not why."

Luna's grin faded. "Why?"

Neville shrugged, even though he'd put a lot of thought into it already. He ran his hand through his hair, not caring that it was covered in soot.

"Kingsley is asking me to," he said. "He says I'd be good at it. And my parents were Aurors. I'd like to follow in their footsteps."

"I don't want to follow in anyone's footsteps," said Luna. "Not even Daddy's."

"No?"

"He's wrong about a lot of things. I realize that now."

Neville didn't know what to say, so he began sifting through debris again. His finger snagged on something sharp, cutting it. He sucked on his finger while he watched Luna work. Her face was smudged with dirt and soot. He supposed his probably was too.

"I found the diadem," announced Luna.

She held up a burned headdress, which had blackened so much that Neville could barely make out the tiny blue wings stuck to it. Something that looked like an ear trumpet was hanging off one side.

"Oh," said Luna, sounding disappointed. "The Dirgible Plum didn't make it."

She put it in the bag nonetheless.

Neville stuck his hand back in the rubble on to have the sharp thing poke at his finger again. Stifling a swear word, he brought the finger back to his mouth and delicately cleared the space around it with his other hand as he nursed his wound.

"What is this?" he asked Luna, carefully holding up a shard of pinkish-red crystal.

She squinted at it. She was so far away and it was so small it probably would have been easier for her to walk over, but she didn't.

"It's a perfume bottle," she said. "I kept my dreams in there."

"It's broken," he said, feeling foolish for stating the obvious.

"The dreams have escaped," she observed. "Throw it, then. Throw it as far as you can."

Neville hesitated. "What if someone steps on it?"

"Then they'll get my dreams, good and bad," she said. "That's how it works."

To hell with it, Neville decided, and he threw the perfume bottle shard as far as he could. It hurdled through the air and landed in the grass far away.

"What a good throw," said Luna.

"Thanks," said Neville, pleased.

He moved to a different spot and began clearing away what looked like a ceiling. He brushed soot off the top to find his own eyes staring back at him.

A mirror? No, that wasn't right. He moved, but the eyes didn't. He kept brushing soot off, and the rest of his face was revealed. The ceiling might have been broken, but the magic in the image wasn't; Neville could feel it beneath the surface of the painting, writhing and twisting.

Then he noticed the gold ink around the picture of him, almost completely obscured by the rubble and soot. Friends, it said.

Neville's heart twisted. He glanced over to Luna, who had begun to hum as her deft hands picked apart the ruins.

"Luna," he said. "This is beautiful."

Something in his voice must have clued her in, because she stomped over immediantly. When she saw what he was looking at, she smiled.

"Do you like it?" she said. "I do. It took a long time to get just right."

"Of course I like it," said Neville, voice thick. "How could I not?"

"Good," she said, swooping over to kiss him on the cheek. "It's yours. Keep it and think of me."

Neville knew he didn't need a painting to remind him of Luna, but he kept it all the same.

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