Disclaimer: I don't own HP.

to see the birds and watch the sky

The first time that he saw her, he was sketching the birds. Ducks and water fowl tended to hang around the lakes. He had brought along a picnic, ready to spend a comfortable day at the Botanical Gardens. His day was, in the end. Comfortable, that is. Interesting too. All because of the girl that had sat in front of him.

The first time he saw her, she had been feeding the ducks. Oddly enough, she had been giving them grapes. They were cut in half, of course, so that the little ducks wouldn't choke. She would toss them into the air, wait for the grapes to be eaten, read a page or two of her book, and then throw another couple. He wasn't even sure if that was allowed or not.

He didn't tire of watching her. She was so carefree. Eventually, instead of drawing the birds, he started to draw her. He started with her hair, sketching with bold, black lines. Then her shoulders, carefully making sure that the curve of her neck was perfect. Her arms, and then her waist, capturing the peace in her pose nicely. That was as far as he got before she began to notice.

"What are you doing?" she called. She didn't turn around, but he knew she was talking to him. Her voice was dreamy and curious. Sweet and soft, with a touch of what he thought was an Irish accent. He did know that it definitely was not Australian.

He flushed, embarrassed that he was caught. He wasn't sure that she would appreciate being sketched without her permission. "Nothing," he said guiltily, looking like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

She finally turned around, allowing him to see her big, grey eyes and soft, heart-shaped face. There was a thin stick tucked behind her ear, holding back blonde strands of hair. She was pretty, but in an odd way. He didn't know what was different with her, apart from her too big eyes and too pale face. Maybe it was her necklace threaded with the tabs off of soft drink cans, or the brown lace up boots that didn't match her flowing dress that was tie-dyed green.

"'As I wandered the forest/The green leaves among/I heard a Wild Flower/Singing a song,'" she said softly. He started, a bit confused as to where that sentence came from. It sounded rather poetic, and he thought that he'd heard it somewhere before. He just couldn't remember where.

"What?"

"William Blake," she said breezily, shaking the book around above her head. He couldn't read the title – he was short-sighted - but he got the gist of it. "Beautiful poems, he does. Absolutely wonderful. It's rather amazing what some Muggles can come up with." What the hell was a 'Muggle'? Just another thing to add to the list of strange things about her.

"I think I've only heard a few of Blake's poems. Isn't there one called 'Tyger, tyger'?" He did remember learning about that one in year eight sometime. He had to memorise one for an oral on the poet.

She hummed in agreement, holding another grape out to a duck that was quacking a bit pathetically. "But that's such a common one. Most people know that."

Searching for more conversation starters (he wanted to continue this little chat), he said, "What brings you to Australia? Assuming that you're not from here."

"I'm from Britain, actually. I just came here to visit my friend and her parents," she said. "They invited me over for dinner." She laughed, a high, infectious laugh that brought a smile to his face.

"Was your flight okay? I know how much of a pain all of those crying kids can be."

"Oh, it was wonderful," she said, an amused glint in her eyes. "A little bit nauseating, but I got over that when I landed."

"Well, you've got a great accent," he said, chocolate brown eyes crinkling with his smile.

"So do you," she said. "I love Australian accents, they're so… laidback."

"You sure you're not talking about Australians in general?"

"That stereotype was probably based on the accent." After a small period of silence, in which he managed to take one or two bites of his sandwich, she said, "You never told me your name."

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he joked, setting aside his drawing pad as they fled to a different subject. He would probably need his full attention to concentrate on her.

"That would be terribly unfortunate," she mused. "I suppose the same goes for my name too. Just to make things interesting."

"Just to spice things up?" he said with a grin, sticking his pencil behind his ear. She nodded, echoing his grin, showing off sparkling white teeth.

"Oh, don't put it away," she said. "I don't mind you drawing me. As long as I'm allowed to see it afterwards. I am rather curious as to how you see me."

"'Course you'll be able to look at it afterwards." He settled the pad back onto his knee, and started to sketch again, beginning on her face now that he could finally see it. His fingers itched to get out a few coloured pencils and do her eyes (they were a rather pretty grey), but he'd left them at home. "It's only fair, after all. Sandwich?" He gestured to his picnic basket with his pencil, raising his eyebrows at her.

"No, thank you. I've already eaten." She lay back onto the ground, hair spread around like a halo in the grass that was damp with rain from the night before. The sun highlighted the darker shades of blonde in the pale tresses, lightening up her face and giving it a golden hue. Her eyes sparkled, and he wanted to capture her exactly like that. Looking beautiful and odd and wonderful.

"You'll get your hair wet if you do that," he warned, though. He didn't want any of her anger (if she even had any) directed at him.

She laughed again, louder this time. The sound echoed around the lake, bouncing off of the water. "Who cares?"

"No one, I guess," he said, a little unsure. He decided to keep busy by taking another bite from his sandwich.

"Exactly. Exactly…" she trailed off, staring up at the clear blue sky. It was difficult to keep on sketching when she continuously changed positions, but he was trying. "The sun has come out today. I absolutely love it when that happens." Oh, he knew. "Doesn't it usually rain, in Melbourne?"

"Nah, it's usually pretty mild in spring." He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he finished with her leg. "Done!" He signed it with a flourish, and then tore out the page, which interrupted the silence with a loud rip.

She gave him a huge grin, glee lighting up her face when he handed the slightly crinkled piece of paper to her. It looked like she was barely restraining herself from snatching it away from his fingers as he handed it over to her. If possible, her grin got even bigger at the sight of the drawing.

"Beautiful," she breathed, gazing at the paper with delight. "You're quite talented, do you realise that?"

He flushed, and looked away, waving off the compliment.

"You are."

That might've been the moment that he started to really like her.

At the end of the day, he asked her out and she declined, saying that she wanted to be friends first.

But then she taught him about birds, and William Blake and those stupid nargles that she was always on about. She taught him how to see the stars, how to hold a tune, how to do the flibberwig dance. She finally told him her name, (though he suspected that she might not entirely be telling the truth with this), which was Luna, and she taught him how to love the crazy, wonderful girl with a stick holding her hair back.

Written for:

-Create-A-Potion Challenge, AStitchedUpHeart, HPFC

-Colors Competition, Empress Empoleon, HPFC