They sought one another out in the aftermath. As the family members and friends of the fallen dithered between lamenting the tragedy and celebrating the long-awaited victory, Luna and Neville made their way to a quiet corner of the room and found a place to sit, cross-legged like the schoolchildren they still were, and reflect. Neither of them said a word. It felt as if their minds were in a hallowed place, as if talking would somehow disrupt or demean the gravity of their thoughts.

Neville's mind constantly replayed the moment Harry's limp body had come into view. In that moment, his whole world had come crashing down, shattering like glass in symphony with the broken cries of those around him at the time. Harry was the hero; he wasn't supposed to die. For all that Hogwarts' defenders had worried about him over that dark year, none of them had ever expected him to do something as banal as dying on them. He was The Boy Who Lived; he wasn't supposed to die. He'd then remembered what they were fighting for, what Harry had ostensibly died for, what the older students had once declared they'd lay down their lives for, and he had stepped forward to lead in Harry's stead. And, later, Harry had proven his tenacity once again, leaping out of Hagrid's arms and slipping away to safety before returning to slay the enemy. Despite this, despite his knowledge that it had been a farce and it was over and they were safe, the memory of You Know Who gleefully announcing his friend's death, of the horror and sorrow and despair that had rushed through Neville at the news, refused to leave his mind.

Unbeknownst to him, Luna's thoughts were also occupied with death. Life and the absence of it had long since been a normal part of her life, so it had been easy for her to accept the very real possibility that she and hers would kill or be killed during the final battle. When the time had come to make that decision, she had acted swiftly, the Suffocation Curse darting out of her wand without a second thought. She didn't regret it. Death had been inevitable, after all, and she would have been fighting a losing battle if she'd crippled herself by playing nice. Augustus Rookwood had already been halfway through casting the Killing Curse at a temporarily prone Ginny Weasley when she'd acted, casting the first thing she thought of to stop him from speaking before it was too late. No; she felt no remorse for her actions. Still, she closed her eyes and mourned the life she'd taken. It would take a while for the wizarding world to hold all of the funerals for the fallen, and she didn't think she'd be welcome amongst the type of people who would attend his, so she had her own private ceremony in his honour.

Finally, once their thoughts all dried up and all that was left within them was hollowness and shock, she shuffled closer to him and leant her head against his chest. He adjusted himself so that he could warp his arms around her. As their comrades and erstwhile enemies alternatively sobbed and cheered, they remained in their own little bubble of solitude, seeking and giving comfort through the simple gift of touch.

Luna gently trailed her fingers along the wooden walls as she skipped through the spacious holiday home that she and Neville had retired to for the summer. The serenity of the homestead, which was nestled against the base of a gorgeous Welsh mountain range, had done both of them a lot of good. Her whole body felt much more relaxed than it had in the weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts, and the bags and creases that had taken over both of their faces had faded away to nothingness.

The tranquillity had, in her opinion, proved well worth the hassle of getting them both there. Although Augusta had been pleased at the prospect of her grandson making use of the property that had largely laid dormant since his parents' admittance to hospital, she had been less enthusiastic about the idea of Luna accompanying him there. It had taken both of them insisting that they were merely good friends and that her presence would help him heal for the matriarch to agree to the decision. Fortunately, however, she had eventually capitulated, and the two friends had left for Wales without telling anyone except their closest friends.

They were both aware that the media would be speculating about where Neville Longbottom had disappeared to, but they had refused to trouble themselves with the public attention that would be awaiting him upon their return. Instead, the pair had immersed themselves in the inherent quiescence of the place, using the space and time it afforded them to recuperate and to reconcile themselves with everything that they had been through throughout the past several years.

"The letters from Hogwarts arrived," Neville announced, his voice cutting through her musings as he entered the study and started walking beside her so that she could continue circumnavigating the dwelling. "I thought we could open them together."

"I'll finish this lap first. One should never give up on something halfway through the journey. One can redirect oneself if there's a new path to take, but one shouldn't let oneself get distracted or waylaid." Tilting her face towards him, she said by way of an explanation, "I was reading Tyara this morning."

Nodding as he remembered the insightful but formal author his grandmother had introduced him to as a child, he said, "She's good, isn't she?"

"She writes the kind of books that just demand that you go find a tree to sit underneath when reading them so that you can be closer to nature," she agreed with a smile. "Especially when you're in a place as gorgeous as this. It really is exquisite here."

"I know. My grandmother brought me here when I was little, but I'd forgotten how beautiful it was."

"It's a shame we have to leave it so soon."

"Maybe we could come back here together someday," he suggested.

Her fingers skimmed over the smooth windowpane and, grinning, she murmured an agreement.

People bustled around Neville as they put the finishing touches on the decorations for the Ministry's commemoration ball for the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Neville still wasn't sure whether he thought it was a good idea or a bad one. Reclaiming the date by focusing on their victory might help some people, but he was well aware that there were many who would rather remain at home to wallow and grieve in isolation. He didn't know which side of the debate he fell on. However, Kingsley had invited him and Hermione, as Hogwarts' current Head Boy and Girl, to present a speech in memory of the deceased, so he hadn't had much choice in the matter of whether or not to attend.

He and Hermione had agreed to arrive early so that they could scope out the room and practice their speech together, so Luna and Viktor – who had, respectfully, agreed to be their dates – had decided to arrive together closer to the starting time.

"They'll be here soon," he reassured Hermione, who was anxiously shredding little bits of parchment that he really hoped wasn't her copy of the speech.

"I'm going to wait outside," she declared, already starting to walk away even before the words had made their way out of her mouth. "This crowd is likely to mob Viktor if he's by himself, so I should help him get through."

Left alone, Neville returned to thinking about everything that could go wrong and everything he could do to make sure that didn't happen. His involvement as a leader of the refurbished Dumbledore's Army had bolstered his confidence, but the idea of giving a speech in front of people who had known his parents was still daunting. You're not them; you're you, he reminded himself, echoing the words that Luna had comforted him with numerous times over the last two years. He could even hear his best friend's lilting voice in his head, hear it as if she were right there with him.

It might have felt like he could hear Luna, but it was another few minutes before, finally, he caught sight of her. She wandered into the entrance like a lost cat meandering about in the hopes of finding something to do, but she certainly didn't look like a stray. Thoughts about the speech and the ball and the fit of his robes instantly fled from his mind like startled pigeons as he saw her notice him and make her way over to his corner of the room. She was wearing a short, skin-tight dress, black except for the intricate silver embroidery that started at her neckline and made its way down her torso like hanging ivy. Somehow, she had managed to commemorate the fallen and celebrate the hope of new beginnings all at once. It was as if her face, pale and protuberant and framed by wispy blonde ringlets, was the moon, and her dress was then night sky, and he, like any moon-lover, was transfixed.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"Hello Neville," she said when she finally reached him. She sent him a soft smile, and he got the sense that she was doing that thing of hers where she noticed far more than she let on. It was a strange feeling; part of him longed, as always, to understand the inner workings of her mind, but another part of him feared the idea of knowing all the little flaws she might have noted. "You look rather dapper."

"And you look stunning," he replied.

A hint of amusement coloured her tone as she told him, "I hope you don't mean it in the way of a stunning blow. It might be useful to be able to discombobulate people by your appearance alone, but it wouldn't be very pleasant, would it?"

Used to her teasing by then, he merely smiled back at her and held out his arm for her to take. She rested her hand in the crook of his arm, and the sight of her next to him almost took his breath away. He had always known she was lovely, but he'd never realised just how beautiful his best friend really was.

Knowing that the students would be up until the early hours of the morning at any rate and deciding that they might as well be supervised, the Headmistress had begrudgingly agreed to host a party in the Great Hall the evening before their graduation. Under the not-so-watchful eyes of professors who were more interested in enjoying the night than policing student behaviour, the young witches and wizards laughed and danced and reminisced, doing their best to savour their last night at the school that had been their second home for so many years. Music boomed, refreshments were consumed, and students everywhere were having a good time.

Yet Luna could tell that neither she nor Neville truly wanted to be there. They laughed and danced and reminisced like the rest of them, but their hearts just weren't in it. While the prospect of spending the night with their friends had seemed appealing when they'd discussed it in the lead up, the reality of it was much different. Luna had never been one for spending time in big groups of people, after all, and she could see the way Neville tensed whenever there was a particularly loud noise. It was minute enough and controlled enough so as not to be noticeable to the casual observer, but Luna knew him well enough to see through his calm veneer.

He, for all of his insistence that he was doing well, wasn't yet ready to deal with the clamour and bedlam that came from housing a throng of teenagers in one room, especially that room. It was too similar to the final battle, and it was setting his nerves on edge.

"The sky looks lovely," she commented idly, staring up at the stars splayed out across the charmed roof like sprinkles on a cupcake. "It seems like it would be perfect for a stroll."

With a relieved expression and the hurried air of someone leaping to grasp the coiled end of a lifeline before it has the chance to zip away, Neville eagerly replied, "Let's go test out that idea."

His enthusiasm lured a cheerful laugh out of her, and she held out her hand for him to take as they both stood and made their way out of the castle. Once they were clear of the towering front doors, they both cast quick Warming Charms on themselves to protect them against the chill before taking in the sight that stretched out above them. It was too dark for them to make out much in the way of the scenery, but that just created a better backdrop for the stars. The bright little dots juxtaposed against the black sky as they shined like beacons waiting to welcome them home.

Or, she thought as they stood on the stone doorstep, both too distracted by the gorgeous sight to bother moving further into the night, given that they're really just exploding balls of gas, maybe they're trying to warn us to stay away. Maybe there's something out there that it's in our best interests not to find. It's hard to believe that something that twinkles so prettily could be so ominous, though, even if smiling doesn't necessarily denote a lack of villainy. Or perhaps they're lights laid out by fairies to decorate their abode and, by distracting us, amuse them.

"Luna?"

"Yes?"

Neville hesitated, and his uneasiness was made even more prominent by the peaceful solitude of the world around them. "I was wondering – have been for a while, really – if you wanted to… er…"

"You know you can ask me anything," she said when it became obvious that he wasn't going to continue anytime soon if she didn't intervene.

Apparently encouraged by her statement, he began again. "You're my best friend, and that means the world to me. But I – well, I've fancied you for a while now, and was wondering what you would think of the idea of being… more than friends."

"You know," she mused, "I've never understood why people see being a couple as somehow being worth more than being friends. A best friend is just as good as a good partner, and a great deal better than a mediocre one, I'd think. I suppose it's probably because of the idea that you should be friends with someone before you date them, much less before you marry them, so it's kind of like a series of stepping stones to finding out if you're right for one another, but no one really seems to do that, do they? Of course, being best friends first does seem like a good basis for something more." Noticing the way his spare hand fidgeted and his eyes seemed unable to fixate on anything, she realised that he wasn't in the mood for her riddles, and decided to put him out of his discomfort. "Neville, you know I love you."

His fingers squeezed hers reflexively. "Is that a yes?"

"That's an, 'Of course'." They shared a smile, laden with affection and hope, and she knew that she would cherish that precious moment forever. After a few minutes, she asked, "Do you want to stargaze again, or should we go back inside?"

"Maybe we could just sit here," he replied, lowering himself to the ground and then tugging her hand gently until she did the same. "I don't want to go back to the party, but there's really no point trying to enjoy the stars when you're around."

Knowing that he would never purposefully insult her but still genuinely unsure of how she should take that comment, she merely blinked at him.

When he noticed her expression, he appeared to panic, quickly blurting out, "I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just," his voice softened, "your eyes. The stars are beautiful, but they don't have anything on your eyes."

Luna could feel her face heat up. It was cheesy and utterly untrue, but she could tell that he meant it. And, in her opinion, an awkward but genuine compliment from Neville meant more than any number of suave little words of praise from anyone else. "Staying out here sounds nice," she replied softly, leaning her head against his shoulder and letting her eyes drift closed.

He placed a vase of thornless roses on her otherwise sparse bedside table. It was ornate and beautiful and strong but, due to a series of charms that would ensure that the glass couldn't smash or be used as a bludgeoning tool, utterly harmless. It was, to his mind, the closest thing he could get to a horticultural representation of his parents. The once-fierce Order members had been virtually reduced to blank but pretty slates.

Except he knew that that wasn't quite true. In their eyes, he could see the stirrings of recognition, of emotion, of life, even if those stirrings never seemed to quite reach the rest of their faces. Each and every chewing gum wrapper his mother silently handed to him pierced through the darkness of his mind to remind him that, no, things weren't quite as bad as the healers said.

One such wrapper lay in his shirt pocket, positioned over his heart as if it would somehow give him more strength and serenity that way. Neville tried to draw his composure from it as he readied himself and, watching the two people who, whatever his grandmother and the healers said, were most certainly still aware of the world around them to at least some degree, said, "Mum, Dad, there's someone I'd like you to meet... Luna?"

His girlfriend wandered in, and he watched her greet to his parents with such sunny cheer that an outside observer might assume she didn't know why they were in the hospital in the first place. Her words travelled between topics like colour schemes and politics as she gracefully walked the slim line that stretched out between the states of treating them like children who need to be reminded of everything and treating them like blank walls who shouldn't even be spoken to.

A brief glance from her lured him into the conversation, and, for the next few hours, they caught his parents up on their life together. It genuinely felt like a conversation, and, for the first time, he felt like he wasn't the only one making a sincere effort to talk to them. He was glad that, despite all of his dithering about whether or not to let Luna in to such a personal part of his life, the witch had convinced him to let her accompany him there.

It pained him to know that his parents would never truly get to know Luna, would never be able to attend their wedding or visit their first home or see their children off to Hogwarts. Still, seeing them all together sparked a warm sense of home within him.

They were a family. The situation was horrific, and the location left much to be desired, but the easy bond between the four of them made the cool room seem almost hospitable.

And it seemed that his parents were as besotted with Luna as he was.

As the young couple prepared to leave, his mother drifted over to her bedside table, where she appeared to fiddle around with something. Neville turned his attention to saying goodbye to his father, but movement across his peripheral vision dragged his gaze back to his mother as she made her way over to Luna before pressing a small item into her hand.

After a brief glance down at whatever the thing was, the blonde witch beamed with almost tangible jubilance and then encircled the older woman in a heartfelt embrace.

His mother rested her chin on Luna's shoulder as they cuddled.

And Neville could have sworn that he saw her chewing gum.

A/N: I rewatched the 2009 version of Hamlet while I was writing some of this, hence the allusion to Hamlet's line, 'One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.'

Written for the Character Versatility Challenge (prompts: Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom) and the Lyric Inspired Drabble Competition II for the song Tim McGraw by Taylor Swift (going back to the very beginning there).