Luna Lovegood was a wretched girl. Never before had he ever met someone quite like her. She was the only one who possessed the ability to make his soul burn the way it did when she so much as glanced his way.
And, oh, how he hated her for it.
{Or so he liked to tell himself.}
Because it was harder than he would like to admit to get her image out of his mind at night long enough that he could at least have a few hours' sleep. Even then, he was taunted with dreams of her.
And, oh, how he wished he'd never met her.
{Or so he liked to tell himself.}
And as he read her letters, he couldn't help but smile to himself and picture all of the fantastical things that she liked to talk about so passionately. Because even if he didn't believe in those things, she did and he couldn't bring himself to chide her for her beliefs.
And, oh, how he wished someone new would come along to capture her fancy.
{Or so he liked to tell himself.}
And then sometimes he would wonder what it would be like to hold her at night. He wondered what it would be like to not be alone anymore. To see the smile on her face and to know that he was responsible for it.
And, oh, how he hated her for it.
{Or so he liked to tell himself.}