Hey there potterheads. So this just came up in my head all of a sudden and thought I should write it down. Forgive e for my mistakes because it was done in all of 90 minutes... I hope you enjoy. Leave a review if you can to let me know how this is.
His Hope
Those were extremely ordinary days. Ordinary to the core, in the fact that there had been nothing special about it. The sun still shone up so high and still neither the blazing heat nor the unwavering light lifted their spirits. Their eyes were dull, dead and cold. The fire in them was dead. It was merely coal, that now no more held the doors to their souls. Their souls were shut, away from the prying eyes of those out there. Leglimens.A
ll was lost, he might have taken that statement along with every breath he took in and let out, because it was etched into him now, engraved into him as if nothing's going to change that impression. And yet he still refused to believe it. Because somehow somewhere along the days of suffering, he started to hope.
She was always there.
When he fought, when he defended, when he screamed and when he cried. He wanted to fight more. He wanted to fight for her. He wanted to fight for him, mainly because, after all that they had gone through, he also wanted to smile with her. And laugh, and enjoy and be alive and Survive!
The first time he saw her, he thought she was a bit odd. But he was a nobody. How could he judge someone? As far as he knew, she was so much better at magic than him. The beautiful blonde hair, now that lacked lustre was something he had thought made her look all the more comical. But how wrong he had been. It was what brought him peace. When they fought through, finding a swish of blonde hair escaping a bloody curse, it brought him relief. How wrong he had been. It was beauty. Her waist length, straggly, dirty blonde hair. Her protuberant silvery eyes and faint eyebrows.
She was hope. She gave him hope. She made him hope.
Waiting for Harry, unsure if he'd really come back, there were nights that he spent thinking up ways to piss off the ruthless death eaters that invaded Hogwarts -their precious school. And there she was, with a promise that was said with the most conviction that he believed her without doubts that it will all be over, that Harry will be back, that they'd survive this together.
Luna. The dreamily distracted, unusually perceptive, bluntly honest girl. She was unique in so many ways... be it her use of Dirigible plum earrings, or the way she did not wear her shoes most of the time, or how distant and dreamy her voice was, or how the dreamy quality of her voice would vanish to be replaced by one of steel -almost as sharp as that of a double edged sword- when someone made fun of The Quibbler.
It was not a realization that dawned upon him in a day. It was not something that the effects of Amortentia opened his mind to. It was the mere feeling that he felt a completeness whenever he could protect her, be with her and be her hope just like she was his.
Her beetle wing earrings that she first believed to be taken by Nargles, her butter beer cork necklace, the hare bracelet that was similar to her patronus...everything that once he thought bizarre felt amusing to him now.
She was a distraction, his distraction. One who could take his mind away from all that he did not want his mind invaded with. She even distracted him from thoughts of herself. Neville smiled at the memory.
Right after the Battle of Hogwarts, he remembered how he wanted to run to Luna first, tell her he wanted her to be his hope forever, profess his love for her and kiss her. He remembered how she looked at him dreamily, as if the war hadn't happened, as if she was just a seventh year Hufflepuff ready to go home at the end of her N.E.W.T.s, as if he was just what she wanted to see right at that moment. Her dreamy eyes, as silver as ever, twinkling with a happiness that her face did not express, her completely unflappable character, her hair wild and covered in dust and blood and all sorts of dirt...her petite form needing the comfort of his warm hug as the realization that they had won finally sank down onto her.
He remembered as he leaned down, her voice that drifted from a whisper to a firm sound"
Do you know Neville, that every time people kiss, a Phlorax is born?"
He looked at her, her face so composed as if that thought just occurred to her.
"Hmm?" He hummed, as if in doubt that was true.
"And didn't you know, Phlorax sneezes are what causes the days to get shorter in the winter?" Her little faint eyebrows were quirked up and there was a faint smile playing on her lips. Neville smirked.
She was a distraction. His distraction.
As footsteps came closer, he turned around. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, as always, as she stood there near their bedroom door looking at him with her silver orbs, waiting for him to speak what he was thinking about.
"You don't mind shorter days in winter do you!?" He asked her. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, making a small V at the root of her nose.
"Because right now, I am thinking of making a hundred Phloraxes born..." He whispered as he closed the distance between him and his wife.
So how is it? Please do let me know.