A/N: Here it is, my first Neville/Luna. *crosses fingers* I hope you like it.
Disclaimer, because I forgot it last time: I don't own Harry Potter, and I don't own the line "Sometimes, I think all my friends have been imaginary." That's from Calvin and Hobbes. (:
Enjoy!
Imaginary
He smiled at her, and she at him.
She was so beautiful.
"Do you want to take a walk?" he asked her, and she nodded, and her radish earrings jingled, but he didn't notice, because he was so caught up in her beauty, her absolute beauty.
She was radiant. Her hair, so blonde and full of life, was literally shining in the dimming moonlight. She seemed so at ease with the situation, bouncing on her heels, blathering on about Blibbering Humdingers and warning him of Nargles—"Even in the woods, Neville, they prefer mistletoe but they do live in pine trees. Careful!"
She looked at him, and her mask of serenity faded into something else—slight shock. "Oh, Neville, you got a Wrackspurt in your hair," she said, almost mockingly—but of course, she wasn't mocking him. She never mocked, never teased. She was simply Luna, simply herself, and she let the others do what they wanted and that was what he loved about her.
And then her hands were in his hair, trying to untangle the Wrackspurt, and she was muttering under her breath, and he had to control his breathing, had to stamp down the urge to kiss her with all his might.
Because she was Luna Lovegood, the prettiest, most wonderful girl he'd ever met, and he was Neville Longbottom, mocked by teachers and students alike, and while she'd never dated anyone that he knew of, she was ethereal, perfect, and she deserved someone better than him.
She deserved someone who would give her the moon and the stars wrapped up in a blanket of the night sky, someone who didn't care when they were teased, someone who could stand up to her bullies and fight her demons.
She was still staring out at the lake, her tongue darting out to the corner of her mouth, and he wondered for the millionth time what she was thinking, what could possibly be going in that brilliant mind of hers.
She turned to look at him suddenly, and he forced his head forward. She couldn't see him staring; he couldn't bear it, couldn't handle it if she started laughing at him.
"You know what, Neville?" she asked him, and her tone was breathy and so, so very wonderful, but he couldn't think about that—he had to focus on her words, not her voice, or he'd be a goner for sure.
"What?" he asked, and his voice was high-pitched, cracking on the last sound, and he blushed furiously.
But she didn't even notice, just carried on as though he hadn't said anything. "You're the first person I really talked to here." She shrugged, and it looked somehow unnatural on her; Luna was above shrugging, above the menial movements that mere mortals performed. She was sure of herself, always, and refused to listen to anyone who told her anything different, who tried to tell her that she was different. "The first person I've ever really talked to, actually."
The question was out before he could stop it. "Didn't you ever have an imaginary friend?"
She looked straight at him, staring into his eyes, and he wanted to fall into them, swim in their depths, drink in their warmth until he was gone; and he would be happy to die in her eyes, happy to see that look always, happy to look at the world with her same carefree attitude. "Sometimes I think all my friends have been imaginary." It came out shaky, a bit unsure, and he stared at her. He'd never seen this side of her. He doubted anyone had.
"Well, we're friends, aren't we, Luna?" His voice didn't crack, and he patted himself on the back.
She smiled. "You're sweet, Neville." She sighed. "But you don't have to lie to me, it's okay." The smile was back, and she was jumping around, dancing to a tune only she could hear.
He walked up to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and turned her around, and his breath caught in his throat. She was staring at him, lips slightly parted, a ghost of a smile still on her face, and they stared at one another, and the smile broke into a full grin.
"I wasn't lying, Luna," he told her seriously, gripping her shoulders harder. I need her to believe me. Gods, she has to.
The grin dimmed a bit, and some of the light went out of her eyes, but she remained smiling, staring at him. "Okay."
He had to laugh. The girl was insufferable. "Okay, then."
They resumed walking, and she grasped his hand in her own tiny one, and Neville nearly fell over. Could it mean…? No. Of course not. Luna wasn't holding his hand because she liked him; it was because she wanted to, and she saw nothing wrong with doing what she wanted to do.
He saw no problem with it, either, if she kept this kind of thing up.
He squeezed her hand, and she ran with him, dragging him across the lawn, and they were laughing in hushed voices, so as to not get caught, and she turned and caught his eye, and she winked, and they ran faster and faster and faster, and her voice carried onto the wind, sailing away on the branches of the trees and into the sky.
And then she stopped, and she gripped his hand tighter than ever, and she turned to look at him. "I have to go inside, my shoes will miss me."
He just looked at her, bemused, and a smile danced its way onto his face. "All right. Sleep tight, sweet dreams." It was the closest he'd come to saying anything romantic, and he held his breath, half praying she wouldn't notice anything, half praying she'd call him out on it and he could stop being such a coward.
She smiled again. "You, too, Neville." She stayed there for a moment, and then danced forward—there was no other way to describe it—and kissed him on the lips, once. Just a small kiss, and then she was backing away, and waving at him, waggling her fingers, and he wanted to chase her, to demand an answer, but she was already inside the castle, and the doors were shutting behind her.
He touched his lips softly, waiting, wondering. He smiled; regardless of what it had meant to her, it had been everything to him.
He went inside slowly, and had to physically resist the urge to dance, as she had.
At breakfast the next morning, she came up to him, and sat down next to him. She grabbed a piece of toast and started eating, talking to Ginny, and ignoring him.
He stared at her. "Hey, Luna?"
She looked at him, and smiled her brilliant smile, and he was momentarily silent. "Why are you… sitting over here?"
She smiled again, and it was dim but soft, stretching over her whole face. "Silly. You're my friend." She turned back to Ginny, explaining all about the Wrackspurts that had taken over Neville the night before.
Neville sat back, considering her. She was a strange girl; but then, the entire school had figured that one out by now. He grabbed her hand under the table, and she jumped, but passed it off to Ginny as a Rancomer. "They're very little," she told Ginny, nodding, wide-eyed, and her earrings were jingling again, "and they can bite, very hard. One bit my leg, just now…" And then, sweet Merlin, she was lifting her leg up onto the table, inspecting it, and Neville had to swallow very hard, and look away to stop himself from thinking about her in that way.
Because she was perfect.
Finally, far too soon, breakfast was over. Luna still hadn't let go of Neville's hand, and he mentioned this to her. She was walking along, swinging their arms and humming a song, and she stopped, mid-tune, and stared at him with her wide eyes.
"Neville, I think I might like you as more than a friend," she told him. "I'm not yet sure, and it might be the bite from the Rancomer, but I think I do. And if you do, too, which I hope you do, I think we should hold hands and things like that, because we'd be a couple. I've always wanted to be a part of a couple, you know," she told him very seriously. "I've always thought it would make things like Partnering so much easier, and then you'd have your very own, built-in study buddy that you could hug if you got sad." She frowned, and gave a perplexed look. "Do you think that would be all right, on your end?" she asked, wrinkling her brow. "I wouldn't want to force you into anything." She smiled at him kindly, warmly.
Neville nodded, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "That would be lovely," he told her, and he meant every word of it.
And it was.
Well, what did you think? Feel free to leave me a review, I'd really, really appreciate it. (: