Funny thing, the moon, thought Neville. Always changes, never ceases to amaze. Just like my Luna.
Sometimes, she could crack a joke just as good as Fred or George, but then ten minutes later she'd be upset over some poor bird that flew into the window and died of shock. Other times, she'd be dead set on the sky... then tunnel deep under the earth in search of another non-existent creature.
But the one thing that Neville really loved about Luna was her own ability to love. She never truly hated, she was only angry that they upset the ones she loved. She could turn your whole view around with one smile, one kiss, one whisper in your ear. That was why he loved her.
Over time, his feeling of love had been returned, and now they lived in relative comfort with their three children – two girls and a boy; Emilia Alice, Marcelle Ginevra, and Frank Xenophilius. Emmy and Marcy were twins, the same age as Harry's eldest boy James; Frank on the other hand was the same age as Lily, James' sister and Luna's goddaughter. He'd watched them growing up through the years, wondering who they would look like, who they would be like, who they would /want/ to be like. It didn't surprise him when Emmy and Frank turned out to be Ravenclaws. Marcy was the shocker – the petite girl with long blond hair and wide eyes, who cried when her father swatted a fly, was definitely her father's daughter that day as the Hat shouted out "Gryffindor!" He'd never been more proud, and Luna had sent her a miniature lion hat to wear at Quidditch matches.
And yet, something was wrong. Even as he grew closer to his children, his wife was slipping away.
They came home one summer to find a note, and a single flower lying on the kitchen table. She hadn't bothered him with her illness because she didn't want him to worry. It was just as well they were all at school, locked up safe and tidy in the same place.
He looks up now at the full moon, and says a prayer for Luna's sake. He knows the nargles will keep her busy, at least until he gets there.
And he knows that, whatever, she's always looking down on them, with the moonlight. Claire de Lune.
The silver light, which, hallowing tree and tower, sheds beauty and deep softness...
AN: Hey guys, Esme here :) Hope you like it! It's ok to cry, I know I did after finishing this. Possibly my favourite story to write so far :)
