Just an old drabble I had lying around. Slightly experimental; don't ask about the title.
Don't own the characters, though these I'd love to own.
Ophelia's Smile
The sun shone, cold and bright, reflecting angelically off the locks of the girl, who sat alone, oblivious to its effects. Flowers spilled out of her lap, flowers which she had carefully tugged from the grass which she was seated on. Humming a tune long lost to the ages, she combed through the flowers, stopping delightedly when she reached a bedraggled daisy.
"Someone was searching for love," she murmured in her normal ethereal tone, examining the remaining petals on the daisy, which were barely attached, "But why did they stop? The answer's still here."
Gently, she pulled off a petal, placing it on the grass.
"He loves me," the girl breathed, seeing a devious smile, a contagious laugh, "He loves me not," recalling a laugh directed at her. Another petal fell.
"He loves me." Flash backs of a red head bending to help collect the contents of a bag he was partially responsible for spilling.
"He loves me not." Memories of the Wailing Waterdredge slipped into her pocket.
"He loves me." The time he told off his brother for calling her Loony.
"He loves me not." The times he didn't.
"He loves me." A smile that was directed only to her.
"He loves me not." A smile that was only directed at other girls.
"He loves me." When he talked to her for the first time, really talked to her.
"He loves me not." When he failed to understand her.
"He loves me." How he listened, even when she confused him, even when no one else would.
"He loves me not." How he didn't hear the undertones, the meaning that she wished he could see for himself.
"He loves me." His realization that his life was richer with her in it.
"He loves me not." His failure to tell her in a timely manner.
"He loves me." The last time they met. Amongst the chaos and destruction, there was a moment, one moment, where hands brushed and the connection was something neither could deny. 'Later,' he said, but his eyes said so much more.
With that, the petals were gone, and the girl's smile grew dreamier.
"He loves me," she repeated, standing, her lapful of flowers scattering over the ground. Leaning forward, she kissed the cool stone which rested only feet away from her.
"I love you much," she murmured, her fingers resting against its engravings, "I'll love you forever."
With that, Luna Lovegood walked away from the grave of Fred Weasley, hips swaying and still humming an ancient love song.