"Nev?"

Luna's soft voice came from behind him; Neville turned his top half from the library seat he'd been in since ten o'clock that morning. He just didn't feel like moving. He didn't feel like doing much.

"Hello Luna," he said, peering up at her. She always seemed to just…appear. He couldn't help but smile at her pale, optimistic face. Not many people were still smiling since after the war. That was the problem – things were supposed to feel lighter, things were better, but it all felt so dim. Voldemort was actually gone this time. Most of the remaining Death Eaters were in Azkaban. Life should've been delightful, but the lingering grief from all the loss – all the terrible, terrible loss – seemed as if it would never lift.

But life had to go on.

"I've been looking for you all day, have you been hiding here the whole time?" Luna said, sitting in the chair next to his.

"Yeah, pretty much. I've got a Potions exam next week, and you know how I am with all that…What did you need me for?"

"Oh I was just looking for you. To see you."

Neville was always surprised by Luna. He was mostly surprised by her words just now – he was rarely looked for. Even after his popularity increase after he so "valiantly," "bravely," "courageously," "heroically" killed Nagini, he was still surprised when someone would notice him. He was uncomfortable with his new reputation. He was the same exact person before he sliced the snake's head off as he was now. Luna wasn't one of those people. She'd always noticed – they had been friends since their fifth year at Hogwarts; they took over the D.A. together, fought together, and Neville had even told her about his parents' condition. She was good, Luna was.

"You've got a Wrackspurt," she said suddenly, poking at his hand. Neville couldn't see anything but at this point, he learned to trust Luna when she did…well, Luna things. She tended to see things other people didn't.

She touched his hand gently, dabbing away the invisible Wrackspurts with her small, bright green fingernails. Then her hand paused on his for a moment. Neville looked at Luna – she had a different expression on her face than normal. She always looked as if she were in a dream, but now she looked thoughtful, with a small smile creeping up the left side of her mouth.

She lifted her hand off his quickly. "Got it."

She wiped her hand on her shirt, as if to get rid of the Wrackspurts, or maybe the tension that had filled the air quite quickly in that small moment.

"Thanks," he said, quite nervous now. He could feel the flush in his cheeks and abashedly turned his head down to his Potions book. Damn it, he thought quickly. Stop blushing, you git.

"Do you know anything about Potions, Luna?" he asked, trying to start a new conversation, "I could use some help…What on earth is Bloodroot?"

"I thought you were brilliant at Herbology, Neville, and you don't know what Bloodroot is?" She said in the least offensive way possible. Luna Lovegood could've told Neville he was a blubbering idiot and she still would've sounded lovely.

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm brilliant…" he blushed, unbelievably flattered. He was good at Herbology, but who on earth cared?

"I'd say you're brilliant," she said firmly. She grabbed his left hand which was fiddling with the arm of the chair and interlocked his fingers with hers. "You're brilliant, Neville."

And there they sat, holding hands, with everything possible. They paused and for that moment, the inexhaustible feeling of tense, gloomy, grief left the air, and the friends sat in simplicity, in the library, connected. Holding hands, touching souls.