Author: Sazmuffin
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Title: Thoughts
Ship: Neville/Luna/Ron
Rating: PG
A/N: Inspired by the lovely Gabby.
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Sometimes my thoughts worry me. No, they're never sinister or manic, never half-baked or anything short of realistic.
But lately, my thoughts were borderline loony. Loony Lovegood, that is. The smallest thought, the kind that scribbles across your mind so fast you don't even realize it was you who thought it up in the first place.
She eats alone. I've only very rarely seen her with her fellow Ravenclaws. She's taken to sitting at our table, with Ginny and Harry on either side of her. Ron looks at her almost dreamily - quite like how she looks at him. Quite like how she looks at everyone, really.
She doesn't seem to mind when people tease her. They've dyed her bath water to turn her skin paisley, they've bewitched her quills to write blasphemous insults on her parchment, they've charmed her curtains to remain shut, they've stolen her clothes, her wand, her shoes, they've cut her hair while she was sleeping. And she doesn't do a thing.
She's a lot smarter than people think she is. She tends not to showcase it as Hermione does. A small mention here, a slight correction there. Little things; things that anyone else would've failed to notice. Not her. She's well versed on all things skeptical. All things no one else knows about. That makes her something of a genius.
Her Patronus is a hare. She was grown up to be precocial; independent from all others. Many say that you can see a hare depicted in the moon's craters. She strikes fast, ensnaring you in her web of confusion. The more you try to understand her, the more abstract she becomes.
Black is very slimming on her. Much like the crater moon white against the sparkly black sky. The moon shines so brilliantly when set on such a backdrop. Just like her. She radiates quirkiness and anomalies in their best form. How she could look any smaller than she already is, is a feat of magic I have not yet learned.
She has the bluest pair of eyes I've ever seen. So piercing, so big, so blue. So icy cold but so fiery warm at the same time. I feel like she's staring straight through me when she looks at me. Like my body is just a vessel to my soul and she's the only one who can see through it.
Her skin could be mistaken for a porcelain doll's. Her face is white and clear of any blemish that could befoul it's beauty. Her hands are void of freckles and so are her spider-like fingers. Small, electric shocks shoot through me at the slightest touch of those hands.
Her voice is a tenfold more seductive than any other witch. Usually the airy tone of her voice would annoy me, but not when it comes from her lips. She speaks as if she were a poem; simple, beautiful words strung together with a hint of genuine care and trust.
She doesn't look at me the way I look at her. My eyes pierce her in a different way. A scary, fleeting feeling with butterflies the size of redwood trees and shallow breathing that dictates my entire being so I'm completely paralyzed from thinking about or looking at anything other than you.
She doesn't feel for me that way she feels for Ron. The way I feel for her. And she won't.