This fic contains femslash. Don't like, don't read.

kaleidoscope of love

She's a Ravenclaw, don't you know? And Ravenclaws never fall in love logically.

And it doesn't make sense, because logic is supposed to be their strong point.

How can they fall in love so illogically?

More illogically than any Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or Slytherin.

Isn't it obvious?

Love just isn't logical.

…

You know, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were always the ignored houses.

Gryffindor had Dumbledore and Harry Potter and hundreds of brave heroes and Slytherin had Tom Riddle and Severus Snape and a thousand of those who'd fallen to the dark side. They had their petty and not-so-petty rivalries and their famous duels.

Hufflepuff was just the put-aside house filled with boring people whose one great contribution to the war was unfailing loyalty and Ravenclaw was full of those who thought, but never acted.

And she wanted to put eagles and badgers as much on the map as snakes and lions already were.

…

There were plans, a thousand plans, plans of varying success rates. That is to say, a plan to have Peeves blame one of his many pranks on a Ravenclaw succeeded, while the plan to cheek a teacher did not.

If a Ravenclaw loved a Gryffindor, surely that would put them on the map. But Gryffindors (ohsostubborn) were hard to fall in love with, really and truly. Perhaps a Slytherin? But, no, no girls or boys who wore the blue-and-bronze of the eagle responded to the l u r e of forbidden fruit and the intoxicating scent of danger. And who did that leave?

Hufflepuffs and fellow Ravenclaws. Easy and safe and trustworthy and boring!

…

She wondered who to choose to assist her in moving Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws under the spotlight that all those Gryffindors and Slytherins were no doubt ready to relinquish.

Perhaps someone older? Not as old as Professor Dumbledore, but someone who'd already left Hogwarts. Perhaps one of the Weasley twins or one of their three older brothers?

Then again, perhaps not Percy. Her few memories of him were of a self-important Prefect telling her off for running in the corridors and being late for class (a sighting of a Nargle had led her down the wrong corridor). From what she'd heard about since he'd graduated, he was a pompous prat who'd chosen his career over his family.

…

It all began with a sighting of bubblegum pink hair, a bright smile and a cheery "Wotcher!"

How did her hair and eyes and facial features change so quickly with minimal effort from her? It made no sense within the boundaries of logic, but outwith them it made all the sense in the world.

Watching the woman (barely grown from a girl) changing the colour of her eyes from amber to green to blue and back to the beginning, flickering like fairies lighting up the trees at Christmas, she idly wondered how much older Nymphadora (Tonks) was than her.

Of course, her usual criteria for judging age was rendered useless when the subject of her scrutinising in question could morph her features to hide signs of age. The pale skin around her (currently amber) eyes was smooth and the eyes themselves showed no sign of weariness or great wisdom. They were charming, fun, glinting with a schoolgirl's mischievous nature.

She's around six years older than Ginny and I, maybe seven she thought, a smile spreading across her cheeks as the older woman morphed her hair and features into a true likeness of Professor McGonagall.

Ginny barely stopped laughing to breathe for the rest of the journey.

…

The saga continued with a realisation that barely even shocked its recipient.

Her friends (even Ginny, who she'd always thought was strong enough not to want a man) all began talking with starry eyes about specific boys, blushing when they were in a room at the same time as their beloved and they became giggling, gushing beings around any good-looking boy.

She never did any of it. She could talk to boys as easily as girls, laugh at their funny jokes but ignore the terrible ones, give one a slightly shy smile, but she never felt anything resembling those girlish crushes for any one of them.

The truth planted its seed in her shrewd mind when she caught herself gazing a little too long at a skirt an inch or two too short or a pair of shiny pink lips. While her friends sat on either side and gazed dreamily at boys across the hall, she had to stop herself allowing her eyes to linger on pretty girls throughout the hall.

When she finally realised that she was definitely homosexual, she was barely surprised and rather looked forward to all the new knowledge her experiences would bring her.

But the question was then who was it that captivated her attention?

…

Her father had always told she'd know she was in love by the fuzzy feeling in her head, almost as if a Wrackspurt had infiltrated her mental walls.

When she asked her friends, they told her love was when you felt weak just at the sight of the person, when you would do anything for them and when you'd stay by their side no matter. Their eyes shone all the while, wondering which boy had captured her fancy.

The knowledge of who she loved took time to come to fruition, as all knowledge of that sort of thing did. No weak knees ever came when she was around any of her fellow students, no Wrackspurt fuzziness or feeling of devotion.

Nymphadora (Tonks!) came to accompany them home on the last day of school, as added protection. At the sight of that youthful face, topped by a crown of short pink spikes, the cinnamon eyes shining with suppressed mirth, she felt so weak she nearly collapsed into the dust.

With amazement, she looked at Nymphadora, every inch of her, from her bright hair to her flip-flop clad feet. She privately thought that Miss Tonks was rather like a Winged Rainbow Plimpy, a glittering rainbow bird attracted by honey whose bite caused symptoms akin to drunkenness.

So, she was in love with Nymphadora Tonks. The question was how she would go about getting her.

…

It finally happened one night over a sputtering orange flame, the great climax of their story.

"Are you sure you're not going to bed, Luna?" Nymphadora asked. Luna smiled at the woman she still resolutely refused to call by that ugly name.

"I like helping," she answered simply, and returned to reading a list of those it might be prudent to recruit before they were swayed to join the dark side.

They worked side-by-side in comfortable silence, occasionally speaking to ask for the time or a loan of a quill. When Nymphadora's hand brushed hers, an incredible charge went through her that caused her to shake violently enough to attract attention.

"You alright?" Nymphadora asked, her (currently blue) eyes looking worriedly at her.

"Just…thinking about y-someone," Luna said, hastily catching herself before she said the forbidden words.

"Ah, love. I can relate to that." Luna stared at the older woman, who now had an almost wistful expression on her young face. Seeing her quizzical look, Nymphadora continued, "The one I love doesn't deserve someone like me."

"Anyone would be proud to have you on their arm, Nymphadora." The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Nymphadora looked momentarily startled before a pleased smile spread across her rapidly pinkening cheeks. Luna couldn't help noticing that the woman didn't chasten her for using the loathed first name.

There was a long moment of still silence, broken only by their heavy breathing and the galloping pace of Luna's heart. She gazed into eyes that had waned back to their natural cinnamon and watched the strands of chestnut brown hair wind their way around her pretty face.

Nymphadora's true appearance was highly similar to the more haughty side of the family, but the merry glint in her eye and the matter of her Hogwarts house came straight from her father. All this Luna thought before her gaze focused on pink lips and all rational thought flew away.

With a flash that destroyed all thought of restraint, their lips met. Caught up in the heated moment with the sweet smell of Nymphadora's skin so close at hand, Luna increased the fervour of the kiss, sliding into the older woman's lap and tangling her hands through the chestnut curls.

"We can't," Nymphadora whispered. "I'm too old for you, you deserve someone better, I'm in a dangerous profession-" She was cut off by Luna's gentle kiss.

"People always do crazy things when they're in love," she breathed, peppering kisses up and down the very white neck.

The night descended to mask the sin of matching feminine lips meeting and a symphony of yowling cats and drunken Muggles masked quick gasps, heavy breathing and delighted groans.

…

The battle had begun.

Curses flashed across the corridors, jets of red and green and orange and purple light. The screams, yells and curses of battle echoed through the castle, bouncing back and forth from wall to wall. Black robes flew and swirled through the air thick with smoke and flying spells. A smell of burning drifted up from the lower floors.

There was another shriek of terror as, with an almighty crash of breaking glass, a Death Eater flew over their heads. For a moment, Luna stared right into his dead eyes before he was knocked out of the air by an expertly-aimed stunner from behind her. Turning to smile gratefully at Seamus, she continued pushing through the crowd, looking for one specific face.

She finally found Nymphadora amongst the flood of students, professors and Order members flooding through the great front doors into the grounds.

"Promise me you'll stay safe," Nymphadora murmured, her words almost lost among the cacophony of shouted curses and shrieks of agony. "Promise me just that, Luna. Stay out of trouble."

"I will," Luna promised, briefly taking the woman's hand. Nymphadora kissed her once, hard enough to bruise, and a terrible voice in Luna's head whispered that this would quite possibly be their last kiss.

Watching Nymphadora push her way out into the grounds, Luna turned and hurried back up the stairs, back to the dormitories where people were quite possibly trapped and waiting for death. She could rescue them and take that as her claim to fame in the battle.

…

Pale sunlight was leaking over the horizon when a great roar of triumph prompted her to rush downstairs to find everyone in a mood of mingled celebration and mourning.

Tears threatened her when she saw the crowd of redheads clustered around a single body, so small and prone in death, without any trace of the great joker and prankster he'd once been in his waxy skin and unseeing eyes. Percy lay face down on the floor, his shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs.

When she caught sight of the body lying next to Fred's (oh, poor Fred) the world spun and she staggered sideways, falling to the floor. For lying on the floor was a beautiful face, marred by blood and bruises.

She's dead.

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