OH MY JELLYBEANS. I EFFING LOVE CRACK.
He doesn't know why he's so attracted to her.
He's attempted to wrap his mind around why, why the girl is so bloody special to him.
Out of everyone in the school; all the slim, pretty teenagers that could have possibly been at the wrong place at the wrong time…he tries to fathom why he chose, in that empty classroom, to reveal himself to her.
He remembers her face, her precise words that day.
Professor Moody…I've been wondering…
What? His mind screams. What? She never did finish her sentence, faltering off when she saw who was actually in the room.
He remembers being slightly embarrassed; knowing that his clothes were three times too large…knowing that he's gaunt… and a prisoner. A bitter smile touched his lips, as he locked the doors behind her.
…
'Does loving me make you dirty? Does it?'He berates.
'Does loving me make you crazy? Does it?'She whispers.
"Luna, I'm aware of how insane I am." He counters.
"Barty, no one's wholly pure." She replies.
…
She wasn't his first.
His first was in fifth year, behind a statue of a griffin. The girl was beautiful, he thinks. Or at least…I'd like to believe her as such.
In a flash of remembrance, he realizes that the girl was a Ravenclaw.
Ravenclaw.
Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to her.
There was something there in the Ravenclaws, a slightly aristocratic quality that even its looniest member displayed. It was a misty type of personality defect, a feeling that was only slightly palpable in conversations. The feeling that they always had the upper hand in a conversation. It wasn't snootiness…it was a little… something more than that.
Hell if he knew what that something was, though.
She wasn't his first.
But he was hers.
No one had ever tried to love Luna before.
Her dreamy perspective and slightly tilted attitude didn't mix well with the socially acceptable crowd.
He had heard whispered giggles, cruel taunts, and muttered insults. Everyone had a something to say about Luna, and none of it rang kindly.
But there was no doubt in his mind that she was desired.
He knew that many of the boys admired her pale gray eyes, traced her soft, slender curves, and ogled her feathery hair.
It was the air of mystery that brought them, and the same air that drew them away.
To him, that air was what kept him wanting her. The air that made him love her.
It was that little something, after all.