Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. There is an onscreen character death ahead. It is a canon death that is mentioned in passing.

Author's Note(s): This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.
The Challenge Information:
House: Gryffindor
Claimed Pairing: Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)
Day 08: At a certain age, you swap bodies with your soulmate
Extra Prompt[s]: "Gotta Be Somebody" by Nickelback (Song)
Word Count: 3034

-= LP =-
Dreams Are Not Enough
-= LP =-
There's gotta be somebody for me like that
Cause nobody wants to do it on their own
And everyone wants to know they're not alone
There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere
There's gotta be somebody for me out there
– "Gotta Be Somebody" by Nickelback
-= LP =-

When Harry was nine, he had the oddest dream. It was also the best one he had ever had. He dreamed that he lived in a fancy manor with a stern-looking woman whose frown seemed permanently etched onto her face. She didn't seem happy with him, and had the strange affection of calling him 'Luna' despite the fact that he was a boy (he had checked). Her eyes were sharp as was her tongue, but she let him sit at the table during dinner, even if she did frown when he had trouble figuring out the place setting. The bedroom she showed him was wonderful as well—loads better than his cupboard. His lumpy nest had nothing on the four-poster in that room. Harry could have cried when he woke up in it the next morning. He would have gladly lived in that world, even if the woman was scary and didn't seem to like him anymore than Aunt Petunia.

The dream took an odd turn towards the end though. He blinked and opened his eyes to a different place. Instead of the library he had been in, Harry was now outside of a stone building that looked like a rook. The sunlight shifted through the leaves of the tree-like bush beside the bench upon which he sat. His skirt spilled over his legs in a waterfall of creamy orange as his bare feet were half buried in the crushed husks that made up the path to the bench. He wiggled his toes, stirring the scent of chocolate into the air. Harry took a deep breath of the delicious scent.

"You've changed again," said the woman besides him. Harry turned to look at her, surprised that he hadn't noticed her when he arrived. She gave him a smile and reached out to touch his face. He flinched away, making the woman's silver eyes flash with anger. Harry held himself very still as he waited for whatever punishment she decided to give him. Slowly, as if concerned that he would break, she cupped his cheek. Unable to stop himself, Harry leaned gratefully into the touch, his eyes closing briefly at how very warm and safe it felt. "What are you called, little one?"

Harry opened his mouth to give his name before realizing what was being asked. It was an odd way of speaking and if he wasn't so used to Aunt Petunia being so specific in her wording of things, he would have gone with his name like he had first thought. The trouble was that he wasn't certain if that was the right answer. He wanted to please this woman, even if he knew that it was probably a longshot. Aunt Petunia was never happy with him and even as briefly as he had been in that other place, the old woman had never not been frowning. Her fingers rubbed gently behind his ear as she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Don't fret, little one," she whispered against his skin. "I have no ill intent with your name. I merely wish to know the identity of my daughter's second soulmate."

"I'm Harry Potter, ma'am," he answered, grateful that she told him what she wanted, even if what she said couldn't be true. Harry hesitated, his heart in his throat, because he could see the recognition caused by his name. He had been certain that this was nothing more than a dream, no more real than flying motorbikes and green lights filled with cold laughter. He just wanted that to be true, so badly—wanted there to be someone, anyone, that could love him, the freak. Two such people seemed like too much of a miracle. His voice cracked when he decided to risk a question. "Do you think that's true? That I'm her soulmate?"

"Oh, little one," she said, "I think they both are. You wouldn't be here, and only just now, if they weren't. The magic doesn't work like that."

"Aunt Petunia says magic isn't real."

"Well, your aunt is lying," the woman told him bluntly, "and she should know better. Her sister was a very formidable witch, clever and brilliant and full of life's fire. If she had lived, she could have changed the magical world."

"You knew my mother?" The question burst out of Harry before he could stop it, before he could weigh the risk of asking questions. He had never believed the few facts his aunt had shared about his parents over the years, but having the confirmation that he was right, even if only in this weird possibly-not-a-dream moment, was deeply satisfying. "Did you also know my father? Did they really die in a car crash? Were they—"

"Give me a moment, love," the woman replied. Her smile was warm as it took over her oval face. "I can't answer if you do not give me the moment to do so. Yes, I met your parents once. My husband and I had the honor of an invitation to your Blessing, due to my love's work with close friends of your parents. I regret to tell you, but no, they did not die in a car crash. They were killed when Voldemort found where they were hiding after they refused to join him."

"Who's Voldemort?"

"Oh, honey," the woman breathed. Then she proceed to explain as much as possible about the magical world and its recent history. She had no problem when he asked questions and didn't make him make dinner or glare at him if he messed up something. That night, Dione made sure to tuck him into bed, and she read to him until he lost the battle to stay awake.

Waking from the dream to the familiar walls of his cupboard nearly destroyed him.

-= LP =-

Neville understood what was happening when he woke up in a different place. He had gone to bed the night before expecting the Switch. He was turning nine, after all. It was the time for him to possess the body of his soulmate. So it wasn't a surprise to find himself in a girl's body—the majority of soulmates were different genders. He still wasn't going to wear a dress for the day, girl body or not. After changing, he had immediate sought out his soulmate's guardians, as per custom.

What he hadn't expected was a second Shift after lunch. Between one blink and the next, he was somewhere else, in a different body. The living room he found himself in was disturbingly cold, with the many, many photographs of the same three people (none of which could possibly be his soulmate) as the only sign that someone lived here. Neville frowned as he looked at rag he was holding in his hand. It smelled like lemon curd, probably from whatever was making it slightly damp to the touch. He rubbed his free hand against his cramping stomach. It took him a long moment to recognize the empty feeling as hunger.

"Why are you lollygagging, you lazy boy? Get back to work!"

He turned to look at the woman. His first impression was how even a dragon had to have a shorter neck. His second was that even his Gran had never managed to look that sour—and he could count the number of times she had actually smiled on one hand. The woman had eyes that looked like they would cut him to ribbons if he gave her the slightest excuse.

"Madam, I'm—"

"I don't care what your excuse is," she snapped. "Get back to work or I'll get Vernon to take care of you when he gets home." Neville doubted that she meant anything pleasant by that care. He had a very bad feeling about the living conditions of his unexpected soulmate.

"Madam—"

"None of your whining, boy! Back to work or back to your cupboard!"

"Madam—"

This time, he was cut off by the woman snatching up his arm and jerking him out of the room. Neville cried out as he felt something pop in his shoulder, not out of place but close. He went along unresistingly after that. The woman opened the door on what appeared to be a boot cupboard. Before he could do more than mentally question her seriousness, he was shoved into the space and the door slammed behind him.

Neville waited in the dark for hours. The pain in his shoulder faded as his soulmate's magic healed the injury, but the hunger only grew worse as it was joined by the burning drying in his throat and the increasingly pressing need to relieve himself. Just when he thought he could bear it no longer, the utterly delightful woman let him out to go to the bathroom only to shove him back in the boot cupboard immediately afterwards. Eventually, he managed to fall asleep on the lumpy pile of clothes at the back of the space.

Waking there the next morning was like living in a nightmare, but it gave him a birthdate to start his search with once he got back to his own body.

Neville didn't have much hope of getting a name.

-= LP =-

Luna did not hit it off well with Augusta Longbottom. Or at least she didn't think so. The woman was always frowning. Some of her frowns were less frowny, but she never smiled. The library at Thistlewood had the most fascinating books on magical creatures—and few were even about potions that her mother didn't have. She planned on spending all day surrounded by those books and maybe even all of the day when it was her turn to Switch.

Returning to her own body only halfway through the day was confusing until her mother told her why with a beaming smile. Luna was thrilled with the knowledge that not only would she have her Neville with his frowning grandmother but some other someone to love and be loved by in return. She was already looking forward to a Switch that would take her to their body.

When that happened the very next day, she quickly learned how wrong that anticipation was. Her soulmate's body was so small and it ached in ways that Luna knew it shouldn't—far beyond the emptiness of hunger and the burning of thirst, her joints felt stiff and yet too loose at the same time. Fearing the worse, she extended her senses over the body she occupied, taking stock of every bruise, scar, and mended break. It took too long; she wanted to weep before she got through it.

The horse-faced woman who released her from the cupboard had a worse expression than Augusta's constant frowning. Luna hated her at once. With all the wisdom of a child who was a few months shy of her eighth birthday and had always been cherished by her parents, Luna didn't hold back from telling the woman exactly what she thought of how they treated her soulmate, her unexpected treasure.

Once returned to that horrible hole with its lack of a decent bed, Luna cradled the arm she knew to be broken. Carefully, she directed the boy's magic to properly knit the bone and she hoped that her mother would get him to tell her his name, so that they could save him from this pit.

If his family would not love him, then by the gods, she was going to make sure that he never doubted that she did. He was hers as much as he was Neville's. There was nothing he could have done to deserve this treatment. Nothing.

And she was more than willing to spend their lifetime making him understand that, to making him see that his guardians and that horrible whale of a cousin deserved no more respect than a passing nightmare.

-= LP =-

Harry was thrilled to find himself dreaming of the Rookery again. He rushed into day clothes from Luna's wardrobe—slipping into a floaty looking dress of deep violet without any more thought that how pretty it was. Luna had so much pretty clothes—all of them in brilliant hues so unlike the faded colors that Dudley's clothes often were by the time Harry got them. Then he followed his nose towards where he remember the kitchen to be from his previous visit. Dione grinned when she spotted him.

"How does pancakes sound, Harry-love?"

"Great!" he replied. He was seated at the kitchen island before realizing what she had called him. "But how did you know it was me?"

"It's Luna's Switching day, and Neville was quite adamant against dresses when he was here last," Dione told him as she sat a plate in front of him. She ruffled his hair—well, Luna's, but it was his for this morning. "Now peanut butter or dirigible plum jam?"

"Jam, please—and why would he be against dresses? Not only is Luna a girl, so he would be for the bit he was here, but Luna's dresses are beautiful! I've never seen such colors before coming here!"

"Never change, my treasure," Dione told him as she gave him a brief one-armed hug. She dropped a kiss to his forehead before moving away to fix her own plate. Harry watched her for a long moment before braving the question.

"Do you mean that? Or—or is it for Luna? Because it would fine if the nickname was just for her—she's really your daughter and I've only been here once for an afternoon and I don't have to tell you it's okay for your daughter to have a nickname, do I? Sorry—I'm stupid. Just forget that I said anything."

"Oh, Harry-love," Dione whispered before enfolding him in her arms, her plate forgotten on the island. She ran a hand through his hair and even with his doubts, he leaned into the comforting touch. He could remember the last time a touch didn't hurt—it had been the last time he had dreamed of this place and had come from this angel of a woman. "Luna is my precious moonbeam, my daughter, and my pride. You are correct that I met you only briefly, but Harry, you are my treasure, my unexpected son-to-be. Magic gave you to Luna and Neville to love, but never doubt that She gave you to me as well. You are their soulmate, but you are my son."

"Really?" Harry breathed, trying desperately not to hope. He knew this was a dream, that is wasn't real. He would wake tomorrow back in his cupboard, hurting, hungry, and so very alone. No one wanted him. No matter how many times he told himself otherwise, magic wasn't real and soulmates didn't exist, and even if they did, he would be the last person that anyone would love. Dreaming wasn't enough to change reality. But, oh, how he wanted.

"Really, honestly, truly," Dione promised, refusing to release him. "And nothing will ever change that, my son, my treasure, my love."

"Can I—can I call you 'mum'?"

"Of course, Harry," Dione permitted, pressing another kiss to his forehead. She held him until their stomachs rumbled a reminder of the breakfast that sat untouched. He watched her eating with the same amazement he had for the brilliant colors of Luna's wardrobe. He, Harry the Freak, had a mum, and one that thought he was a treasure. This may be just a dream, but for this little bit, he had someone who cared about him.

Later, he followed her down to her potions lab to watch her brew. Of all the magic he had witnessed in these dreams, this was the bit which was the coolest. It held all the artistry of the fancy recipes that Aunt Petunia let him experiment with occasionally but required all the precision of baking. He knew from looking at her books, that Luna loved it as well despite also having an obsession with creatures of all sorts (just like Neville clearly preferred plants and dreary history books). Harry couldn't fault her—watching Dione (Mum) create a potion was like watching a dancer move.

Harry noticed the misstep at the same time that Dione did. He was reaching for her even as she twisted to wrap herself around him. The explosion threw them across the room to the storage cabinet that held the empty glassware. He grunted as he felt something stab into his side, but it didn't hurt any worse than a sharp jab from Dudley did, so he could hold back any more noise than that. Dione pulled him with her as she crumpled to the ground.

"Dione?" he asked as she shivered. His heart skipped when he felt the first wash of warmth over his hands. He could smell it now, the metallic scent of fresh blood. With frantic hands, he sought out the wound and pressed against the gaping gash. "No, no, no, no—Mum! What do I do? Mum!"

"Oh, my treasure," she gasped. Her hand pressed weakly against his cheek as she pulled back just enough to focus on his borrowed face. "You—you need to love them. Shh, listen, I…I don't have time. You need to let them love you. You have to…remember…it's very important, my son. You are not alone and this was not your fault."

"Mum," Harry choked. The blood flow over his hands grew sluggish. "Please—I just got you—and Luna can't come back to this. Please don't give up."

"You were…the best son…I never asked for," Dione whispered, her voice growing fainter with every syllable. Her weight was pressing him backwards even as it slumped crookedly towards the floor. "Loved you just…as much as…Lu…"

"Mum!" he screamed as he lost his grip on Dione and she fell completely, still slightly curled around him, protecting him even in death. Harry pressed his face against her unmoving chest and wailed his loss with his borrowed throat. He screamed his anguish as he realized that as much as this hurt him, eventually Luna had to come back to a Rookery without Dione's gentle brilliance.

This time when he woke at Privet Drive, Harry was already destroyed.