A/N: Finally doing the challenge that Megsy42 gave me a zillion years ago!
Warnings: severe fluffiness, a single swear, and SUness.
Disclaimer: If I owned, believe me, I would be in the Bahamas meeting adorable guys, not stuck in Chicago where it's supposed to snow in a few days DESPITE THE FACT IT'S APRIL!!
Dedication: Megsy42, thanks for the forum and the challenge! (Will get link on profile SOON!)
They've fought.
They've won.
Neville--he's helped. He can't believe it.
They've fought and won, and he helped.
Neville Longbottom, the one who never used to be Gryffindor material, who was horrible at Potions, who forgot everything, who needed Hermione to help him out.
But as of this and last year, he's become someone else. He's become the Neville Longbottom who stands up for whats right, the Neville Longbottom who laughs everything off, the fearless leader of the DA, the best friend of Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, and the vanquisher of Nagini, Voldemort's right-hand man--er, snake.
He's done it.
He's done what his Gran has always wanted, what his parents were.
He's become a hero.
He's fought in the same war his parents had, only he's won.
It's over.
Voldemort is gone.
Admirers surround him, a knot of girls.
He should be happy.
But something--or more appropriately someone--is missing.
They've fought.
They've won.
She isn't surprised. Her mother predicted it--and her mother is always right.
Others are convinced she's mad. "It's the little voice inside your head, Luna. Your mum--she's--"
"Dead. Oh, yes, I'm aware. But she's here. She is."
No one will believe her. "It's a Luna thing," they say.
And that hurts.
But her mum knows.
And her father knows, too. "She's there, Princess."
"I know, Daddy. Where else would she be?"
Luna is happy. She really is.
Only--her mum keeps saying, "Look for him. You aren't happy, Lulu. Find him."
She can see him, of course. She can pick him out of a crowd in a second.
It's not that he's remarkable looking. From the back, you can't even see his scars.
His hair is brown--normal, boring brown. His eyes are the color of Honeydukes' Best Chocolate, but so many people have those eyes. He's average height, his voice is quiet, but there's something about him.
Besides, his hair could never be boring--not to her, at least. Neither could his eyes. He is so purely unique. His height means nothing--Ron only drew her eye because she liked him, then. His voice seems a thousand times louder than it is, to her. He is like a magnet.
So she can see him--why must she look for him?
"You aren't really seeing. Are you, Lulu?"
"No, Mum," she mutters. But she cannot--not now. Not when girls are hanging on his every word and the sword of Gryffindor lies next to him as a trophy.
Not when he's the hero, and she's just…herself.
So she finds herself next to Harry, and she urges him to go. As she watches her friend don the Cloak and become invisible, she thinks that she'd better begin to find him.
The next morning, he finds himself under an old willow tree in front of the school. He should be helping to clean up or at least mourning, he knows.
But for the moment, he tries to forget all about the deaths of his friends, enemies, and parents.
He got the news this morning. They died, with Alice clutching Frank's arm in a deathly grip.
"Their last words were, 'Neville', son," the Healer tells him. He blinks at her, dumbstruck.
They haven't remembered his name for the past seventeen years. Yet 'Neville' is their last words?
His Gran is inside, sobbing her eyes out. She misses them, even though they were already long gone before their death.
He feels the same pain, but not because they are gone. Because he never knew them.
Harry gets to be the hero, usually--the one with the evil relatives and the famous scar.
But his parents were as good as dead for practically all of his life. What was the difference?
Harry's the Chosen One. Not him.
He knows this. He's not sure that he'd be able to be the Chosen One. If he were, Voldemort would be in control now.
He's long since accepted that.
But he can't help but think that maybe, if he was Harry, she would love him.
She doesn't know why, but she thinks it is cold out. Despite the fact that it's May. So she digs up the scarf he gave her birthday at the beginning of the school year.
She sneaks outside, even though her father has told her that there will be Nargles running around everywhere today, feeding on everyone's confusion and mixed feelings after the battle.
She's Luna Lovegood, after all, and she does whatever comes to mind.
She sees the horrible, broken-up outside of Hogwarts for the first time and begins to cry.
She never cries. But for once, she is feeling broken inside. Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Lisa Turpin, and Professor Lupin--all of them are gone.
Forever.
She cannot, will not, believe this--not yet.
Lisa, a scared, quiet girl, one year her senior, who laughed along with the others when they called her "Loony" but never did it herself, Fred, the hilarious prankster, Colin, the rather annoying (yet endearing) photographer, and Professor Lupin, leaving a son behind--they are all gone.
She cries for Hogwarts, too. Its majestic, beautiful look is gone, replaced by a forlorn, yet victorious air. She cannot place it, but this makes her even sadder.
And so she runs headlong into Neville, who is standing up and brushing himself off.
"Oh--Neville! I'm sorry," she splutters, wiping her eyes but managing a small smile just for him.
"No, it's me, Luna, I'm so clumsy…" and he blushes.
They stand there in silence for a minute before she looks curiously at his cheeks. "You're blushing. How come?"
He laughs awkwardly and says, "I missed you so much, Luna."
She smiles up at him. "I can tell, Neville. But why are you blushing?"
"Because, Luna, because--I've got to tell you something. My parents died."
"But you don't mind as much as you should? Well, no one blames you, Neville. You barely knew them."
Neville shifts from foot to foot. "I know, but they were my parents, for Merlin's sake."
"Neville, they weren't. Not as you knew them. Don't feel guilty, Neville. Remember them, but do not wallow in the fact that they're gone." She knows she is saying his name too much. But she loves the feel of it on her tongue, and she'll admit it.
"I know, Luna. How do you do it?" he asks affectionately.
"Be comforting, you mean?" she laughs.
"Hey, it's true! But wait--why are you crying?"
She blinks up at him and says sadly, "Hogwarts. It's as dead as Lisa and Fred and Colin and Professor Lupin."
"What?" he gapes.
She smiles at his over-dramatic look. "I mean, it's not as it used to be. It's not proud and tall anymore."
He looks angry. "But Luna," he says, fighting to keep his voice steady, "we all fought to make it this way, to make it proud and tall."
She strokes the scars on his cheek absentmindedly. "It's not that we didn't fight. It's not that it's not proud or tall, Neville--but it's wrong. Don't you see?"
His skin is tingling from her touch, and so he nods blissfully. "Luna--would you mind if I did something?"
"Like what?"
"Like this," and he leans down to kiss her.
To this day, to cast his best Patronus, he thinks of that moment.
And it's a bloody good Patronus, too.