A/N: This is a short story inspired by the song "Neptune" by Sleeping At Last, and it's canon-adjacent AU because of a few OCs. I hope you like it.

Summary: This is a simple story about a simple character. This is a story about loneliness and longing, about friendship and learning what it meant to mean something and belong. About the life of that belonging to the generation of The Second Wizarding War. This story tells about how those who cry the loudest are usually the ones who are the most quiet, how those with the brightest smile have experienced the worse pain, and to not take genuine kindness for granted. Because life is short. Oh god, life is so short. And with a flick of a wand and a few cursed words, it could be taken. Those of The Second Wizarding War generation don't know this but they will learn. Sadly, so many will learn, but not all. That is the tole of war, after all.

[Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters, settings, and such belong to J.K. Rowling. The song "Neptune" is owned by the band Sleeping At Last. I own nothing but my OCs. ]


Neptune

Sol Self, main concerns, vitality


"Pitch black, pale blue;
It was a stained glass variation of the truth,
And I fell empty-handed."

It is a known fact that Loony Lovegood has a cousin.

Aberrant, ambiguous, and distinct like her. Who perhaps matches her rambling about heliopaths and dirigible plums.

Having a relative wasn't that uncommon here after all, with being such a large and historic school. To be accepted would lie much on with one's bloodline and magical ability, besides location of course.

Loony Lovegood has a cousin.

Long, platinum bangs, and a feverish, contagious smile. Luna has a cousin that was unlike her but yet they had the same peculiarness.

At Hogwarts there was a girl named Luna and a girl named Echo—the moon and Oreiad-nymph. Luna Lovegood and Echo Bell. Practically joined at the hip, Luna sometimes has her extensive hair braided. Echo has a shirt cut in the back and slanted eyes; she was a peculiar girl and at quick glance appeared the complete opposite of her cousin's looks.

It was Loony and her pal, her crazy cousin, as it would go.

But it was unintentional, the tag names.

Their blood was unintentionally made known one year on the train ride of the Hogwarts Express when it would be Luna's first year. But at the young age of eleven and before that happened, bursting with excitement for her first year at Hogwarts and trying to make friends, poor little Echo had the misfortune of finding a live toad tangled among the robes she peft behind after returning from the loo. She had let out a piercing scream that lingered in many's dreams afterward. She then went on a rampage to find out whose toad it was.

She guessed she shouldn't have left the car door open...

With her name's derived either from a story or location of her parents' honeymoon—depends on which you ask—she already stood out effectively. If you didn't notice the small girl with bright hair almost perfectly hiding her eyes, then she'd be the one in the back that wouldn't stop bouncing her legs. If Luna was to be known as being calm and passive, then Echo was spacious and energetic, a Gryffindor will later come to find out. And her patronus will form a dolphin when she is in her later years, to match.

Now, Echo wasn't special; she wasn't important. She didn't have a good reputation to uphold, a brain to show off, or talented at sports. She never was—she and her cousin were weird, after all. Her hair cut was deemed odd by her peers and her cousin's was too long and messy. There was a permeant scar along her right cheek and a mole birthmark on Luna's neck, something Luna hides with her long blonde hair.

And one can only imagine the frightened dance she had performed that day long ago once seeing the toad crawling out of her robes then… And that she had missed a bushy-haired brunette asking around the train for a toad...

And Neville—poor Neville—had the unfortunate luck of falling in the path of the then-eleven year old's panicked rampage. She had been the one running down the train and hollering angrily. She had almost stepped on his hand with her heel, actually.

He had stood from crouching in a doorway, looking for his animal, and up at shocked bright eyes behind a thick curtain of bright blonde hair. Echo had luckily paused before stepping on him, her foot raised in he air.

She could still feel the creature's cold touch, and was still very much unnerving.

Neville had stood straight up and asked rather rudely to "watch your step will you? You could step on Trevor," whoever that was. He was rather shy and his voice was sheepish like he was never sure of himself.

Echo had snapped in response and huffed, still very rattled.

Neville would make sure to keep track of the toad from then on and years after.

But that was the last he had seen of the short-haired girl—of course, until later that night in The Great Hall for sorting.

"You will come quietly...and I will place the sorting hat on your head…and you will be sorted into your house," Minerva McGonagall explained. "….Hermione Granger!"

Echo remembered that girl being the first called up to be sorted. Next had been Draco Malfoy, Susan Bones, and a boy named Weasley. She had wrinkled her nose then, trying to hold in a snicker.

Echo and Luna had held hands back at Kings Crossing and now she stood alone, waiting her turn to be under the hat. The round of students were to be sorted in a house, see their common room and meet their prefect. Echo planned how she and her cousin would attend the same teachers when Luna would come in next year. They would, and would converse with their house ghost, talk about fairies and trolls, and sneak late cups of hot chocolate in the winter time like they've always done at home. It would be grand, it would be fun!

"Vincent Crabbe!" McGonagall's voice echoed The Great Hallm

The aged leather hat paused. "...Slytherin!"

But that never happened.

McGonagall turns to Echo.

"Hufflepuff...!"

Echo will watch with a pit in her stomach next year as her cousin—and the only person she knew—would become separated from each other. While she and Luna would stare in horror from across different house tables, the only ones not smiling, both would warm up to each's different crowds eventually, but it was only a matter of time before they were individually known as "loons."

"I suppose we could still hang out together," Luna would speak to her cousin in that usual soft tone of hers. "Nothing's gonna stop that. ...We just don't have the same classes…"

"Or schedule…or in the same year. Which means we probably won't see each other at all…"

Echo knew the truth and Luna couldn't deny it. They have always been together, like sisters they were; their parents had made sure to keep family close. Echo had wiped away tears that night and it took a long time for her to fall asleep.

"This was never going to work."

Echo was known to have relations with Luna Lovegood at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her oddness stemming from her unusual name. With it, of course—which had to do with the judging that came with dealing with adolescence—came the expectancy of her being just as offish as her cousin. Given, the rest of her loopy rumor would branch from Luna despite being in different houses.

Kids can be so cruel.

"I'm terribly sorry, Echo."

Luna always felt she had to apologize for her cousin's misfortune. It was her fault, she felt, that Echo was teased so terribly.

"It's all terribly my fault. I shouldn't have—-"

"It's fine, Luna," Echo would interrupt.

The students would tease her for hanging out with Luna, suggesting that she might have a screw loose as well, that she saw imaginary creatures floating and needed a check-up. But Echo wasn't going to let them push her to isolating someone who hasn't done any wrong or was at any fault, especially family.

And Luna had watched her mother die just a few years prior attending the school, and to turn her back on someone afterwards would be a disown.

So she didn't listen.

And the teasing worsened.

Echo Bell of Hufflepuff was the cousin of Luna Lovegood of Ravenclaw, but she was known by her own individuality of being so outspoken and lively and spontaneous. She wasn't important, no, and she wasn't significant or even the smartest in her classes or had a special talent. She attended a school with one of the most brightest witches of her decade and of the most pristine and a famous boy named Harry. Echo would become nothing but a punch line, a name that was a joke.

"That's Echo Bell."

"Stay away from that one. I here she's a bit loopy in the head too."

"She hangs around that girl, Loony Lovegood, so you know there's something odd 'bout 'er."

"She's related to her ya know?"

"Well then she's definitely loopy. Might try and fill your head with nonsense."

That's what they whispered about her. That's what they expected of her and mumbled behind her back.

Echo Bell was nothing but a name that few could match a face to. Though the teasing would start a few years later, she would grow to being a joke, much like her cousin and stemming from her.

No one cared for her because no one knew her, and those who did, didn't want to, afraid of superstitious rumors. And Echo would fine with that. She liked books more anyway.

No one bothered to talk to her for very long. That is, until a day in first year in the hospital wing.

It was a September afternoon and there weren't many to fill the beds. One of the few was a seventh year with a terrible cold, an fifth year girl who couldn't stop puking slugs and oozing green mucus from her nose, and a young boy with a broken arm. They were all asleep.

Neville whines, wincing when he accidentally bumps his cast. His wrist had been broken for four days now all thanks to that wretched broom during flying lessons. Now, he couldn't do things as simple as spoon food into his mouth—as he was trying to do now, and with much difficulty. His dominant hand been broken in the fall after his broom lost control.

He steadies to lift a spoonful of food, lets out a snort when it missed his mouth and spills it on his bedsheets. And it tastes awful—some groul a nurse conjured up—and threw the spoon down on the tray, frustrated. His head snaps up at hearing giggling.

"You don't want to eat that."

He hears the high voice but there was no one looking his way. All the other patients were asleep, or turned away. Not too far across the room was someone looking out the tall mosiac window from their bed. Neville guesses it was them.

"Are…" and he stammers again, "are you talking to me?"

The young girl who rapidly turns around is about his age. "Yes," and her slanted eyes crinkle in a silent smile. Neville could see since her bangs were held back from her face by a number of hair pins. "You don't want to eat that—it's Ethel's latest concoction. And no matter what she says, it has no healing properties. But if you must, I suggest dipping a jelly scone in it if you insist to eat it."

He stares for a moment in silence, unsure whether to say something back or not. He decides to go for it.

"How would you know that it doesn't help heal? …And...was that you who was laughing at me?!"

He must never sound sure, she thought, noticing his voice tremor.

"I know because that boy, the one next to you, he had about three bowls a week ago and now look at him." She gestures toward the sickly boy a few beds over from Neville. He was asleep now but whenever awake, his stomach empies itself and he groans.

The girl in the bed across from Neville's was kicking her feet as if in excitement, which was odd since the only excitement he could find was the girl puking slugs in a corner.

And the girl leans forward a bit, tilting her head to the side with a little smile on her face. Her legs are bent underneath her. "And yes. I couldn't help but laugh at the faces you were making. You looked so frustrated. ...Have you never broken your arm before?"

Neville pauses. "That's…that's not very nice, you know." He thinks for a beat. "Wait a moment. You were looking out the window, you couldn't have seen me!"

The girl looks away at an angle that he could see how her side bangs fell just above her small shoulders but the back was cropped short.

"It was through the mirror's reflection," she admits slow before turning back to him with a tilt of her head. "Have you never broke your arm before?"

"Of course not…!" He wants to call her out, say how ridiculous it was to go around breaking one's own hands—and then he saw hers, but she quickly hid them in the folds of her robe before he could get a good look. Neville then wonders why she is wearing a robe over pajamas.

"How'd you break your arm?" She jumps down and scurries over to his bedside and her eyes are wide and exciting. He instinctively scoots away.

She rests her cheeks on her hands with a growing smile on her lips.

Neville swallows. "…I broke it." He doesn't want to tell her the truth, lest she see him as weak too. He knew his house mates would no doubly be laughing at him—especially that boy, Malfoy.

"I can see it's broken—I mean how? Did something hit it? Did something trample you? Was it a spell?" Her eyes sparkle. It wasn't just some shine of curiosity—Neville looks into the eyes of this stranger girl at the foot of his bed watching him, smiling; he looked into her eyes and lcouldbswear that he iterally saw them sparkle.

"Um," he stalls. "Something fell on it," he lies.

Her eyes widen more in excitement, if even possible. "Who did it?!"

And Neville starts to panic for an excuse. This girl expects something cool, not that he fell from being hung on the side of a building during broom practice.

"That's a lot of questions. What are you even doing here?"

The smile fades from her face. She appears to look sheepishly. Neville didn't expect her to raise her hands to his face then. They were bandaged and blood was already steadily seeping through.

"Oh."

She raises a finger to her lips in a shh motion. "The nurse don't like it when we are out of bed, so be careful."

A brow arches but Neville wasn't going to say that he wasn't planning on moving for some time. She tells him to not get too loud. He didn't know how loud he could get with a broken arm.

She then lets her hands fall and raises her body by pressing against his bed mattress, and coming uncomfortably close. "Do you think it's odd that Muggles use those stick things—what are they called?" She positions her fingers as if holding a cigarette. "Even though it damages their lungs?"

Once again, he doesn't know whether to answer. She then reached to his bed table, grabs a bottle there, uncorked it and sniffs inside. Her nose wrinkles in response.

"Well," she continues, corking the bottle back. "I want to see a nargle." And she grins.

Neville remains silent.

"By the way, what's your name?"

Neville is a quiet boy who isn't too sure about how to deal with conversation, something he could tell this girl could do quite well. He was shy, timid, and didn't speak up much. But then, the girl in the hospital room did most of the talking. He learns that her favorite color is blue like the sky, and she admires orchids for their scent and beauty. While recovering and watching her get stitches and spells cast on her hands, the two continue talking. They speak of many things, random things, things when the nurses weren't around and giggling behind their backs when they were supposed to be getting their "beauty rest." Some of it even earns them looks from the other patients in the ward. The two talk about their classes and Neville tells about a garden back home and she fantasizes about training beasts.

And she was a mischievous, talkative girl she was, who ate her food strangely and would spin with an arm outstretched as if a falcon was perched on it, telling of the tricks the imaginary thing would do. Eventually, Neville would grow accustomed to waking up and asking her what to avoid eating or to a strange question like "why are oranges the only food named after their color?"

She was an odd girl she was who made the time fly for those short sever'al weeks, until her hands healed and she left. Neville would admit that the remaining time spent in there was different and quiet, the hours dragging on without someone coming over to sit on his bed.

He didn't see that girl again.

The flowers at a bedside were withering and browning, and the tall window at the end of the room streaming in daylight, and Neville sits alone in his hospital bed.