Author's Note: I do not and never will own Harry Potter.
Written for the Occasion-a-Day Competition/Challenge. September 21 Prompt: Write about someone accepting who they are.
It's funny because everyone thinks that Luna's not affected by anything. That insults roll off her back like water droplets off a duck, that she's so lost in her own little world, she can barely understand the sly jibes and stolen shoes in this one.
It's funny because she wishes it was true.
She's never had friends before Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Before Ginny and Neville. Her mother encouraged her to go out and talk to the neighbor children, but her mother was dead, and her father was too lost in his own clouds to pay enough attention to his daughter. She doesn't blame him. It's what she would have done.
She explains the thestrals to Harry, letting a foal nibble raw meat from her palm, eyes widening in wonder when Harry actually asks questions, when he seems to care about the answers.
"People avoid them because they're a bit-"
"Different," he finishes for her, wistfulness tinging his smile. "But why can't the others see them?"
"They can only be seen by people who've seen death," she explains, wiping her hands on her robes. They will smell like meat until she gets them washed, but she doesn't mind. She can just rinse them out in the sinks for the house elves.
Harry hugs her when he hears about her mum and she hugs him back. His arms are reassuringly real, anchoring her in this world.
"You're brilliant, you know that?" Harry asks on the way back up to the castle, and Luna is surprised to feel the blush heating her face.
"Yes, I am," she answers.
It's funny because she believes it this time.