DISCLAIMER: I'm not Just Kidding when I say I'm not J.K.(R.)
Happy Saturday!
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Floo Calls
During the year of the renewed D.A., Ginny utilized Neville as a sounding-board for her rants. Often after Hogwarts, she still did, particularly when Harry was the subject of discussion, when Harry refused to listen, or when she needed someone to agree with her and Harry would not.
It seemed that this latter was the case the morning after the Anniversary party. Neville was already up, bumbling around the flat with a watering-can, and wondering if Luna was all right after the night prior. He had tucked her into her bed and left her sound asleep, but he still worried all night and was eager to race to her side--as soon as it was socially acceptable. Grandmum always said, never Floo-call before ten in the morning except in the most dire of circumstances. It lacks class.
So, he was waiting for Ten O'Clock so that he could call upon her.
To his surprise and temporary nervousness, he heard the Floo-Bell ring, and he raced to answer it. Is it Luna? Is she all right?
It was Ginny, actually, primed and ready for an explosion.
"Hullo, Neville--you enjoy the party last night?"
"Yes," he said truthfully, for it was a lovely party before things got out of hand in the garden.
"Good," she pressed on, like a motor-bus. "Because, you see, someone else thought it was a little dull, and decided to spice things up a bit for his own benefit."
Neville paused. She wouldn't be griping about me to me, so I imagine she means Harry. "Really?"
"Yes," she said, breathlessly vindictive, "Our lovely ex-Professor SNAPE decided to propose to MADAM POMFREY right there in our living room!"
Thinking it well that he had been prevented from doing something similar that evening, Neville had a hard time feeling sorry for Ginny.
"Well..." he floundered, thinking that how desperately inappropriate it was for him to pretend to be aggrieved, "...was he drunk?"
"Hadn't been near the bar all evening, Percy says," Ginny scathingly cut, "though I expect he keeps a flask on him. You ever notice how much the old creeper's hands shake?"
"No," Neville replied, thinking I wouldn't blame him if he did keep a bit on his person, after all he's been through. I'm sure he's got terrible memories. "I did see them dancing together," he said aloud, "and he didn't look miserable about it."
"But it's Madam Pomfrey!" shrieked Ginny in desperation. "She's at least ten years older than him! And she's so nice! Have you forgotten what a git he's been all his life? Just, now that he's a war hero, suddenly he's a jolly good fellow?"
"Oh, no," Neville stated quickly. "I haven't forgotten how nasty he is."
"But it seems all the bloody world has. Am I wrong to be angry? It was an Anniversary party for Harry and me! Not an open invitation for proposals! Am I being totally unreasonable? I didn't even want Snape there, but Harry--in a terrible display of good-will towards all men--insisted! And now--get this, Neville--he says that Neville's--I mean Snape's--got a right to have some bit of happiness, and he's actually flattered to think that Snape took advantage of the opportunity we gave to snatch some up! Isn't that absolute rubbish?"
Neville didn't think so, but Ginny had a point. It was their party. He felt as though he had acted reprehensibly just by thinking about proposing to Luna there.
"I don't know, Ginny," he said, his customary ducking-out line, "I think you've got a point-"
"-a darn good one, too!"
"-but can't you just let sleeping dogs lie? Or, erm...is that the phrase I mean?"
"Ugh!" she cried aloud, "You boys are impossible! I'll talk to you later, Neville--I'm calling my mum."
"All right, see you, Ginny!"
"By the way," she suddenly asked, "when are you going to ask Luna?"
Neville's innards clenched. Is my intention really so obvious?
"I mean," Ginny continued, "You've been pretty much together for quite a while now. Do you intend to keep it that way, or are you not really sure?"
Looking down, Neville shrugged. "I've got the ring."
"Oh! Goody!" Ginny exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Well then, I guess I'll leave you to it."
"Bye, Ginny," Neville said, closing the connection.
"I can't wait to tell Harry!" was the last words he heard from her.
Gracious. I guess I ought to get a move on it.
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About an hour later--at nine--he received another Floo call.
He was very surprised to see Xenophilius' glasses peeking out of the fender.
"Oh! Erm, Neville, you are there, aren't you?"
"Hullo, Mr. Lovegood," Neville replied, settling down at the hearth. "Is something wrong?"
"Well...erm...a bit. I was just wanting to let you know, Luna's come down with pneumonia. After you left her last night, she experienced an extraordinary amount of gastronomic discharge, and now she's got a bit of a cough."
Oh, Hera bless her. Neville stood, ran to grab his cloak, and snatched up his wand from the dresser. "I'm coming over," he declared forcefully, but quickly recanted to politeness. "May I?" he added, shyly. Smiling absent-mindedly and muttering about Umgubular Slashkilters, Xeno moved his head out of the way, and Neville stepped through in a pinch.
"I hope she's in bed?" he asked when he entered the cheerful yellow kitchen. Xenophilius nodded, and Neville raced up the stairs, two at a time.
He meant to make a grand entrance, barging into her bedroom to exclaim What on earth were you thinking?. However, her door was already open, so he couldn't throw it open with a bang, and as he entered, her questioning eyes met his immediately. Feeling like she had caught him red-handed at something, he stood paralyzed in the doorway.
"Good morning to you, too," Luna said, placid. She appeared pale and drowsy, and her hair was rumpled and a little oily, but otherwise she seemed all right. Her forefingers were stuck in a straw Chinese Finger Trap. "I'm really not too ill. Do come in, if you like."
Realizing that he was nothing more than a lovelorn puppy in her presence, Neville nodded soberly, entered, and seated himself on the over-sized orange armchair at her writing desk.
It was not often that he was in Luna's bedroom, and he never ceased to marvel at it. Two walls were completely covered with painted figures, as crowded and detailed as a medieval tapestry. Half of the third wall was sketched, but not painted, while the fourth was a blank white. The ceiling was also decorated, with the faces of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville himself, these surrounded by the chain of the word friends repeated over and over in gold ink. There was tons of color carelessly splotched everywhere; even the giant hole in the faded blue carpet had been patched up with a scrap of mauve stuff that didn't go with anything else. To explicate that a color-wheel bomb had erupted in there would not be a far-off guess from the truth, Neville wagered.
"You're all right?" he asked after his brief survey of the decor. Luna nodded in reply.
"Quite. I'm afraid daddy over-reacted. I got a bit hypothermic, but I'm not sick."
The dainty, phlegm-ridden cough that followed these words contradicted her assessment.
"Oh, darling." He stood in urgent response.
Smiling, she waved away his concern. "Do sit."
He did, settling down cautiously on the bed near two wiggling lumps--which were her feet, he hoped, and not hedgehogs.
"I'm sorry about last night," she said, strangely melancholy, and Neville's eyes met hers. "I was unsightly."
"You could never be unsightly," he replied, though he felt this was not generous. "You just reacted badly to the champagne."
She sighed, wiggling her elbows so that the finger-trap tightened.
"You are biased, rather," she complacently answered, and turned her eyes down on to focus on the toy.
She brought her hands together, slipped her forefingers from the contraption, and put it on again, this time on her noticeably-bare ring fingers.
To his later chagrin, Neville didn't catch the hint.
"It's not just bias!" he argued. Turning away from her, he picked up the picture of little Luna and Mrs. Lovegood from the bed-side table. "You turned out more like your father than your mother," he decided, holding the picture up to the light and comparing its image to the living representative.
Luna shrugged. "I hope that's a good thing, in your opinion."
"You don't have her hair. Yours is prettier."
"Well, it really is just a subjective opinion sort of thing, anyhow," Luna replied with a slight laugh, drawing herself up on the pillows and folding her legs beneath her. "Do you mind increasing the heating charms? I'm cold."
At least he knew this cue by heart. Replacing the photograph by the lamp, he scooted himself over until he was settled next to her.
"Before I leave," he said by way of verbal reply, but he gently slid his arm over her shoulder and enveloped her in a warm embrace.
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Love and blessings,
A. A.