A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters

This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

word count: 408

There were so many things about Luna that had become his favorites,

so many little things he'd never realized before.

The way she smelled, of earth,

of something sweet that he couldn't quite identify.

Some days it was vanilla,

others honey,

sometimes he was sure he smelled the scent of flowers about her,

not the ones in the manor but the exotics his mother used to have owled to their manor,

but it was always changing.

The way she laughed had become his favorite sound, a sparkling sound that rose above everything else

even above the beautiful shrill of his peacocks in the early morning hours.

He loved hearing her wake in the mornings,

the little yawning stretching sound she made as she opened her eyes to greet the day.

He loved how she opened the drapes,

something he'd never done before and allowed as much light into the room as possible.

She always seemed to glow in the morning light,

seemed to wake up as the world woke.

There was the way she was always there,

even when she wasn't in the manor.

Her presence lingered.

He would see her favorite jumper tossed across his antique chair,

her paint brushes in the sink soaking.

She always forgot to wash them, getting distracted by something more interesting.

He picked them up, cleaned them and gently set them aside to dry.

The shelves were filled with her favorite tea,

it was too soft for Lucius,

but she adored it and he could never say no to her.

Her paintings of them had replaced his previous favorites.

Gone were the dreary portraits of ancestors who disapproved of his new bride.

Instead the halls were graced by her paintings of the peacocks in midflight,

a painting of Lucius wearing a silver suit of armor.

He loved that one the most.

He'd been nude posing for it,

she'd added the armor later.

During the war, the manor had become his prison,

more than Azkaban had ever been.

There it had been dark and unfamiliar.

The manor had been his home for so long, to have it taken over,

to be told where he could and could not go,

what he could and could not do, it had been torture.

He'd dreamed of leaving it,

burning to the ground once the war ended.

Now, it had once again become home,

all because of her,

her love for him,

and his love for her.