2. Luna loves Harry by -rainbow-lights.
-Freefall from the clouds-
Imagine. Imagine for a second that you are Luna Abrelina Lovegood. You're that little blond ethereal oddity that floats through life unnoticed. Imagine that you're alone far to often than is healthy or normal for any being, human or otherwise. Imagine that you dream sleepovers and late nights, of jokes between friends and pillows fights. Imagine that your mother's gone, and now you've lost your only friend.
Imagine, a few years after you start at Hogwarts, that by some odd stroke of something wedged between luck and lust, the Harry Potter talks to you. Your conversation starts out innocent enough--you convince him he's not insane: you can see thestrals too. But then, imagine that his mind becomes your santum. He's the only one you can confide in any more; he truly listens. He follows you into your worlds of masquerade balls with golden masks and of midnight saunters in silk slippers and doesn't make fun. He understands you.
With him not every silence needs to be filled; your thoughts can just dance around you both, filling the same space. Sometimes merging, but thoughts thoughts such as these are always awkwardly dismissed-- he's in love with your best friend. More so, he's the reason you have a best friend.
Imagine he tells you how wonderful you are whenever he feels the sudden (though only friendly,) ugre. Poetic nothings about how everything about you is a color. Your hair is silver, because he chuckles out, delicately precious and preciously delicate. Your eyes are blue, for the obvious reason, but also because they're so calming, but yet deep to unknown depths. (Like the ocean, he'd add). Your wit, he finds to be red, bright and attention catching, too much so for most people, and yet just enough for you.
Imagine he tells you his dreams, his theories, his inquiries, his thoughts, and his wildest fantasies that no-one but you and him even know exist. Not Ron, not Hermione, not even Ginny, just the two of you in your own seperate universe. He tells you that not everything has to make sense, somethings just have to be they way they are. (It's just the way life is, he points out)
He forces you to believe that love exists, even though he, who has lost so much more than you, has trouble believing that himself. And still, he's steadfast in his belief, and unware how much you already know that, for if it didn't there'd be no word for what happens in your chest when he sneaks you an extra danish from the kitchens, or takes you to the astronomy tower every month to show you the constellations moving across the darkest rivers of sky. Still, you argue that if your mother loved anyone, she wouldn't have ended her own life. And as usual, he counters with 'Would you really have wanted a constantly depressed mother ?', and like always, you retort, 'No, but I'd have liked to have had a mother at all'. You both turn away, your mutual annoyance building an invisble wall between you both. This lasts for a fleeting moment, and you turn to face each other, uneeded apologies twisting into incoherent waterfalls of words before they even leave your mouths. And then you pause, and laugh, a subconcious ritiual between the closest of friends.
Your laugh, he finds to be lavender. You make a face: you've never been quite fond of lavender. Or your laugh for that matter. You've always found it to be much to immature, childlike for a lady, and lavender a pale imation of the rich jewel tones of violet. Your mother disagreed. He ignores you as you voice this (discluding that last addition), and continues on. Lavender, because it's a shade of purple, it exudes the same regality but leaves the pompous attitude behind. It's soft and twinkling, like windchimes caught in a wisping summer breeze. Suddenly, having a lavender laugh doused in silver wind doesn't seem all that bad.
Imagine that he's every thing you want, crave, need and more. Imagine he lets you freefall from the clouds, but's always waiting to catch you if you pick up to much speed. He lets you float upward into oblivion but is always there to pull down before you soar away from care, away from the people who love you. Imagine he fills the hole in your heart with daydreams of laughter, rainbows, lilies, carnivals, and little girls in white tulle tutus with wavy blonde hair and scorching green eyes.
Imagine that with him, you don't have to imagine anymore.