*READ THIS BEFORE YOU BEGIN READING THE STORY* A/N: I never really expected to turn this story into a series, but honestly, I just can't help it. This isn't a continuation, however. This series has morphed from a one-shot to a series of Neville/Luna one-shots. I hope this is satisfactory! I may continue doing alternating POVs, or have one story from Luna's perspective and the next from Neville's, but it depends on the storyline. As you'll read, this is from Luna's POV appropriately. JKR owns, not I.

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"Shh, Fabian, it's alright. Mummy's here—Mummy's got you."
Your voice is calm and tender, but that's usually how you talk to your son when he's fussing about. Your hands pat his back as you continue to bounce him, hoping he will cease his ruckus, and that's when it hits you: you're getting quite good with being a parent.

It was no secret to anyone that you hadn't married young like most of your fellow classmates and Hogwarts graduates, but you had taken your time after…You sigh, shaking your head as you shove all thoughts of your first love aside and focus on calming your son.

He soon fell back asleep and after a few more moments—just to make sure—you place him back into his cradle and then head back to the master bedroom. You smile at the sight of Rolf spread-eagle on the bed like a capital "T", and suddenly you're wide awake and don't wish to go back to bed. Instead, you head down to the ground level of your home and watch, from a distance, as various wide birds parade through the sky like they owned it.

You quickly boiled some water and made yourself a fresh pot of tea as insomnia strikes you hard while your eyes search the room, attempting to find something to do to pass the time. Almost immediately, your wide blue eyes find an unopened letter sitting by the sink and etched across the front of the envelope is your name.

Rushing to the sink, your hands grab the letter and practically tear through the envelope as you immediately recognized the handwriting. The handwriting, the same hand that had written your name on the envelope, was the handwriting of one Neville Longbottom.

After the war, you and Neville had quickly dated, consummating your relationship and gleaning every feeling you could possibly muster out of that relationship. It was beautiful and sudden and breathtaking and insatiable and you remember every detail, every miniscule happenstance shared between you, and you suddenly find yourself longing to get back to that time, a time that passed a decade ago.

Quickly opening the letter, your eyes soak themselves in his words, hearing his magnificent voice echo in the back of your head as every syllable was heard with perfection.

Darling Luna, it began—which was definitely a good sign, how are you? God, that's a bad way to start off a long-awaited letter, isn't it? You don't have to sit there lying to yourself—I know it was lame. I do genuinely wish to hear from you, though, given our past, I don't know how appropriate that would be.

Since when did he ever care how "appropriate" their relationship had been? If he did care now, he couldn't be the same Neville you knew back then.

You must understand how difficult this is to write to you, what with Hannah leering over my shoulder, curious as to whom I am writing and what I could possibly be telling them about her.

That sounded like Hannah.

But I'm not writing to you to tell you how "fantastic" my marriage is, because, frankly, it isn't fantastic. It once was, back when I truly loved her—and I always will—but there's an ache in my heart that only one person can fill…and that's you, Luna.

What could he mean? You had wanted so earnestly to marry that goony, clumsy Gryffindor, but he hadn't given off any sign, any indication that that is what he wanted from you, so you let it go. But now, ten years later, he was writing to you, and you knew he wasn't a liar, so his words must be true.

The days we loved each other were the best, most romantic days of my life, and I've never felt an inkling of that for Hannah. She's just not…you. I know that we haven't stayed in touch over the years, and I heard you're married now and that you have children? I wish you could understand why I envy your husband, however "perfect" for you he may be.

You scoff because you understand that Rolf has never been, nor would he ever be, "perfect" for you. That title had always been Neville's, and your heart sinks from the revelation that the nine months wasn't long enough.

I know Hannah is expecting our third child—three kids…ME, can you believe it?—together but what she and I have is nothing compared to that summer. I've been asking myself for quite some time, and now I'm asking you…why didn't we elope that summer? Remember we had wanted to, but you were skeptical because of your father and I didn't want to disappoint my Gran? Even still, I wish we had. At least we could rest assured knowing that we hadn't missed out on each other. Unfortunately, that's what we're facing now, and I assume all blame for that.

You shake your head, eyes welling with tears because you know that the blame is equally yours. Neither of you wanted to take the risk and though it pains you, you continue reading.

Can we ever go back? Could we ever relive those days, those wonderfully happy days we spent together? I suppose not. We have chosen separate lives. People come and go so often in my life, and sometimes they make me a better man for knowing them, and part of the reason is you. You showed me my true potential and that I was so much more than Neville Longbottom, the klutz that broke his wrist the first time he rode a broom. That little boy was dimensions separate from the man that declared passion and made love to you among the roses. I long for your touch, to reach out and feel your skin beneath mine, to weave my fingers through your silvery blonde hair and press my lips to yours. Hannah's fingers do not fit with mine like yours do…and I can't hope but assume that your husband's don't fit yours either.

I don't say this to mean disrespect—that's not why I'm writing. I'm writing so I'll never wonder ever again if I should've told you that I have always loved you…and that I still do. If you feel the same…what am I saying? It's been ten years…I very much doubt that you do. Just know that I love you—always have, always will—and that I wish you were here.

Loving you made me a man.

Forever Yours,

—Neville.

A cry from Fabian upstairs stops your sobbing, weary eyes as you struggle to pull yourself together. Folding the letter, you place it into the pocket of your dressing gown, rushing upstairs to cradle your son and hold him to shake yourself back into reality. You bounce him, sniffling just once, and Rolf enters the room, startling you a bit.

"Luna, darling, you alright?" His voice is slightly groggy, but he is genuinely concerned for you.

You smile at him as you nod, suddenly delving knee-deep into a lie. "Of course," you answer before handing Fabian to him and giving him a quick peck on his cheek. "I'm going back to bed."

But that was only half-true. You packed a small bag full of essential clothes and necessities, shoving it under the edge of your side of the bed. You have somewhere to be tomorrow. Somewhere you were daring to tread.

A smile crosses your face as memories wash over you, and you find yourself dreaming dangerously of a man who was not your husband. But it's only a dream, so you don't think much more about it when you wake up.

It had been far too long.

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A/N: That was so random! Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are much appreciated! More to come.