Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition

Wigtown Wanderers, Seeker

Prompt: The Yoruba Dance from Nigeria; write about a character who celebrates small moments in life

Word Count: 1166 per GoogleDocs

Baby Steps

Luna levitated what felt like the millionth piece of splintered wood over to the growing pile of debris that had once been a greenhouse. Supposedly, Professor McGonagall was going to find a way to use the wreckage of the battle to memorialize those that had died. Luna was interested to see how that would actually work, but, if the mess in front of her was any indication, that day was a long way off.

Though it wasn't exactly backbreaking work, the tedium of rebuilding Hogwarts was starting to get to even Luna. Even the prospect of celebrating Taco Tuesday tonight was too far off to really bolster her spirits. But on the bright side, her pile of trash was officially big enough to warrant starting another one. It was a baby step, but that counted as progress!

She looked around to see if she could rope anyone else into joining her as she did her "new trash pile dance." Hermione had told her it looked like a wacky cross between "The Charleston" and "The Hokey Pokey," but that didn't matter to Luna. She just enjoyed the moment of letting loose. Neville was a great, quiet partner to work with, but he'd never join in her dance party. So for a few short moments, Luna twisted and kicked to a song only she could hear, relishing her small accomplishment.

As Luna finally turned to remove piece number one million and one, she heard a crash near the other end of the former greenhouse.

Neville, who had been working near one of the only glass panels to survive the final battle as well as the last two months, was holding his bleeding fist. His shoulders heaved as he sucked in deep, ragged breaths. Shards of glass glittered at his unsteady feet.

Madame Pomfrey had restricted him to the least strenuous work, but only because she couldn't use a Sticking Charm to pin him to a hospital bed. She'd given him clear orders to take it easy on his repeatedly damaged knee and fragile emotional state. He'd promised he would do as he'd been told, but now it seemed that Neville wasn't quite capable of that.

Taking a calming breath, Luna tiptoed around the mess to her friend. Biting off her admonition, Luna gently took his bloody hand and cast cleaning, antiseptic, and healing charms on it.

"What's got you so upset?" she asked. "I know we've been at this for days, but I think we're making good progress."

Neville looked at her incredulously. "That's just it!" he cried. "We've been doing this for days, and there's no end in sight! All I can see is destruction and chaos and death. It's like we aren't doing a damn bit of good! How is spending all day in the middle of it not getting to you?"

Luna held her tongue. It was getting to her. The slow progress of rebuilding was so different from the quick missions under Death Eater occupation and the rapid spellfire of battle. The adjustment was difficult. How could you cope with having nothing to show for your efforts when, such a short time ago, that was your only source of hope? When action and results were the only things that could distract you from the pain and loss?

As her eyes scanned their surroundings, her brain searched for words that could bring her friend comfort. Instead, her gaze fell upon something hidden under a pile of glass and wood. She patted Neville's arm and carefully picked her way through the mess. With a little maneuvering, she managed to extricate the tiny potted plant.

She took Neville's undamaged hand in her own and closed his fingers around the impossibly pristine container.

Luna murmured, "It does get to me, Nev. But for all we lost, there's so much Voldemort couldn't take from us. We are making a difference. There are still little things to find happiness in, small victories to celebrate even in the hard times. So that's what I'm going to do."

With a flick of her wrist, she transfigured a piece of splintered timber into an ornate plant stand. Allowing herself a small, proud smirk, Luna ceremoniously placed the pot on it and finished off the display with a banner that read "I Survived the Battle of Hogwarts."

Neville snorted. "Very nice. I still don't see what difference a single little plant makes."

"There's a living, thriving plant in here now, so I say we've officially started the rebuilding process for the greenhouses," she declared.

"That's one way of looking at it," Neville said, trying to suppress a grin.

In contrast, Luna let one stretch broadly across her face. "It's a step in the right direction. A baby step, but a step nonetheless."

Neville lost the battle as his smile broke through. "And how exactly are we going to celebrate this?" he asked.

Luna laughed—it was good to have a friend who knew her so well and appreciated her quirks. "I don't know yet! We'll have to discuss it with everyone over tacos tonight."

"I just don't get it," Neville said, marveling at her. "You've come here every day for the past two months and done the same thing over and over. Yet you still find little things to dance about or toast to or even just smile that secret little smile you think I don't see."

She could have told him about the way she had started each day with a silly dance as she had been recovering from the loss of her mother. She could have told him how she had bought a sugar quill every time one of her belongings had been unexpectedly returned to her dorm. She could have told him that it was a way of life, a consistent choice to find happiness in the small moments because the big ones weren't guaranteed.

Instead, she just patted his healed hand. "It's just something I learned to do. And practice makes perfect, you know."

Neville looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook his head. "Well, I'm glad you can do it. Maybe one of these days I'll pick up on it myself."

Luna shrugged. "You should really give it a try. I think it could honestly change your life."

They quietly went back to their work, slogging through scattered bits of wood and glass. Luna kept one eye on Neville's trash pile as it grew steadily higher. Finally, he could add no more to it. Neville's eyes sought hers out, hesitation written plainly on his face. Luna nodded, encouraging him to do what she hoped he was thinking.

Without any warning, Neville started alternately punching the air and twisting his hips.

When he was finished, she gave him a polite round of applause at which he blushed. Luna laughed again and mentally patted herself on the back. Given time, Neville might yet become a fellow celebrator of the small moments. For now, she was quite pleased with his baby steps.