Pain and guilt

Luna's POV

I'm not sure how to explain what happened next. We talked. And talked. And, as we did, it was like a lost piece fit into me. Something that I had forgotten how to feel was stirring in my stomach.

For once I enjoyed the conversation. I leant forward to hear more. I even laughed. I don't remember what we talked about but I remember how I felt. Like a hundred years of misery had been lifted off my shoulders. Like I was free.

Neville is staying a week. He was planning to stay at the Leaky Cauldron. When he told me that, it was like a wave of words rushed to my lips and I was telling him he could stay at my flat.

And the most surprising part? He agreed.

I turn over in my bed as I think of it. Our conversation replays again and again in my mind. I feel strangely self-conscious. I pretend I don't feel it and push it away but it thrives under all the shit I throw on top.

I know why. It's because he's a guy. He's turning twenty six in July and he's obviously hot and single and young. He's got the full package. But he's my best friend. And he comes with full baggage. A dead wife and a nearly two year old daughter. A broken heart that's already been given to someone else.

But best friends don't think about each other like this. I close my eyes tightly and I pull my pillow over my knee eyes, as if it could somehow muffle my thoughts. A wave of guilt crashes over me. I bite my lip.

My beautiful daughter. Her face swims in front of my eyes. Her lovely eyes. I can see the Auror who gave me the news. I know I'm going to cry. The tears prick at me eyes. Guilt fills my heart. Pain wraps around me.

I swing my legs over the bed and stand up. My image bounces off the mirror. I stare at myself for a moment before throwing my dressing gown over my grey tank top and rainbow pyjama bottoms. It's a huge colour clash but I don't care if people think I'm weird.

I try to be quiet as I gently close the door and make it to the kitchen. It's dark. I press the switch and the room is flooded with light. I blink in an effort to adjust my eyes to the new illumination.

Coffee is not exactly the best drink for a person suffering with Insomnia but I honestly can't drink anything else at this time in the night (morning?) without being sick.

I make myself some coffee and fill my mug with hot coffee. It's too hot to drink immediately and even though I could cool it with my wand, I let it sit. The smoke escapes from it in wistful slips, hanging in the air like memories of forgotten kisses. The coffee swirls around, a mini tornadoe. I can remember the way I used to shake Lyric's water bottle to make a tornadoe. The wonder on her face as she clapped her hands.

I lift the cup to my lips and take a sip of the steaming black liquid. I don't care if it burns my tongue. I want to forget. I lift it again and it swirls underneath my tongue. The heat rolls into my mouth before the coffee. Like the burning cuts on my heart. I thought they'd healed. But the wounds still hurt when you touch them. When you press a finger lightly on them, the blood still bleeds, fresh and crimson with hurt.

"Ouch, that must burn," says a voice.

I look up and I see Neville in the doorway. His frame is a shadow against the light. Tall and lean. He steps forward and the light is thrown on him like a spotlight on a dark stage. His hair is incredibly messy. It falls over his forehead in bangs. His eyes aren't even a little bit sleepy. But they aren't as lively as I wish they were. He has a dressing gown over his pyjamas. His chin is rough with stubble.

"Yeah," I reply.

I know he meant the coffee but for some reason I feel like he understands what really burns. And it does more than just burn. It cuts you up. It's torture only second to Hell.

"Coffee?"

"I'd love some."

He slides into the seat opposite me as I pour the murky black coffee into another cup. I push it towards him and he takes it with a smile filled with a thousand 'thank you's.

"So how's life?" he says.

I feel like laughing. How's life? All casual, like he doesn't know my heart is broken. Shattered on the ground. Like nobody cares. And I have to convince myself they do. But a secret part of me is relieved at his question. Because he asks it without the large pitiful eyes others have. He acts like I'm normal.

I don't think much before answering.

"Fine," I say.

When we were younger, in Seventh Year, we had a code for when we weren't feeling okay and couldn't say it. Me, Ginny, Hermione and Neville.

"Me too," Neville replies. " I'm just fine."

He reaches across the table and involuntarily I let him grab my hand. It slides into his easily. Like two lost pieces of the same puzzle. Two halves of a broken heart. Reunited.

We sit there. Alone. None of us make a move to walk to the other. Instead we sit in our respective places. Connected by the grasp of hands. The cling of our fingers. Unshadowed by hidden purpose. Just like two kids. Holding hands. No secret desire hidden between the folding of joints. No tucked away longing between our clasped hands. Two children.

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I wake up with my head lying on the table. My coffee sits, moved away from me so I don't spill it in my sleep. My arms is strewn across the table, curved inwards. Neville's lies a few inches away. We fell asleep holding hands, I realize with a thrill.

My stomach flutters as I notice Neville. A butterfly's wing grazes my insides. I run my tongue over my dry lips. He's "cute" in the language of a teenager. His hair is messy from sleep. His face is hidden in the delicate curve of his elbow. His shoulders fall and rise in deep, sleeping breaths.

The second thing I notice after Neville is sleep. I slept. I, Luna Lovegood, fell asleep. Ever since Lyric died, I hadn't been able to sleep. I was exhausted, yes, but I couldn't sleep. I stayed awake, hour after hour, minute after minute, second after second. Staring at the ceiling. My eyes shadowed with dreams that melted into bitter reality. Tears that burned my pupils. Blurred my vision. Dreams and hopes that crashed down like ice into a raging sea. Or glass shattered on the floor.

"Luna?"

I am pulled from my daydream by Neville's voice. He's looking at me- staring, really- intently. His eyes are X-rays. His lips are the perfect size. Lips made for kissing.

"Luna!" he calls loudly.

"Yes?" I say with a start. My voice comes out a little breathless and I clear my throat.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine."

Not fine.

Flashback...

"Are you okay? Oh, my darling, I wanted to protect you," my father wraps his arms around me.

His yellow nails dig into my back. His dirty, white hair falls like a rag cloth onto his shoulders. His nose hooks upward. His eyes are watery. His robes fall loose and baggy over his thin, bony structure. His nostrils are wide and gaping.

"I'm okay," I say, my voice wobbling, pushing him away.

Not okay.

A tear rolls down his yellow face and is lands in a crease on his face. He puts his arms out, silently imploring.

I run away from him. My hair whips my cheeks red. An ache grows in my side. The crack spreads on my heart, it's long arms taking it over. Grabbing the sides. Turning it inside out.

I run into Ginny and Harry.

Ginny is wearing jet black robes and a black choker is stretched tight against her white neck. Her fiery red hair is smoothed into a bun and forced into a black hairnet. She carries a black purse over her shoulder on a thick, silver chain.

Harry is wearing black robes as well. His messy black hair is unusually neat and combed back. His green eyes are filled with real grief. He loved Lyric. He was her godfather.

"Oh my God," cried Ginny, trying to stifle her sobs in a handkerchief. "Oh my God, Luna! Are you alright?"

"I'm alright," I say.

I'm not.

I move away. I don't know what I'm looking for. I run past them. My heart screams. My throat tightens. I'm past everyone and their stupid faces, twisted in false pity.

It's the graveyard now. The dirt crumples underneath my feet. I run faster, shutting my eyes against the chilly wind. My hair blows back. The skirt of my black dress stretches taut and thin over my thighs, blowing behind me.

Even with my eyes shut, I find the place I'm looking for. A gravestone. Grey and scratched. The words barely there on the gravelly stone. Over it grows a green vine. So green it clashes with the grim, unhappy gloom of the stone. It wraps around the grave stone, pink and purple blossoms sprouting randomly between luscious, full leaves. Young and bright in a graveyard of heartbreak. And the Heartbreakers lie under the ground. Peaceful.

I fall on the ground, burying my face in the the moss on the gravestone. I don't cry. I hold it in. I pull my arms around it. Daring it to hold me. But it can't. Because it's arms are buried in the ground. Among secrets I've never dug up.

And then there are footsteps. And then there are arms around me. And then there's warmth on my skin. And then there are hands clasping mine. And then there's somebody else.

He holds me against him. My back against his stomach. My head bowed. His hands over mine on the flat surface of my stomach. My head fits into his neck.

I start to cry. My eyes are squeezed shut but the tears leak out anyway. I can feel them slide down. He pulls me so I face him. His arms tight around me.

My best friend. Neville Longbottom.

"Are you alright?" he whispers into my hair.

"No".

Flashback ends...

"You sure?" he asks and my head is bowed. He drops his head to look into my eyes.

"Yup, sure as ever," I say, smiling brightly.

I'm not okay.

"Alright. I'm going to go up and change. Then, maybe we can go visit Harry and Ginny together? Hmm?"

He gets up and I can hear the noise of the water running as he washes his cup. The offer hangs in the air. Like a paper tied to a thread. Hanging over the ocean. But all I can think of is that he said 'together'. And it feels better than it should.

"Okay," I reply.

He turns and before he leaves he dips his head down. His mouth grazes my ear as he whispers into it. My skin chills at the touch of him. His breath against my neck. Warm and strangely cold.

"It's okay not to be okay," he breathes.

And the only thing I can think of after he leaves the kitchen is that so many people have said the same thing but only his words matter. Only they sink in like this. I shut my eyes.

My best friend. Neville Longbottom.