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For all those who’ve fought for a cause.
For all those who’ve been desperate.
For all those who’ve suffered a loss.
For all those who’ve lost themselves.
For all those who’ve believed.





R.Scamander

ABUNDANCE

(overflowing, fullness)

An ABUNDANCE of heart, mind, spirit and soul.

____________________That’s what she is.____________________


+


It was like watching a feather float wistfully on the back of a summer breeze, the way she drifted through life, so gracefully. Though she did not look down upon people, as though she was ‘above’ them or better than them, because she didn’t believe that she was.

But she was better than them. She was one of those people. Those people had destinies. Great ones.

It was as though she had found freedom, nothing tied her down to the ground, she could travel anywhere in her mind, to a far off land of make believe, and she could conjure that greatest invention from the simplest train of thought. She had obtained freedom like no one else had, for no one else had really bothered to try.

And for that very reason nobody believed her. Nobody, that didn’t really know her, trusted her thoughts or judgments. She was called ‘Looney Lovegood’ for that very reason. And for that very reason, I believed her. I trusted her thoughts and judgments.

She grew to understand cruelty at a young age. Which in it’s self was cruel, but it meant that she didn’t care what the non-believers said, because she didn’t listen. But the funny thing was, listening was one of the things she was best at. What made her so great at it was that she knew what to listen to, and what not.

Somewhere between art and science there was wonder. And that’s where she belonged. She was wonder.


+


WHOLE


(entire, complete)

A WHOLE person, who is just there, sound and clear, right and just.

____________________That’s what she is.____________________


+


You could tell from the way she looked around that she was genuinely interested in the world around us. She wanted to help people, save people, comfort them. She wanted to discover new things, show them to the world, tell them what they’ve been missing. She was happy, if a little bit up in the clouds, and she wanted everyone else to feel that way, because, well, why shouldn’t they?

She had done what was thought to be childlike, a waste of time. She had taken that step back and just looked around her. She looked at the world as though through the eyes of a child. She just saw. She saw everything for what it was, and what it could be. She saw life and happiness and sadness and cruelty and she accepted it because in her eyes, it was beautiful.

Her eyes would bore in to you and really look at you, taking you in, like she was reading you. And you’d get the impression that she wasn’t really listening to what you were saying, she kind of was, it was more like she knew already what you were saying to her. And once you’d finished speaking, she’d say something completely unrelated. She’d tell you about yourself. She’d peal you right open and tell you things you already knew but never realised. But it wasn’t harsh, mean or rude; it was simple, and refreshing and true.

Her soul was kaleidoscopic. It was so filled with different colours and shapes, and meanings and interpretations it was fit to bursting. And all these little colourful shapes fitted together perfectly, like patterns. They made her up. They were what she was. They would be what you’d get if you took her all apart.

Colour.
It flowed through her. In her veins. In her blood and in her bones. It shone through her skin and radiated out, spilling down on anything or anyone around.



+



L.Lovegood

          (He’s back. He’s back. Voldemort.)

And all the walls came tumbling down.

Not my walls, I, Luna Lovegood, do not have walls, you can see right through me. No, I’m talking about the walls of the ministry, and the walls of society, as we knew it.

Things changed, my beautiful world morphed into one contorted and haggard by fear and suppression. And democracy tumbled out of control down that slippery slope towards corruption, because one man refused to believe. And because he would not believe, he ruined the chances of survival. Of recovery. Of new starts and new beginnings and new hope, for everybody.

I’m not one to get angry at the world. Or the people in it, because we are all entitled to think what we wish, say what we wish and do what we wish. But we cannot take other people’s paradises; we cannot and should not obstruct other people from thinking what they wish, saying what they wish, doing what they wish or achieving greatness if they so wish it. But the day that Fudge took the two things that make the world go round (and the two things I treasure most), I screamed. I screamed to the heavens out of pure rage and asked the question.

          (Why?)


+


Censorship.

Hope and the truth, that’s what he took.

He snubbed the people’s hope and fed them lies.

Ministerial lies, which he’d written in his Ministerial chair, using his Ministerial pen, tucked up in his Ministerial office, safe and away from the world. Safe in his little bubble that he’d created. Oblivious to the real world. What was really going on.

And that’s what he was. Oblivious. People were planning revolutions right under his nose and he turned the blind eye. Because it was easier. Because he was scared. He turned the blind eye out of pure fear that he might actually have to govern his people.


+



I loved the years preparing for the fight. We were young, and rebellious and fearless.

          (We had it all.)

That’s the thing about the prospect of war. War makes those who are fearless step forward and lead. They gather their followers and believers and make them feel fearless even if they’re not. They make them believe in the cause. They grip the opposition by the horns and shake them from their root.

          (I believed. But I fought a different battle in the end.)

I hate to say it sometimes because it makes me sound a bit selfish because others were suffering, but the 2 years leading up to the second war were some of the best I’ve ever had. We were a community; a team and I liked it. And although I’d never really felt the need for friends, now that they were sort of here, I didn’t really want them to go.

But then Harry left and took more hope and most of the drive with him.

Everyone lost their drive then. It wasn’t that no one wanted it anyone, everyone still wanted it. Freedom. But everyone was engulfed in this huge feeling of hopelessness that got it to your brain if you let it and it would consume you. Pulling you down in to this pit of despair and worry. A pit that was rather hard to get out of again.


+


It felt like the kids did everything. We all grew up much too fast, that’s why I still try to look at the world through the eyes of a small child. It always makes things so much clearer. You’re brain is not crowded with thoughts of obligation, or worries of embarrassment or anything like that. You just see what’s right and what’s wrong, and if you’re lucky, how to fix it.

So we all carried on and pretended as if we were still fighting for this cause, when really we were just sought of existing in the place of it. Making sure that it still had a name and place in the world. We were in stalemate. And I hated it. We needed to evolve and keep moving, like the opposition. Just because Harry was gone did not mean that we had to stop. Drop the reigns and let them win. He’s just Harry, he's not the world. Not the cause.

          (But the truth was, we’d lost a heck of a lots more than ‘just Harry’.)

So we kept ‘existing’. We went to school. We ‘learnt’. We grew. We breathed. And we dreamed. I dreamt of the day when someone would get up and say ‘No. This isn’t good enough’. And I dreamt that it might just be me. But I kind of knew that, that was not what I was meant to do with my life. I was a fighter I knew. But I was different. It was someone else’s destiny to get up and say ‘No. This isn’t good enough’. I was a fighter I knew. But I was a fighter of the mind.


+


          (They took my Luna. They took my Luna and I don’t know where she is, what                                                                                                             they’ve done to her.)

They came in the night like a hawk looking for its helpless prey. I remember being grabbed by brutal hand. Shaken and silenced. I kicked and screamed and shouted and flailed my arms and tried to run, but my cries were not answered, because no one could hear me.

I don’t remember much after that. The arrival at the Malfoy’s I was not conscious for. I woke up just as someone carried me down in to the dungeon, their muscular arms rigid around me as if it were someone who had a fear of children and was being forced to cuddle a small child. Because that’s how I felt, I felt like a small, helpless, wounded child.

I looked up at the melancholy face of Draco Malfoy as he laid me on the ground and in that instant I knew.

          (I knew him.)

He was always so easy to read, he always had been, anyone could do it, you just had to really look. But I think you’ll find no one looked past the two words that everyone thought made him, him. Slytherin, Malfoy. That’s all they needed to judge. But hardly what he was. What you’re called and where you’re placed, do not mean that is where your heart lies. There is such a thing as a change of heart. But no one thought he could change, no one thought he would change. No one thought he had a heart.

He knew what was right. He knew he was on the wrong side. He knew, he knew it, but he wouldn’t accept it. He was scared. He’d chosen the easy way out and he’d gone so far down that road that when he thought he took the wrong path and turned around, the other, way was on the horizon and so far out of reach he almost couldn’t see it.


+


Someone levitated food and water and soap and blankets and the likes down to us while we were imprisoned there, keeping us alive. Putting their neck on the line, just to be a good person. I think they were probably the only person in that hellhole who had a good soul. And I’m convinced it was him. But I’d never ask him; I’m not scared of asking him. Little things like that do not scare me. No, if I asked him, I’d practically be setting him up for his murder and he’s done so much for me, to repay him in such a way would be cruelty at its rawest.

But forcing someone to live in the way we did was also cruelty at its rawest. They tested me. And they knew it. They dipped me, plunged me in their pool of hate and then left it to fester in me the way they knew it would. It ate me up inside. Gnawing away at my self belief, any belief I had, scratching at my hope and dreams, chipping away at my happiness, pulling, tugging at the strings of my heart until they were frayed and nearly snapped. They smothered my soul with their darkness.

          (I was tested by patience. Tired by time.)

But I didn’t grow to hate in the way that they wanted me to, I didn’t hate the people I loved, I still loved them. And they came for me the way I knew they would. You either love or you don’t, it’s all or nothing. That’s the only way to live otherwise life passes you by. But they did get to me. Strong as I thought I was.

          (They broke my character and left shattered in their wake.)


+



R.Scamander

FRAGMENT

(part, chip)

A FRAGMENT of what she was, teetering on the edge of ruin, waiting to be saved.

____________________That’s what she is now.____________________


+


It was like watching a great piece of literature being thrown in the fire and seeing it burn. Then taking out the ashes and looking at them. Regretting.

She was a shadow of her self. A mere whisper of what she used to be, no longer whole, no longer full, no longer an abundance of heart, mind, spirit and soul. She’d begun to not accept everything in the world, not everything was beautiful in her eyes anymore. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t the real her. The real her had retreated so far back inside herself it was debatable as to weather it still existed. But if you really tried I’m sure you could find it. And if you really tried I’m sure it could be coaxed out again.

Because the thing was, they took her father away forever. They killed him, mercilessly. They broke her and then stole some of her, possible to put her in a jar somewhere to laugh at her radiance. To point figures and say the words, ‘Look what we did.’ ‘Look what we can do.’

Her kaleidoscopic soul had been squeezed and compressed and the colourful little patterns weren’t so colourful anymore.

It wasn’t fear that had overcome her. It wasn’t hate for the world. It was more that she was saddened by what she saw, what they did. They’d gotten to her, and taken away some of her magic, taken away something that made her, her. And although the war was over and we’d won, and those villains were gone, it didn’t take away the fact that they did it. The broke her. They took him, and some of her too.

She forgave them (though they would never know) because it was in her nature to, but she was still a little bitter, and she hated that. So she began to regret. And regret, and regret, and regret. Things she did, things she said, things she felt. She did the unthinkable (in her eyes, for she had promised herself she’d never regret anything, it makes a good Gurdyroot go bad, you know.)

But she was savable. And that, I found, was something I felt obligated to do, for whatever reason. I felt obligated to save her.


+



L.Lovegood

PASSIONATE

(intense, ardent)

A person who was PASSIONATE about everything they did or wanted or was fighting for. Open-minded, a thinker.


____________________That’s what he is._____________________


+


He was a watcher too. I’d named myself that, and all the people like me. People who watched others to figure them out. I figured he was good at it, because he spent most of his time doing it.

I always found him most fascinating; I guess it was because I knew absolutely nothing about him or his life. You could just tell though, from his presence, his laughing conflicted eyes that he had lost a great deal. Weather it was during the war, like me, or before, I did not know.

But he didn’t seem to have changed at all since Hogwarts. Still the same. Still Rolf. Always consistent.

I liked how he loved his work, the way he threw himself in to every new assignment, no matter how boring. I liked how his eyes would spark with anger when someone would say the words ‘I don’t believe’. I’d been getting a lot of 'I don’t believe'’s recently. He was just so open-minded. You could tell him any rubbish that you believed and he would sit there and listen and hear you out, not immediately snubbing you because it seemed that little bit eccentric or extraordinary.

He knew that the difference between ordinary and extraordinary was that little bit extra. He liked that little bit extra. He was that little bit extra. He saw possibilities in everything. He had an enhanced ability to accept the extraordinary.

He was a listener too. We were pretty similar, him and I. Even if he didn’t know me. Our souls were made of the same kind of stuff I reckon. But I hardly knew myself anymore. I’m not really me nowadays. He’s not like this version of me. He’s like the real me. The me I’ve strayed form.


+


R.Scamander

Atticus Scott was a good boss, but he was in the wrong job, you could tell he hated it. He was going through what is commonly known as a mid-life crisis. And right now he wasn’t being the good boss I knew him to be.

To be a part of the section of the Ministry that I worked in you had to actually be interested in what we were doing, it wasn’t one of those boring office jobs that you could just do. And that’s exactly why I loved it. You had to be passionate about it. But I can tell you with no hesitation; Atticus Scott was not born to be a Naturalist. I however, was. But I’m straying from my point; right now he wasn’t being the good boss I knew him to be.

“Look Luna, I do not care if you believe in every single fairytale creature that was ever written. I’m the boss and I telling you now for the millionth time, I do not believe that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks exist. I do not believe that Nargles exist; I do not believe that Wrackspurts exist. I do not believe that any of them exist and I’m not going to give you the money to go chasing after these make believe ‘animals’.” His voice had steadily risen through out the whole rant until he was shouting at Luna, his shoulders heaving, nostrils flared. Something in side my stomach burnt. ‘I do not believe’ there couldn’t be a more hateful, close-minded, idiotic phrase in the whole English language.

I walked to his office, only to see through the open door Luna sitting in the chair opposite Atticus’ desk refusing to meet his eye. Atticus himself was standing above her, staring her down, willing her to look up so he could tear her apart even more with one of his looks. One of his looks that just said ‘You’re wrong. You’ll always be wrong, and I'll always be right, so just give up. Give up.’

Being Atticus’ right hand man, he was a little more informal with me than the others in the office, not to say we all walked around in suits all the time, no, our office was very informal, it was more that he spoke to me as though I was his friend. A good and a bad thing, I think. But the up side was, I was able to sway his decisions easily when I knew he was going to make a bad one.

And he’d just made a very bad one. Anyone could see that Luna was breaking that all she needed before she toppled down in to an endless pit of despair, was that little push. And I think Atticus may have just toppled her off the edge.

I knocked once on the open door and entered. Atticus looked up at me and gave an incredibly strained smile,

“Ahh, Rolf, Hello. How are you?” He sort of chocked out, his voice all of a sudden becoming very posh. Luna still refused to look anywhere but the spot on the floor just left of Atticus’ left shoe.

“I was wondering if we might have a word?” I inquired coolly. He looked taken a back, but agreed nonetheless. He closed the door behind him and looked up at me, confused.

“You were out of line Atticus. And don’t pull the ‘I’m the boss’ card on me. I know you’re the boss, but you were out of line. Atticus this is getting unprofessional, you need to sort out you personal life and stop bringing your rage in to work. Yesterday it was Felicity Day you had a problem with, last week it was Geoffrey Pinn. I think you should dismiss the office for the rest of the day, go home and sort things out. This is getting unprofessional” I knew it was harsh but it needed to be said. And when things need to be said, I like to step up and say them because most people will shy away from the job of speaking out.

His whole body swelled with anger and he looked like he was about to explode on me, I stood my ground. But he didn’t. After a couple of second of swelling, he sort of crumpled and deflated. Like one of those pastries you get, and when you let all the air out from in side, it flops.

“Fine, fine you’re right. This is getting unprofessional, I don’t know how you knew about what was going on with Kate and me, but,” He looked like he was having a hard time getting the last bit out, “Thank you”

I smiled.


+


We were all dismissed, and everyone practically ran out of the office, except Luna who liked to take her own sweet time about doing things that didn’t have to be rushed. I waited around awkwardly for her. I had decided I was going to bring back the old her. The old her that I knew everyone like much better than this new version.

I lent against the wall of the corridor leading to the exit, to be sure that I wouldn’t miss her. She came bundling out of her office, 5 minutes later, holding piles of paper, trying to put a scarf around her neck and keep her bag on her shoulder all at the same time. This wasn’t going to end well, I could just tell. Just as I thought, she tripped on the tale end of her scarf and all the papers she had been holding flew out of arms and flouted gracefully down to the floor like over sized confetti.

“Here, I’ll help you.” I said stepping forward and helping her back to her feet. I stooped to gather up all her papers as she dusted herself off and fixed her scarf.

“Thanks.” She mumbled as I handed them back to her.

“No problem.” I said to her smiling, then deciding on a spur of the moment to carry on, “Hey I was wondering, would you like to go and grab a coffee” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck and sounding more timid than I would have liked. She looked at me, shocked.

“Y… Yeah, I’d really appreciate that.” She smiled; she has a very nice smile.

We wandered around until we found a little coffee shop that she seemed to know and like. I ordered a tea, and she ordered something that sounded a bit like Gurdyroot infusion, but I can’t be sure.

“So I guess we haven’t really come out for coffee have we.” I tried to joke.

She laughed; she has a very nice laugh.

We talked for hours until a waitress came over and told us we had to leave, so we obliged. I offered to walk her home but she said she was fine. A bit of a shame I thought. But we parted better friends than we had begun the day and I felt I was on the right tracks to getting her back.


+


Next day at work Atticus called in saying he would not be there. Some rather rushed excuse about having Dragon Pocks or something like that. A bit lame I thought, even I could have come up with a better excuse. I voiced this to Luna who looked taken a back that I was still talking to her, but she smiled nonetheless. But it was a sad smile, followed by a sigh that said much more than she would have liked, I suspected.

“I thought you only took me out for ‘coffee’ yesterday because you felt sorry for me.” She stated plainly. She had a rather nice habit of saying things exactly how they were. And saying exactly how she felt.

“I did feel sorry for you.” I replied, her face didn’t change, “But that doesn’t mean that that was the only reason I took you out for a coffee.”

She didn’t venture further. Or go all giddy and get the impression that I was now in love with her, which I wasn’t. Lots of women get that impression when men do nice things for them. I find that sort offending, and stereotypical. No all men are out to get you (or get in you pants). And all the nice ones aren’t always gay, might I add.

We started sitting together at lunch most days. Some people looked at me oddly as though to say ‘someone’s sitting with her. Looney Lovegood’. But I didn’t care, I was on mission, I was getting her back.


+


Getting her to talk was not a problem. But I was having a bit of problem finding out what the problem was. She’s still like her old self, but she’s so unlike her old self at the same time. Something’s changed in her. She seems trapped inside her self. As though she’s scared of self-expression, as though it might get her locked up again. And then I got it. She’s lost possible one of her best qualities. Her self-belief. She used to have so much of it, it would flow from her. And now, I don’t think she has any at all. Which was sad, she could be effervescent with some self-belief. She could be anything with some self-belief.

Building self-belief or confidence is like building a wall, I’ve found. Brick by brick, you have to lay it down, remembering to fill in all the gaps with cement. Until finally, after a long while of TLC and close attention to detail, you have something that, if you treat it well, will last you a lifetime.

So I did the only thing that I knew would build confidence. I started subtly complimenting her, but the nice thing was, I truly meant every word I said. Half of them she wouldn’t pick up on, the other half, when she noticed, she would blush ever so slightly, possibly letting herself believe the words I was saying. When she noticed them she eyes would sparkle brilliantly; she has very nice eyes.

We were becoming the best of friends, silently swearing under our breath, linking our little fingers under the table, pinkie promising that we would keep this wonderful, refreshing, vibrant friendship going and growing for as long as we could. For as long as fate would permit. It turned out that we were pretty similar, her and I. Our souls were made of the same kind of stuff I reckon.

I started this so I could pull her up out of the gorge she’d landed herself in and through her back in to the sky where she belonged. And although that was exactly what I was doing, I felt like this was more than that now. I wanted the old her back, even if I hardly knew the old her. I think I’d like the old her. It was more than that now. I wanted to know her. I wanted to know every little thing about her. Every thought that flitted through her mind. Everything and anything that fascinated her. Anything she was passionate about. Everything that made her beautiful grey eyes sparkle. Every joke or whatever that made her laugh. Any moment that went unnoticed by most, but made her smile. I felt like I could write a book on all the things I wanted to know about one Miss Luna Lovegood.

She was my fascination.


+


L.Lovegood

He knew it before I’d even noticed it. I needed saving and he’d thrown himself in to the pitiful depths that I’d let my self sink to, just so he could drag me, a stranger, up, holding me by the hand. A little heroic to say the least. I’d met my fair share of heroes. My life seemed to be filled with heroes. All different kinds.

Harry – Saved the world because he loved.

Neville – Carried on the fight because no one else would.

Draco – Saved some dying strangers because he did wrong.

But Rolf, Rolf was different. He was a small hero. He did the little herculean tasks of life. His mission was to save humanity, one desperate person at a time.

Rolf –Threw himself down in to someone else’s despair, to save a lost girl he hardly knew, because he cared.

Different, but heroic nonetheless.

He would compliment me occasionally and he sounded so honest about everything he said I couldn’t help but believe him. And soon there was this familiar airy feeling growing with in me, starting at my toes and working it’s way up. It was slowly filling me up. I liked it. It felt good, like home. And for the first time in what seemed to be a very long time, I felt like I used to feel. Almost whole again. The world was still beautiful. I could, again, take that step back and just look around me and appreciate everything for what it was. It had been rather hard to do that recently. Atticus’ ‘I do not believes’ didn’t hurt so much anymore. The airy feeling had almost filled me up to the brim. It was about ear level now. I thought just maybe, I’d started to believe in my self again after so long of doubting.


+


R.Scamander

I’d managed to pull her up and I’d made the throw. She was presently sitting wistfully on a cloud somewhere floating up, well on her way to fully believing in herself again.

And she still fascinated me more than anything else. She fascinated me more and more each day. We spent most of our time together nowadays. Talking for hours about God knows what, and the more she became her self again, the more comfortable she became around me, the more she opened up to me. Leaving me windswept in her wave, speechless, wanting to know more.

It was getting quite bad actually. Her smile lights up her whole face and her cute little dimples would come out. Her smile makes me smile.

Her laugh is so loud and full, she scrunches up her nose as she giggles away and sometimes she lets out this cute little snort, which she immediately pretends didn’t just happen. Her laugh makes me laugh.


+


It was mid March, just the beginning of spring, and Luna had decided that it was a good idea to go Plimpy fishing. So clad in our overly large waterproof coats and wellie's we splashed down in to the river near her childhood home. Nets and fishing rods in hand, we stood there, and we stood there, and we waited. I didn’t know weather waiting was a fundamental element when one is fishing for Plimpies or not. But mind you, I’d never fished for Plimpies before in my life, so I had no idea what you were supposed to do. Luna was the expert, she was in charge, that was debatable as to weather it was a good idea or not, but she in charge anyhow.

And there we were, stock still, ‘Plimpy fishing’ apparently.

Luna made a little gasping noise and started waving her net around in the water in a way that made her look like she was attempting (and failing) to do Thai Chi.

I began to laugh. What can I say; it was a funny sight to see. She looked up and frowned at me a little reproachfully, but promptly went back to her ‘fishing’.

The morning light was hazy and warm on my skin and was bouncing off Luna’s blonde hair in a way that made it look like she had a halo. She was glowing, laughing, comfortable in her own skin again.

And in that moment I realised something. Well 2 something’s really. I had fully achieved what I had started out to do. Luna was Luna once more. Fully herself again. Just Luna, nothing more, nothing less.

And it finally hit me, though it had probably happened weeks ago, though I’d started this whole thing, whatever it was, to stop Luna falling in to a never ending pit of despair after she’d been pushed off the edge, I realised that I too had been pushed off the edge. And I too was falling. But I was not falling in to despair. No, I was falling in to love.

And by God, if I was going down, I was bringing her down with me.


+


We stood in that river for nearly 4 hours. Every now and again a little gasp would escape Luna’s lips and would begin her fishing/dancing/Thai Chi routine again and she never caught a single thing, surprisingly. I didn’t catch a thing either, but that was more to do with the fact that I had no idea how to fish for Plimpies and also I just couldn’t take my eyes off the girl blonde haired girl with stormy grey eyes who standing just in front of me. Lucky she didn’t notice.

It was around midday that we gave up and sat in the crumbling ruins of Luna’s old home eating our picnic lunch. She looked happy to be back, at home once again.

She was rambling on to me in her wistful sort of way about how this place used to look. I wasn’t really listening, all I could think about was what I really meant to her. I knew what she meant to me.

          (The world.)

But what did I mean to her?

So I asked her cutting though her explanation of what a Drigible Plum was I said plainly “Luna, what am I to you? What do I mean to you?”

She looked taken a back but after a second of thought she replied calmly
“You’re my best friend. You’re my hero. You’re my Rolf.”

          (My Rolf. It sounded so right.)

“What am I to you?” She inquired, looked at me intently.

I hesitated. Wondering weather I should tell her everything I only just realised. It made sense to, but what if she didn’t feel the same? What if she laughed and thought I was joking? But I threw caution to the wind.

It was a ‘What the Hell’ moment.

“You’re the reason I get up in the morning. You’re my world. You’re my Luna.”

          (My Luna. It sounded so right.)

I turned so that I was sitting opposite her. She was looking at me with her ‘Luna Look’. It’s the look she puts on when she’s really reading you. I felt like an open book in front of her just then.

“Luna, I began this friendship so I could bring back that Luna that I knew everyone loved. The one I never knew but wished I had. And now I’ve done that and you’re back to beautiful, iridescent, wonderful self, I’ve realised I’ve done something else too. I’ve toppled off the edge, and you pushed me.”

I finally looked her in the eye. I could feel my face growing hot with embarrassment and worry; I rubbed the back of my neck. I couldn’t quite read her expression, but that made it easier I suppose.

“Luna, I falling in love with you, I hope that’s quite okay?” And with that I squeezed my eyes shut waiting for her response.

‘I hope that’s quite okay?’ Could I have been more stupid? Could I have sounded less truthful? Could I have been more unfeeling? God, I probably sounded like I was taking the piss. Shit.

There was a rustling and soon I felt he right next to me. She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You know most people would tell you that fairytales don’t happen in real life.” I could feel her breath cascading down my neck and it made me shiver. I didn’t quite know where she was going with this, but she continued, “In most fairytales, the hero gets the damsel in distress and they live happily ever after. Most people believe that fairytales never happen real life, but I’m not most people. I do believe they happen in real life. Oh, and Rolf, in case you didn’t get it the first time. You’re my hero.”

Oh, that’s where she was going. …Wait, did she really just say that? Is she trying to tell me what I think she is, or am I just assuming things again?

I opened my eyes slowing letting them a just to the light, I turned to face her. A smile was playing on her lips and her eyes seemed to be filled with a million different emotions.

I was kind of at a loss. Like I was in suspension, hanging in middle of time and space, everything was frozen around me, only she was real.

Her hero. Her hero.

Maybe I should give this heroic thing a go?

So I kissed her.

          (It was like a little drop of heaven. Like I was floating away on a cloud. Cloud 9 to                                                                                                                                be exact.)

We broke apart and she looked at me, a very serious expression upon her face. “Rolf, I falling in love with you, I hope that’s quite okay?” she grinned. Was she mocking me?

          (And everything was just as it should have been. Perfect.)


+


L.Lovegood

So, a girl called Luna had picked herself up (with the help of a boy called Rolf) and was carrying on. Carrying on with life, with her passions. With being a great Naturalist.

So, a boy called Rolf helped pick a girl called Luna up of the floor and carry on. And he too was carrying on. Carrying on with life, with his passions. With being a great Naturalist.

So they carried on living and loving the world because in their eyes it was beautiful. They carried on going through life, just the same as before, only this time, they went through together. Hand in hand.


+



COMPLETE


(total, not lacking)

A COMPLETE sort of happiness that filled them up to the brim. A couple of happy, COMPLETE people who were PASSIONATE and WHOLE .Who had an ABUNDANCE of heart, mind, spirit and soul.

____________________That’s what they are.____________________


+
 

 





A/N: I finally edited this story. I know. Well done me. I'm just so bad a reading over my working and finding all the mistakes, so I apologise for the previous one and if there are any that I have still missed, please tell me. 

And on a similarly related note, you see the box underneath, it has this amazing power which lets you communicate with me, telling me what you thought of the story, and any mistakes that I missed. Some even go as far as saying that it's magic. So if I were you. I'd use it, just so you know, you don't upset it or something. You never know with these technological/magical things. They're always out to get you. 

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this. I was a bit shaky about it, but I just love Luna/Rolf so much that I had to write a one shot. 

Thanks for reading (and don't forget the magic box! No really it'd be awesome and then some if you reviewed.)


~Vivre~ 

 

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