Spangles

Note: movie canon; done without reference.

Neville was glad he had a break in his classes after Defense Against the Dark Arts, because if he had had to go to Charms right after, he would have broken like a reed snapped by a strong wind. He should have used his break to do homework, but instead he always went to the greenhouses, even though they were clear across the castle. He needed to smell green life, needed to do something he wasn't complete bollocks at.

Today had been particularly bad. Neville had always thought part of the reason he hated Professor Snape so much was because of the dungeons, which always reeked of mold and damp. But, no, he was just as terrifying in a normal classroom. Maybe worse, because at least in Potions Neville had something to do to keep his hands busy, and everyone else had always been too busy doing their own work to pay attention to him. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, he could only sit there and think, I know I read about that. What did I read? And shake like a rabbit. That too.

But the greenhouse was warm, and it was quiet, and there, he knew what needed to be done without having to be told. His hands never shook when he was potting a plant; he never had to measure how much water anything needed or worry that he'd put them in too much soil or the wrong pot.

It was also usually empty, because Neville could count on his fingers the number of people who spent as much time in the greenhouse as he did, and they were all Hufflepuffs, most of whom were trying to suck up to Professor Sprout. Neville, as far as he knew, was the only one who came here because he loved it. Because it was the only place he knew where he would never be judged.

He walked into Greenhouse 3 and sat down next to his Mimbulus Mimbletonia. It trembled beneath his touch; Neville smiled, running his fingers down the deep folds in the plant's sides. He gently pressed his fingers against the soil. A bit dry. Hmm.

As he walked over to get a watering can, he heard the door slide open and the soft click of heeled shoes on the greenhouse floor. Not Professor Sprout, then. Maybe one of the Hufflepuff girls…? But Hannah was the only girl who came here regularly, and she always wore flats.

Neville turned, holding the watering can, and blinked three times in quick succession.

Luna Lovegood walked slowly through the rows of plants, touching each one gently—the way he did, like a mother cat inspecting her kittens. Her expression was solemn; her eyes looked very large because she was wearing makeup that highlighted them. Her shoes were light blue and metallic, with just a hint of shimmer, and she wore a spangled dress. He had never seen someone so inappropriately dressed for time in the greenhouse. And he had never seen Luna look so pretty.

Luna was pretty, though. A lot of people didn't notice, because she spoke strangely and wore weird clothing. But her eyes were the exact color of a forget-me-not, and in the right light her hair looked like spun gold. Neville was not sure when he had begun noticing this, but he was pretty sure it happened some time after the battle of the Ministry. He and Luna and Ginny had spent some time together  afterward, because the three of them needed to talk to someone about it, and, as usual, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all too caught up in their own affairs to notice that the other people who had been there might need some help.

Neville quickly turned away as she moved to the next aisle, still touching each plant as though she worried one might feel left out if she didn't. He wanted to go water his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, because it tended to sulk if he didn't pay enough mind to it, but moving would draw her attention, and he didn't want her to know he was here, even if he was dreadfully curious why she was dressed like that. And in the greenhouse.

She turned another corner. Her back was to him now. Certainly… Neville took a few steps and stubbed his toe on a trowel someone had dropped. He bit back a curse, but the damage was done. Luna had stopped with her head cocked like she'd heard someone call her name. She looked over her shoulder—slowly, because Luna never did anything quickly—and smiled. "Hello, Neville."

Her accent always made his toes tingle. Neville smiled sheepishly. "'Lo, Luna," he said, bending down to pick up the trowel. He hoped she didn't think that he hadn't said anything because he hadn't wanted to talk with her. Conversations with Luna always left him feeling lost, but that didn't mean he didn't like them. He felt confused most of the time, after all. At least with Luna it was pleasant.

She smiled, and he was pretty sure she didn't think that at all. "Did you unlock the door?" she asked, nodding back toward the greenhouse entrance. "I saw it, and I thought I might as well come say hello to the plants." She stopped in front of a Snargaluff and stroked the trunk with one finger.

"I did," said Neville. There was no point standing around like an idiot anymore. He blushed at his own awkwardness—even though, as usual, Luna made no sign that she felt he was awkward—and walked over to his Mimbulus Mimbletonia. As he watered it, the plant cooed softly, making Neville smile despite himself. He tested the soil after a moment. Perfect.

"Is there any water left?" Luna asked. Neville nodded, and Luna pointed at a shrivelfig. Neville walked over, watching where he planted his feet lest there were any other things on the floor to foul them. He didn't want to trip in front of Luna—she would laugh. Not in a mean way, but still. It never aided conversation.

Luna leaned against the table supporting the plant as Neville gently inspected the soil. Shrivelfigs did not need a lot of water, but this one was a little too dry, so he poured in just a little.

Luna watched him the whole time. The greenhouse was well-lit and received much sunlight. Whenever she moved, her dress sparkled, sending flecks of light along the plants and Neville's skin.

When he was finished watering the plant, she resumed her journey through the greenhouse. Neville watched her. He wanted to ask what she was doing here, but he could never seem to come out and say things to people—well, unless he was angry. Or embarrassed. He wasn't either of those things right now. Around Luna, he was content, because he knew that no matter what he did to shame himself, Luna would never judge him. "…Do you have a break now, too, Luna?"

Luna nodded, her back to him. She trailed her fingers along a vine and tapped each leaf with the tips of her fingers. "I like coming in here now and again, but the doors are always locked. Do you have the keys?"

Neville nodded and realized she wouldn't see it. "Yeah. Professor Sprout gave me them last year so I could take care of my Mimbulus."

Luna looked over her shoulder at him and smiled dreamily. "That's very nice. Professor Sprout talks very fondly of you." The dress covered her shoulders and was not cut low in the front, but there was a dip in the back, revealing the tops of her shoulderblades and a handspan's worth of pale skin. Neville looked away, blushing. Luna twined her fingers gently in the vine; it curled around her hand like she was a trellis. "Most people don't speak highly of you, Neville."

Neville looked at his feet and bit back a sigh. "I know," he said quietly.

"It's all right, though," said Luna, turning back to him. She dislodged herself—gently—from the vine and began walking toward him again as she touched the plants on the opposite table. "They just don't know you."

Neville smiled at her weakly. "I know that, too."

Luna looked him in the eyes; she had reached the plant directly opposite the shrivelfig he was still inspecting. Luna's gaze was always disarming, especially at close range. And, right now, her expressoin was as close to sharp as it ever got: a frown lurked between her brows, and her eyes were focused completely on him, which almost never happened. "No, you don't. You say so because people tell you that, but you don't believe it. Not where it counts." She poked him, gently, in the center of his chest. Neville stared at her finger like he'd never seen a finger before. "Not yet."

She smiled at him. Her smile, for all that it made her look daft, was beautiful. "But you will."

She turned away and touched every plant remaining on the table. Neville stood there like a stunned rabbit. He couldn't decide if it came from her touch or her words; they seemed about equally surprising.

Luna made for the door. "Wait," said Neville, before he realized he was going to say it and not just wish he could. Luna looked back at him, curious. Neville had nothing to say—nothing he could articulate, at least—so he went with the obvious. "…You look really pretty today, Luna."

Luna smiled at him in a way he'd never seen before, a way that made him feel all tight and loose, hot and cold. It was a sweet smile, and he was certain she had never smiled that way at anyone but him. "Thank you, Neville. It's my birthday."

She slipped out the doors before he could wish her a happy birthday.