I'm not just kidding when I say that I'm not J.K.

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The Person You Marry

Neville was in the middle of peacefully propounding upon the theories of herbologist J. P. Husker about the correlation of numerology, the cycles of the moon, and the progressively decreasing production of sugars in carnivorous plants. It was rather a dull subject for those who were uninterested in herbology, granted, but it was fascinating for those who were. The sunny October afternoon was nippy as the boy settled in the grass with a few biscuits in his pocket, but his thick Gryffindor scarf protected him against the worst gusts, and he genuinely felt at ease.

Ron and Harry entered the scene, in their usual bombastic and explosive way, causing heads to turn in both silent admiration and deep annoyance. The garden was a place for quiet reflection and solace, not jocular Quidditch players out for a good romp.

". . . but you got to admit, Harry, that pass was just a smashing riot, a real smashing riot!" exclaimed Ron, bitter at his friend's cheerful disagreement. "McLaggen couldn't have been more brilliant, and that's saying a lot, if you know what I mean."

"It was called foul," Harry replied almost absentmindedly, looking around him at myriad eyes and feeling the intense pain of attention.

"But it was brilliant, still," Ron insisted, then meandered over to the heavy-set boy curled up in the bay window with a book. "Hey, Neville, you were at the game yesterday. What did you think of it when McLaggen passed the bludger to Gale and Gale got the score?"

"Erm, I wasn't really at the game yesterday," Neville said, nervous. "I was reading this book." He put his thumb in the spine so he would not lose his place, and he showed them the title.

"Chlorophyll in Carnivorous Plants and Other Speculations Regarding Them by J. P. Husker?" read Ron with disgust. His eyebrows raised with mechanic precision, and he shook his head. "Pretty heady stuff you got there, Neville. What's it about?"

"Erm . . . well . . ." It was always so hard to summarize books when suddenly pulled out from their midst. "It's on herbology. It talks about how numbers and things can be used to predict how much the plants eat and how many carbohydrates they make. The moon is supposed to affect not only the tide, as everyone knows, but also the fluids inside the plant cells and so--"

"Hmph!" Ron exclaimed with disdain. "You would think, mate, that the only person who would be interested in learning about that would be Professor Sprout."

"Well, I find it interesting, I guess," Neville tried to explain, but was cut off by Ron's next rude comment.

"The only other person in the world of our age who would find that interesting, Neville, will be the person you marry!" the redhead declared with a brusque laugh. "Honestly, who gives a rip about a dirty old plant?"

"I do, to some degree," remarked a celestial voice from above them. Nestled in the branches of the ficus, Luna Lovegood sat, holding an old issue of The Quibbler turned upside-down in her traditional way. Without another word, she descended from the tree, careful not to let her skirt flounce as the wind's insistence demanded. Like Mary Poppins she landed, dropping her magazine and letting the breeze take custody of its pages. She instantly and unhesitatingly placed herself next to Neville at the base of the tree.

"We--my father and I--are doing an article for the December issue concerning grafting of magical plants and how it can negatively affect them, and there is a section on how the fluids of the plants will sometimes react very badly to each other, especially during the full or new moons."

Ron gave a guffaw that was barely stiffled by a cough.

"God bless you," Luna said placidly, not deigning to look up at him. At that moment Harry and Ron looked at each other the wrong way, only to burst into unrestrained laughter.

Neville did not even notice. He instead was focused on the beautiful white hand of his starlike nymph as she extended it to turn to the cover of his book, wondering what color ring would be best to adorn it--silver or gold?

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Written in honor of my cousin Jill's wedding to my new cousin-in-law (and her husband) Chris. See you at Oma's for Thanksgiving, dude.

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