Just a short one shot I thought up of Luna and Harry. If you're not that kinda ship follower, you won't like this. Sorry about the angst. It was how I felt when I wrote it.
Happy holidays, everyone, no matter what you celebrate. And have a great new year party. (I don't say "a happy new year" cuz it sounds like I'll never see whoever I'm telling that again, if that made any sense.)
He was sleeping again. He always slept these days, almost as if he didn't care to live.
She hated seeing him like this. A part of her felt it was her fault, but she knew it wasn't. She knew it was never her fault, nor did she intend it to ever become her fault.
He loved her.
She loved him.
That was all they needed to know.
But she couldn't help but be angry with him, sometimes. True, his destiny was a hard one to face, but she was there for him to lean on when times got hard, and she was ready to spit in the face of his destiny if it ever became too hard for him to face alone. Sometimes he promptly forgot to see that. She sometimes suspected he was too used to despair to accept that he could be happy, now.
Luna Lovegood's life had not been one full of candy canes and happy holidays. Her mother died when she was very little and she had been plagued by the sight of death long before a girl should be. Her childhood had always been lonely. She had been constantly mocked in school for her surprised expression and wide, gray eyes. Her long, dirty blonde hair had never been one she'd been proud of. She always wanted red hair. But one day, she realized she'd never be "in" so she decided to go as "out" as possible, and the school had dubbed her "Loony" Luna.
She pretended she didn't mind.
She spent her entire third year with no friends until in fourth year, the train ride to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she had met Harry.
By the end of seventh year, she realized that he loved her and, putting aside all dislikes for humans besides her father, she had accepted his offer to go to Hogsmeade together that weekend.
Three years later, here they both were, in the small apartment near the edge of London, not too far away from thevisitor entrance of the Ministry of Magic in case they couldn't apparate to work or get there through Floo Powder.
They were both Aurors. Harry had convinced Luna to sell the Quibbler after her father's death and they had used the money, along with Harry's small fortune, to survive until they finished Auror training which would end in a little less than a year for Harry, two for Luna.
She could see his scars. Not the lightning bolt on his head, but the emotional wounds, left open and bleeding after the war. Sometimes in the middle of the night, he would wake up, sweating and fumbling for his wand, which Luna had locked in the nightstand for the night, in case he acted irrationally and attacked someone innocent believing they were a possible threat, like herself. Luna sometimes tried to break the tension at breakfast by making a quiet joke and calling him the next "Mad-Eye".
He would laugh every now and then, but that was because he loved her, and he wanted her to believe he was alright. That he had survived.
She knew better.
She sat gently down next to the man's sleeping form on the scarlet bed sheets and stroked his jet black hair, brushing stubborn stray meshes away from his eyes. She pulled his glasses off his face and set them down on the table next to her, a small chink disturbing the sickening silence of the apartment.
"Hello, Harry," she whispered, her wide eyes taking in every detailof her husband. His body rose and fell in time with the beating of her heart. He groaned and rolled over onto his back and she snuggled in next to him, tracing the lightning bolt scar on his forehead with her finger, quietly humming a song her mother used to sing to her.
"I love you, too," she said. And, with her hand on his chest, over his heart, protecting it like a shield, she fell asleep with him.