Disclaimer: After reading this wretched story, you'd be a banana nut muffin for thinking I actually own anything HP-related!

Summary: Luna's still a banana nut muffin. Difference is that Harry's in the picture. Just a general mess of a HP/LL ficcy. But, there you go. Enjoy my meaningless sentimental-tinted sludge.


Luna Lovegood was namby-pamby, airy-fairy; she was quirky, she was odd, she was a girl full to bursting with idiosyncrasies that were just waiting to lash out at some defenseless passerby; Luna Lovegood was anything but ordinary. She was bananas. She was nuts. She was a banana nut muffin! She was…she was-

Well, she wasn't two things for certain-popular, beautiful. This coming out of smug, brownnosing overachiever Menary Linnet's mouth. While Menary was busy kissing up to her Arithmancy teacher and studying until dawn for next week's final exams, Luna was off in her own little world, searching for wdoihgeruiogwerftiops and befriending people who weren't quite there. "Oh Loony you're such a disgrace to Ravenclaws" Menary would say with her nose all wrinkling up. Hee hee hee HOO! giggled Luna then, your nose wrinkles. Well isn't that a funny word? Wrinkle. Like crinkle. Tinkle, finkle..? No. And Menary's nostrils would flare and she would huff and stalk away, muttering under her breath. Luna would watch her, shaking her head all the while and smiling widely, yes that Menary was a funny one with her versatile nose.

There was a particular time last week, a dull Monday or a windy Tuesday, Luna couldn't remember, she could hardly keep track of her two left feet, let alone the days of the weeks and personally, Luna didn't count Saturdays which muddled her up even more, when she was squinting at all the liver spots on Professor Winby's head. One, two, three, four, six, five-!

"-Miss Lovegood, what formula would be equivalent to blabbityblabbity blah?" Professor Winby asked out of nowhere, suddenly throwing at her a very surprising question indeed. Luna giggled; she couldn't remember what for, exactly, but there were times when a person would be inclined to laugh, when reason's got nothing to do with it, yeah?

"MISS LOVEGOOD!" he boomed at her. Luna stifled her laughter and straightened up. "Could you please repeat the question?" she said politely.

"What formula would be equivalent to blabbity blabbity blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda?" asked Professor Winby again.

Luna blinked. Hmm, this was a very difficult question. It looked like she would have to compromise. "Blabbity blabbity blah blah yadda yadda?" she said hopefully. Her fellow Ravenclaws roared with laughter at her then, Menary's leering face looking most particularly unpleasant.

"Yes, Miss Linnet," said Professor Winby, after said person's hand went up.

"Blabbity blabbity blah blah yadda yadda," replied Menary promptly.

"Correct," Professor Winby declared, smiling at her.

Luna frowned. That was what she had said! She poked a Mister Hark Glennings in the back. "What?" hissed the bespectacled, freckled boy who sat (unfortunately for him) in front of her during Arithmancy class.

"Wasn't the answer blabbity blabbity blah blah yadda yadda?" asked Luna without hesitation.

"Whaat? You're stupid. It was EmX1.990423x a/b," whispered Hark, embarrassed to be seen talking to her. He ducked and swiftly turned to face the teacher again. Luna frowned again. Most curious. It seems she had just been hearing things. Not too unusual, for her. She thought Professor McGonagall was speaking monkey to her last week. At least the ridiculing laughter today wasn't as bad as it was last time, she thought, when she had answered back using her superlative screeching noises. Luna rubbed her forehead tiredly- it was awfully exhausting to be a banana nut muffin sometimes.

After class Menary stuck out one shiny black Mary Jane and tripped her. Luna fell backwards, rather than forwards, with a thud. "Loony, watch where you're going!" Menary said snappishly, a malicious glint in her eye. "People don't want to walk over filth, you know!"

Luna was on her back, rumpled robes getting somewhat dusty from the unwashed floor, facing the ceiling. She stared up calmly. "That bit of ceiling over in the corner there looks a shade lighter than the rest. Filch didn't do a very good job with repainting, did he?"

Menary was at a loss for words, but only for a fraction of a second. "Just shut up, Loony, nobody likes you, so there!" She flounced off, or rather she tried to, but Ashmore Birnbach blocked her way. Her eyes grew wide and her face flushed and a nervous, awkward giggle escaped her lips. But Luna noticed neither of things, and instead focused on Menary's nose. It quivered, not unlike a rabbit's. Luna was fascinated.

"Hullo, Ashmore," Menary giggled.

The tall, mullet-haired, blue-eyed Hufflepuff eyed her unfathomably. "Hi." His voice was deep, smooth, rich, like a huge bar of Honeydukes chocolate.

Ashmore Birnbach was met with sighs all around; the female proportion of the student population swooned at his feet and kissed photographs of him they hid under their pillows at night. Mullets are out, said the bulletin in the girls' privy. Hazel eyes are best. Beaters and Quidditch Captains are key. But this dreamboat defied all these petty little rules; his eyes were an unsettling blue, his hair was long, and he played surrogate Keeper. In fact, there was a Cedric-Diggory-of-the-Month placard on the bulletin, and Ashmore Birnbach had filled the slot for three months now, and counting. He was an exchange student from Scotland and so far hadn't had any trouble with the ladies-this week he has broken up with Natalie Cobbs, from Ravenclaw. Word in the girls' privy was that Ashmore had remarked that the girl was "too blond, and scrawny," so that more than half of the girls at school took it upon themselves to make their hair a shade darker and fatten themselves up with puddings. "I picked Chestnut Brown, and he tapped my shoulder and asked for a spare quill the very next day!" scribbled an anonymous person with the initials P.P.

Luna was still on the ground. She stared with mild interest at this Ashmore Birnbach person. One of the few who wasn't worshipping the ground he tread on, Luna hadn't the slightest idea who he was, exactly, except that he was very good-looking (even she could see that) and he had a funny-shaped mole on his right leg.

"…you heard of the dance this weekend?" Menary was saying.

Ashmore looked past her. "Yeah, I have."

"Are you going?" she pressed. "Because I was thinking of going, and if you were, maybe we could…"

Luna yawned loudly. This kind of talk bored her stiff. Suddenly the funny-shaped mole came closer to her. A hand appeared within the range of her eyesight, extending the hand of friendship. Literally.

Luna grabbed the hand. It pulled her off the ground and onto her feet. "What were you doing down there?" Ashmore asked her. Luna noticed his long, long arms-they hung limply at his sides. Like cooked noodles! "Oh, just analyzing Filch's cleaning process," replied Luna dreamily. "Has anyone ever told you your arms look like cooked noodles?" He had a very scowly, furrowed brow, too, she noted.

Ashmore considered her. "You're weird," he said finally.

"Oh." Luna was sincerely flattered. "Well, being a banana nut muffin takes quite a lot of work, I'll have you know."

Ashmore looked at her strangely. Luna smiled back. "You have a very nice mole on your leg," she offered.

An inaudible chuckle escaped his lips. He eyed her musingly. "Say, the dance on Saturday? Would you like to go with me?"

Luna was confused. First of all, this invitation totally screwed up her philosophy of Saturdays not existing in her book. Nextly, she couldn't comprehend the fact that a very attractive boy was technically asking her out on a date, where they would be seen in public. And lastly, what dance?

Ashmore read her mind. "Another of those tawdry school functions. Sponsored by the Charm Club. They need to fund a trip to Cairo. I've got two tickets."

In the corner of her eye Luna saw Menary. Her nose was quivering again. She was rooted to the spot, her hands fists at her sides, a smile still frozen on her face. Luna noted, along with the versatile nose, the spark-emitting eyes. "Well sure, why not!" said Luna brightly to the very attractive boy. Little bubbles of excitement suddenly popped in her stomach; the second time she had been asked to a dance! "Where…?"

"Great Hall," and with that, Ashmore strolled away, with a careless, almost sluggish stride.

Luna beamed, gathered her fallen books, and was about to leave when Menary seized her wrist. "Loony, you're in for it!" she hissed, two pink patches appearing on her usually pale, sickly-colored cheeks. "Ow!" she yelped and staggered backward, clutching her left eye. For you see, as Luna was unceremoniously yanked backwards, the wand she kept tucked behind her ear had poked Menary rather painfully in the eye.

Luna shrugged off Menary's hand and hurried away. She swore she heard a wdoihgeruiogwerftiop somewhere above, on the seventh floor, and she needed to get there as soon as possible to get a photo, for Daddy.


The bulletin in the girls' privy was full to bursting with memos ("A love potion!" scribbled P.P. furiously, "She's a bit too off her rocker to pull that kind of thing off," scribbled an M.L. back with equal fury); all Ashmore sycophants huddled in crowds, whispering with indignation, shock, and disgust-the dreamboat ask the school pariah to the dance? Outrageous! Not true! It couldn't be!

And yet it was. Another memo was posted on the bulletin later that day, by a G.J., who put all rumors and conspiracy theories to a halt (some involved Luna performing the Cruciatus Curse on Ashmore until he relented to escorting her to the upcoming dance, while others had something to do with a flea circus and a pair of pineapple earrings). Still others couldn't believe it and thought the pineapple earrings account was more likely, considering how Loony was just so…well, loony, even after hearing the words come directly out of Luna's mouth. "Tell us Luna! Did he really?" they pressed.

Luna would blink then, and smile vaguely. "Why yes he did," she would say. "I was looking at his noodly arms and his funny-shaped mole. I was on the ground, too," she would add after a moment's thought. "I fell. It was quite nice down there, actually; mayhap I should do it again sometime. But oh! That's when he asked me. I was really quite surprised, more by the fact that the dance was on Saturday. Do Saturdays really exist, then? I suppose they would have to. How interesting. I always thought that…" And the sycophants would have left right after "that's when he asked me," leaving Luna to ramble to herself about the existence of Saturday. No one dare question Ashmore Birnbach about it as they were either a) too smitten with him, b) too shy, or c) both. It didn't really matter, anyway, as he was the silent type-Professor McGonagall had once remarked, "The only reaction you can get out of the boy is a shrug and a withering glance." After asking Luna to the dance, Ashmore did not spare her a passing glance, although some girls claimed they saw some hint of a smile whenever Luna drifted by, and squabbled with each other about how good-looking Ashmore was, and how good-looking Luna wasn't.

Luna shared a dorm with five other girls. There was Menary, who constantly ridiculed her whenever it was convenient for her; Kendal, who would only tease Luna if Menary did first; Fiona and Paulie, who treated Luna as if she were some contagious disease; and Milly, who sometimes talked to Luna, but only when nobody was looking. Today all five girls put aside their differences with Luna and questioned her. "So what's he really like?" "So he asked you, just like that?" "Did you know that he liked you?"

Luna yawned loudly again after describing the exchange between her and Ashmore for the umpteenth time; after all, it wasn't all that terribly exciting. "Well, no, I suppose he just wanted to take someone, and he just happened upon me," said Luna again-twelve other girls had asked her this very question just this morning.

They were sitting in their dorm, Luna splayed on her bed and the others sitting primly on theirs.

Paulie played with her hair nervously. "Well, that was awfully nice of him."

"It certainly was," said Menary evenly. "He felt sorry for her and offered to take her to dance out of sympathy. I was there; I saw it."

Luna gazed at her unflinchingly. "Are you quite sure? Because your eye is very swollen and red, like a mapilifjoely's," she remarked. "And everyone knows they're practically blind."

Menary glared at her and did not answer.

"So what are you going wear, Loony-I mean, Luna?" asked Kendal, trying to be polite.

Luna pulled out a woven basket from underneath her bed and patted it fondly. "It's all in here."

"What is?" asked Paulie curiously.

"My dress robes," said Luna simply. "Or, my dress robeses," Luna giggled. "Well, how can you differentiate from a pair of robes to many pairs of robes, anyway? Sometimes context doesn't help you. Well, my robes will be done quite soon, either way."

Paulie looked at her strangely. Luna beamed at her.


It was the day of the dance. The general uproar over Loony Lovegood being asked to the dance by three-time winner of the Cedric-Diggory-of-the-Month award had died down; everyone was now too busy deciding when to meet before the dance, choosing what to wear to the dance, making plans of where to go after the dance, and wondering whether they would get away with sneaking in some fire whiskey during the dance. Luna, however, was oblivious to all of this, and spent her time in the corner of the common room doing something nobody cared to know about and was for the main part left alone.

"Luna, come on, are you coming with us?" asked Ginny impatiently. She looked pretty with her curled hair and green silk robes, although her frowning face ruined her picturesque appearance. "Why aren't you dressed?"

Luna didn't bother looking up. "It's not time yet."

"What are you talking about, Luna? It's three minutes till seven!" They were standing in the library. Well, Luna was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Ginny was standing, one foot tapping out an irritable rhythm.

"Yes, but you see," explained Luna with an air of superiority, "I've gotten my hands on this book, called The Unnamed Rules of Proper Etiquette at a Social Gathering. It says I've got to be fashionably late; it's an absolute must. So I'm planning on going around eight thirtyish."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Luna, don't be stupid. Those kinds of books are written by people who have no life. Now come on, Dean's waiting for me over there and Ashmore probably is too. Isn't there some rule in there that says you aren't allowed to make your date wait?"

Luna thumbed through the extremely thick book. "Oh, well, yes," said a puzzled Luna after a moment's pause, "but that seems to counter the rule of being fashionably late. How confusing it is to partake in social interaction!"

Ginny sighed. "Are you coming or not?"

Luna shook her head. "You can go on without me. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay, then," said Ginny. "Have fun with Ashmore." She winked, and scurried off.

Luna stared after her. She pulled out a notepad, quill, and bottle of ink and began to scribble furiously. "Note to self: buy Ginny some Brazilian cockatrice testicles. Her eye has been twitching of late, presumably from a recent attack of wjoierughrnjakls."


She stepped into the Great Hall, attracting stares and whispers. She walked briskly over to where Ashmore was skulking by the refreshments table and curtsied. A bit wobbly, but it was a pretty good curtsy for a novice, Luna thought. She smiled at him. "How do you do?"

Ashmore barely cracked a smile. His hair was slicked into cowlicked chaos and his robes were casual. "Fine," he muttered. "Would you like some pumpkin juice?"

Luna looked over to where a group of seventh-year boys were adding copious amounts of fire whiskey to a bowl of innocent pumpkin juice. "Hmm, well…okay!" she beamed.

"But it's being spiked," Ashmore drawled.

"Spiked?" Luna asked.

"Never mind. I…just wait here, okay? I'll be back soon." And he wandered off in his slothful tread. Luna beamed again (she enjoyed beaming immensely, as it was her facial expression of the week for this week). Next week she would try scowling; perhaps it would look as nice on her as it did on Ashmore's face.

Luna sat in the nearest chair, picking loose threads out of her outfit. The music was loud, everyone was yelling, laughing. Most of them were on the open floor, dancing. Very few people were near the refreshments table, with the exception of a tall, gangly beanpole of a boy who was eying Luna hopefully, his pumpkin juice sloshing onto his loafers without his notice. "I'm a second year, but nobody can tell," he said. "'Cause I'm so tall, that's why. I snuck in here and nobody noticed. I like this song."

Luna nodded, waiting for her dear Ashmore to return. Five minutes had passed. She grew fidgety and decided to go outside to get some air-it was awfully stuffy in the Great Hall. But oh! What about her dear Ashmore? He probably went to the john, she reasoned. Well, what was she to do? She decided to tell everyone who personally knew Ashmore that she would be outside waiting for him, so if they saw him could they please tell him that? They waved her away dismissively, nodded without looking at her, snorted and said okay, or she simply received zero reaction from them. Satisfied, Luna went outside and sat on the low stone wall, making sure to be in view of the ajar side door where Ashmore might chance a glance.

The night was inky black and dotted with little white things. The moon was full and silver and vibrant. A slight breeze ruffled Luna's hair, and she sighed with bliss. She loved the outside. She loved the night. She loved nature. She loved Menary's versatile nose, although Menary's other parts were a bit more difficult to love. She loved her dear Ashmore's scowl. She loved her pink socks. She loved her imaginary pet llama. She loved Cockroach Clusters. She loved Saturdays, now that she knew they were real. She loved-


Luna squinted at the figure approaching her in the distance. A human being, with male proportions, she decided after a few moments of analysis. In fact, he looked vaguely familiar…

"Harry?" Luna could scarcely believe it. She hadn't seen him in over a year! She gazed at him interestedly. He had grown taller, much taller, and his hair was untidier than ever. His brilliant green eyes stared good-naturedly at her through his askew spectacles, and his scar was faintly visible on his alabaster brow. His robes were worn and darned, as if they had been through as much trouble as their wearer had.

He sat next to her on the wall. "What are you doing out here, Luna?"

She beamed at him, not because it was her facial expression of the week, but because she really meant it. "I'm waiting for my dear Ashmore to return," she replied ecstatically. "Can you believe it? I was asked to the dance a second time! Ashmore's very good looking, with a mullet and stormy blue eyes and these wonderful scowling faces that he makes all the time…"

"Oh, that's good," said Harry awkwardly. "Your robes, er, look nice. You look nice too, I mean." And he blushed.

Luna looked down at her patchwork robes, comprised of little squares of corduroy and velvet and flannel and silk and cotton and satin and denim. "Oh, yes. I made them myself, I just took scraps from my mother's old things…some of my father's too," she added. "It makes for a nice set dress robes, doesn't it? Oh, and look!" She pulled her wand out from behind her ear and started tapping herself in the most random places. The stitched dragons with the red cotton backdrop roared and spewed out smoke on her hip. The music notes threaded into a yellow square on her shoulder began moving and playing a cheerful tune. A little felt book sewn into a floral patch on the hem of her robes turned its pages. Every patch she brushed reacted to her touch in color, movement, and sound.

Harry was laughing. "You're like a walking interactive animation."

"Oh?" Luna was confused, but pleased all the same. At least he liked her robes, even if his compliments were unintelligible to her. "Why are you here, Harry?"

Harry suddenly looked somber. "Just wanted to visit," he said at last. "I miss Hogwarts. But with Voldemort out there and all…" he let out a resolute sigh and stared up at the night sky.

"Don't worry Harry, you'll finish him off," said Luna confidently. "Daddy conducted a survey for The Quibbler this month and 97 percent of the readers agreed that you'd survive if you borrow Fudge's Umgubular Slashkilter!"

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose," he said wryly. "Anyway, I was just stopping by…Ron and Hermione are at Hagrid's, I told them I wanted to see what everyone's doing…so…how's Ginny?"

Luna didn't quite catch the feigned casualty in his voice. "Oh! She's here at the dance, come and see." She grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him over to the window. "See, there she is…"

And so Ginny was. She was being spun around expertly by Dean, laughing and looking very pretty indeed, with her smoky eyes and her chokecherry red lips. Harry inadvertently curled his hands into fists. Luna looked on, however, in much interest. "She looks nice with all that stuff on her face, doesn't she? It doesn't look like she has any freckles. I'm horrible at that stuff, so I haven't bothered. Besides," she confided, turning to Harry, "I'd rather be naturally ugly than artificially beautiful."

"Luna, you aren't ugly," said Harry indignantly.

"No it's okay, I've accepted it a long time ago," reassured Luna to the scandalized Harry. "I'm bug-eyed and have hopelessly tangled hair." And she gestured to it-for tonight she had unceremoniously piled it onto the top of her head and pinned it with little green and pink fuzzy hairclips.

"You are not," said Harry with exasperation. "Your eyes are kind of-erm-unusual but that's what makes them nice, and your hair-well, it's not like mine is any better, is it?" And he gestured at his hair quite hopelessly as well.

"Oh well, I suppose we're destined to possess perpetually unkempt hair, aren't we?" asked Luna disconcertedly. "Ginny offered to style my hair but I told her I didn't want any of that Sleekeazy stuff on me, did you know there are bloodsucking parasites in every bottle you massage into your hair?"

"Ginny…" said Harry slowly. "She's with Dean, isn't she?"

"What? Oh yes," said Luna cheerily. "She's very happy with him, she told me. They got back together around Halloween, I think."

"S'pose all that waiting for me stuff was just a load of rubbish?" said Harry bitterly.

Luna didn't quite catch the bitterness in his voice either, and instead went on her tiptoes so she could further peer through the window. "I can't…see…"

"Here." Harry grasped her waist and pulled her up to the window's level. "Better?"

"Yes, thanks," said Luna gratefully. "Am I heavy? I think all the Gurdyroots in my pockets are weighing me down…"

"No, you're very light," said Harry, letting a small smile return to his lips. Together they looked through the window, outsiders in different ways, prying eyes looking longingly at the scene past the pane of dirty glass.

"Luna." Harry's voice sounded odd. "Is that your date?"

"Oh, where? I hope he hasn't been worried-" Luna's voice faltered. Her dear Ashmore was in the corner, snogging with that wretched girl from Slytherin, Tracey Davis. As the newfound couple continually smashed their lips together, the two pairs of prying eyes looked on, one in contempt and the other in mild interest. "I guess I'm not very good at social interaction if he's gone and forgotten me," the pair of eyes looking on in mild interest finally said, the face the eyes were attached to (coincidentally Luna's) smiling apologetically.

"You have nothing to go looking sorry for," said Harry sharply, ungluing his pair of eyes looking on in contempt at the depressing scene before them to look at Luna instead. "He's not good enough for you if he's sucking face with a Slytherin."

"Well…I suppose…" Luna's face fell. "Well, I can't have thought it would be because…" she mumbled. "Nobody in their right mind would, after all…"

Harry set her down gently, a genuine look of concern on his face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Luna in a rather muffled voice. She went back to sit her miserable self on the low stone wall again. Harry joined her. They sat in the quietude of the night for what seemed like ages, the only sounds disturbing them were the general clamor from within the Great Hall and a cricket chirping every other second.

"I guess I should go back to my dorm, then," said Luna dispassionately. Soft, heartrending music spilled from the slightly open door after numerous forgettable dance tunes, and as Luna made to stand up and leave Harry grabbed her hand. "Come on." Luna looked on, mystified, as Harry pulled her up and settled his hands on her waist. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing, Luna," explained Harry patiently. "Put your hands on my shoulders…or around my neck…or…." his cheeks started coloring again. "Well, somewhere in that region," he added lamely.

Luna gingerly placed her hands on his stiffened shoulders. "Like this…?" Then she promptly slid her arms around his neck, enclasping him, bringing Harry's face closer to hers. "Oh no, this is much better," she said happily.

"…right," said Harry, and they set off, dancing not-quite-so-smoothly to the music that poured faintly from inside. Harry twirled her around, laughing. "I haven't done this in a long time."

"Really?" inquired Luna. "You're very good at it. Sorry!" she added blithely, as she stepped on Harry's shoes for the umpteenth time.

"No, it's just instinct," said Harry, shrugging. "I don't really like dancing much."

"Oh, me neither," said Luna, relieved. She paused. "Harry?"


"Why are we dancing, then?"

Harry considered this. "I dunno," he finally said, smiling sheepishly.

Luna accepted that answer, although not many would have. But that was Luna-taking things as they came, going along with the flow. What's the point in turning against the tide, or the current? she asked. No point at all. Let the river run free. Shut up, no one understands you, you think you're so smart saying nonsense but I could do it too! Menary screamed. Blahblahblahblahblah-

But anyway, they both knew. Harry and Luna, that is, on the inside (and this is not just some platitude the fanfic author inserted here for moral-themed purposes). Outsiders the both of them may be, shaped by experiences and memories and thoughts and other puzzling things that make up the human mind, but that did not mean they weren't so different from others. They had their impulses, tweaked in some ways, and they had their moments, slightly skewed in other ways. Harry had the impulse to dance, and Luna was quick to take him up on the offer. Oh, it may have been Harry just feeling sorry for Luna, or him getting some kind of revenge on Ginny, or really you could have accepted it as a whim, and leave it at that.

Harry looked very serious all of a sudden as they swayed in movement to the song. "Thanks, Luna."

"Your welcome," replied Luna promptly.

"You honestly have no idea what I thanked you for, huh?"

"Nope," said Luna cheerily.

Harry laughed. "What meant was, I never did say thanks…for being a friend. You know, for being there for me and all." He cleared his throat to lessen the awkwardness. "Like at the Ministry, and your idea with the thestrals…and believing in me when everyone thought I was a lying show-off…and showing up with Neville when Hermione alerted you with the coins last year…and, well, so, yeah." He flushed momentarily. "But I really mean it too," he said quietly.

Luna regarded him thoughtfully. "That was the second most nice thing you've ever said to me," she said, breaking out into a very lopsided grin.

Harry grinned back. "Said? What about 'did'?"

"Well-" Luna thought for a moment. "The first nice thing you did was be my friend. And-" She stopped when she realized just how close Harry was to her. She could see the faint scar on his forehead, those deep deep green eyes that you sucked you right in, the quirky way his nose just sort of twitched ("Just like Menary's!" she thought with glee), and how those soft black fringe hairs fell away from his eyes at the slightest gust of wind and back again in some sort of graceful dance of their own. Luna stared at him, dumbfounded. What was this?

"Luna?" said Harry.

"I..." Luna trailed off. Was Harry smirking at her?

I dare you to do something about it, he was practically crying out. Yes, he must be, Luna decided.

"Luna?" repeated Harry uncertainly. When this question of concern went through Luna's ears she heard a challenge waiting to be met. Are you chicken?

Harry was starting to get apprehensive. "Luna, are you all right?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I hold no resemblance to any sort of poultry." With that, Luna kissed him. And Harry, with only a moment's hesitation, gladly took her up on the offer.

Bam. Another moment shared by the two pariahs-differentiating types, of course. Harry, the misunderstood heroic. Luna, just content with chasing macklebysslas or whatever fanciful creature she'd obsess over at the time. Oh, it may have been Luna being loony, or her getting some kind of revenge on Ashmore, or really you could have accepted it as a whim or her just hearing things like usual, but you were right in the beginning, did you know?-it was Luna being loony, after all.