She Will Be Loved
"i'm right here trying to pull you through."
"Oh my." Luna squeezes Dean's hand a little harder. "It's…"
"Beautiful?" he suggests.
Her hand is stretched out, fingers wide as they lay in grass. Inches away. Impossibly close. He reaches and she holds. The next thing he knows is her by his ear.
"Dance with me?"
Maybe it's the artist in him or the muse in her, but Dean can hear the mystical creatures and hope in her voice. Everyone has constantly said that war changes people. Not Luna. She's honestly so much better than those Slytherin creeps, wary Gryffindors, weirded-out Hufflepuffs, and nasty Death Eaters give her credit for And, really how could anyone say no to her?
(Of course, she'll talk of invisible nature that half drives him insane, with his head banging his filled sketchbook, and yet, has him adoring her, hanging on for more).
"Sure." He smiles his most dazzling.
She spins. She's held by his palm on her waist. They sway, dip, don't step on feet; they spin again like their lives depend on it. A piece of her—a small piece—decides that maybe it does. The loud bar music switches to a slower song, whose notes sing a different tune than the words out of the speakers. Dean Thomas is a lovely, magical dancer.
Luna grins as her tresses are scooped by the wind. Her back leans against his chest. The stars begin to shine; Luna tilts her head to look, leaving Dean to twirl strands on his finger. As clouds pass, rain falls like a waterfall. She spins beneath his arm one last time.
(Even never read a Muggle fairytale, she knows—just knows—the one thing missing is that cliché kiss).
The first time
Their noses bump together.
Their laughing slows them down.
The second time
Their laughing slows them down again.
Their laughing slows them down some more.
The third time
Their kiss is magic.
Their kiss doesn't stop happening, almost.
That's finally a wrap! Whoo-hoo.