Luna wandered the quieter corridors of Hogwarts, her bare feet silent against the cold stone. She had somehow misplaced her boots again — one of those odd little mysteries that seemed to follow her around. Death Eaters passed in the distance every so often, their footsteps echoing, but the area she was searching felt strangely still.
A soft, broken sound drifted from behind a half-closed door. Crying.
Luna tilted her head. “Hello?” she called gently. “Is someone in there?”
No answer, only another quiet sob. She pushed the door open with a soft “Huh…” and froze.
Neville Longbottom sat on the floor against the wall, knees drawn up, face buried in his arms. His shoulders shook with the kind of grief that had nowhere else to go.
Luna stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She approached slowly, then reached out and rested a light hand on his shoulder.
“Sorrows are often more expressive than words, aren’t they, Neville?” she said in her soft, dreamy voice.
Neville flinched and tried to push her away carefully, not wanting to be rude. In the awkward motion his hand brushed across her chest and settled for a moment against the soft curve of her breast before he yanked it back in embarrassment.
Luna looked down at his hand, then back at his face without the slightest change in expression.
“I’ve always wondered why boys are drawn so strongly to breasts,” she mused aloud. “They aren’t reproductive organs. They don’t create life the way the rest of a body can. Yet people treat them as if they hold some great secret. Perhaps it’s simply that they feel… soft. Like something that might keep the world from feeling so sharp.”
Neville’s face flushed. “I—I’m sorry, Luna. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” she said simply, and sat down beside him on the cold floor.
For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then Neville’s voice cracked.
“I keep thinking about Mum and Dad,” he whispered. “What the Death Eaters did to them… they never really came back. And now the whole castle feels like that. Empty. Wrong. Like everything good got ripped out and left to rot. I don’t know how to fix any of it. I don’t even know how to be brave anymore.”
Luna listened quietly, her pale eyes reflecting the dim light. When he finally fell silent she leaned a little closer, her hair brushing his shoulder.
Then, without warning or explanation, she tilted her face toward him and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against his lips.
Neville froze.
For a second he didn’t move at all. Luna’s lips were soft and warm against his, and the unexpected gentleness of the kiss left him completely still. When she finally pulled back just a little, his face was red and his eyes wide.
“Luna…” he whispered, voice unsteady. “Why did you…?”
She tilted her head, studying him with that calm, faraway look of hers. “Because you looked like you needed something soft for a moment. The world has been very hard on you. I thought a kiss might help balance it a little.”
Neville let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “I… I’ve never been good at this. At people. Or feelings. Especially not after everything with my parents. Most of the time I just feel like I’m failing at being brave.”
Luna shifted closer until their shoulders touched. “Bravery isn’t always loud,” she said quietly. “Sometimes it’s just sitting on a cold floor and still choosing to feel something. You’re doing that right now.”
He looked at her for a long moment. The usual awkwardness in his expression slowly softened. “You’re strange,” he murmured, almost smiling. “But… in a way that makes things feel less broken.”
Luna’s eyes brightened a little. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has said to me.”
Neither of them spoke after that. The silence between them stretched, warm and careful. Neville’s hand found hers without really deciding to. Luna’s fingers curled gently around his. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in and kissed her again — softer this time, longer. She responded with the same quiet curiosity she showed everything, her free hand rising to rest lightly against his chest.
The kiss deepened. Neville’s other hand slid to her waist, then higher, careful and uncertain. Luna made a small, dreamy sound against his mouth and shifted closer until she was half in his lap. Clothes were eased away between soft touches and quiet breaths. There was no rush, no force — only the slow, careful exploration of two people who had both carried too much for too long.
When Neville finally settled between her thighs, he paused, searching her face. Luna met his eyes and gave a small, steady nod. He pushed into her slowly, deeply, both of them exhaling at the same time. The pace they found was unhurried and close. Neville moved with long, deep strokes, burying his face against her neck, while Luna held him tightly, her legs wrapping around him as if she were trying to keep the world from breaking them apart again.
Their breathing grew heavier. Soft, broken sounds filled the quiet room. Neville’s movements remained careful even as they grew more intense, every thrust deep and full of feeling rather than urgency. Luna’s hands stroked through his hair and down his back, grounding him. When they finally came together, it was quiet and overwhelming — Neville trembling against her, Luna holding him close as her own release washed through her in slow waves.
For a long time afterward they stayed tangled on the cold floor, skin against skin, neither of them speaking. Luna rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest.
Outside the door, the castle remained dark and occupied. But for a little while, in that small room, the world felt a little less sharp.
Neville and Luna slowly pulled their clothes back on. The room felt quieter than before, the cold stone floor suddenly more noticeable against their skin. They sat side by side again, shoulders nearly touching.
Neville cleared his throat, still a little flushed. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For… everything. I didn’t expect that. Any of it.”
Luna tilted her head, her expression calm and open. “You’re welcome. I enjoyed it too. It was my first time, you know. I always wondered what it would feel like. It was warmer than I expected. And less sharp.”
Neville looked at her, surprised. “Your first time? Luna, I… I didn’t realise. Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I am. It felt right. You were gentle. Most people aren’t, from what I’ve observed.” She reached over and lightly squeezed his hand. “I’m glad it was with you.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, neither quite ready to leave the small room just yet.
—
Somewhere far from the castle, in a hidden clearing near a quiet forest pond, Hermione Granger was already waist-deep in the cool water. She had rinsed the day’s dust and tension from her skin, her bushy hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. The surface of the pond was lightly fogged with the cool evening air.
Harry approached from the trees, a towel wrapped around his waist. He stopped a few steps from the shore when he saw her.
“Oh—you’re still not done,” he said quickly, already turning to leave. “I’ll come back later.”
Hermione looked over her shoulder. “Harry, it’s fine. Come in. This pond has more than enough space. Even for the whole of Gryffindor, if they wanted.”
He hesitated, then nodded. Harry stepped closer to the water’s edge, unwrapped the towel, and set it down beside hers on the grass. He walked into the pond, the cool water rising around him until he stood a short distance from her.
They talked quietly at first — about the next place they might need to move, about how long the wards would hold, about nothing in particular. The conversation was easy, familiar.
Harry’s eyes drifted more than once. Beneath the lightly fogged surface of the water he could see the soft curves of Hermione’s breasts and the faint outline of her body lower down. The sight made his pulse quicken. He felt himself growing hard under the water and shifted slightly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
Hermione’s gaze flickered downward for a brief moment. She noticed. Her cheeks coloured faintly, but she didn’t look away at once.
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