Title: A Second Breath
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Neville/Luna with brief mentions of Dean/Luna, Dean/Seamus and Harry/Ginny
Word count: 4,850
Warnings: Public sex, semi-clothed sex, funeral sex, mentions of slash, dirty talk, Luna and maybe some fluff. Also, DH compliant.
The great thing about Luna, Neville supposes, is that she never changes.
Her eyes always seem to be bright and unending, her hair as long and blonde as ever and her mind is as free and imaginative as when she first began to dream. Maybe that’s what draws Neville to her after the war, because truth be told, Luna Lovegood always terrified Neville in the slightest way. She was an unnerving girl who had grown into an unnerving woman, but for some reason the older version didn’t scare him nearly as much. No, he thinks, she doesn’t scare him at all. He doesn’t understand her-- that is for sure. Neville is never sure what to say to her, but he doesn’t try and avoid her in the crowd. In fact, he almost seems drawn to her.
But really, who wouldn’t be? It seemed as if Neville had been reliving the same day over and over again for the last three months. Every funeral felt the same, the oppressive black cloud of loss and the endless sea of black robes worn by all the same people he had seen at the last funeral. He couldn’t help but notice that Luna didn’t seem to own a single item of black clothing in her wardrobe, at least, Neville has never seen any and she certainly didn’t go out looking for something black to wear to the funerals. Neville knows this for sure.
Because for every funeral Luna attends, she wears something new. Neville never knew anyone could have so many outfits to wear out, but Luna has taught him that no one could ever own enough brightly (almost blinding) coloured dresses.
Today, Luna sits in the third row of chairs. Neville has a fantastic view from two rows back on the other side of the aisle. It is hard to miss the bright purple fabric that twists and weaves around her form and ends in layers about her knees. It looks like it is patterned with moons and constellations. Neville can just see the charm anklet on her left ankle and what looks to be a spot of paint on her right foot. At school, Luna had always had her shoes taken and hidden from her by other students, so it doesn’t surprise Neville that she has taken to not bothering to wear any shoes at all these days. Her blonde hair hangs in loose curls, occasionally allowing a glimpse of the large turquoise letters that dangle from her ears. The earring he can see peeking out from beneath her blonde curls is a sparking letter F, he would be willing to bet a great deal that the left earring was a matching letter W.
An F and a W. Neville allowed himself a small smile. Smiling—that was a stark contrast to the seemingly endless funerals he had thus far attended. It seemed appropriate today. After all, when had it been possible to think of Fred Weasley and not smile?”
Neville has been dreading this funeral more than he has any others, not only because his grandmother could not come but because it was going to be the hardest. Neville had gotten to the Burrow early, on Harry’s request, and spent the morning organizing chairs and following George around to make sure he didn’t “fancy himself six feet under as well”. Thankfully, George was in bearable conditions. Neville wasn’t completely used to humorless George. He seemed to walk around without a purpose, a ghost of the person he used to be, but his eyes weren’t vacant like they had been in the previous weeks. Neville could see a fire burning bright in the eyes of George Weasley, Neville just wasn’t sure what the fire was for. Charlie relieved Neville of his duty when he portkeyed in from a quick visit to the dragon colony in Romania.
Neville had spent the rest of the time before the funeral walking around the Burrow, trying his best not to intrude into other people’s private moments. He really thought he’d outgrown his awkward stage, but seeing grief and post-war feelings collide, throw in love and repressed issues and Neville found he was much better off then some of the other occupants of the Burrow.
“Hello there, Mr. Longbottom.”
Neville racked his brain for the name of the Ministry official shaking his hand, but honestly he couldn’t remember. He smiled back pleasantly anyway. The wizard was old enough that he would likely forget the meeting in a few moments anyway.
“Nice to see you.”
The dumpy wizard smiled widely and returned down the aisle to harass Professor McGonagall. It was so strange to be categorized as a ‘war hero’. Less than a year ago, he had just been “Neville”, the boy who had never quite lived up to his grandmother’s expectations, a shell of what his parents had been before being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. But if Neville was being completely honest with himself, he’d felt himself change after the Department of Mysteries battle at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. Something had slowly grown inside of him from that point forward. Perhaps it had always been there. Perhaps it was what the Sorting Hat had seen in him when placing him in Gryffindor—this something that had just needed time to grow before showing itself. Was it bravery, courage?Ask his grandmother, and she would tell you that it was. His grandmother now took every opportunity to point out how much like his parents he was now. Neville always wants to correct the ‘now’ part of her praise, but he never does.
The bustle around him picks up, and Neville watches the surviving members of the Wizarding World file into the rows of chairs. The newly appointed Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, is politely shaking hands with some of the guests. Neville can’t help but be somewhat envious of the quiet confidence and calming demeanor that Kingsley possesses. Kingsley even manages to pry Harry away from staring at Ginny and engage him in conversation before Ron takes him away to find a seat at the front of the rows. Ginny Weasley sits next to her mother, attempting to offer words of comfort, when there are no words for occasions like today. Neville looks away; he doesn’t think he can stand to see the look on Mrs. Weasley’s face. He didn’t need to look at her anyway. He had seen that look on the faces of countless other mothers at the funerals he had attended in the past few months.
The seats to either side of Neville are empty, and he sits for a while, contemplating who might next to him today, one of the saddest days Neville can remember. His companion to the right arrives when Neville is thinking about how uncomfortable it would be to watch Percy grieve next to him.
“Hey, mate.”
Dean’s dark hand feels smooth against his own, and Neville gets up to give him a manly embrace. Dean looks good, Neville thinks. He’s grown taller over the past year and he had gained most of the weight back he had lost while on the run. Neville notices that he has cut his hair and is wearing a simple black robe. But something is off in his eyes; they seem stormy instead of calm brown. But Neville’s never really been that great about reading people. Unless they were his parents, Neville has to be able to see what they can’t tell him.
“Hey, Dean. Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”
It’s true. It has been a while. The last time he saw Dean, he had been sitting next to Luna at the Leaky Cauldron almost three weeks ago when a group had gotten together for drinks. Luna. Why didn’t Dean sit next to Luna? Neville’s head swivels around to look across the aisle where Luna had sat earlier. Her chair is now empty. Neville sits next to Dean only half listening to him talk. about his portrait business and maybe something about an art show It’s really hard to listen when all he can think about is how happy Dean looked sitting next to Luna at the Leaky Cauldron that day three weeks ago. She had been telling some ridiculous story to Harry (who wasn’t listening at all, but watching Ginny from across the room) and Dean had sat in rapture, his arm around her shoulders while his fingers traced patterns on her arm.
Maybe Dean had just not seen Luna. It seemed strange to Neville that Dean and Luna had seemed so happy that day three weeks ago, but not together now. Luna wasn’t one to quarrel and Dean had always been a nice bloke, why they weren’t sitting together now seemed strange.
“But you know, it’s been busy with everyone wanting to get portraits now the war is over and all, but hopefully I can get a show up within a week or two. What about you, Nev?”
“Oh! Um, well I’ve just been trying to help Gran and whoever calls. I’ve got an internship set up with Professor Sprout in the coming year, while we are rebuilding Hogwarts. So when school starts up in September, I can start teaching most of her lessons. She wants to retire.”
Neville can’t help smiling broadly at the prospect of teaching Herbology. Herbology was something he knew. Something he was good at. It was then that Neville noticed he no longer had Dean’s attention. Dean was usually a great listener, but now he was staring at a point fixed somewhere over Neville’s left shoulder.
“Nice afternoon, Neville.”
The dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood drifted to his ears, and Neville turned, surprised. She must have sat down next to him while he was talking to Dean. It was certainly no coincidence that after Luna’s arrival Dean’s brow furrowed and the atmosphere took on a noticeable tension.
“Hey Luna. You’ve switched seats.” He can’t think of anything else to say. He feels like Dean is staring daggers at his back, and the whole situation is quickly becoming rather uncomfortable.
“Oh yes. I believe this side of the aisle will provide the most magnificent view of Ron’s face for the eulogy. And the fireworks. I do love Fred and George’s fireworks.”
Luna’s eyes are soft with her memory, and Neville finds himself wondering which fireworks show Luna was remembering. Her face is not troubled by Dean’s presence, and she smiles widely past Neville after a few moments pause.
“Hello there, Dean, I did not notice your seat before. Must have been a wackspurt passing through.” She waves her hands by her ears, and Neville smiles fondly before turning towards Dean, who is not smiling.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Luna. I’m not on your list of things to notice anymore,” Dean remarks coldly before turning to face the podium. Neville notices that the seats are almost full now. The funeral would be starting soon. Luna’s laugh interrupts his thoughts.
“Dean, don’t be silly. You’re not mine to notice anymore.” Her eyes are kind, but Dean continues to face the podium, not turning to face her as he speaks.
“Only because you’d rather be well shot of me.”
Neville’s seat between them had become quite uncomfortable. He wished there was a subtle way to remove himself from his seat, as this was obviously meant to be a private conversation. He hopes they finish before the funeral starts. Luna shakes her head and turns to Neville, leaning over him to speak. Her hand falls to Neville’s arm and starts to trace patterns with the tips of her fingers. It makes Neville want to jerk his arm back, for fear that Dean might see and leave it there forever at the same time.
“So sorry, Neville. You probably don’t have a clue.” She smiles widely and gestures to Dean. “I broke it off with Dean because he’s in love with Seamus, and I think I fancy sleeping with someone else too.”
Neville wonders if Luna notices how large his eyes are.
“I’m not in love with Seamus,” Dean whispers fiercely, shooting Luna an angry glare before leaping from his seat and stalking back towards the Burrow. Neville pretends not to notice that Seamus follows him. Luna does not.
“Poor Dean. He’s so confused about what anatomy he wants. Seamus is nothing but obvious, and if Dean would stop being such a Heliopath, he’d realize how much he loves Seamus and his penis. Did you know how stubborn Heliopaths were? My father says…”
Before Luna can finish, Ron clears his throat at the podium and the rest of the witches and wizards in the crowd fall silent. Neville tries to listen to Ron’s words as he struggles through the eulogy, almost breaking down twice and having to hand it off to a surprisingly strong George, but his senses are overloaded.
The knowledge of Dean and Luna’s breakup, coupled with Luna’s blatant explanation and a hundred memories of Seamus’ hopeful looks and Dean’s notebooks filled with sketches of Seamus distract Neville a bit. He finds it difficult to concentrate.
It does not help that Luna’s hand has moved down his arm to his hand and begun to trace patterns there. He notices that she watches Ron, a look of sadness on her face. Her tears begin to fall when George speaks of the twin brother who was never far from his side in life. George’s smooth voice draws the attention of all who came to the service today. His words seemed to heal the gaping wounds of the war torn hearts gathered here today. Neville wished his parents could be here, because maybe then they’d be unbroken too.
Luna does smile when the fireworks light up the twilight sky and Neville wonders which are brighter.
- - - -
Grief is a funny thing, Neville thinks as he walks under the magical tent for a drink. This is the first funeral he’s ever been to that people mingled long after it was over. This is the first funeral he’s ever been to where people actually look relieved. Maybe because it’s the last funeral of the war or maybe, like Neville, everyone else was expecting Fred’s funeral to be the hardest and now that the speeches are over and the liquor is flowing… it feels like life may be able to begin again.
The butter beer is refreshing against the warm breeze that floats through the Burrow. Looking at everyone makes things stir in Neville’s stomach. And he finds himself hanging back from the crowd to watch people start to breathe again. A first breath. It seemed as though everyone had been holding a collective breath.
People are in clusters all over the backyard. For the most part, the Weasleys stay in pairs. Charlie and George are talking to a group of foreign looking wizards. Bill is making Percy socialize with Aberforth. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are speaking with scared looking members of the Granger family. Ron and Ginny are drinking themselves into oblivion at a far table. Harry’s not far away from them, watching Ginny with hooded eyes.
And, of course, Hermione, with hair as bushy as ever, was in a heated discussion about law and house elf legislation with Professor McGonagall.
Neville weaved his way through the crowd, stopping to talk to people as he went, pretending not to be looking for Luna. Luna, who had disappeared after the funeral, kissing his hand before going to “check up on those humdingers.” Neville was too dazed to ask what exactly humdingers were at the time, because his skin had burned white hot from the kiss. He hadn’t felt like that in so long, maybe ever.
The night seemed to be slipping away around him. The hum of grief is heavy in the air and it’s stretching and shifting into something else, something that smells like bourbon peaches and feels like lust. Neville watches as everyone sorts themselves into pairs; sharing touches and whispers that are screaming savemesavemetouchmetouchmesaveme into the night. If he was different, he’d feel uncomfortable and square in this circular pit of comfort. But he’s used to this. They all are. The desperation of hope is gone now, but everything is the same as seventh year.
The attraction between him and Susan could have been the way sex became another form of rebellion. He’s watching Ginny and Harry fight with each other across the table. Almost everyone else has gone; already paired off, gone to try to find a way to make the pain go away. Neville has always been a romantic himself. But even romantic notions hadn’t stopped him from spending any free time he had during his seventh year with Susan Bones; their bodies pressed up against one other, their hands fumbling as they awkwardly explored one another, and their breaths deeply desperate, only breaking their kisses when air became necessary for breathing.
Sex gave them something to think about when all there was in the walls of Hogwarts spoke of things like cruciatus and Dark Lord. In the stolen moments he shared with Susan, he felt almost like a normal boy trying to get one leg over a normal girl. In those moments it wasn’t hard to forget the War that threatened their world. They could concentrate only on one another and what felt good. But relationships intertwined in war are never bound for recovery.
“They are beautiful, I must agree.”
Her breath teased warm against his ear startling him from his silent thoughts. Neville could feel the color rise on his cheeks when he sees them there in the darkness. Harry’s black robes were open, and Ginny’s hair was wild and tangled as he pressed her against the house. He can almost feel their relief and their sorrow.
“We shouldn’t be watching,” Neville squeezes out. Luna makes the already warm night air, sharper and still hazy at the same time. He lurches away from her, walking up the tree line towards the front of the house. She follows.
“Oh, I know they wouldn’t mind. People like having others watch them while they fuck. I’ve always thought it would be nice to watch them. Ginny’s got lovely freckles and Harry’s arse is delightful.”
How she can keep her voice so casual, as if talking about the weather or how many sugars Neville took in his tea… he has no idea, but her voice makes him blush hard and walk faster. The blood rushing in his ears drowns out her soft foot steps behind him and he almost thinks she’s ceased her efforts to follow him.
“Neville.”
Neville cannot ignore the way she calls out to him. He is not sure what will happen if he turns to face her, and he is not sure he wants to find out. His attraction to Luna is undeniable; sparking purple against moonlit skin.
She moves closer to him, curling her hand around his shoulder, the pressure of her tiny fingers as they press into his broad shoulder makes him shiver, makes him gasp.
“Luna…”
Her small hand slips down across his chest, and she presses her body firmly against his. Her other arm curls around his waist, as she stands on her tiptoes to whisper softly in his ear.
“I was speaking about you Neville. Back there, with Dean. See, Dean wants to shag Seamus. And I-- I want to fuck you.”
She brushes her lips softly over his ear, her white teeth nibbling the soft skin there. Neville cannot help but moan into her.
“Would you mind? I’m getting quite wet because of you.”
And suddenly the dam breaks on Neville’s control. He no longer cares how close they are to the Burrow, or how the nearest tree is clearly visible from both the house and the back yard. All he cares about is giving Luna exactly what she wants.
Neville pushes her against the rough bark of the tree. He loves the soft sound her lungs make at the impact. He wants to kiss her, to ravish her mouth and make bruises all over her perfect pale skin but her eyes catch him. They are captivating, large wet pools. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
“Lovely,” she says before taking his head between her hands, and closing the gap between them. Her lips taste like raspberries, and Neville groans as her tongue licks its way between his lips. Luna is devouring his mouth, leaving him breathless and wanting. She’s on fire; one hand in his hair while the other is pulling at his back. His hands have found their way into her hair, attempting to control the kiss. She is uncontrollable, unpredictable and unwilling to let him take control.
He would have expected high pitched whimpers to escape their kiss, but it’s a deep moan that leaves her mouth during the passion of the kiss. His control is slipping. He needs to taste her, all of her. And she tastes wonderful, smooth skin, a combination of something that tastes like honey and something else, a taste that is sweet and inexplicably her own. He uses his tongue with confidence, paying close attention to what makes her writhe beneath him. Neville listens to each gasp, each moan, exploring her body and learning what drives her wild. The sounds she makes are becoming louder, more desperate. She shifts to align their lower bodies, and begins to grind against him in the most delicious way.
Neville cannot help but moan, deep and desperate into her shoulder.
“Merlin, Neville. Oh! Want you, now.” Her fingers trail down his body, leaving in their wake the most delicious sensations and fire. She finds the front of his robes and quickly pushes them down his shoulders. He removes his lips from her neck with a pop. Her hand roughly palms his raging cock through his pants.
“Damn,” he gasps. She laughs before pushing him away to push down her own dress. Her skin is pale in the moonlight. As she bares her breasts, her dress pooling around her waist, Neville pulls her closer, the only thought in his mind to taste-touch-consume. Luna screams and moans as he latches onto her pink nipple, sucking and nipping his way across her chest. Her hands pull at his hair and her hips arch towards him.
“Neville! Yes, harder! Need you. Need your cock.” With a quick tug she pulls his head off of her, and looks into his eyes. At this moment, he is sure that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. She tugs off his pants and lifts up her dress. There is no time to remove Neville’s muggle t-shirt or shoes or socks or Luna’s underwear. Their need is too great, the heat between them like molten lava and sweet summer rain.
Neville moans as he takes Luna’s long pale legs by the thighs and hitches them up around his hips, his cock sliding in sweet friction along her inner thigh and knickers. Luna presses her breasts to his chest and wraps one hand around his shoulder and one into his hair. The sweat between them is strong, and Neville pushes her harder against the tree, his hand finding its way between them. Their eyes lock with his fingers poised to move her sheer knickers out of the way.
“Neville.”
That’s all it takes. He shoves her knickers out of the way and slides into her slick, wet heat. Luna’s back arches hard off the tree, and Neville can only groan and gasp into her neck, her trembling legs wrapped firmly around his waist, her hot breath coming in short desperate pants.
“Move, Neville. Make me undone.” Her words are like silk and it takes all of Neville’s willpower to slide out of her, her panties dragging against his leaking cock, before slowly easing back in. Luna’s face is mixture of bliss and perfection, blue eyes wide with desire as Neville’s lips claim hers again.
He sets a slow pace, feeling every groan that escapes her lips. It isn’t long before Luna becomes impatient, turning her neck and speaking into his ear. He should be surprised by the filthy words that pour from her mouth, but he is not. He picks up his pace.
“Come on, Neville. Fuck me harder; love your hard cock in me. Fuck me here. Make me scream. Make them come looking for us. Let them walk around the corner and see you. Oh yes. Fuck. See you fucking me blind, splitting me in half! OH MERLIN, yes! Neville! FUCK! Yes!”
He can feel an explosion building and he cannot stop his hips from slamming into her, feeling her squeeze her slick cunt around him until he can only moan and groan against her.
“Touch yourself, Luna.” His voice grinds the words out as he pounds against her, the coil of energy in his stomach mounting. He repositions his hands, one grasps her hip and the other finds the tree by her head. The angle change hits some place remarkable because suddenly Luna is screaming his name. It is the most stimulating sound Neville has ever heard. Her thighs tighten painfully around his waist. The walls of her cunt are rippling over his cock. She squirms and he barely registers her hand touching his cock and drifting to flick over her clit. She comes hard against him, back arching as she trembles in his arms.
A moment later, his world explodes. Neville’s teeth sink into Luna’s delicate breast as he comes, a deep growl escaping from somewhere deep within his throat, as he pumps frantically into Luna’s still throbbing cunt. The forest around them dissolves. All Neville can feel is Luna. Luna’s glistening skin, her soft folds around his softening cock, the dribble of his cum down their legs and the peppering of kisses she’s placing on his face.
“Nicely done, Neville.” He can only nod against her soft hands and even softer kisses. She shifts her hips and he slips out of her, sliding her down to her own feet. Neville is still leaning against her as she adjusts her dress.
He can hardly believe he just had sex with Luna Lovegood against a tree by the Burrow. His body is heavy, and Neville is terribly afraid that if he opens his eyes then everything will all fade away and he will become awkward, ‘war hero’ Neville and Luna will still be Luna and this connection will never happen again.
The only sound that rouses movement in him is the sound of voices.
“Merlin, people are coming.” He barely has time to pull his pants up and shrug on his robes before a group of people round the corner. None of them look familiar and Neville hopes they are from a neighboring house.
“Is everyone alright here? We heard screaming on our evening walk and we thought we would investigate.” He’s a portly muggle, holding up a flashlight. Neville can feel his insides clam up. His grandmother was going to kill him.
“Well thank you, but I just stepped onto a nest of nargles. Not a big deal, but it did startle me. Thank you for your concern. We’ll be on our way now.”
Luna pulls him away, back towards the Burrow and Neville stumbles and follows. Before they reach the back door, she drops his hand. And even though Neville just fucked her against a tree after a funeral, he still feels the gentle climb of rejection and the clenching hold war still has on him. He wonders if sex like this, drenched with a need of hope and human connection, this resemblance of love would last forever. Neville wonders if this is what war heroes feel like.
So he pulls open the screen door, pushing away burning feelings of being used and steps into the low kitchen light.
“Tea,” Luna speaks brightly before bustling over to the stove. Neville nods his head and slides into a seat at the table, the gentle hum of voices drifting in from the living room. The clanking of the tea kettle and porcelain cups fills the kitchen and within moments Luna’s setting the tea cup before him.
Exactly how he likes it.
“How did you-”
“I wouldn’t have had sex with you without knowing how you take your tea.” She sits next to him, thigh brushing against his as her hand comes to rest over his. “I’ve always fancied the pants off of you.”
He can feel the smile creep to the corners of his mouth, a grin forming as he takes a sip of his tea. He can breathe again. Luna is like a second breath after the war. Much better than the first one breathe, much more oxygen, much less like gasping.
“But I was thinking next time I could suck on your knob. I always wondered what you tasted like.”
Tea spurted out of his mouth like a fountain, and he thought how great it was that Luna never really did change.
