Bathwater

The Hand of Fate

Maybe she was mental. 

Before, Luna never let the word sink in, tattooing itself on her skin for her own eyes or others to see. People could whisper, sneer, or spit the word and its synonyms at her, but she knew she glowed with the love her mother left behind. It breathed in every atom that composed Luna, repelling the darkness. 

"There goes Loony Lovegood—"

Sure, the war had turned parts of her purple and blue, torn flesh had spilled red, but that same love healed the outside the way it did the inside. Luna knew not to dwell in the dark forces that fueled the fight, but instead focus on the guiding light that was Harry's own love and loyalty. Conjuring her light and her intelligence the same way she knew her mother would have, Luna followed the path Fate had set out. 

"Did you hear what she did? Kissed a Slytherin in the middle of the Great Hall."

Down that road, she took Dean Thomas' hand in hers and continued on.

She knew it was love then, just not what kind. At the beginning, it felt like the same adoration she carried for all living things; her mother always told her to see the beauty beneath, search for the kindness of the thing or person, and let her light connect with theirs. 

"Right in front of her betrothed, too! You know, Dean Thomas—the war hero."

He had always been nice to her when he was dating Ginny. He never shied away from Luna's inquisitive stares; head tilt to the side, trying to read the wrackspurts floating around his head like they were Trelawney's tea leaves. Luna trusted Ginny's ability to fend for herself, but their lights had been connected years before Dean, as two little girls living only a hill away from each other, sharing scheduled games, giggles, and accidental magic before Fate claimed Luna's mother and Daddy hid his little moon away. 

"They were sorted together for the marriage law, but I heard they were kind of a couple before that."

After his relationship with Ginny ended, Luna thought she would share only passing smiles with him. His kind, brown gaze would be a little sad, but Luna would make sure to beam when their eyes met, telling him from the quiet distance that his heart would mend with time and the light he emitted would continue to glow like the stars they tracked for their Astronomy lessons. 

Voldemort and his Death Eaters fed darkness into their world, but love triumphed over fear even in the tiniest, duskiest corners. In them, Luna continued to tilt her head to the side, studying every bit of Dean Thomas, continuing to find reasons to find him beautiful inside and out, but, sat across from her, he was starting to do the same.

"He really fancied Lovegood. You could tell. Probably more than she fancied him. Had to, didn't he? Her being a little, you know, off."

When the Death Eaters had taken her to Malfoy Manor, she used to whisper stories about her time at Hogwarts to Mr. Olivander. He never asked questions or input comments of his own years at the school, but his fragile, paper-thin hand would press against her fingers when she paused, pleading her to go on and invoke a world far from the damp, cold cellar they were imprisoned in. 

After, when sweet, brave Dobby had given his life to save them, Mr. Olivander smiled at Luna from across Bill and Fleur Weasley's kitchen table and told her he liked Dean very much—he had been exactly as Luna had described him in her stories, kind, gentle, handsome, and with a strong laugh that could deflect any darkness. 

"Mind you, Thomas did deserve it. Did you hear what he did first?"

Luna never realized her stories had often been centered around him. She knew, of course, that he was in some of her best moments, especially ones out by the Black Lake, both of them painting the way sunlight gleamed across the water. They often painted Ginny, too, back when she and Dean were together, but even after they broke up, Dean and Luna found themselves sitting on the grass or under the shade of a tree, sharing half-used bottles of paint in comfortable silence.