Drabble: Ghosts, G
Title: Ghosts
Pairing: Neville/Luna
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Mostly Neville found he didn't mind losing his memories, not when it meant forgetting the horrible things that had happened: things he was only able to guess at, from reading newspaper articles and looking at the photographs thrust at him in hopes of jogging a memory that stubbornly refused to return.
His Grandmother dragged him to visit his parents, her pride for Neville vanished, replaced with bitterness that he had forgotten everything he owed his parents. But how was he to have known those candy wrappers were gifts?
He knew he'd lost all the worst memories, but he was fairly certain that he had lost all his good memories, too - especially when Luna came to talk to him, in her distant dreamy manner.
She'd indulged him, following him around to all the places everyone had said he'd liked - more attempts by his well-meaning friends to jog his memory. "It's ok to not remember everything," she told him, every time he felt discouraged by the pressure.
The memories were gone, but he was certain that in those memories he'd known her. It was to her he confessed the strange phantom-memories he had. "When I walk around Hogwarts, I don't remember anything, but still my feet feel like they've never walked anywhere else; when I'm in the greenhouse and close my eyes, I feel as if I'll suddenly remember when I open my eyes."
Later, Luna had suddenly interrupted their perusal of the recent Quibbler edition to look at him intently, dreamy eyes unusually focused over the rim of her spectrespecs. "It's normal, you know; memories, like people, have ghosts. Some people find ghosts scary, but I actually think they're quite reassuring." She smiled, "In a way, I think it's our memories telling us we haven't - quite - lost something very precious."
Pairing: Neville/Luna
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Mostly Neville found he didn't mind losing his memories, not when it meant forgetting the horrible things that had happened: things he was only able to guess at, from reading newspaper articles and looking at the photographs thrust at him in hopes of jogging a memory that stubbornly refused to return.
His Grandmother dragged him to visit his parents, her pride for Neville vanished, replaced with bitterness that he had forgotten everything he owed his parents. But how was he to have known those candy wrappers were gifts?
He knew he'd lost all the worst memories, but he was fairly certain that he had lost all his good memories, too - especially when Luna came to talk to him, in her distant dreamy manner.
She'd indulged him, following him around to all the places everyone had said he'd liked - more attempts by his well-meaning friends to jog his memory. "It's ok to not remember everything," she told him, every time he felt discouraged by the pressure.
The memories were gone, but he was certain that in those memories he'd known her. It was to her he confessed the strange phantom-memories he had. "When I walk around Hogwarts, I don't remember anything, but still my feet feel like they've never walked anywhere else; when I'm in the greenhouse and close my eyes, I feel as if I'll suddenly remember when I open my eyes."
Later, Luna had suddenly interrupted their perusal of the recent Quibbler edition to look at him intently, dreamy eyes unusually focused over the rim of her spectrespecs. "It's normal, you know; memories, like people, have ghosts. Some people find ghosts scary, but I actually think they're quite reassuring." She smiled, "In a way, I think it's our memories telling us we haven't - quite - lost something very precious."