“I mean, I don’t want her shoving her hands in your hair, but these are the things we have to deal with sometimes.” Her mother’s brown eyes bore into her, exasperated. “I understand that these things bother you, but you have to understand that these sorts of things are bound to happen here and there.”

“So I’m just supposed to let people do things like that?” Hermione shakes her head. Her tangle of dark curls moves with her. “That’s… that’s ridiculous! And never mind the fact that I didn’t even do anything—” she stops, meeting eyes with her father over her mother’s shoulder. He is looking at her pleadingly.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” a sterner tone takes over her mother’s speech. “You know very well that you must’ve done something for that girl to start crying like that—and honey, we don’t do things like that!”

Hermione doesn’t say anything, but her accusatory why not? must be communicated by her expression, because her mother sighs and places a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t want to yell at you about this, because you didn’t do anything wrong, but you have to understand that things just aren’t that simple. When you lash out like that all it does is… well, you’re a smart girl. You have to understand, it makes people question how we raised you, or even just—you know, how we are as, you know… people.”

She shuts her eyes and exhales on people, and Hermione internally makes the connection. She supposes now might be the time to give her mother a break. She did, after all, react quite harshly—even if she didn’t intend to zap that girl. How would she even do that, anyway? It was probably just static electricity or karma—not that Hermione believes in such a thing, but the thought is quite cathartic.

And anyway, her mother is very tired of their talk. It would be more advisable for Hermione to drop the subject and allow her parents to return to their usual daily activities, rather than standing in their kitchen, lecturing Hermione about how and how not to respond to pale-skinned girls unnecessarily groping her hair. Yes, it would be best to just be agreeable right now, rather than stir the pot unnecessarily.

Of course, Hermione has never been particularly agreeable, so instead she says, “Why do I have to be an example for every black person?” and the conversation rounds right back in on itself, like a snake eating its own tail.

Luna is fine. Just fine. Her father begs to differ.

They are sitting on the couch, reading the paper. The Daily Prophet specifically, mostly for the expressed purpose of allowing her father to roll his eyes and scoff at every overreaction or gossip column. This is the base ingredient to a quite enjoyable morning for the two of them. Or, it would be, if not for the fact that her father is clearly distracted by something.

Of course, that’s not exactly abnormal, either. Claiming that it was abnormal for Xenophilius Lovegood to be distracted would be absolutely unthinkable, but this is a different kind of distraction, not curious or excited, but rather… concerned? He worriedly glances at her every few minutes, and he clears his throat when they close the paper.

“Luna,” he says, and she can tell that this is a Serious Talk based on that alone. Usually, he adds a little note of affection after her name, like my dearest or my pride and joy or, sometimes, my little Crumple-Horned Snorkack. “Do you remember when we went to the Abbott’s home? How their house was so dreadfully beige, and, dare I say it, plain?”

“Oh, terribly plain,” says Luna, “but why bring it up now? I thought you were only eating dinner there to be polite. Will we be returning, soon?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” says Xenophilius, quick to stamp the idea into the ground. “I just—well, I wanted to ask about something that occurred while we were there. I found it quite curious and excessively… gut-wrenching.”

“Gut-wrenching?”

“Extremely gut-wrenching, my little moon frog,” he says.

“—I like that nickname! Can we use it more?” Luna interrupts, suddenly swept away with the new name. It certainly rolls off the tongue more than Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which makes sense! That name is only for special occasions, really, whereas moon frog is much shorter, and much more convenient.

“Oh, absolutely,” grins Xenophilius, almost distracted from his Serious Talk for a moment. Alas, the distraction only lasts a moment before he clears his throat and shakes his head. “On a more immediate note, Luna, I noticed that the children there were—how do I say it?—very… condescending, to you.”

Luna’s eyebrows furrow. “How so?” she asks.

“Well, you must’ve seen how they acted when you—okay, do you remember how I had taught you the word ludicrous the night before the dinner? And how you repeated it under your breath for a few days afterwards?”

“Oh, I do! I liked the way it sounded—was I not supposed to?”

Her father’s eyes widen as soon as the words tumble out of her mouth. “Oh, you were absolutely supposed to! More words should be like it, truly, but—” he stops, “this isn’t about your behavior, dear. You already know that I do similar things for stimulus, I just—did you not notice the children at that house imitating the way you said it?”

Luna tries to think of that night, and she does remember—but it doesn’t quite bother her as much as it seems to be bothering her father. “They were just making fun, right?”

“Yes, but…” Xenophilius trails off, “they were making fun of something they didn’t understand. It’s—you know that we’re a bit different from most of the ‘average’ people, Luna—and they were making fun of the behavior that made you different and that was…” he sighs, “I’m sorry, I know it must seem like I’m faffing on about nothing, but it truly is… frustrating, for me to think that any child would make fun of you for something like that.”

Luna blinks. She thinks back to that night—how the boys in that house mocked her mumbling ludicrous and how they cut in every time she started talking about nargles or moon frogs or snorkacks.

“Daddy,” she says, “did I do something wrong? Is that why they made fun of me?”

“Oh, dear, no, how could you think—” Xenophilius stops himself, and he carefully hovers a hand over Luna’s shoulder. “Would you mind if I pulled you in for a hug, moon frog?”

“That’s fine,” says Luna. She is usually okay with it, but sometimes touch is just a bit too much. Usually when too many other things are going on. Here, in their quiet living room, on their couch where they should be reading the paper, a hug seems just fine.

And what a hug it is. Her father is comforting and warm. He pats her back quietly. “I’m upset at those boys, surely, but I would never say you did anything wrong. Why, the parents in that house should have done a much better job raising their children. In the future, they should at least train them to recognize a lovely, fascinating young lady when they see one.”

Lovely and fascinating are words that only her father would say about her, mumbles some small voice in the back of Luna’s head. She shakes it off, enjoying the comfort of her father’s closeness for a moment. “Even if I say ludicrous too much?”

“No one could ever say ludicrous too much! The very concept is—well—ludicrous!” Xenophilius laughs, and he squeezes her one last time before releasing her from the hug. “You’re a very bright young lady, Luna. Your father just happens to get in a twist when others fail to realize this.”

Luna loves her father, she thinks—loves that he understands her in this way that other people don’t, loves that he’s odd in exactly the same way she is, but part of her knows that he is the only person who thinks of her like this.

Still, she thinks, one person on Team Luna is better than none.

Hermione didn’t think she’d ever end up explaining the concept of racism to someone, but here she is, explaining the concept of racism to her newest companion in her newest school.

Well, thankfully, she isn’t the only one explaining the concept of racism to Ron. Harry sits beside her in the common room, supplying a few details here and there about what is and isn’t racist. He does seem much less exasperated than Hermione is, having this conversation. His expression is some bizarre cross between astonishment and complete and utter joy.

“Hermione,” he says, turning away from Ron to face her, “are you sure we should tell him? I mean, I’m going to draw a portrait for you, and I want you to think about it for a moment, picture it in your mind—world with no racism.”

“Not possible.”

“With magic, anything’s possible!”

“So it’s like,” Ron has been sort of sitting silently for the last few moments, processing the concept of racism, “when purebloods get all death-eatery? That’s racism? But for, like…” he trails off.

“For black people?” says Hermione.

“And brown people!” adds Harry, “and Asian people, East and South,” he points to himself at that last one.

“You’re Asian?”

“Ron, just where do you think India is?” Harry has the biggest smile on his face. “I’m not upset or anything, genuinely. I am just… very entertained.”

“Oh, ha-ha. Ron doesn’t know anything about the world—” starts Ron.

“—Ron doesn’t know anything about the Muggle World, or history in general, specifically,” finishes Hermione.

“They don’t teach us this stuff, Granger! It’s not like wizards are running around being racist or whatever.”

“Are you absolutely sure about that, Ron? Is that a hill you are willing to die on?” Harry is having too much fun. He is desperately holding back laughter, and it’s making Hermione want to laugh, which isn’t fair, because normally she’d have way more irritating feelings about a white boy never hearing about racism even in its basic form.

But, she supposes, now isn’t exactly the time to be disagreeable. Ron doesn’t mean anything by it, and though she’s positively willing to make fun of him about absolutely anything—this seems to be getting to him. He’s getting much more red in the face than she’s ever known another human being to get.

She does prod at him for a bit longer, but she lets it go eventually. Mostly because Ron crosses his arms and mutters, “It’s like you think I’m stupid,” and he says it in a very pitiful tone.

(And in the back of her mind, Hermione wonders just how many people have been calling this kid stupid that he cites it in arguments.)

Harry puts his arm around Ron. “I promise you I’ve met white kids at school who knew even less about racism, and they were much less open to criticism about it.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, absolutely—if you think you were being a little insensitive, then I have such a story to tell you about my cousin Dudley.”

Ron looks to Hermione. And she thinks back to that day, with the other girl and the hair-touching. How she argued with her mother for as long as she could, despite every thought to the contrary. She did that because, well, no one else was going to. Not even her parents would side with her, and so it was up to Hermione to defend her own position. This, though—this isn’t an argument about what Hermione did. This is an argument about what Ron knows, and there’s something much less… honorable(?) about belittling Ron for what he doesn’t know.

“I guess that kind of thing is out of our control. You don’t get to pick what people do and don’t tell you,” she shrugs.

However, Hermione thinks, if she were in charge of the Hogwarts curriculum, she would certainly look into a world history course, or something.

The children in Luna’s year call her Loony Lovegood.

She doesn’t mind. She hardly pays enough attention to notice that it’s happening in the first place. And she mostly absorbs the statements, lets them settle with little to no fanfare.

Ginny insists that this is bad practice.

“They’re making fun of you, Luna. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

They are on the train to Hogwarts, rapidly approaching the beginning of third year. Luna sits by the window, alternating between reading a very fascinating report on the theory of mythical creatures being tied in with non-magical sciences and listening to Ginny talk about whatever it is that happens to be on her mind. Last year, there were quite a few mentions about the Potter boy from the upper grade. This year, the topic seems to be fixated on the fact that other students are apparently making fun of Luna.

“It’s not fair to you. You’re just as together as everyone else—and smarter, too!—because you’re Ravenclaw and all.”

“I don’t think I’m smarter than anyone else.” Luna doesn’t look up from her book.

“Well, you are!” Ginny says, “And I think other people should recognize that before they go and call you Loony.”

“You call me Loony.”

“Well—that’s just—that’s because we’re friends! And I would stop if you wanted me to.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to,” says Luna. “It’s nice when you say it.”

“Okay, good, but,” Ginny seems frustrated, “why don’t you get upset when other people do it?”

“Maybe they also mean it in a friendly way.”

“You and I both know that’s not it, Loony,” says Ginny, and Luna really does like the way Ginny says it. She’s always so familiar. Luna is always thoroughly enchanted whenever Ginny does this, and she wonders if it shows. She certainly hopes it does.

“Maybe their intentions are less than friendly,” concedes Luna, “but I don’t pay it any mind, and you shouldn’t, either.”

Ginny doesn’t seem to be aboard the same train, (figuratively speaking. In a literal sense, they are most certainly on the same train) but Luna puts her at ease.

“I’m fine,” she says, “I’m happy that I have a friend like you, but I don’t need other people to deal with these things for me.” Team Luna has doubled in members in the last few years, it seems. “How is that boy you were talking about, earlier?”

“Oh, Luna, you have no idea how frustrating this is. Boys are so—so stupid. He’s hardly interested in talking to anyone but my brother!” Ginny’s concern quickly dissipates into exasperation, which Luna appreciates. It’s always entertaining to hear about this sort of thing. It wasn’t too long ago that Luna felt the same way towards Ginny.

Of course, those times are long past her. Luna has quickly realized that someone being nice to her doesn’t exactly translate to them being The One To End All Ones, but the fondness remains.

“Oh,” she says to Ginny, upon realizing this thought, “I forgot to tell you. I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh—Luna—really? You didn’t—I have so many questions! When did you figure it out? Is there a girl you like right now? I know a perfect girl to introduce you to, since you’re so smart and everything—”

The ride to Hogwarts is rife with questions. Luna hardly minds.

Later on, (much later on, during fourth year) Hermione and Harry talk about it.

“It’s a good thing, right?” says Harry, looking over his sprawling notes from Transfiguration. They are studying in the common room. “I mean, I’ve never been one to miss racism. I think it’s kind of nice, being separate from that whole thing.”

“But we’re not separate from it, is the thing,” says Hermione. “Racism still exists, wizards just don’t know about it, which is bad! They’re ignoring a history that they could very well end up repeating or unconsciously absorbing.”

“Well, we don’t know about that,” Harry shrugs. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been called any racial slurs so far, no matter how badly it looks like Malfoy wants to call me one.”

“Well I have! I mean, it was a wizard racial slur, but still.”

Harry nods. “Poor Hermione, a minority in both the magical and the muggle world.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m just saying! Here, I’m the majority. Oh, how the grass is greener on the other side.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I just wish you took this more seriously. I know that Ron is your mate and all—”

“My best mate. Totally different. We’re taking each other to the Yule Ball, as good friends do.”

“Right,” says Hermione. “All good friends take their friends to romantic balls.”

“Indeed. Totally normal, average, and expected,” says Harry. “I am certainly not experiencing any conflict or questioning regarding the decision.”

“I’m sure you aren’t,” says Hermione, and suddenly it seems like the conversation has shifted. Carefully, she thinks of how she might word herself. “If you did have any questions, however, you know that I would be happy to answer any of them.”

“Oh, yes,” nods Harry, “and, similarly, if you had any questions regarding—well, I don’t know, anything at all, no particular subject in mind, I could take a stab at it.”

“Right,” says Hermione.

There’s some silence that passes between them. Hermione writes down a few key terms for potions class in her notes.

“I’m bisexual,” she says.

“Nice.”

“Now tell me your thing."

Harry stops scribbling for a moment, and Hermione hears the lilt in his voice when he says, “What thing?”

“Well, I don’t know, that you’re into Ron or something?”

“Into Ron, why, Hermione—” Harry rushes through his sentence, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “That’s certainly an exaggeration, I mean—Ron? If I were into—into men, which I’m not obligated to tell you if I am or not, but if I were, certainly I’d pick someone of a higher standard than Ron.” He tries laughing. Hermione raises an eyebrow.

“So you don’t have any feelings for Ron?”

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it, then sighs. He brings his hands to his face. “No, I absolutely do. It’s a nightmare, Hermione.”

“There, there.” She pats Harry’s back comfortingly. “We’ve all had that phase, haven’t we?”

“Have we?” Harry gasps. “Hermione, are we competing over the same Ron?”

“Oh, absolutely not. I got over that nearly as soon as it started. I’m just trying to make you feel better.”

Harry nods. “That’s a shame. You certainly would have won, considering his bizarre need for your approval and all.”

“In another world, perhaps,” she says.

There’s a comfortable silence that passes over them.

“Okay, but Ron? Seriously?”

“Hey, don’t give him a hard time! He’s—I can’t believe I’m saying this—but he’s so… so genuine, Hermione. He cares so much, and he’s so clever in his own way, and he deserves so much more. I can barely imagine my life without him, at this point,” Harry stops. “Is that gay?”

“Extremely. And very melodramatic. We’re fourteen.”

“I mean it in a friendly way! I can’t imagine life without you, either, if that helps.”

“It is very flattering,” Hermione says, “When you both get married or whatever, do I get to be best man?”

“Please shut up,” groans Harry. “What about you? Any girls catching the eye of Miss Hermione Granger, hm?”

Hermione shakes her head. “Not particularly.”

“Aw, that’s no fun. These confessions are coming off as particularly incomplete, you know? You have the sexuality part, but no embarrassing crush. I have the embarrassing crush, but no concrete sexuality. Being a minority is so hard.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were having fun being the majority in the wizarding world, and all—”

They go back and forth for a little while, leading into the late night with banter and such. Hermione really does love him so much. Him and Ron. She looks over to Harry in the early hours of the morning, head slumped over the desk. There’s no one she’d feel more comfortable coming out to, and she supposes she’s lucky in that regard.

And it is very funny to watch Harry and Ron pretend to be as neutral as possible when they dance at the Yule Ball. She has to stop herself from laughing.

Luna and Hermione are not friends.

They meet in fifth year, and they argue about this and that, but mostly about the fact that there is no such thing as a nargle, and if that isn’t the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, and well, if you weren’t so close-minded, you might learn not to take everything in your textbook at face value. It’s a very entertaining thing to watch, and a very frustrating thing to be apart of. Mostly if you’re Hermione. Luna seems to have this almost impressive immunity to frustration, especially when it comes to their arguments.

“I just feel like you’re being a bit silly about the whole thing,” she says, reaching for another library book. Hermione sits at a table between the shelves, annotating one of her textbooks with questions that she will most certainly find the answers to later.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m being silly? Really?”

“Really,” says Luna, “I feel like if you’d just think about it for a moment, all the pieces would go into place! I mean, can you really deny the theory of moon frogs?”

“I absolutely can. Anybody with basic knowledge of the world can do that.”

“Sure, anybody.” Luna snorts.

“Why are you snorting? Stop snorting.”

“I just—Hermione, you are muggleborn, correct?”

“Is this going to go in a weird, wizard-bigoted direction? Because I have to say, Luna, I didn’t picture you a Malfoy-type.”

“Oh, no. It’s just that, well, we go to a school for wizards, in a hidden castle, and you are currently talking to me about what can and can’t be argued while you study for a magic examination,” she says.

Hermione is quiet for a moment. “Point made,” she says, “but you and I both know that there are rules to magic, and jumping to the moon and bringing frogs down from it doesn’t exactly fit into those rules.”

“Maybe,” shrugs Luna, “but I don’t know. I just feel like there is so much that we have yet to learn, and these theories that you’re dismissing are, well—they’re really fascinating, aren’t they?”

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “Not particularly,” and then she gives it further thought. “I can see that it’s important to you, though,” she concedes.

“Very,” says Luna, taking a seat at the table. “I do appreciate that about you. Many people are less amicable during these arguments.”

“Well, considering I come to the library to study and argue with you, I figure the least I can do is respect your nonsense beliefs.”

“And thank you for that respect, even despite your close-minded dismissal.” Luna smiles. Hermione does not feel anything regarding this smile. She is entirely neutral towards it.

“Yes,” says Hermione, closing her book. “I’m going to leave. I think I’m done studying.”

“A shame. We could have spent so much more time arguing about the merits of wrackspurts! Or aquavirus maggots!”

“Oh, next time we’ll definitely get into whatever those are.”

“I can lend you a few copies of the Quibbler so you can study the subjects before the arguments! I’ll bring them to you in the Great Hall, tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s quite the biased source, but sure,” says Hermione. “I’m certain no other trustworthy publisher has covered aquavirus magnets.”

“Maggots,” corrects Luna, “They’re actually quite fascinating! It’ll be a good read, I promise.”

Hermione’s smile is—well, Luna thinks it’s quite wonderful. It is small, much like her laugh, but her teeth show and her eyes crinkle just a bit.

“I’m sure it will be.”

When Hermione returns to the common room, she is immediately greeted with Harry and Ron.

“How was your date with Lovegood?” says Ron, louder than necessary. A few heads turn, and some chuckles rise out of other Gryffindors.

“Ron, that’s rude. You can’t expect Hermione to answer that question,” says Harry, and Hermione almost breathes a sigh of relief before he says, “Not from you, at least. Hermione, you have to tell us—was there kissing? Maybe dancing?”

“Did she take you to see any dabberblimps?” Ron chimes in.

“One,” says Hermione, “we were not dating.”

“Debatable,” says Harry.

“Two, we were in the library. Why would we dance in the library?”

“Because it was a date?” says Ron. “You’d find a way.”

Hermione crosses her arms. “Thirdly, and I loathe to know it, dabberblimps are aquatic. She wouldn’t be able to take me to see those—and she wouldn’t, because we are not dating.”

“Well you certainly are spending a lot of time together, and every time you come back from one of these library debates, you seem very… how do I put it?” Harry says.

“Endeared?” suggests Ron.

“Endeared!” agrees Harry, “Expanding your vocabulary, Ron?”

“Hermione got me a thesaurus for Christmas. I’m pretty sure it was an insult, but my dad insisted I read it, since it’s technically a muggle book.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I love you—and your family! I love how you interact with that family. It’s definitely, totally my favorite part about the Weasleys.”

Hermione watches this exchange with exhaustion. They still aren’t together. It’s unbelievable.

“Anyway,” she says, “Luna and I are not dating.”

“And you don’t want to be dating?” says Harry, genuinely curious.

Hermione lets the idea roll around in her head, not for the first time. She thinks of Luna, and how happy she sounds to talk to them, and how her smile is so light and pretty. “No,” she says, “I have no interest in that kind of thing at all.”

“I see,” says Ron. “Permission to still make fun of you because of it? It’s really all the ammunition we have.”

“Permission denied. I’ll hex you next time,” says Hermione.

It’s ridiculous to think she might have feelings for Luna. The only feeling she has regarding her is annoyance, maybe. And frustration.

And sometimes admiration.

(And sometimes something too embarrassing to name.)

But mostly annoyance.

Luna has feelings for Hermione, but they aren’t particularly important. Ginny seems to think they are.

It could be so much more,” says Ginny, enthralled, “I just—Luna! You never tell me about your crushes on anybody, and now you tell me about your feelings for Hermione and you’re just so indifferent.”

Luna says, “It would be better not to get my hopes up, I think.”

“How is this ‘getting your hopes up?’”

“Well,” says Luna, “she’s older, and she’s in a different house. We don’t exactly see each other every day.”

“Plenty of people date between houses, and plenty of people date between years!”

“Sure,” nods Luna, “but I think those people also, you know, both have feelings for each other. I don’t think Hermione thinks of me as anything except loony.”

Loony. Loony and obsessive and frivolous.

Of course, that’s putting words in Hermione’s mouth. Luna is sure that Hermione’s opinions of her aren’t unfavorable—but they are certainly not romantic.

Luna thinks Hermione is—well, it’s obvious, but she’s so intelligent. Intelligent and determined and beautiful. Oh, she’s so beautiful. Her eyes and skin and hair are dark and lovely, but even more beautiful is the way she speaks. The way she argues, succinct and impassioned.

“Luna, you’re zoning out. Are you thinking about Hermione? Or is there a wrackspurt in the area?”

“Both,” says Luna, before shaking her head. “Neither.”

“I see,” says Ginny, “And you’re certain that it’s not just embarrassment about your feelings?”

“I’m certain,” Luna nods, “I just doubt they are reciprocated.”

Ginny looks like she’s about to say something, but Luna stops her, quickly changing the subject.

“What ever happened to your feelings for Harry?”

“Oh, don’t get me started. I’m over it. Over break, Ron could barely go a sentence without talking about him, and I’d rather be attacked by dragons than fight over a boy with my brother.”

This is much more comfortable than talking about Luna’s feelings for Hermione, even if they are ever-present and very, very confusing. Even if, next to Hermione, Luna feels like the most ridiculous girl in the world, asking the most mesmerizing one to like her.

She feels downright loony.

As it turns out, wizards don’t know much about neurodivergence, either.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that letters moving around is like… a thing? That happens to other people?” says Ron, absolutely astonished.

“It’s called dyslexia,” says Hermione. “It’s a learning disability, like ADHD.”

“Like what?”

“We’ll get to that,” she shakes her head. “I just—you really never suspected that you might have dyslexia?”

“I didn’t know what dyslexia was until two minutes ago. I just figured that I was, you know, kind of dim,” he shrugs, “but this is way better! Is there a way to fix it?”

“Well, it’s sort of just the way your brain works, but there are ways you can counteract it,” Hermione says, turning a page in her book. “I don’t know if there are any spells that change the font of our assignments, but I’d wager there are similar types of things—we can certainly work on it.”

She turns to Ron. He looks so… happy, for a moment there.

“Hermione, I’m only going to say this once, because I like Harry way more than you, and I hate that smug look on your face when I admit you’re right about something,” says Ron, “but you’re a really, really good friend.”

Hermione smiles. “The feeling’s mutual, Ron.”

After this exchange, Hermione can’t help but think about Luna. She brings it up during their next library argument, wherein Luna gives an ebullient speech about the merits of anecdotal evidence.

“Luna,” she says, “remember how you said that you and your father were both ‘the same brand of unusual?’”

“I do,” says Luna. “You should meet him someday! He knows everything, I swear. Talking to him is like reading from a book!”

“A very sensationalized book?”

“Perhaps.”

Hermione grins. “Somehow, I don’t doubt you,” she says, “but sensationalized books aside, I wanted to know what you meant by ‘unusual,’ if that’s okay to ask.”

Luna nods, “That’s fine,” she says, before humming thoughtfully, “Well, we have the same behaviors, I suppose. We both like the same theories, and he used to teach me these lovely words that I hadn’t heard before, like eccentric, and we’d repeat them back and forth for a little while. I really liked the way it felt to say them, sometimes, and I learned that other children found that a bit strange. That and the ranting. And in first year I used to flap my hands quite a lot. I learned not to do that as much.”

Hermione nods, eyebrow furrowing. Carefully, she says, “Have you ever considered the fact that you might be on the autism spectrum?”

Luna raises an eyebrow. “Elaborate?”

“The autism spectrum,” says Hermione, placing her book on the table and turning to the dog eared page. “It’s a bit complicated, since there are so many different associations, but—” she glances over to Luna, “I don’t know, I think it’s important that you know you're not unusual. You’re just different.”

“Is that not the definition of unusual?”

“Well, it is,” Hermione says, “but you aren’t bad different. Just different. In a good way, most of the time.”

Luna smiles. “Most of the time?” she asks.

“Well, often infuriatingly difficult, but still—” Hermione pauses. Luna is very close. Not extremely close, but close enough to make note of. “You’re… fantastic, to talk to.”

“I could say the same about you.” Luna’s voice is so soft. So kind.

There’s this sort of natural drift, as things fall together, and Hermione thinks—Luna is beautiful. Her hair is like gold. Her eyes are like silver. Her lips are soft.

The kiss is gentle and clumsy. It dawns on Hermione that she is not the only person involved in this kiss with no former experience, which is a relief. The only person she’s kissed before is, well, Viktor Krum, and that was certainly short lived, and—you know what? Hermione doesn’t want to think about her ex-kind-of-boyfriend while she’s kissing Luna.

When they pull away, Luna says, “You know, that’s bad practice. Now I’ll be distracted during our future debates.”

Hermione grins. “Well, I’ll be equally distracted, so I think it works out.”

“I should hope so. I’d hate to lose this aspect of our relationship,” says Luna. “Though I suppose the kissing is a good enough replacement. Still, I guess I’m a bit selfish in this regard. I like to have my cake and eat it, too.”

Hermione nods, and then they kiss again. It’s a little less clumsy this time, though there’s something charming in the fact that it’s clumsy at all.