An odd little short-fic I wrote about how the power of death can sometimes affect people.
Death was in the air.
The battle of Hogwarts was at an end, the Great Hall was full of mixed emotions, some were temporary, some would last for much, much longer; the majority was relief that the Great War had ended, Lord Voldemort was dead, his Death Eaters either captured or fleeing - the other part was grief, because when everything else was done and said, there were friends and loved ones that lay there beside them, dead.
Though the four tables in the Great Hall were laid out, no one bother with specific houses or any order, everyone were sitting where they liked. As by mere coincidence, it just so happened Neville Longbottom found himself seated beside Luna Lovegood, both of them were glancing in opposite directions, taking up brief conversation with those around them. Neither fancied eating, but both of them wanted each other's company and each other's company alone.
'I'm going to step outside for some fresh air for a little bit,' Neville practically proclaimed to the surrounding party, though no one really noticed now, his heroics with Godric's sword had been short lived, and he left it laying on the table in front of him, covered in blood, so not to stir up attention.
He gave a curious half smile to Luna as he left, and she half-smiled back, noticed by no one.
His legs felt like jelly, even now, several hours after Harry Potter had saved the world with his help - but he took one step at a time, no rush, he had all the time in the world. He put a hand up to acknowledge those who called out to him, nodding as he went, a little bit of a strut about him after the evenings proceedings.
He had just began to wonder to himself what he might even say to Luna when she eventually joined him outside, when he ran headlong into a small, solid object.
'Oops, sorry,' he said automatically, looking down.
'It's OK Neville,' it was Ginny, looking positively exhausted, and her face a right mess - she smiled up to him nonetheless - he could only imagine the amount of life-changing emotions she had gone through that evening.
'Sorry, Ginny,' Neville said again, he wanted to say "sorry about Fred" but couldn't bring himself to utter the words.
'It's alright,' she said, patting him on the arm and moving on.
He moved on himself, eventually reaching the Entrance Hall - here he stopped to lean on a collapsed pillar, his throat suddenly blocked at the thought of Fred, never seeing him again, never hearing one of his jokes again - he had always thought every member of the DA would survive this war. But in death, comes new life, comes new hope - that was the way Neville saw it right now, and he was sure that would change again in the coming weeks, when the lives of those lost are revisited once more, before they can be farewelled forever.
'You alright?' came a soft voice.
Luna appeared at his shoulder, and a big stupid grin appeared across Neville's face, echoing onto Luna's.
'Better you're here,' he said silently, 'let's walk.'
And they did so, hand in hand, without words, for ages - up and down flights of stairs, in and out doorways, over and under bridges, around and in between pillars and around corner after corner after corner until finally satisfied, they found a closet to yield as their own.
Death still followed them, even into the confined space - they had blood on their fingers, poorly washed off, yet both sets of hands wandered aimlessly over each other's body; they had dirt on their faces, still they kissed deeply, their tongues entwined; their clothes had rips and holes from not just hours of fighting, but months and only now did they finally dispose of them.
Their emotions were running quite high at this point, both were acting purely on instinct rather than anything else, and whilst their lips and naked bodies pressed together, neither were quite sure where to go from there. Luna, ever the protagonist in situations where most others have no answer, took a certain responsibility in her hands, by taking Neville in her hand and moving it gently, both knowing what was coming.
There was nothing silly about what they did, they just had sex.
You could say that Neville was big, long and hard, and that Luna was tight, hot, wet - yes you could probably describe the intimacy with an unsurmountable number of descriptive words - but all that mattered was that he was inside of her, and that each time their bodies met they moaned, at that each time they pulled apart they groaned, and that with each passing moment the rhythm grew and grew and grew until finally, all remaining emotions poured out of the both of them, and upon orgasm, they collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Death was a powerful aphrodisiac for both of them, and that night, there was a lot of death in the air.