I've had this idea in my head for a while now, but after sniffling my way through War Horse this morning it seemed like the right time to write it. From this you will work out that this is not a particularly happy piece.

As usual, I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. Neither do I have any claim on Richard Thompson's wonderful "How Will I Ever Be Simple Again." If you've never heard it – you really should.

The Battle of Hogwarts was over.

The dead were laid out tidily in one of the intact classrooms, and the walking wounded were being treated in the Great Hall. The most seriously injured had all been transported to Saint Mungo's.

The Aurors had taken the last of Voldemort's army away.

Finally, it was evening, thought Neville. The end of the longest day of his life.

Oh she danced in the street with the guns all around her
All torn like a rag doll, barefoot in the rain

No one had seen Harry for hours. Ginny had whispered to Neville, that he was asleep in their old dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, which had miraculously survived almost intact. Sleep seemed like a really good idea right now. Except that the curse burn on his right arm hurt like a bitch, and every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were the faces of the dead and wounded.

He felt tired, and worn and old...

Outside, it was raining softly, and the air was now much sweeter. Neville walked out into the garden, letting it wash away some of the dust and the blood. Out here in the rain, he could cry – but his eyes remained dry.

Was he dreaming, or could he hear singing...?

And she sang like a child, toora-day toora-daddy
Oh how will I ever be simple again

Luna Lovegood was dancing at the edge of the forest. Barefoot, her pale hair loose.

Need was like a punch in his stomach. Despite everything she had been through, she still looked pure, innocent, untouched.

How could he even look at her? All he had know for the past year had been war, pain and death. How could he ever go back? The boy he had been seemed like a world away.

His body was hardened and scarred, but the scarring on his soul was worse.

War was my love and my friend and companion
And what did I care for the pretty and plain

As if sensing his presence, she stopped dancing and turned to him. They met in the midst of the wreckage of the garden. Her eyes were serene and understanding. Without a word, she took his hand, and led him away.

But her smile was so clear and my heart was so troubled
Oh how will I ever be simple again

And that night, in Luna's arms, Neville Longbottom began to heal...