Breathe
Title: Breathe
Pairing: Hermione/Luna
Rating: G
Word Count: >300
Summary: Winter had always been a good season for them.
Note: My first attempt at this pairing--the things you can do when you're waiting for the bell.
Winter had always been a good season for them.
The snow always breathed with its fresh morning coat. The trees always glistened in the drowsy rays of the sun. Their whispers echoed across the unearthly quiet that never failed to amaze them.
She had loved the snow, ever since she was a little girl, before she knew she was a witch and before she was saved from a mountain troll. She had, when she was young, found the time to stand in the snowflakes and they always made her breathe the sharp, cold air into her lungs.
Before she met her, though, Hermione had hardly found time away from school, from Harry, from lessons, from Ron, from life, to even watch the snow.
But she had that figured out by this time. She had already seen it all.
She took Hermione's hand one day and said, "Come with me." Hermione protested, turned back to her books, but the breathless plea that she was given was hardly resistible.
"Please?"
Hermione took her hand, she followed the hurried, excited steps outside and into the courtyard.
And Hermione gasped because she had forgotten how beautiful the snow was.
The undoubtedly knowing air caressed her skin, told her she was perfect. She sighed, Hermione did, because as the cold wind trickled its way into her lungs, she felt as if this was the only way to breathe.
Pairing: Hermione/Luna
Rating: G
Word Count: >300
Summary: Winter had always been a good season for them.
Note: My first attempt at this pairing--the things you can do when you're waiting for the bell.
Winter had always been a good season for them.
The snow always breathed with its fresh morning coat. The trees always glistened in the drowsy rays of the sun. Their whispers echoed across the unearthly quiet that never failed to amaze them.
She had loved the snow, ever since she was a little girl, before she knew she was a witch and before she was saved from a mountain troll. She had, when she was young, found the time to stand in the snowflakes and they always made her breathe the sharp, cold air into her lungs.
Before she met her, though, Hermione had hardly found time away from school, from Harry, from lessons, from Ron, from life, to even watch the snow.
But she had that figured out by this time. She had already seen it all.
She took Hermione's hand one day and said, "Come with me." Hermione protested, turned back to her books, but the breathless plea that she was given was hardly resistible.
"Please?"
Hermione took her hand, she followed the hurried, excited steps outside and into the courtyard.
And Hermione gasped because she had forgotten how beautiful the snow was.
The undoubtedly knowing air caressed her skin, told her she was perfect. She sighed, Hermione did, because as the cold wind trickled its way into her lungs, she felt as if this was the only way to breathe.