Title: Repressed

Author: Jinni (druscilla@cox.net)

Rated: PG13

Pairing: X/Luna

Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things HP belong to JK Rowling, et al.

Distribution: The normal places.

Summary: “He makes me feel things I didn’t know were possible. . . like one of those little perversion pixies my father didn’t want me to read about last month. . .”

Feedback: Of course. I prefer it at TtH or my personal site, just so I can go back and read it at a later date: http://witchslove.moonlitpaths.com

~*~*~

Who would have thought that one man. . .a simple, muggle man. . .could change everything?

Oh, it wasn’t the first time he saved the world. I remember reading about him for the first time in one of daddy’s issues. The boy who stopped Her. The witch that would have ended everything. Blew us into little pieces of nothingness.

He stopped her.

And we were all quite quietly grateful for it, of course. No one really wants the world to end – no matter how evil they are.

Well, except for maybe some Slytherins who shall remain nameless. They couldn’t care less now if the entire world went to hell. Their Lord is gone.

Because of him.

Xander.

He was brought in after the final battle, bloody and beaten. His eyepatch had come off and the gaping hole where his eye had been was just . . .there. . .to be seen by all. But no one mocked or taunted. They were all so very kind.

After all, he killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That’s right. A muggle. After all these years of the greatest minds of the wizarding world not being able to do anything about the great Dark Lord, a single muggle man made the difference. Sneaking up behind the snake and stabbing him in the back. The dagger was magic, of course. But the force behind it was one hundred percent muggle.

It was amazing.

I’m still reeling from it, really. Days after, with the end of my sixth year almost upon me, I’m still caught up in the whirling feeling in my head. The Dark Lord is dead. The world is safe. And it’s all because of him. I should be looking for the rest of my things, the ones my housemates hid from me; but I don’t want to. Something in me is gone.

I think it’s my fear. No more dark clouds over our heads. No more rainy days wondering if He’ll come to get us. The boogeyman, to use a muggle phrase, is gone. Well, not the actual boogeyman, father says he’s alive and well in Norway. But that’s a story for another time.

If it weren’t for Ginny I never would have met Xander. Would have just stood by the sidelines and watched as others came to congratulate him over and over again. But she’s a doer, my Ginny-friend. She took my hand and marched me right up to his bedside, smiling brightly.

And it all began from there.

I don’t know what he could possibly see in me. I’m just now turning eighteen – I’ll be one of the oldest in my year come next term. In all the years I’ve been alive I’ve never thought about being pretty; never tried to make myself into something other than what I was given at birth. I know what they say behind my back – my hair is wispy and too light. My eyes round and ‘startled’ looking.

‘They’ really need to find better things to do with themselves. ‘They’ hide my things. ‘They’ talk about me behind my back. ‘They this’ and ‘they that’.

Well maybe I’m more special than I ever thought if all ‘they’ have to do is think and talk about me.

Xander seems to think I’m special.

He’s twenty-two. I’m eighteen. The age difference is so minimal that no one is saying anything. At least, I don’t think they are. There are other differences, of course. No great romance is without them, according to things I’ve heard. Opposites attract – unless you’re a pair of glitter flies, in which case opposites quite literally repel in sparkling, dazzling shower of. . .glitter.

I’m off subject again.

He’s a muggle. I’m a witch. Not a very good witch in most departments. Pretty average. But, still, a witch nonetheless. He’s American and I’m. . . not. I love the way he talks – that funny accent that makes the words sound so strange. He says the same thing about me. That he likes to just listen to me talk and talk. I’ve become quite the babbler since I met him.

Then there’s the big difference, the one that makes me wonder – he’s been engaged, and I’ve never even been in love.

Until now.

I had to ask Ginny what it felt like, to be in love; because she’s loved Harry Potter since almost the moment she met him. She said that it’s like those same glitter flies, repelling off of one another in your stomach, making things feel all topsy turvey. Like getting hit with a jelly-legs curse and feeling your knees knock together.

But in a good way.

It’s missing that person when you’re apart, but getting warmth from the fact that you’ll see one another again.

It’s all that. . .and things that she couldn’t describe. That’s okay, though; I feel them, too.

He kissed me the other night, and I was sure that I was going to melt. A pure case of spontaneous melting to go with the others in the records the Ministry doesn’t want anyone to know about. The glitter flies in my tummy went careening around like they wanted out, and I felt as if I was tingling all over.

That’s what Xander does to me. He makes me feel things I didn’t know were possible. . . like one of those little perversion pixies my father didn’t want me to read about last month. All tingly and warm. Definitely not things that a good girl should feel.

I’m repressed, Ginny said. Don’t worry about the kissing, just go with it. I’m eighteen, after all. And daddy won’t care that Xander’s a muggle. Especially since he’s –that- muggle, the one that’s saved the world twice.

He’s here now, standing in the doorway watching me think. We’re going now, to visit my father now that the summer holidays have come. He’s looking forward to it. . .so am I. I want to feel those rumbly feelings some more. I want to get warm and tingly in those places I’m not supposed to know about.

I want him to do that for me.

“You ready?” His smile is contagious, and it passes to my own lips as he presses his gently to mine.

“Just a moment.”

I reach behind the chair, grabbing the last of my things. Nice of my housemates to always collect them for me on the last day. I would hate to miss the train because of their silly little games.

“Alright,” I smile, grabbing his hand. This summer should be. . .interesting. But we must be going now if we want to catch the train. I’ll have to owl Ginny when we get home. I’ve made up my mind.

I won’t be so repressed come seventh year.

And Xander will show me the way.

~*~The End~*~