No one says anything about it, but the war has broken Luna. It's not quite as obvious as you would think. She never wanders the corridors dead eyed like Neville does. It's not like that with her, but Ginny knows what it is like. She saw Luna focus, slowly, her eyes losing their shine and her voice hardening and cracking like everyone else's.
And she cut her hair. Ginny once asked her about it and Luna didn't smile wistfully or avoid the question. "Oh, it's more practical," she said, straightforwardly and without a trace of regret. Everyone tells her how much better she looks now, how clean and nice. But Luna isn't clean and nice, or at least, she wasn't before the war.
Now in the trenches though, she's polite and respectful and neat, and she hasn't mentioned Crumple Horned Snorkaks in at least a year. Ginny's worried, and she doesn't know why; she doesn't care why it matters to her that Luna's stopped being Luna, except that it does.
Ginny has a plan, but she's had it for a month, and she hasn't done anything. She only sits and stares at Luna in meetings, her fingernails drumming marks into the table.
She's had enough though, really, so she shoves aside everything except her purpose and asks Luna if she might have a word. When everyone shuffles out of the room, all she can do is stare at Luna's very pink lips. Cosmetic charm. Disgusting.
Grimacing slightly, she tilts her head to the side and grazes Luna's beautiful lips with her own thin grayish ones, and much to her surprise, Luna pushes her away and says: "I'm sorry, but Harry and I..."
Ginny steps back, nods and bites her lip, trying to gnaw her discontentment out.
She's been chewing for a week now. It hasn't worked, so she puts on a cosmetic charm every morning, and everyone has noticed.
They're still not quite like Luna's but for Ginny, they'll have to do.