I don't know why you're looking at me like that, like I can fix it. I can't, you know. I can't fix him. He's dead.
I don't see why you're staring at me like that, like you think if I just try hard enough he'll come back. He's not coming back. You see those flowers on top of that patch of dirt? Those are what you're supposed to say goodbye with. I don't really know why, but I know that's what you do. There's a reason we put flowers on graves, and it's not just to brighten up the graveyard. Flowers die, after all, like everything else. Even him. Right now you're supposed to be crying and saying farewell while you put that lily on his grave, not looking at me like I can make someone in the ground breathe.
I loved him, too. I know. You're upset. And you hate me a little because I was there, and I saw him fall, and I couldn't save him. But I can't make up for that by saving him now. He's gone. This is how we say goodbye, in this abandoned cemetery with lilies and stoicism and people we don't know, because I can't bring him back, no matter how sad you are. I wish I could protect you from this, but I obviously can't, because you're here and you see the grave and he's not coming back and how I wish you didn't have to go through this so young after so much. You're so young, and we've been in this abandoned cemetery too many times before.
Your life doesn't end because his does, you know. I hope you know. It seems like it sometimes, especially when you're young and in love and god, I remember the feeling. That feeling like the world stopped and crumbled and there's a little girl by your side and a job to keep up and a life to keep living, but there's no point anymore. You stop, but the world keeps going. I felt like this too. I looked at you the way you're looking at me when she died, wondering why you couldn't have saved her. It was too much to ask, I know. You were nine. But it was too much to lose her.
Maybe you don't need to stop looking at me like that right away. It's one of the steps, isn't it? It was one of mine. I would wake up in the morning and try to make you breakfast, but my hands would fumble and I would wait for your mother to come and laugh at me and take the pancake batter away. She never came, and it took me months to stop expecting her. Sometimes, in the morning, I'll still wait for the sound of the tea kettle. Thirty minutes later I'll sit up and remember the tea kettle won't go off until I turn the water on. It's a little empty sometimes, now that you're both gone.
Don't do what I did. Don't let it all pass you by. I almost missed how well you grew up, you know. And now you're a big fancy naturalist, finding all sorts of creatures I always knew we'd find one day, and I wish I had been paying closer attention to you instead of to the little hole in my heart.
I can't tell you it never goes away. I've never lied to you, even if other people think I have. The hole is still there, and it's still big, and some days I can still hear the wind whispering through it. But one good thing about having a hole in your heart is after you take some time to try and heal it, the other parts of your heart start beefing up to make up for it. I love you now more than I ever could before she died. Now my heart wants to make room for that little girl in your arms, and trust me, it already has. It swelled the first time I saw her grey eyes – they're your eyes, you know, and your mother's too. I heard someone say they looked like his eyes once, but they're wrong. Those are the same eyes I fell in love with, and whenever that little ball of what will save you from giving up smiles, her eyes light up the same way yours do. And on top of all this love I have for you and the baby girl in your arms, I have love and room in my heart for the paper, for the creatures, for the truth. There is no covering up that hole, no finding someone to fill it in with the substance that was there before – don't try that. When you do that, it feels like someone has shoveled gravel into your chest. But there is learning to live with the little hole, learning to breathe, learning to open the rest of your soul up.
He's gone. He's not coming back. I know it was too soon, I know you don't know how to keep going – but your life doesn't end with Dean's. Even if that's not fair.
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Aw, I'll always love Harry Potter. And even if I disagree horribly with Luna/Dean usually, it's ok this one time.
Also, I love Xenophilius. And the Lovegood's in general. I bet Luna's Mom was awesome.