A/N: I'm not JKR and I don't own her characters. Written for WeasleySeeker's Goodbye Competition and Lady Phoenix Fire Rose's Writing School signups for the "prompts" category.
The battle had been over for days, the castle restored, and, finally, the funerals were over. In the past week, the collective mood of the wizarding community had been riding the waves, from fury to sadness to elation, and now, for Dean Thomas at least, came somber acceptance that life was different and it was time to move on. Dean stood awkwardly on the lawn where the mass funeral had been held and began to look around for people he knew. They stood in clumps, spread out all across the area but each group huddled together as if it were cold outside. Dean wasn't sure where he belonged; not with the Weasleys, who stood together with Harry and Hermione. Not with the group who stayed behind at Hogwarts; even Seamus felt like a stranger now. Perhaps he belonged over with Luna, but she was talking animatedly with her father, most likely recounting the last five months without him.
Seamus must have noticed the way he was awkwardly turning in circles, because he broke away from where Neville and Hannah were standing to come talk to him. "How are you doing?"
"Okay, I guess," he replied. With the exception of the few moments leading up to the Battle, Dean hadn't spoken to Seamus in nearly a year. It felt strange.
After a few moments of silence standing there facing each other, Seamus asked, his voice quiet but dripping with enthusiasm, "What was it like, being on the run? It must have been quite the life."
Dean knew it shouldn't make him so upset. From what he could tell, Hogwarts hadn't exactly been a wonderful place to live the past year anyway, but he hated that Seamus was nearly glamorizing what it was like to be wanted, to be chased. "Honestly, Seamus? I don't know if you can call it life at all. Sure, I used to have a life, before the war when we were all back at Hogwarts, but sadly, that isn't true anymore. It hasn't been true for nearly a year. The idea of having a life begins to disappear when all you can think about is making it alive until dusk, hoping you'll find enough food to eat, that you won't be caught by Snatchers. And when you are- when you spend your days in the dungeon at one of your classmate's houses, chained to the wall, eating rations- that's not really living."
"I'm sorry, Dean. That sounds terrible. It makes life at Hogwarts seem like a walk in the park this past year," Seamus replied, reaching up almost instinctively to touch a deep gash over his left eyebrow.
"I forget it's been hell for you, too, mate."
"You get used to it, play it down, you know. Pretend like rescuing your classmates from the torture of the Carrows is an adventure you meant to sign up for."
They couldn't meet each other's eyes now. "Maybe one day we'll be able to sit down, swap stories, make like they're actually just stories."
"Right enough," Seamus said before leaving to find Neville again.
Dean moved to a shady spot beneath a tree and wasn't alone long before Luna came to sit down beside him. She looked around at all the bittersweet reunions and, like usual, didn't meet his eye when she began to speak. "It's strange, isn't it, sort of like we never belonged here at all."
"Sort of, yes. The days of comparing timetables and worrying over N.E.W.T.-level classes seem like ages ago. They seem petty after-" Dean turned to face Luna, to take her in. He still remembered how she looked when they first arrived at Shell Cottage; how hollow her cheeks had become, the way the bruises never quite disappeared, how some of the light had left her eyes.
Luna faced him, lightly placed a kiss on his lips- like a present, like a reassurance- and leaned against his shoulder. "Yes, everything does seem petty now. I'm not even sure I'll be considered a seventh year. I wonder if I will know before September when I see my timetable; I wonder if it even matters. I don't really want to go back, you know. Daddy wants to go to Europe, keep looking for creatures. I'd rather go with him than go back to Hogwarts."
"Do you have to?"
"Yes, I think so. Before I came to find you, I was asking him if I could just leave and go with him this year, but he insists that education is important and I should receive my N.E.W.T.s before traveling. He is probably right, but it does seem less important now."
Dean placed his arm around her, pulling her in close beside him. Her presence had been a constant comfort as they rehabilitated at Shell Cottage, waiting for something to happen. He'd forgotten she was a year behind in school, that she probably would have to go back. It was almost reason enough to stay and finish his own seventh year. As they sat in silence, the wind whispering softly through the trees, muting the noise of everyone else, Dean wondered if they had a future. Certainly they'd found solace in each other, acted a bit like a couple, watched Bill and Fleur obligingly hide their eyes as they stole kisses or walked along the beach holding hands. But could he join her at a school where things were almost normal, let their relationship become official, have everyone know that he was dating Luna Lovegood? He wasn't worried of being made fun of, at least not primarily. He wondered if Luna was made for that kind of relationship. She was airy, fluid, only seventeen. Did he love her? He wasn't certain.
"Dean?"
"Yes, Luna?"
"What are you going to do next?"
He breathed deeply, rubbed his hand along her shoulder as he began to answer her. "I don't know. I guess I'll be an Auror for a while, since they need new ones and aren't asking for N.E.W.T.s."
"Do you think you'll visit me?"
"Would you want me to?"
She spoke slowly, pausing between sentences. "I like you very much, Dean. And these past few months with you have been wonderful. But you don't love me, and I don't think I love you either."
Dean had always appreciated her honesty, the way she noticed things and didn't question them. She seemed to know more certainly than he did how he felt about her. It was that honesty, that candidness, that had him leaning over to brush her long blonde hair out of her face, pulling her close, kissing her. The kiss was long and passionate, far more passionate than any they'd shared so far, and her arms were around his neck; soon he had her back pressed against the tree and his mouth left her lips to kiss her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, and then they were breathless and coming up for air. One hand pressed firmly against her waist, one tangled in her hair, he returned to her lips and stayed there, feeling everything they never were alone enough to feel at the Cottage. And still their kisses tasted of goodbye.
He pulled away, stood up, helped her to her feet. "I'm really going to miss you," he said. Surprised to feel his eyes welling up, a single tear escaping, he pulled her close.
She was straightforward, receptive, observant as always. "No use in crying, Dean. We'll see each other again. It will just be a little different next time I think." She paused for a moment. "Watch out for Nargles, okay?"
He hugged her tighter and pressed his lips against the top of her hair. "You too," he whispered against her. "Goodbye, Luna," he said, and he quickly squeezed her hands before turning to walk away.