Author Notes

Well! I have come out of my long, long, looooong writer's block with this. It is my first Harry Potter fanfic, though I have been in the Fandom for a while (indeed, I RP both Luna and Remus at different games). This was in my brain for a while actually, though it didn't come into it's own until I was working a few evenings ago with Simon & Garfunkel in my headphones. Yay music. I am a canon nazi with my fandoms usually, however I also like some of the odd pairings, when they are done well. Hopefully, I've done this well.

I wouldn't call this all one story, nor would I call it a collection of ficlets. More like a collection of moments. I love Francesca Lia Block's form of imagery, so yes, expect that. All characters/places/things belong to J.K Rowling, save for the music, which belongs to Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel. I make no money off of this. If I did, I would not be living off of pez.

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This is where the orphans go. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was no longer a den of dark magic to be cleaned out. Now it was an echoing, quiet thing. One would think it would be livelier, what with all the young people who lived there. But they were young only in years. Ron and Ginny and Hermione and Luna, living with Harry and Remus in the now spotless, spacious house. Socked feet sliding on pristine wooden floors and giggling from the girls' floor were rare, savored moments now, in a place that rang with more recent, painfully sweet memories.

Arthur and Molly Weasley were the first to go. They were murdered in their very own house, three months previous. Alex Lovegood was next, just down the road from them. They were blood traitors, you see. They were all members of The Order, Molly and Arthur fighting the fight, Alexander boldly and some would say foolishly printing the truth now in his paper for all who would read. Harry and Dumbledore tried to get to Ottery St. Catchpole before it happened but were too late. Harry still gave Voldemort a good fight. The dark wizard was put to running.

Though supported by their brothers, Ron and Ginny wanted to stay with Harry, and Harry now owned the house. How Luna also ended up there Remus would never really know. She had no other family; she wouldn't possibly be safe back in her family's house alone. There were simply a lot of unspoken agreements after the funerals were over. Such as Hermione suddenly having leave to stay at the house for prolonged periods of time.

She tried her best to understand this, as she tried to understand everything. They appreciated her. She knew she couldn't relate, though.

And Remus was now their guardian, as they waited through a rainy, weeping London summer. They all seemed so quietly resigned to it all. Accepting that this was how things would go, knowing long ago that it could happen. Now and then there would be a breakdown, someone's sob suddenly echoing through the house. Most often it was in Ginny's distinct, Molly-esque voice. As quietly as footsteps could sound, Luna's footsteps could be heard soon after, hurrying to find her friend.

Ron would stand by one of the windows, as tall and stoic as a tree, watching the rainwater run down in droplets on the glass as his sister sobbed on her best friend's shoulder, or Harry's, as Luna stroked her hair. Hermione would bite her lip.

And the following evening, at supper, Harry would crack a joke. Ginny would laugh, and then Ron, and soon the table would be hysterical, with even Remus covering a chuckle.

One wished to laugh. One needed to.

The quietest and calmest was Miss Lovegood. Perhaps it was because she'd lost a parent already, long ago. Perhaps it was because she never had fully connected to this world, being so very aware of the next. Now and then Remus fancied he could see a glimpse of it in her eyes, when she set her sewing aside in the library, her gaze drifting to stare into space as thoughts collected themselves, along with memories of Alexander, all pale eyes and a kind smile, spinning her six year old self about in her mother's rose garden. Remus never once saw Luna cry. Then again, he rarely saw her laugh either.

That is, until the week before the children left for school.

She often went out into muggle London with Hermione, the pair of them pulling Ginny along with them. They always returned with items that had seen at least ten previous owners, all three girls being able to agree on vintage stores as their favorites. They reminded Ginny of her mum. Crackling record players singing Simon and Garfunkel, dangling love beads and patchwork dresses swirling around ankles. Remus had to admit, Ginny Weasley made a convincing bohemian, both Molly and Lily at once. Harry was falling fast. Falling for the tragic sorrowing smiling redheaded Joni Mitchell.

This day, they came back singing, amidst an evening that was shining golden through the fading raindrops. Hermione and Ginny were singing Mrs. Robinson loudly, stomping up the stairs past the floor newly dubbed 'the boys dorm'. Ron and Harry and Seamus were still sleeping off the hangover Remus had allowed them, and the girls knew this. From his spot reading in the drawing room, Remus smirked slightly as the groans of befuddled protesting reached his ears, along with the less than dulcet tones of "HEAVEN HOLDS A PLACE FOR THOSE WHO PRAY!"

Luna was laughing.

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Midnight found Remus humming the song to himself in the dark, as he wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. He rarely was asleep at this hour. As quiet as the house was, he still did not feel totally alone with his thoughts until the silent, darkened hours were upon him. And now he was thinking of James, Lily and Sirius, as he hummed. Simon and Garfunkel had been the only thing the lot of them had agreed on as well. His fingers pressed against the glass he held, as he considered. An entire generation, slowly being erased. And another soon to follow, if nothing changed. He was the last...the last...

"Sleeps unaware of the clarion call..."

She was sitting in the drawing room, letting the starlight and the lights of London glow pale in the darkness, falling on her hair like a bolt of whipped silk. The record player was scratching out a tune, Scarborough Fair. Luna was in her favorite white patchwork dress on the window seat, knees drawn up, head against the window. She was crying. But not sobbing. Her face did not move or flinch, as tears rolled steadily down her face.

Remus stood in the doorframe, watching her. He was reminded of many other nights, when she had sat thus, only Ginny's...or once, even Harry's...head on her knee, as they sobbed. And Luna simply sat, saying a few soothing words, yet knowing enough to be silent as well. Luna, who never cried. Or rather, did not trouble others with her tears. She knew tears already.

Luna's head turned, as if she'd heard him, though he'd not made a sound. Remus tilted his head, leaning it against the doorframe, and they regarded one another for a long moment. And suddenly, Remus realized with a start that he had not let anyone see his tears either, not since just after Sirius had died. They were kindreds, souls of a sort that did not want others to be troubled with them. How long had it taken Remus, to let Peter and Sirius and James see him after the full moon? How long had it been, before Luna had told her best friend what it was like to see her mother's body, when the redhead had been troubled and weary and grasping for solace after Molly's death? They were comforters, Remus and Luna. They did not ask for comfort for themselves.

"Do you miss him?" Her soft voice finally broke through the moment. Remus sucked in his breath. Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme...

"Yes, always," Remus breathed out, finally stepping into the room, and stopping before the window seat. He ran a hand along the fabric of the seat...some sort of green brocade thing. Molly had picked it out that winter. He looked back at Luna, still illuminated by the glowing panes. The tears were starting to end, and she was getting that look in her large eyes, the one she had whenever Harry or Ginny needed comfort. But Remus couldn't have that, "But time and tears heal all wounds, Luna. Do not deny yourself either."

Luna looked at him for a long time, understanding slowly returning to her gaze, along with fresh pools of salt water. Suddenly she was burying her face in her palms, as if still afraid to let her pain be seen. Remus had never known Luna Lovegood to be afraid. Or so utterly connected to this earth and to emotion, while still looking to be so ethereal. She was finally human, and Remus wondered if that was what she feared as well. But he did not stop to ponder.

For if he had, he might have thought it unwise to do what he did next. He might have rationalized just walking away and leaving her with an encouraging word. He might have berated himself and concluded that he was nothing more than a lonely soul. But Remus Lupin had already spent far too much of his lifetime being cautious. And at the moment, Luna needed in return what she daily gave.

Remus found himself sitting beside her, and wrapping an arm around the sobbing young girl. Luna in turn crumpled into him, pressing her face against his shoulder as she cried. She began speaking, her normally hazy, dreamy voice cracking and muffled by tears and his shirt. She described camping in Sweden, birthdays with only a man and his daughter, seaside trips that seemed to always be rained upon. Remus in turn was brushing a hand through her long hair, oleander and mint tea filling his senses, listening attentively while she cried and spoke until she had nothing left to let go of.

And then there was quiet. Remus, now sitting against the window frame, legs on the seat and hand still in her hair, and Luna with her eyes dry and her head on his chest, watching as a soft rain started beating against the windows anew. Remember me to one who lives there...

Something grew from that. Something only the other could understand. It was odd to most, but to those perceptive enough it made perfect sense. They were kindred.

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