In the dark, there are lots and lots of stars in the sky.
"Luna, why are you lying on the grass? It's all wet."
Ginny. I like Ginny. I like her hair – it's a rather lovely, brilliant red, like that of Ronald's but longer and softer. I like Ginny because she has lots of freckles. She has freckles on her nose and freckles on her arms. I suspect she has freckles all over her body, but as yet, I have not seen them. I like Ginny because she is nice to me. Ginny is a nice person. Ginny does not look at me like I have said something strange or odd or difficult to understand. She does not look frightened of me.
I like Ginny because she does not talk. Ginny talks about nargles with me, and Ginny talks about Charms with me. But Ginny does not talk about her emotions, her feelings, her wants and her needs. She does not tell me the thoughts in her head, and I do not tell her mine. This makes us both happy. I like watching Ginny and Ginny watches me while I watch her, and we both watch each other.
Though I know Ginny spoke, and I remember the question, I don't answer, as I get distracted again by the freckles on her shoulder, where her cloak has fallen off one side, and then I realise she is not looking at me expectantly as anyone else, but she has instead joined me on the wet grass, and has laid her head on my lap. She smiles up at me, and I remember that I like her a lot. I like her name – Ginevra is a very beautiful name, I think, like Luna but with more syllables, and a different, redder tint to it. I like her eyes, and I am looking at where the deep, infinite darkness of her pupil meets the deep dark brown that surrounds it, and then the lighter brown that surrounds that, and then I notice the light spots in her eyes, and I see my own face reflected in them.
She smiles again, at a thought in her own head, a private thought meant for her only, but which she betrays by smiling. I like Ginny's smile. It makes me wonder what her thoughts inside her head are, but I often forget to wonder as I am too busy looking. Ginny's mouth is pink, and when she smiles, one side tilts up very slightly more than the other. I wonder if her mouth is very soft, or if it only looks so, and then I kiss her just to see what it feels like.
I like Ginny. I like her hair, and I like her freckles. I like her eyes and I like her smile. I like the way she looks at me, not like I am a puzzle so confusing she will not even bother, more as something she does not feel the need to understand, because she already understands enough to know that there is no need to understand.
I like that she does not exclaim in surprise at being kissed, and she does not suddenly wish to know my reasoning. I think this is perhaps because she already knows, in her own way, and does not mind. Ginny is Ginny and I am Luna. We are each allowed our own thoughts, inside our own heads. I like Ginny very much.
I look up at the sky again. There are still lots and lots of stars, and the grass is still wet.