Chapter Two – Unanswered Questions

"…and Daddy's already started construction on our new home, but it's taking rather longer than expected because obviously he can only use building materials that have been purified with the Whippling Whistlebird's saliva. It's one of the few substances that are known to repel Nargles. There are other substances, but they're not legal for importation because of the Ministry conspiracy against…"

Dean and Luna are strolling leisurely along a path by the Lake, watching the Giant Squid wave its tentacles lazily in the warm summer breeze. Luna is talking about... well, the things that Luna usually talks about and Dean is reveling in the stillness of everything around them.

It is embarrassing now for him to think that when he had first gotten his assignment from Hermione he had been disappointed. He was grateful that Hermione admired his skills as an artist - something he himself is not all that confident about - but the idea of partnering Luna had upset him a bit.

It wasn't that Dean didn't like Luna. Honestly, that wasn't it. For months on end they had only each other for company - and during some very dark times indeed. He has become fonder of the odd Ravenclaw witch than he even cares to admit, but the problem, as he had seen it, was Seamus.

He had missed his friend indescribably over the year. He had missed everything about Hogwarts, but Seamus most of all; and when the dust had cleared and The Battle was over, it seemed like everything had changed.

The students who had stayed at Hogwarts seemed to have this tight, impenetrable bond with one another – having to fight for your lives and band against a common enemy will do that, he supposed. It had not escaped his notice that Seamus, Ernie, and Hannah had developed a particularly strong friendship, and well, yeah, he could admit to being a little jealous.

It wasn't just that they stuck close together, although they did. Dean had asked Seamus to fill him in on the goings-on at Hogwarts, and he, Ernie, and Hannah had told the tale…together. Together, together. They had finished each other's sentences, exchanged impossibly swift and knowing glances with one another, laughed gleefully at inside jokes. This was exactly what talking to Harry, Ron, and Hermione was like, and those three seemed as though they could communicate telepathically through raised eyebrows and imperceptible facial expressions. It was like talking to one person in three bodies.

When Harry had called back the D.A. members, Dean had been excited; he had been hoping that the summer would lessen the feeling of isolation he had felt toward his classmates. Finding out that he and Luna would – once again – be off by themselves and separated from everyone…

Seven weeks into the summer, though, and Dean can honestly admit that is the best he's ever had.

He is doing what he loves best – artwork – and hardly a day has passed that he and Luna haven't been working alongside another group. This past week they have been repairing the statues in the Great Hall and have had a grand old time laughing and gossiping with Katie, Justin, and Michael.

Dinner is a raucous affair, nearly always held outside. Music is usually blasting on the Wizarding Wireless, impromptu Quidditch matches and Exploding Snap tournaments are held, mad amounts of snogging occur, and it is possible to forget that these same school grounds only months ago were strewn with bodies, some of them their classmates and friends.

Dean and Seamus' friendship has strengthened. Seamus' hammock is next to his and consequently the two friends have had many whispered conversations, filling each other in on their time apart and talking about their post-Hogwarts plans. And to top it all off, spending time with Luna Lovegood has been more comforting that Dean had ever thought it would be.

Luna, more than any of them, seems untouched by the events of the war. Although she has been through her share of horror and fought in the same hellish battle that they all have, her general outlook is so serene and her countenance so unchanged that people seek out her company much more than they ever have. She is blossoming under all the positive attention she is receiving and she seems to be enjoying her summer as much as Dean.

Luna told Dean that morning that she wanted to speak with him alone and he had suggested that they head for the Lake. He hasn't been paying particular attention to her chatter – it is usually not very interesting, and it is always hard to follow – but her gentle lilt and dreamy voice are soothing and by now very familiar.

"…but of course I wrote to the science editor of the Daily Prophet and reminded him that despite the fact that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack is a highly elusive animal there have still been thirty-six reported sightings in the last five years alone across three continents, you know, and-"

"Hey, Luna?" asks Dean, cutting her off abruptly. He isn't trying to be rude, but Luna can – as he well knows – go on this vain for several more hours if given the chance.

Luna shakes back her light-colored mane of hair and looks up at Dean. "Oh, hello." She smiles at him as though she is pleasantly surprised to see him standing next to her.

"It's just – you said you had something to tell me - ?"

Her grey eyes become less dreamy, more solemn. She reaches out and catches his hand with her own. "Dean," she says, "I want to talk to you about the War Memorial."

Dean frowns. "I thought you liked my design."

Luna's eyes widen further until they are dark, silvery-grey pools. "I do," she insisted. "I really do. But there might be a problem. We haven't included any Slytherins, you see."

Dean's heart skips several beats. "You're not – please tell me you're not saying we should include the names of the Death Eaters on this?"

Luna's hands twist together nervously. "I don't exactly want to. But, you know, a lot of the Slytherin students lost parents and other relatives. And Hermione said…?"

Dean sort of sees what she means. But – "Look, there's no way people are going to be okay with this. We can't just… put their names down next to people like Professor Lupin or Fred Weasley."

"No, I suppose not," she says, her voice once more rather dreamy. "But I thought maybe I should bring it up. I'll drink an infusion of Gurdyroots tomorrow morning and see if an idea finds me." She lowers her voice. "Ideas wander around, you know, and usually they fly up people's nostrils but sometimes we get lucky and they slip in through our ears and get to our brains."

Dean isn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused when she says these mad things. He settles for rolling his eyes.

Luna doesn't seem to notice either way. They walk back to the castle in companionable silence – or at least until they are about half-way back. Dean hears Luna inhale rapidly and he prepares himself for another diatribe on the Ministry or an explanation of the Blibbering Humdingers' hibernation cycle, so he is quite surprised when she cocks her head at him quizzically and asks in a fairly normal tone of voice:

"So how are things between you and Seamus? Have you been able to catch up?"

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Uh…yeah, mostly."

Luna smiles happily. "I'm really happy for you. I know you missed him a lot last year."

"Mmm," he says, non-committal.

"I expect you were jealous of Ernie and Hannah when you saw how close they all were."

Dean huffs. Is Luna that perceptive or is he just way too obvious?

"It must have been hard to be apart from him – not just apart, but obviously you couldn't even owl each other or get messages to one another and you didn't even really know if the other was alive"-

"Luna," says Dean, getting a headache all of a sudden, "it was the same way for you. You couldn't contact any of your friends because you were trapped in a basement dungeon. Surely it took some time for you all to get reacquainted."She looks momentarily startled, but then smiles at Dean kindly and pats his arm. "Yes, of course, but I don't fancy any of them the way you fancy Seamus, so… oh, we're here!" she cries out merrily, running up the castle's front steps to greet Ginny Weasley and leaving a spluttering, astonished young man protesting loudly behind her.

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It is late that same night and Dean cannot sleep for the life of him. He tightens his hand around his wand, which he now sleeps with every night. Ever since being captured – going without a wand for so long – he needs it to be near him at all times. He's noticed that most of the D.A. have slight affectations like this: Hermione keeps her Beaded Bag fully packed and with her almost constantly. Ron, whom Dean suspects was separated from the other two at some point, is always checking to see that they are there. He'll look up suddenly during dinner or even in the middle of the night, scan the room, and relax only when he's seen first Harry, then Hermione. Neville and Seamus both subconsciously check for hiding spots in every room and Seamus in particular seems to be bothered by large, open spaces. Harry mentally plots escape routes from wherever he is. It is more comfortable for all of them to be around people who understand these strange habits.

Luna shows none of the same symptoms as the others, which Dean can't begin to understand. She is never one of the people who wake up screaming in the middle of the night. It is too funny, really: Loony Lovegood is the sanest one of them all. She – she -

She was bang out of order for what she said today, that's what, thinks Dean angily. Despite being wrong, she had no right to – to just say something like that out in the open.

His own thoughts turn traitor. Is she wrong, though? Really?

Dean turns over and looks at Seamus, who is sleeping. A couple strands of sandy hair have fallen in front of his eyes. His breathing is slow and even. His chest is bare. Could it be that-?

Well, Dean is not in Gryffindor for nothing. He is going to confront these intrusive thoughts head on.

He screws his eyes shut and pictures kissing Seamus, pictures brushing his fingers lightly over Seamus' freckled shoulders, breathing in his scent, and running his hands through his sandy hair and - wow. Just wow. His body is definitely reacting positively to this imagery.

Desperate to know the answer, he conjures up a memory of kissing Ginny, one of the three girls he has ever snogged. He pictures her beautiful red waves cascading down her face and that fierce blazing look in her eyes and her breasts rubbing against his chest as she twines her arms around his neck and-

All right, apparently girls still do it for him, too. No change there.

Dean spends all night wrestling with his thoughts. He replays the conversation between himself and Luna over and over again and shortly before dawn, he comes to a conclusion.