-From the papers of Luna Lovegood-

Dear Ms. Lovegood,

What a wonderful letter! You are quite right, the blibbering humdinger does indeed have seventeen eyestalks, not sixteen. I have contacted my editor, who will print a correction in next month's edition of International Magical Zoology.

It is not often that I receive correspondence of such intellectual rigor and admirable curiosity. I wish you the best in your studies at Hogwarts this year. I envy you that experience; what a formidable magical institution! Such interesting staff and fascinating local legends! Plus, I have to say, you really can't get decent pumpkin pasties in the remote corners of the South Pacific, where I am now searching for the flying water snakes that are said to make their home in these blue atolls.

It's wonderful to hear from someone who shares my yen for fantastic beasts. It is a fascinating subject.

It was so nice to meet you, even if only in epistolary form.

Sincerely,

Rolf Scamander

...

Luna sat at the card table, bent over her watercolors, surrounded by half-finished plates and un-drunk wine. She had been seized with inspiration toward the end of dinner, and neither she nor Rolf had bothered clearing up. A fine veneer of red desert sand coated her bare white feet.

The paper drank the Prussian-blue-tinted water, and after a minute's careful painting, the silhouette of the jackalope emerged from indigo darkness. Rolf had not realized before how much skill Luna had in this department, nor would he have guessed how hypnotized he would feel while watching her. He relied on photography, mostly, to capture the magical fauna he studied, but Luna drew and painted. She had a steady hand and an eye for anatomical detail. Though the image was not truly magical in the strictest sense, the beast did seem almost to move – dreamily – through the painted air.

Somewhere far off – miles away, maybe – wolves and coyotes howled.

Luna smiled languidly. "That one is Edward," she said.

Rolf waved his wand at the dirty dishes, sending them toward a washtub by the stove. "How can you tell?" he asked.

"Oh, I've known him since he was very small," she said.

Rolf leaned back in the folding chair and swirled his wine in its glass. He continued watching her paint, transfixed. He was not sure how much time passed – maybe an hour, maybe two.

"Part of me feels like I've known you for nineteen years, and part of me feels like I've known you for three days," he said.

"Both are true," said Luna, now filling in the eyes of the jackalope with a fine-pointed brush. The beast looked both fierce and ridiculous, as it had done in life. "Although I did picture you shorter than you are. You seemed shorter in writing."

He chuckled. "Well, you are almost exactly how I pictured. English rose. Astute. Fast as hell when we were running through that tunnel, but I would expect no less from someone who learned defense from Harry Potter personally. However, I will say that you have better legs in person than you did in my imagination."

Without looking up, she said, "Yes, I think there is a rather erotic dimension to this, as well. I'm so pleased. I have always liked you very much, but this is a nice addition."

He swirled the wine again and bit his lip. "Luna. About that. Before you decide anything, you should know that I'm kind of a trainwreck. Seriously. My eccentricities are manifold, and they cease to be amusing after about three months. Also, I travel constantly. And I'm a third-generation New Yorker, for heaven's sake. Basically, I drive women crazy, and not in the fun way."

At this, she did look up. "You are being very uncharitable about yourself," she said.

"Well, I deserve it. And so do you. You deserve to know who you're dealing with."

She blinked a few times, her eyelashes moving lazily, like moth wings. "I also travel constantly," she said.

"But that's just it. It took us two decades to meet. And this is great fun, but what are the odds that it will happen again?"

"I don't see why it can't happen again," she said, calm and measured. "Do you not want it to?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course I do. I love seeing you. I love working with you."

"Then you are being illogical," she said. "Although you are doing it out of kindness, which is very nice."

At this, he laughed outright into his wine.

She stood up and tucked her paintbrush behind her ear. "I would like to continue this conversation. But I have promised to keep an eye on Edward, and it is nearly midnight. I don't think it will take long."

"I'll wait," he said.

With that, she disappeared through the flaps of the tent, and they closed behind her with a sound like rustling palm fronds.

...

The boy and the wolf snored softly in the dark tent. An abandoned game of exploding snap lay smoking on the table.

Lola slept in an armchair, tufted tail curled around her, and paws twitching with dreams. Teddy slept prone on the sofa, his hair slowly cycling through different colors – blue, then bubblegum pink, then brown shot through with silver.

No, the dead you loved never really left you, Luna thought. Two of them were very much in evidence tonight.

"They've made friends," said Rolf as Luna emerged from the tent.

He was sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag, which he had unrolled on the ground, per his custom. She joined him on it, taking in the heavens as she did so – the stars shining clearer here away from the lights of cities and castles, and the bright streaks of meteors scudding across the atmosphere.

"Yes, they have," she said.

"I don't think it's romance, though," he said.

"No, it isn't. But friends are lovely."

Leaning closer to Rolf, she cupped her palm around his chin and stroked his stubbly cheek with her thumb. His eyes were green, a little like Harry's, but a wilder, more acid green. You could look into Harry's eyes and see Scottish hillsides and quiet gardens and compassion. You could look into Rolf's and see tropical seas at red tide, rainforests teeming with barking animals, and boundless curiosity.

"I like you very much," she said.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Then she kissed him for a long time – not because she feared ending the kiss, but because she liked the warm yielding and advancing of lips and breath and saw no reason to stop yet. He pulled her into his lap and twined his fingers in her hair.

When they finally broke apart, he said, "Okay. That was either long overdue or totally surprising. I am still confused which. But I think you were right before. It's both. I know everything about you, and I just met you. That sounds like a lyric from a silly pop song, doesn't it? But it's completely true."

"True things usually sound silly, out of context," said Luna.

He smiled at her and shook his head, as if dislodging a sticky and unwanted thought, or maybe a particularly clingy wrackspurt. "You aren't going to listen to any of my reasons why this is a terrible idea, are you?"

"I will if you prefer," she said. "But you are an excellent kisser, so I would rather do more of that, if you'd like to. I think this sleeping bag is large enough for two people. What do you think?"

"It might be," he said, grinning and unzipping the sleeping bag. "And if it isn't, it's nothing an engorgement charm can't fix."

...

Hours later, they still lay under the stars, his head on her stomach, listening to the odd purrs and squeaks of her body's inner workings. He wanted to know everything about her that he did not already know. She was a fantastic creature worthy of a lifetime's study.