It wasn't Ginny at the door. Luna'd thought…but never mind. It was Hermione Granger — Weasley, now, she supposed — carrying a pile of books and floating a pie behind her. "Luna, hello, sorry, can I set these down?"

Luna gaped a bit. "Um," shook her head, came back to herself, "sure, yes, of course, here, just there."

The pie was perfect: piping hot and golden-brown. Luna found two chipped green plates in a cupboard and whipped her wand at them to scour them clean.

"It's pecan and boysenberry, and I didn't make it so it should be all right," Hermione said with a wide smile. "Molly's a bit indisposed today or she'd have brought it over herself. How are you, Luna, dear?"

They'd never been friends, really, not at first. Their differences made the relationship fraught with peril for a while. But Luna had always respected Hermione's brains, and they spent a pleasant afternoon catching up on the more important developments in magical law. Luna told Hermione all about the Salem Witches' Institute and the Academia de Brujeria in Oaxaca, and Hermione lectured about the anti-pureblood laws she'd finally gotten the Wizengamot to agree on.

It was nice, and Luna didn't lie a bit when she said she'd love for Hermione to visit any time. "I've missed you all," she said with a smile, "Neville and Hannah have a list of people I'm supposed to find and chat up, so I suppose I'll be making the rounds now."

And she did, for the next few months. Dean and Seamus were happy in Hogsmeade, working in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Seamus had gotten a bit fat, and Dean still looked tired, but they were lovely to Luna. Dean showed her his paintings, which were dark and strangely beautiful, and Seamus sent her home with a cask of his homemade whiskey. He'd named it Fiendfyre and, apparently, she was supposed to convince Neville to sell it in the pub. Of course, Neville took one swallow and immediately placed a huge order, so she supposed it must have been rather tasty.

The list was pretty short: mostly Ravenclaws who weren't living in the area. Hannah had almost everyone else located, and Luna was dispatched to fill in the gaps. Marietta Edgecombe had died of some odd disease a few years ago in Morocco, and Roger Davies had married a Muggle and sold cloaks in Nice, France, now. No one was sure what had happened to Anthony Goldstein, and all Luna could find was an old forwarding address in Miami, Florida, but it didn't yield any results.

While she was in America, though, she bumped into Michael Corner in the street. They burst into tears and hugged — he'd heard a rumor that she'd died in Kenya. Luna had never really liked Michael, but things were different, after all, and he'd turned out all right in the end. He worked in a Muggle shoe store and didn't really keep in touch with anyone after the War ended, except for Terry Boot, who'd died last year from a doxy bite left too long untreated. Michael seemed to have grieved and moved on, but Luna left him her address, just in case: she knew better than anyone what it felt like to lose your only link to the world.

She was most happy about Professor Flitwick. He'd moved, after retirement, to some tiny village in Wales — she'd had a postcard from him once, on her birthday, inviting her to tea if she was ever nearby. So she took him up on it. The tiny man was still as pleasant and sweet as he'd ever been as her Head of House, and she cried as she mounted her broomstick to go home.

Dinners with Neville and Hannah and Dean and Seamus became weekly events, and she and Hermione had a monthly appointment to "talk shop." She dropped in at Hogwarts once, just to see, and had to leave almost immediately. Too many memories, too many new ghosts. Time normalized, after a while: she spent her days reading or cleaning or gardening. She had friends and chores and a sort of job, helping Hermione edit a book about the influence of wizarding law on Muggle law and vice versa. She had a cat she'd found in a shoebox; his name, she decided, was Argus, and he was as unfriendly as his namesake, but she loved him anyway. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

And then the yellow flowers bloomed, and Ginny Weasley was waiting in her kitchen. Luna'd been away for a lunch with Hannah, who was celebrating being pregnant after many years' trying. Ginny's hair was catching the sunlight, and Argus was crouched on the mantle, and Luna could only say, "Hannah Abbott's pregnant."

Ginny was confused, as anyone would have been. "Good for her, I suppose?"

"Um." Luna closed her mouth with a snap. "What do you need, Ginevra?"

The flinch Ginny gave was not nearly as satisfying as Luna'd expected. "Eurgh, Ginevra. No one calls me that, Luna, not anymore." She looked down at her hands, drawing Luna's eye there as well.

"Your ring is gone." Apparently the Nargles were at it again, or something that made one say the most inane and worthless things.

"Yes." Ginny looked back up, met Luna's eyes. "We've been divorced for months now. It…it was right. The children all went to him, and I understand, believe me. I would, too, given the choice." Her face went carefully blank, and Luna recognized herself there: going blank to keep from crying. "Anyway. I thought…I thought I might stop by. Not for anything, I mean, just. To say hello." She looked away.

"Um."

"And I mean, Ron and Bill and Mum, everyone would love to see you. And I know I'm the reason you're not coming to the Burrow, why you and Hermione meet all the time but never there. Why you won't go in the shop or near any one of us. It's my fault," blinking back tears, "and I'm sorry. You don't need to worry, I won't. Make it harder for you, I mean."

A long pause.

"I love you." The redhead took a gulping breath and words spilled out of her. "I do, I don't know why I tried to. But that's not the point, the point is, I love you, and I have treated you like utter shit for years and years and it's not fair, not at all, and I'm sorry." She took another breath, swallowing air like a drowning woman. "I don't want you to fear me or hate me. I want you to be my friend, if you can, because I love you and I miss you and—"

Luna's lips on hers drowned out the rest of the words.