The rest of the evening was uneventful, though not entirely fruitless. They left together after Hermione's confirmation of the date and a hasty unsatisfying supper. As one, once bills were settled and idle complaints muttered under breath, they stood beyond the old door to the Cauldron and stared down opposite directions of the street. She didn't want to leave Luna, their brief reunion felt strained and awkward by the weight of His revel and the secrets they'd yet shared. Their time seemed fleeting, short, ruined and Hermione desperately wished for just a few more moments for lighter less heavy conversation. They weren't children anymore, however, constrained to the common rooms of their houses with worries that only pertained to getting good grades and planning impossible schemes. They had jobs, or at least Hermione did-she couldn't be sure what Luna did exactly nor who she worked for, only that she dealt with magical beasts-and responsibilities that no doubt required their immediate separation. After all, it was impossible to stare endlessly at barely legible script in leather bound books without a good night's sleep.
And yet…
"Come home with me." Hermione blurted, her heart set to a steady pound against her chest as she continued to stare down the street with a blurry gaze. She felt unnerved by her own request and held captive by the tension that invaded the tight muscles along her hunched shoulders. She needed this, this companionship, this woman with her looney unpredictable behaviours and odd shadow of maturity. She needed one night of pretend where she could imagine a world that didn't make her so paranoid and so terribly alone.
She wanted it to feel normal, to feel right, even if she had to accomplish that in an unusual manner.
"Okay." Came Luna's soft reply, but it was her grip upon her wrist that let her know this was fine. That this was okay. Weird, maybe-certainly her younger self wouldn't have found inviting anyone to her abode for the night very proper-but okay. She wasn't the only one who had been lonely, she couldn't have been. Not in this world ruled by elitist and illusions.
She'd apparated them home then, despite her dislike of the method. She didn't care that her prowess with the skill was beyond acceptable, nor that she could side-along without much effort, she just didn't enjoy the sensation of being torn apart, whipped around, then shoved back together again. Yet, it had seemed imperative to return to her flat as quickly as possible least curious eyes find their frozen state suspicious instead of benign or hesitant. Besides, Luna seemed grateful for the swiftness in which they'd arrived.
Immediately, Luna stepped forward, leaving Hermione in the center of the space to shake off the mild disorientation of apparition. Humming softly she explored her relatively small home and it's one inconspicuous bedroom. She hadn't really filled her flat with trinkets or personal items, she'd barely had any after the war. The only personality that infected her home was a simple Gryffindor banner hanging lifelessly over the fireplace and a red and gold scarf tossed haphazardly over a very small-and rather uncomfortable, Hermione had to admit-couch.
The rest of the flat was mundane, with its cream colored carpets and empty white walls. There was only one window that offered a less than magnificent display of black smudged roofs and puffing chimneys. After that, everything was drab and painfully devoid of color. Nothing spectacular to marvel at, no grand decorative collectables or expensive marble based furniture. Just empty forced normalcy. Having Luna wander around it made her feel exposed as if there should have been much more for her personal viewing pleasure. It wasn't like she wanted to impress her, she had never expected her or anyone else to be there, really. It's just, the place barely looked suitable for a bachelor muggle let alone a woman of her former caliber.
Once upon a time, she'd imagined so much more for herself.
"It's lovely, Hermione." Luna expressed, ever-present smile in place.
"Sure it is." She responded, dry and unconvinced. The only lovely thing about it was the bedroom and the small library of books she held there stacked neatly against the beaten wooden chest she'd dragged back and forth to Hogwarts in her youth. Maybe that was what she referred to? Certainly, it wasn't the dreary living room and bare sterile kitchen.
Still, if Luna caught her sarcasm she didn't say anything and instead plopped rather heavily on the couch before she began to unbuckle her cloak.
Despite the fact that the flat was her own she felt somewhat apprehensive as she stood in the center of the living room-suddenly a stranger in her own home- and watched Luna casually disrobe. Beneath that cloak had been a simplistic black robe, of which she soon parted and spread on the other side of the couch. Underneath that was what Hermione could only describe as 'Luna's peculiar wardrobe', with her multicolored skirt and rainbow faded sweater, but it still fit her nicely. The years had been kind to her, to them both Hermione presumed. It wasn't like they were that old, close to their late twenties but just barely. Besides, witches aged gracefully and all and eventually even the rings beneath her eyes from lack of sleep would fade.
"You'll stay tonight, right?" She reminded. She just wanted to make sure, is all. She didn't appreciate anyone coming and going from her home at all times of the night.
"Yes," Luna whispered as she pat the couch in a manner that was rather affectionate. "I'll sleep here."
Hermione cleared her throat, "Of course." Yet discomfort still swam in the pit of her belly, some odd mixture of dread at the knowledge of Luna's eventually-or maybe, already manifested-disappointment. She couldn't, mustn't really, allow Luna to sleep on that lumpy uncomfortable couch. It seemed unethical. "Actually-"
"Hm?" Luna stood up if only to brush her hands down the length of her wrinkled skirt before she took her out wand in preparation of transfiguring her day clothing into something more acceptable for sleep.
"No no, the couch? That won't do." She replied, though the nervous sensation in her belly had done nothing more than make her tone sound eerily weak and unsure. She cleared her throat and tried again, "You'll hurt your back on that thing."
"Will I?" Luna quirked a brow, paused mid-spell with eyebrows arched so high she looked really surprised.
"Yes." She confirmed, motioning with a wild swing of her hand toward the back door. "We'll share a bed. My bed."
"Share… your bed?"
"Yes, my bed. Is that a problem?"
For a moment they stood together, Luna with that tilted head and Hermione with pressed thin lips. She felt under scrutiny, as if Luna could see every little fractured hole in her stability, every washed away dream, every painfully crooked nail in her persona… She'd had to hastily build up her walls after the war with old tools and rusted materials, but she'd done it, she'd survived, she'd adapted.
But why did it feel as if Luna was going to tear all that down?
With a deep breath, she prepared to retract her invitation. She wasn't sure why she'd given it in the first place. They didn't need to share a bed, the idea of it was preposterous now that she thought about it. They were two grown women, not little girls preparing to have a sleep-over.
Yet, Luna spoke before the words had left her lips. "Okay."
"Okay?" Hermione squeaked, releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
"Okay," Luna confirmed, turning around to gather her robes and cloak into a messy bundle.
"Yes, okay. Yes. Good." She repeated herself as she moved, shuffling feet that felt like lead toward the open doorway that led to her sleeping quarters. "Make yourself comfortable, I just need to wash my face."
"Of course," Luna said, though there was something oddly playful in her words.
"Okay. Good. Yes." Hermione babbled, flushed and cringing.
She rushed to the bathroom, sure that her casual unassuming walk had devolved into some sort of panicked run near the end. She closed the door as lightly as she could have with fumbling hands but winced when she heard the slam of the door echo throughout the bathroom. At least, with the loud noise, she thought she couldn't hear Luna's tittering laughter on the other side.
"Alright, get it together." It was just Luna on the other side of the door. Luna, one of her closest friends. Luna, who she hadn't seen in ages. Luna, whose appearance had been as sudden as the dreaded invitation she'd received but unlike the latter, she was incredibly grateful for her presence. How often had she sat within her empty walls listening to the world beyond her window and wondering what reality could have been like if The Boy had succeeded and Ronald had remained? She wondered if Luna had thought the same thing, if Luna had wondered where Ginny had gone, Neville, George, anyone. The chaos of the final battle had split them up something horrid and the fates of her companions had been purposely kept from her those long weeks after when her future had been so utterly controlled by the ebb and flow of one man's schemes.
Now she had one of her friends back, right on the other side of that door, and she was acting like… like… some sort of attention starved git.
Solemnly she shuffled to the sink and turned on the water. She didn't come into the bathroom to reflect on her behavior. It didn't mean anything. She was just excited for companionship. Perhaps, when there was time, she could ask Luna if she knew anything about anyone else, about Ronald, about Ha-
No no, she mustn't think his name. She wasn't sure, she could never be sure, just who or what could peer into her mind.
With a shaky breath followed by a grunt as she steeled her mind, leaned over the sink, and enjoyed the soothing chill of the water as she splashed it against her face. Quickly she took care of her needs and changed her clothes, unwilling to waste more time on meaningless introspection. She was fine. Perfectly fine.
After she shrugged into her long-sleeved nightshirt with its obnoxious writing that screamed 'Glory to the Holyhead Harpies' she slipped out the door. Despite the softly glowing table lamp beside the bed being the only provided light in the space anyone could have made out Luna among the flickering shadows.
"W-wha…" Hermione croaked, her gaze glued to the Ravenclaw who had taken it upon herself to wear the most unfashionable thing she could have found in any clothing store.
"It's cute, isn't?" Luna gave a small twirl, showing off the overall oddity of the nightwear.
"I… suppose." Hermione had to begrudgingly admit, but soon her lips split into a smile she almost hadn't caught, "And where did you find… this?"
Luna was dressed in a onesie, there was no other way to describe it. Except that it was stylized to make her look like a brown furred bear with a light golden tummy. Her hands were even overexaggerated paws and the hood attached to the onesie had round fluffy ears, downturned angry eyes, and a bear nose. It was incredibly cartoonish, but on Luna it seemed to just… fit.
"You have a lovely nightshirt." Luna complimented, but Hermione felt somewhat underdressed in comparison to the other witch.
"Thank you." She kept her smile nonetheless and motioned wordlessly toward the bed. "Do you work tomorrow?"
"Hm, if I want to. I never know when I work because I never know if I'll feel like working."
"Uh huh." Hermione frowned, wondering what any of that meant. Did she make her own schedule or… well, it didn't matter. Instead of questioning Luna further she pulled back the heavy cotton covers that blanketed the bed.
"We should go shopping tomorrow," Luna said, right before she literally leapt onto the bed, disrupting the calm reveal Hermione had been trying to accomplish. "Get something nice. I'm sure the Malfoys would be pleased."
Hermione hissed as the blankets went askew. "Sure, because I would love to please the Malfoys."
"Excellent!" Luna flopped onto her belly, stretched out as she rubbed her face across one of three pillows Hermione had upon her bed.
What an odd ritual…
"Luna." She gently, but firmly, grabbed a stray arm and tucked it on the other woman's side of the bed, before she moved to slip underneath the covers. "You seem… calm about tomorrow. They hate us, they hate…"
Me.
"Maybe, but the war has ended and people have changed." Luna turned her head so that the twisting shadows of her silvery grey could be seen. "I'm interested in the summoning, aren't you?"
It would have been a waste to lie and say she wasn't. With the initial terror gone all that was left was an undercurrent of excitement laced curiosity. Yet, instead of answering, Hermione rolled over to flick off the light, plunging the room into darkness with only a shift of her wrist and the familiar warmth of wandless magic. It wouldn't do her any good to think about it tonight, not when she felt so many different things, things she hadn't felt in years.
So she closed her eyes and tried to focus on sleep. Yet, the blessed silence of unconsciousness was evasive. Instead of the darkness behind her lids, all she could focus on was the idea that someone else was in her bed, someone warm and real . It was difficult to ignore, not because Luna kept shifting about-which she did-but because she wanted… something, something she couldn't really describe.
"Luna." Hermione sighed, exasperated and awake when all she wanted to be was unconscious.
"Sorry," She chirped, and soon enough she was still.
Time passed, but Hermione didn't drift. Instead, she wondered, wondered if this was a trick of her mind. Wondered how Luna had survived the past few years…
"Luna?" She asked the darkness, but there came no reply.
She spoke anyway.
"I wonder, sometimes, if they're dead. The others. Ronald, Ginny, Neville... I'd wondered if you were dead too, but then I thought it was all a bloody waste of time." She paused in her speech, thought she heard Luna move, but when everything was still she continued again. "He, The Boy, what happened to him? Should I care? What does it matter? All this wondering when nothing can come of it and I can't really ask, it'll bring trouble. Any thoughts about the war seem to bring trouble. I've seen it, the trouble that is, once or twice. They come when it's late… to take those who aren't settling right. A week or two ago they took Mr. Botts. They were like shadows, but not very quiet, and they dragged him out of his own home."
She burrowed a little further into the blanket and curled her knees close to her chest. She told herself it was fine like this, that she wasn't afraid of being taken, that she was a valuable member to His reign and perfect in His society, but that was a lie. Who knew how to truly be safe? How to avoid suspicion?
"It must have been awful, I think, to be taken like that. I wonder if they let him speak, if they asked him if he was a traitor or… anything, really. Nobody stopped them. I didn't stop them. It's not unusual, what they do, it's just… jarring. Rude, to be honest, what with all the noise the ones they take make. Who could get used to that?"
Maybe she had.
She changed the subject. "I thought I was alone, but you came back. I'm so… surprised. It's been a long time, you see, since I've talked like this. To anyone and when you held my hand-"
She choked, unable to finish. Sobbing had not been on her agenda. Adults did not cry like overwhelmed children but-
"It's been so hard. To be empty, to keep going."
She sucked in a lungful of air, trying to control the pitch of her voice so that her sorrowful whispers did little to disturb the woman at her back. Yet, it was impossible to completely repress the strength of her shaking and when she felt the weight of the witch at her back shift closer she felt rather bad for disturbing her slumber. She meant to apologize and certainly she tried to but no words came out. She was done with words, there was only this, her barely functional walls and the cracks that trembled down their surface.
There was a soft sigh at her back, but it wasn't done in exasperation as Hermione had suspected. It was quickly followed by the encircling of strong arms-bear arms, she supposed-that pulled her tightly against the chest of the other witch as she tucked her head into the small space left open between Hermione's collarbone and neck.
There was no need for explanation, in that one motion, in the entangling of their legs and the firm yet needed embrace that surrounded her she found her answers and her comfort.
That night she was able to sleep without the dreams or the suffocating weight of paranoia.