A/N: Got to love Australian summers, flicking between blistering heat and violent thunderstorms like a yoyo.
A thick layer of white coats the ground like marzipan as they trudge down the quiet path. Little clumps of snow continue to fall around them like some sort of morbid confetti, a parody of true celebration. It blocks out all traces of colour, making the area look like nothing more than a monochromic wasteland that stretches out around them in every direction.
The cemetery never fails to get to him, even after all this time. He keeps expecting to be desensitised to its sting, but that only seems to make it worse; each and every time, it hits him like an unexpected kick in the gut. There is just too much sadness there for him to ever walk through it unfeelingly. His mum and dad, and now Ginny as well, all lay buried several feet under the ground, forever separated from him by dirt and gravel and flowers and timber. He can visit them and talk to them and be with them, but they will never be able to do the same to him. And the awareness that they're there but not there, tangible but not touchable, makes every visit excruciating. It feels like he's with them, but he knows he isn't. Not really.
His feet come to a stop at the headstone, and he crouches down to wipe the crystallised water away. Slowly, the memorial becomes visible once more. The cold seeps through his gloves, chilling his fingers, but he barely reacts to the unpleasant sensation. It just is. He just is. Like whenever Ginny's name is mentioned, he feels numb to the core, like nothing else matters.
He isn't even sure if he would notice if he got hypothermia.
"Here she is," he whispers when the task is done. Without standing, he pulls a bouquet of pink roses out of his coat pocket and, after magically clearing the rest of the snow from the grave and casting a stasis charm so future snow won't suffocate them, adds them to the small vase resting in front of the headstone. The bright petals stand out against their white surrounds, making the scene seem a little brighter.
Without speaking, Luna sits down, cross-legged, at the foot of the grave and stares up at the words etched onto the cleared headstone.
Ginevra Molly Weasley. 'Ginny'. 11 August 1981 – 2 May 1998. Girlfriend, friend, sister, daughter, leader. Fighter to the end. Nothing and no one could ever quench her fire. She burned even in the darkest of nights. Without her, the world today would be a much darker place.
And there, at the base of the grey stone, is an engraved phoenix, its wings outstretched as if it were poised to take flight. Its feathers are shaded in brilliant reds and oranges, much like Ginny's hair was in life. And its bright brown eyes stare off purposefully into the distance.
"She wasn't ever in the Order," Harry explains when he notices the direction of Luna's gaze, "but we never had a symbol for the DA, so it seemed fitting. We asked for the design to be coloured differently so it would look more like her."
"It suits her. She rose from the ashes after our first year to become a strong person and a wonderful friend." Turning those astute eyes on him, she adds, "Thank you for bringing me here, Harry. It looks so different in the winter that I might not have found it on my own. It can be nice to just wander, sometimes, but I think this is a time when that wouldn't have been the case."
"It's alright. It's been a while since I was last here." Sighing, he stands up and says, "I'll leave you alone with her, if you'd like. I need to visit my parents, anyway."
She smiles up at him gratefully, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you. It has been so long since I've spoken with her, and we… I'll come over to see your parents soon."
"Take as long as you like."
"I will. You should, too."
He nods brusquely and sets off to the older graves, his gloved hand slipping into his pocket to stroke the petals of the white lilies hidden inside. It's strange to be here with someone – he usually chooses to come alone – but not in a bad way. Luna was, after all, Ginny's best friend. If anyone knows how he feels, as someone who loves her dearly but doesn't have the official title of family member to prove the veracity of that bond, it's Luna.
And that makes her presence okay.