Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the HP universe. Too bad.

A/N: Thank you for the nine nice reviews that I got for the first chapter! To express my gratitude, I give my reviewers each a cyber cookie and a ultra super duper quick update. YaY!

Snidget-And-Co: Here is some Ron/Luna interaction for you. Hope you like it!

Gryffindorgirl13: Thanks! I got the idea of this story during my psychology class. Amazing, eh?

: Curious... who are you? I am glad you like this story. Keep reading! I promise I'll update "The way they were meant to be" soon.

Leuca: Thanks for coming! Your story is awesome!

The Ayatollah of the Saxaphone: Queen Ditz recommended my fic? Wow. Say thank you to her for me, will you? Believe it or not, I have never read a Luna fic before, so I really don't know how others out there are illustrating her. I hope I am doing a nice fair impression of her.

metallicverb: Thanks! I will continue!

Fairy of the Black Oleander: Hey that's one big coincidence! I dunno, but the name Rachel just popped up when I thought about Luna.

Miranda: Thanks! Keep reading!

I lov Redheads w/ Fangs: Yeah, people don't seem to like Luna very much, which is quite unfair to the girl. I am glad you like how I put her!

I hope you enjoy this chapter, for I certainly do writing it!

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Second entry:

Think, Luna, think.

He gave you a problem, and you are going to solve it.

Now take a deep breath, calm down, and think. Logically. Ignore that voice in the back of your mind. It does not matter.

Okay. First, what is the definition of a perfect date? A perfect date is when both parties involved in the event enjoy doing whatever they planned to do, tremendously, in each other's company. Preferably in a cozy place where both parties find romantic. They should feel be a tranquility mixing with a tinge of excitement which only their companion can bring.

Secondly, what kind of events will Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger find interesting, enjoyable, and at the same time, romantic? Hermione likes something calm, or better, a learning experience. Basking in the sun and picnic? Maybe. Visiting the museum? Sounds good. Cuddling in front of a fire and read a book? Why not. And what does Ron like? Ron will- well, Ron probably enjoys everything in the company of Hermione. But he will enjoy watching a game in the Stadium, or a bloom ride.

Next. What places will they find romantic? Hermione loves the library, of course, and the old attic bookstore above the apothecary. But any restaurant will do the trick, provided that it has candles and soft music. Ron is more complicated. The places he find intriguing will not be very... appropriate for a date, like the Stadium or the Honeydukes. But then, he can be anywhere with Hermione. He won't mind.

Then how can they feel good in each other's presence? Well. They can manage this part fine, I know. And who am I to talk about feelings anyway.

This brings us to the conclusion that- wait. It hasn't brought us anywhere! This just brings us to the conclusion that there is nothing common between them!

Luna, didn't I tell you not to listen to that voice? True, there may not be plenty of things common between them, but there is love. Yes, there has to be. You have seen how he looked at her. You have seen how she looked at him.

You haven't yet had the luck to witness how they look at each other. But that should be enough.

So, back to the problem. Think, Luna. There has to be some way. For example, with his position as an Auror-in-training aka Best-friend-of-Harry-Potter, there should be no trouble for him to arrange booking the Stadium, then they can have a picnic in the Stadium, on the grassy patch, under the stars! How romantic.

Or they can just kiss each other whole night under the Whomping Willow. I don't care.

Geez, get a grip, Luna Lovegood! Take a deep breath!

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

That's right. That's better. This is a harmless little quill, you don't have to snap it in half. This is a harmless little page, you don't have to tear it in half-

Ignore it! Ignore it!

Now, now. Luna, as long as I am writing in third person, I may as well remind you that you have no right to feel bitter. No use to feel bitter. Bitterness is unproductive, as is any other feeling, by the way. The anger that you just felt, despite what he said, is unproductive. Harmful. See what you almost do to your stationery.

Remember what you did to your mother.

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I should continue my story. Writing is supposed to be good for me, you know. He just dropped by this afternoon and asked me how much had I written in the past week.

"One entry," I said, and seeing his expression, added, "four pages."

"One single entry!" He exclaimed. "Luna, that's a good start, but not enough."

So here I am, writing again. Today's Saturday and I have finished all my homework last night, so I have an entire night free. A free night, and I am stuck here in the dormitory writing on a lousy diary. Not that I have somewhere else to be, something else to do. I feel this urge to sigh. I haven't sighed in seven years and now I want to sigh! Ha. I can almost laugh.

Maybe I should start off from where I stopped. So I was sorted into Ravenclaw.

First year passed uneventfully.

Second year passed uneventfully.

Third year passed-

No, no no no. I can't do it. I cannot concentrate. He will be furious if he finds out this is what I write. Or worse, he will get that look on his face. Disappointment mixing with pity and something else that I cannot fathom. I have no use with pity. I don't need pity. People living under bridges in cardboxes, they need pity. People in Africa without food or clothes, let alone a wand, they need pity. I have a nice bed and an owl. And straight 'O's.

Not exactly happy, but not unhappy either.

Besides, who is he to look disappointed, to look like I have failed him and make me feel bad, anyway? It is he who insisted to help me with my 'emotional problems'. Dumbledore, too, but he played a part. I did not want his help. I did not need any. I do not need any. And he is the source of distraction. I cannot concentrate now because of him. So really, he has no right to be disappointed, I haven't done anything wrong. I was just sitting there waiting for him to visit me-

Oh well. Since I can't think of anything else anyway, I might as well get into it. Get into that memory an hour ago, still so fresh, a wound still bleeding. But I should write it down, slice it open again, and alas, it will hurt. Yes, pain. Maybe that's why he did it. It was all part of the therapy, and who knows? It must be good for me.

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The sunrays seeped through the blinds and made funny shapes across the royal blue carpet. I sat cross-legged on my bed, alone in the room. I had not made the prefect team nor the Head-girl, guess I was too queer. Or maybe Dumbledore thought girls without feelings were not suitable for disciplinary posts. I don't know which, and I don't care. No matter what, I did not have the privilege of having a room to myself. I shared the highest dormitory in the Ravenclaw Tower with two seventh years like me, a sixth year and a fifth year. All of them were very nice roommates: quiet, not disturbing, like a proper Ravenclaw should be.

Though all of them were more on the quiet side, none of them would stay in the dormitory on Saturday, so I was alone in the room. Alone as usual, waiting for him. He has his day-offs on Saturdays. He fought hard for it, as most Aurors tried to get their day-offs on Saturdays, too. But he had a strong reason: he had to 'help' me. Part of this was true because I am usually freer on Saturdays. Another reason, a much larger one at that, was because Hermione has her day-offs on Saturdays, too. She is an apprentice of Snape now. Why would she want to pursue a career in Potions I will never understand.

He was late.

I was soothing the nonexistent crease on my bedspread for the hundredth time when he burst in. I snapped up at the bang of the door, and for a moment I could not see his face, just his tall stature and gleaming red hair. He walked in, closing the door behind him, and sat down in the usual armchair.

"Sorry, Luna," he smiled. His voice was much deeper now than when I first met him, four years ago. He was taller, and no longer what you would call lanky. Still rather thin comparing to others, but he had been filling out since last year. Not for the first time I noticed how he had outgrown his hot-tempered self into this- this man now. I thrusted the thought away. No matter how he had grown, he was still Ronald Weasley, his freckles never change.

"Luna, what had I told you about ignoring people?" He crossed his extraordinarily long legs, and leant back.

"I am not ignoring you, I was just- lost in thought."

He scribbled something onto a notebook that I hadn't seen him conjure. Then he put down his quill and the notebook.

"So, let's begin, shall we?"

"I thought you have already begun," I said, pointing at the notebook on my bedside table.

I had expected him to be offended, but I was wrong, as I always was with him especially since his training started. I no longer read him like a book. Instead, he just frowned for a second, then smiled patiently.

"Luna, you are not giving a report. That is not a statement. Why did you say that?"

"To tell you what I thought?"

"No, more than that."

I tried to remember why I had said that to no avail. It was just the natural thing to say, so I replied, "I guess it just sprang to my mind."

"Emotions," he said, giving me the 'tut tut' look. "When people say something, they are usually trying to convey a message to somebody else, and this message is usually what they feel."

But of course I knew that already. It was what he had been trying to teach me for almost three years. Emotions.

"Now try to put something into that sentence and say it again," he instructed.

"I thought you have already begun," I tried.

"It is still rather flat. Try putting in more sarcasm."

"I thought you have already begun," I put in as much sarcasm as I processed, but it sounded quite silly to my own ears. I am not a sarcastic person. You can't be very sarcastic when there is little in the world that you care about.

He seemed pleased, though. "That's better. Now add in a sneer, and it will be perfect."

"I thought you have already begun," I sneered. I curled my lips in a way that I hoped to resemble Snape. Our 'therapy session' must seem very stupid to any onlookers. We often spend hours practicing a specific line, or a facial expression. I am 'improving', according to him, but it is a slow progress.

He laughed, a deep laugh that echoed breathtakingly in the room. I relaxed my face furtively. He did not notice and picked up his notebook again.

"That's great, Luna. Now let's see, have you done your task?"

"Yeah," this time, I remembered to add in some confidence and enthusiasm.

"How much have you written?"

"One entry," I replied, and added, "four pages."

"One single entry!" He exclaimed, "Luna, that's a good start, but not enough."

I nodded.

"And let's- hey, you are having that blank face again."

I immediately put on a smile. A small one, but a smile nonetheless. He sighed and jotted something in his book.

"This week I want you to put on an expression- any expression- twenty four seven. I will have Dumbledore and the professors to look out for me, and if any of them tells me that you-"

"What?"

He laughed. "That's a good incredulous look. And yeah, you have to keep writing."

I slumped my shoulders and wiped the smile away. He put down his quill and leant forward.

"You can manage this. Human faces are made to show."

"Not mine," I whispered.

"Look at me. Look at me, Luna," I looked up into his pupils. "You can do this. I mean, you did pretty well around your friends. No one suspected you, right? Now do the same even when you are alone."

"That'd be exhausting," I complained, adding in just enough protest.

"Don't you feel tired too, keeping a straight face all the time?" He asked. "You always look so blank when I'm around." The last part sounded almost like a whine. I pulled a smile.

"That's how I look to everyone," I replied.

I lied, again. I can smile, even laugh with my housemates. I can be somewhat weird, but never blank. No one knows about my 'problem'. But I block my feelings, supposing that I do have some left, against all those that are close to me. The more I care about people, the less I feel about them. It is a reflex. And that's why he was the first to diagnose me as 'ill', and that was also how I came to realize that he was important to me.

He opened his mouth, but closed it quickly as though he had thought better of it. I strongly suspected that he had looked right through my lie. Silence enveloped us and for a moment he seemed to be lost in thought.

"Tell me something about this week, Luna," finally he cleared his throat and broke the silence.

"Two more Death Eaters were caught on Wednesday, and they've got a newborn Hippogriff in the Zoo."

He looked up from his notebook. "I do read the news once in a while, Luna."

"Well," naturally I knew what he wanted, I just did not feel like giving him it. "Ginny and Neville were caught kissing behind Greenhouse Six on Friday."

"Ginny what? She and- wait, that's not what I meant, either," he started rubbing his temples. "Tell me something about yourself."

"Nothing happened to me this week."

He just sat back and stared hard at me.

I averted his glare and found a sudden interest in my fingertips. I tried to remember what happened in the past week, but it was difficult. It was an arduous job to remember something that you don't care about. I started to curl a tuft of my dirty-blond hair with my index finger. He sighed.

"You got your Potions test back, Luna, and you received an 'O', which has to be Snape's first 'O' in ten years. You also got an 'O' in your Astronomy essay. Your house won in the Quidditch match against Griffindor. You slapped a Slytherin boy who insulted Ginny, and did not turn up in McGonagall's detention."

"I forgot," I admitted before narrowing my eyes at him. "How did you know...?"

"I have my sources," he said dismissively. I opened my mouth but he beat me to it. "Luna, you must try be more alert to your surroundings. Try to remember what happened to you, sometimes there may be something important."

"If it's important, I won't forget it. Besides, I find myself rather alert," I answered defiantly. He put a remark down in his notes, muttering,

"That's what you think."

I chose not to comment on that, it was not meant to be heard anyway. He continued scribbling for a minute, then glanced at his watch.

"Oh," he said.

Oh, the one hour was up. Oh, he was going to be late. Oh, he was meeting someone. And oh, duh, three guesses who that was.

He stood up, looking almost sad. Sad that I hadn't made much progress? Sad that he was stuck with me for yet another week? I did not know. But he smiled finally and said, "I'm not pushing you, but try your best, hmm?"

I nodded and watched his towering form walked to the door. He opened it to the much better illuminated stairway which leads down to the Common Room, and looked back.

"Luna," he paused, as if struggling to say something. "What is your idea of a perfect date?"

I was caught off guard. Surely there was nothing crueler than this? Asking me to think of a date for him?

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When I came out of the initial bemusement, he was gone, and twilight had arrived without me realizing. I was sitting alone in the dark. I let down the blue curtains, slipped under my navy blue quilt, and laid my head on the deep violet pillow case. But all looked black to me. I was embraced by shadows.

A tear came. I did not recognize it at first. It was as unfamiliar to me as Pluto. Maybe I knew Pluto even better, at least I got an 'O' in Astronomy, but I had not encountered a tear for almost nine years. It was alien to me. A tear came! How hilarious that sounded. He would be ecstatic if he knew I had a tear. I wanted to laugh, but another tear fell into my silky pillow. It actually felt good. Another tear fell onto my lips, and I tasted it. It was salty.

I wanted more tears. I wanted to cry. Long ago he had told me that crying was good, he had tried to make me cry, though soon he discovered that would be too much to ask of me. And now I was crying, I wanted more. But as suddenly as it had came, it stopped. I squinted my eyes, widened them, and batted them like mad. Nothing happened. I tried and tried until I gagged and coughed and felt nauseous.

Three lousy tears! That's all I could manage. That's all he could get from me.

I wonder how many tears will I let fall when he announces his engagement.

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There, I wrote it down, but I am not feeling any better. My face is hurting from smiling too long. I do not feel like smiling now, of course, but what else should I do? He wanted me to keep an expression all day. It feels pretty ludicrous smiling to yourself when no one is around. Not to mention weird. And exhausting.

Maybe I should just go to sleep, let my mind (and face) rest a bit. No more nagging voices. No more memories. No more smiles.

No more tears.

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