Cottagecore
She bit her lip, one hand holding down her straw boater, her cardigan two sizes too big as she stood alone before the ocean, the swirl of the waves, the rolling clouds of the storm coming in from the North Sea, and, for a moment, despite knowing that it could not be the case, Hermione Granger thought perhaps that the other girl was somehow calling to it, somehow willing it.
Long years, she thought, wrapping her arms about herself, the ratty old parka she had stolen from her father draped about her shoulders, the one he had worn in Brighton in the '60s, amongst all the noise and fighting, and the loud music and the spilt pints. Would you take it back, he had asked her once, one late night after her mother had gone to bed, and there was only the television's light between them. Would you take it back, he had asked, all the magic, all the things you know, all the things you've seen.
No, Hermione had answered without hesitation. No, she would not.
To take it back, to give it away, would mean never to have known the girl with the bleach blonde hair and the mismatched Converse and the wonder and the thrill of friendship, of love, of romance. To take it back would mean to forget all the good times as well as the bad times. To take it back would be to never have known Luna Lovegood.
She smiled sadly to herself, and then against the push of the bitter winter winds, she took her first step forward, pebbles robbing coarsely against one another. The sky darkened, and hearing her approach, one hand still holding down her hat, Luna turned, and with such tenderness that it lit up her whole face, she smiled.