A/N: Wow, guys, thank you! I really appreciate all the feedback and love! And thanks to my awesome sister, I have another chapter for you! I'm not planning on this being a very long fic, maybe 5-6 chapters tops, but you never know… My stories have a history of growing plots.
James has no idea what Luna does for a living. If he had to guess, he'd say artist (a word that makes him remember scattered, half-formed drawings, and the blond man he pulled from the river).
She always seems to be making things. She finger-paints, sews, draws, crochets, makes jewelry and pottery, mixes odd concoctions in little jars, and, frequently, emerges with things he doesn't recognize as anything at all.
If she keeps to a schedule, it's one he can't figure out. Luna goes out at all times of the day, for odd amounts of time, but never more than a few hours. "I'll be back soon," she always promises before she leaves.
She always is, and she always brings things back with her. They usually seem random and insignificant, but they must not be, because everything she brings back ends up in one of her creations, eventually. A pale blue string only a few inches long, he spots later in the edging of some crocheted mittens, a sparkly chunk of colored glass adorns an oddly-shaped teapot, and a long, thin green stick is bent into a shape around a knick-knack he can't make heads or tails of.
A few days after she invited him to stay, she comes in with a breathless smile, and cheeks pink from the cold. At first, James doesn't see anything, but then she opens her hand, and there's a tiny piece of paper. It's perfectly round, like the scraps from inside a paper hole-puncher.
She sets it carefully down on the tabletop, and goes to get her box, the one she keeps all the doodads and curios she finds in. The box looks half as big as Luna is, but she's charmed it to lightness, and she carries it easy as a feather back to the table.
It takes her a while to find what she's looking for, and James watches curiously, from his spot on the sofa as she searches.
He likes watching her work; it calms his brain, and the memories come back more peacefully when Luna's working. She's always humming snatches of things, and he'll zone out, and the memory will play back in disjointed scenes in his head. When he comes back, her eyes are always there to welcome him.
She finally emerges from the box with an amber-colored stone, and some thin leather strips. She sets them to the side, and, picking up a quill, carefully scratches something on the scrap of paper. Then she balances the paper on top of the stone, and taps it with her wand. The little piece of paper sinks into the stone; James can see it, floating in the middle of the amber.
"What's that for?" He can't resist asking. Most of the time her explanations don't make much sense to him, but he likes hearing her talk, anyway.
Luna's doing something with the leather strips, and doesn't look up as she answers.
"It's for you."
"What?" He says, confused. Luna glances at him, her blue eyes piercing.
"For your dreams," she says, like it's obvious.
"Oh," James croaks. His throat feels a little tight. "Sorry. Have you-have I been waking you up?"
He's been having nightmares every night. Has been, ever since he got away from Hydra. He wakes up sweaty and shaking from half-remembered horrors, and spends the rest of the night lying awake. Sleep is overrated, anyway.
"No," Luna reassures him, "you didn't wake me. I can See them."
There's a special emphasis on the word 'see', and it sends a trickle of fear down his back.
"Are you in my head?" He asks, more roughly than he intends. He's not afraid of Luna, or of Luna, specifically, being in his head, it's just the thought, in general, of people poking around in there that has his hackles rising.
"No!" she cries, eyes wide, "No," she repeats, more gently. He relaxes.
"I come from a long line of people we call Seers," she explains, her eyes going a bit distant. "There are many prophecies in the Department of Mysteries made by Lovegoods."
"So, what? They could see the future, and shit?"
Luna nods. "And shit," she agrees. "It's faded out a bit, though. It's been several generations since a Lovegood prophesied."
She falls silent, and it's quiet for a minute. James doesn't really know what to say, and just waits for her to continue.
"I can't really See," she says, finally. "But sometimes… I can hear things, that nobody else can."
"Huh," says James, thinking that a lot of things about her make a lot more sense, and then he teases her, "Y'know, people might think you're goin' crazy if you tell 'em you're hearin' things."
Luna giggles, and it makes his lips twitch, of their own volition, into a smile. "It's a bit late for that. Some people in school called me 'Loony' Lovegood."
She doesn't seem to be bothered by it, but it irritates him.
"That's mean," he mutters, but he's not sure whether she hears him. She jumps up from her seat, and twirls over to sit next to him, cross-legged on the cushions.
"May I?" She asks, and holds out her hand for his. His metal arm is closer, but he gives her his flesh-and-blood one instead, crossing it over his body to reach her.
Luna carefully ties the bracelet around his wrist, fingers feathering gently against his skin. The sensation feels nice, and he's not used to nice.
When she's done, he realizes he's been holding his breath, and he lets it out all at once, in a long huff. Luna pats his hand. The bracelet has a good weight against his skin, and the stone is warm. It feels like he's always worn it.
Luna's smiling up at him fondly, and he's suddenly struck by how much she's done for him. He's nobody to her, a complete stranger. He doesn't deserve even a fraction of the kindness she's given him.
"Why?" James asks, because he's feeling masochistic. If this is all going to end badly, he'd rather it end sooner than later. "Why're you even bothering?"
Luna props her chin in one hand, and searches his face.
"I've been in a war," she says, and James looks at her in shock. There's no way, he thinks, she's far too young. She smiles briefly, sadly. "Many of us that fought were only children," she admits. "I don't think we were wrong, but… well, some didn't have a choice."
She pauses, pursing her lips in frustration at whatever she's remembering. It's strange to see her upset, and James wants to wipe it away. She glances at the red star on his shoulder, lingering there for a moment, and then meets his eyes.
"You deserve to have a choice, James."