July 2004

Luna began every morning with a cup of tea and a glance out of her front window, searching for Harry's huddled figure on the distant periphery of her land. She'd sigh sadly to herself and finish her tea, all while watching him from the safety of her spelled home. Her cup of tea would eventually empty, no matter how long she drug the ritual out, and Luna would begin her day, casting Harry as far from her mind as humanly possible.

Nearly five weeks had passed since the night of the Order's party. The first few days after she returned home had been agonizing torture. Luna would fight herself minute by minute not to run out to Harry and demand an explanation while simultaneously forgiving him for all of his faults. She'd hover on her front stoop, a mere breath's distance from the safety net of her cloaking spells and wait. Luna would wait for either the courage to go back inside and go about her day or for the anxiety to overcome her and push her to Apparate to a safe place, which was usually Rolf's small cottage in a wizarding suburb of London.

But as the proverb promised, time does eventually heal all things and while the days slowly rolled by, Luna felt marginally more okay with every passing minute. Now, she could conjure the memories of her last few days with Harry and analyze them from an apathetic distance – what Harry had done wrong, what she had done wrong, and what Harry would have to do in order to make things right… if that was a possibility. And she wasn't sure if it was a possibility or if she even wanted to allow the possibility of reuniting with Harry to exist.

Regardless of the careful distance that she had placed between her current self and the recent past, Luna still was unwilling to face Harry. Her first few nights at home were fearful. Luna still keenly remembered the circumstance that first brought Harry into her post-War life and the memory of his sudden drunk mean streaks mingled in her mind with how quickly he had been to grab at her and trap her, despite her panicked pleas to stop. When sober, Luna believed that Harry posed no threat or harm… but when drunk and provoked? He clearly needed help.

Luna knew that at some point, they would have to speak with one another. If not to discuss what happened to their relationship, then at least put their affairs to rest for practical reasons. For one matter, Harry still had belongings at Luna's home. The bulk of his stuff – mostly clothing – was sitting in a box, folded neatly and awaiting a recipient. But every so often, Luna would still stumble across an odd end of his and her heart would lurch in her chest. But she would collect herself, add the bits and bobs to his box, and move on with her day. And there was the trouble of who to actually send his belongings to. Luna was unsure of whether Harry continued to rent his small flat after he had all but moved in, and she could think of no personal friend or acquaintance of his who would want to act as a go between for her. Luna had written half a dozen letters to various members of the Weasley family asking for help and they'd all either gone unanswered or returned with a polite, "We're sorry but it just can't happen right now."

Luna looked down into her mug and frowned when she realized that it was all but empty. Casting one last glance at Harry, who was leaning against a tree and appeared to be dozing, she turned and walked back into her home. Tomorrow she'd be leaving for Serbia and she wondered if Harry would continue his vigil outside of her home while she was away. Luna wondered how long it would take without her appearing for him to decide that his task was moot and realize that it was time to finally move on. She was surprised to find how acutely the thought of Harry moving on hurt her but she brushed the unease away quickly. If she had wanted to right things between the two of them, Luna had every chance in the world. But she was unwilling to simply forgive him for what he did – not only the bout of violence, but also for the betrayal and his sheer reluctance to own their relationship.

Luna turned to the small stack of books leant to her by Neville Longbottom and began to methodically pack them into her travel trunk. Nearly all of her affairs were set. Luna decided to suspend the regular publication of The Quibbler for the next sixteen issues while she was away. As she was the acting Editor-in-Chief of the paper, attempting to find a temporary replacement who would uphold the publication to her standards was way too daunting of a task. Instead Luna decided to publish a sixteen part travel journal of sorts, discussing her own discoveries in addition to interest pieces from the local cultures she would immerse herself in. One of her father's oldest colleagues agreed to assist her with the physical portion of putting together The Quibbler.

Luna glanced towards the window but refused to allow herself another look at Harry. I wonder if he even knows that I'm leaving, Luna thought, sadly. But there was no reasonable explanation for how he would have learned that news, other than seeking out Neville Longbottom at Hogwarts which was Luna seriously doubted. She and Neville had been actively corresponding for the past two weeks about her trip and never once had he mentioned any odd visits from Harry Potter. Luna looked down at her trunk and decided that she was as ready as she could be for this trip. Luna pulled her wand from her back pocket, pointed it at her trunk, and with a few murmured words, it was gone. She glanced about her living room once more and decided that it was time to leave it all behind… at least for the next sixteen months.

She Disapparated and was gone.