Sadie reached for the seal on the parchment trying desperately to rid herself of any thoughts at all. Blank was not in any way shape or form her natural state of being, but she was so tired of thinking. She was tired, and there were no safe thoughts to think. Her anger and disappointment at her father, her painful and very unpleasant argument with Drake, her fretfulness at what was going to happen as soon as Connie returned, her oddly surreal state of 'I can't believe you never said anything' directed towards Nat, her still moderately guilty feelings about keeping Luna in the dark, and her dread at what was going to happen when Adrienne found out that she was about to try to see if the concept of 'burying oneself in work' could literally be done were all swirling around her head by turns and in mass, and she couldn't take it.

She needed to write. Writing was the only thing left in her world that made perfect sense, and she was going to cling to it like a life raft to save her from the ocean of emotional turmoil in which she was enmeshed. She had fired off so many parchments to Luna that the poor woman was probably drowning in them. The piles of letters on her own desk had been read but mostly uncomprehended. She was too much of a mess. She would need to deal with them later, but that would be much later – after she was calm (Sadie scoffed mentally at the thought of her becoming calm anytime soon). She rolled her eyes and gave a semi-indignent huff as she realized just which parchment she had opened. This was just what she needed – lovely memories of an honest, well-adjusted father/daughter relationship to mock her.

You and your father were separated for much of that last year of conflict. Was it difficult to readjust to your family after having been through such similarly trying but separate experiences?

Your question is rather like asking how anyone relates to parents after they have become an adult and have lives that are separate. It was just on a more sudden, somewhat more intense scale. There are things that people go through that can only truly be understood by those who go through them as well. Separation and different experiences can create distance that is more than physical, but the people involved determine whether or not that distance remains. You decide how to incorporate changes and differences, you decide what is important and what can be let go, and you decide how much work to put into keeping those you love close to you.

Luna was standing alone in front of what could only be properly described as the remains of what had once been her home. The circular, tower like building was partially collapsed, and the still erect portions looked fragile, as if a stiff breeze could cause them to go tumbling over. Luna looked stoic, detached. It was as if she wasn't really seeing the image in front of her. The day surrounding the girl didn't seem to fit the mood of the destroyed building at all. The sun was brightly shining, and the sky was so clearly blue that it was almost painful to look at it. Everything from the gentle looking clouds propelled by a soft breeze to the wildflowers popping up in profusion around the yard screamed that it was a beautiful summer day. It was a day made for picnics and chasing butterflies. It wasn't the kind of day that seemed suited for surveying destruction. Luna tilted her upturned face away from the sun whose warmth she had been drinking in (as if it might steady her for what was coming) and slowly opened her eyes to take in the crumbling architecture. She sighed, and her features settled into a determined mask as she took a step forward. Her progress was interrupted by a shout.

"Luna!" The slightly panting form of Neville Longbottom was rushing in her direction. "Wait."

Luna turned and watched the boy hurrying at her with a somewhat confused quirk of her eyebrows. He came to a stop beside her and laid his hand casually on her lower arm while he caught his breath. "Why didn't you tell us?" His voice wasn't demanding or angry as one might expect from the words. Rather, it contained an almost hurt quality.

Luna's head lowered, and her voice came out so softly that it was a wonder that Neville (even as close to her as he was standing) managed to catch the words. "You're all so busy. I can do this on my own."

Neville's eyes closed for a moment (looking for all the world as if he was in pain). His hand slid down her arm so that his fingers intertwined with hers. Luna's head jerked up in surprise. "You could," he stated in a voice pitched low enough to match her own, "but you won't."

"Thank you." She replied smiling while squeezing the fingers still attached to hers.

"That's what friends do for each other." The man replied dropping her hand and suddenly looking uncomfortable. He turned and looked at the remains of the house with wide eyes. "Are you sure it's a good idea to go in there?" He asked her, the discomfort fading from his features as the topic changed.

Luna shrugged nonchalantly. "I need to know what's salvagible. I know it is just stuff, but some stuff is . . ." The girl trailed off while looking at Neville with a pleading expression. He smiled back in response.

"Right then," he stated in a business like tone before trailing into a hint of nervousness. "Is it safe?"

Luna laughed and looked at him with a strange mixture of amusement and complete and utter disbelief. "Safe?" She questioned still laughing.

Neville joined in the laughter, and the bleakness of the ruins seemed to fade into the beauty of the day as the sound echoed around them. Shaking her head, Luna reached over to grab Neville's hand and began tugging him with her as she approached what might have once been a door (or it could have been a window, it was hard to say).

"Come on," she said in a singsong voice, "Mr. Snake-Slaying-Hero of the Battle of Hogwarts, and we shall face the unsafe house together." Luna sounded amused and almost happily childlike, but her words seemed to drain the amusement out of Neville's face. He blushed slightly and something sad appeared at the back of his eyes. Luna didn't see because she was walking in front of him, but she apparently sensed the change in his mood. She stopped and looked at him with a worried expression. "If you really think we shouldn't go in . . ."

Neville cut her off before she could continue. He looked up at her with eyes that were once again sparkling with amusement. "I think we can handle it." This time he was the one tugging her to the opening.

The inside of the house actually looked worse than the outside. The teens worked their way through the building finding very few items that were actually worth the trouble of pulling out from their dusty, crumbling prisons. Luna was wiping off the visible parts of a large printing press trying to see just how broken it really was when her face blanched to a shade of pale that didn't seem possible for a still living person to achieve. She sank back onto her heels clutching a wrinkled, torn paper to her chest and shaking her head in disbelief. She looked at the paper again as if hoping that her eyes were playing tricks on her and tears began to trail down her face as she recognized that they were not.

"Hey, Luna," Neville's voice stopped short when he entered the room and noticed the position is which she was sitting. "What's wrong?" He questioned. She didn't reply. He sank down next to her and shook her shoulder gently. "You're scaring me, Luna." He began. "What is it?"

Luna still didn't speak. She simply held the paper out in Neville's general direction while the silent tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Neville took the paper and squinted down at it as if it might bite him. His eyes widened as they took in the writing and he looked at Luna with an expression that conveyed an emotion Sadie couldn't even begin to try to identify.

"I'm sure he . . ." Neville never finished the sentence. He was cut off as Luna abruptly launched herself at him and began sobbing into his shoulder.

"You were right." Her muffled voice came through. "It wasn't a good idea to come here."

Luna was sitting at a table in what was obviously a tavern in Hogsmeade. No Hogwarts' alumni could mistake the interior of that mainstay of student free days in town. Luna looked like her normal, calm self at first glance, but anyone who was used to her expressions (as Sadie felt she was by now) would recognize that she was unnaturally tense. The man seated across from her didn't look overly at peace with the situation either. As a matter of fact, Harry Potter was looking about as comfortable as a rat facing off with a kneazle. Luna looked at her companion with an almost pitying gaze.

"Why don't you say what you really came here to say, so that you can get back to Ginny?"

Harry choked on his drink. "That's not . . . I . . . Ginny . . . you . . ."

"Harry." She said in a commanding tone. The boy who lived straightened up in his chair and met Luna's gaze.

"I do want to see Ginny." He admitted, "but this is important. You're important."

Luna smiled at him before something glassy settled across her eyes. "You talked to Neville, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. "You need to talk to your dad."

Luna shook her head in the negative direction.

"Please," Harry pleaded, "this is why I didn't tell you. You didn't need to know. It wasn't important."

Luna shook her head again. "It's important to me, Harry. You're important to me. My friends are important to me. You didn't tell me because you don't blame him. You're very forgiving. It's part of why you're you. This isn't about that. He didn't just betray you. He betrayed me as well. He betrayed what I believed. He betrayed why I went through all I did."

"He had his reasons, Luna. Just hear him out."

"I can't yet."

"Luna," he began before he sighed and something dark crossed his features. His sentence died out and he suddenly changed tracks. "Be careful how long you stay angry at someone for doing something you don't understand. Sometimes it's too late to take it back." His hands had tensed and were gripping his bottle far too tightly. Luna reached a reassuring hand across the table and laid it on one of his. The tension eased, and he looked up with a slightly embarrassed expression into Luna's wide, understanding eyes.

"I know."

Luna was pulling a door closed behind her in a hallway decorated with many similar doors. She leaned back against the frame and closed her eyes as her shoulders dropped with something that looked like emotional exhaustion. Her reverie was interrupted by the only other occupant of the hallway.

"Are the two of you okay?" The voice was hesitant but determined, and Neville looked for all the world as if he had no idea what kind of response to expect to his question while trying to be ready for anything from tears to yelling to laughter.

Luna's shoulders shifted as she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and gave Neville a half smile. "No," she replied in that brutally honest tone that was pure Luna, "but we'll get there."

Some of the tension and worry drained from Neville's frame only to be replaced by an expression of doubt. "I shouldn't have . . ." He stopped at the shake of Luna's head. Her smile widened.

"Thank you." She said.

"You're welcome?" Neville asked uncertainly in an echo of a previous conversation.

"For pushing me," Luna responded. "For being my real friend and telling me what I needed to hear instead of what I wanted to hear." The young woman's posture shifted, and her demeanor returned to what Sadie would have classed as 'normal' Luna. "It's your turn," she told him taking his hand and heading to the staircase.

The two walked in silence until Neville halted them outside the entrance to the permanent care ward. "It goes both ways." He said suddenly. Luna merely quirked her eyebrow in response. "Being grateful," he clarified. "Appreciating having people to . . ." he trailed off his voice sounding as if it were trying to escape from a throat that was too thick to be used.

Luna nodded to show that she understood, and Neville reached out to open the door. "Come with me?" He asked.

Luna smiled at him, and they walked through the doorway together.

Luna never ceased to surprise her. She had managed to answer a question about her father without actually having any memories that included her father.

In an attempt to not let her brain tie that last conversation about friendship to her own still too recent altercation with Drake (plus she really did need the information for her source material), Sadie played the memory back to see what was on the paper that had set Luna off in the first place. She almost wished the words had somehow remained invisible.

What was she going to do now? She couldn't let Constance get hold of this. Could she?