July 10, 1998

Multiple people crammed themselves into the living room at the Burrow, as was usual for every morning except Sunday. Ron, Ginny, Bill, Percy, Harry, Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gathered there in a circle. Their faces held all held the same uncomfortable, somber expression.

"Well," began Hermione with a clearing of her throat, "I believe it's my turn today. But, before I leave, I thought I'd bring an idea to the table."

"Anything, Hermione-dear, anything," said Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione stepped to the middle of the circle and nervously pitched her idea, "It's been just a little over two months since the war. We've all done remarkably well, recuperating. All except for one of us, that is. We've been meeting here every morning since the funeral to decide who gets to face the brutal task of making sure that George is okay. Make sure that he's eating, showering, breathing…and every day it's the same. We find him curled up in bed with the lights off, curtains pulled, mirrors covered or broken. We find that he's just a little bit paler than he was last time we were there, a little bit skinnier, a little more lifeless. What I'm saying is, we need to think of something new. Because what we've been doing is obviously not helping. We could force him to move back here, but he'll resent us even more for smothering him. We could stick him in St. Mungo's, where they'd treat him like a nutcase. Or, we could enlist the help of someone new…"

Ginny spoke up, "I think I know where you're going with this, Hermione." She thought back to the day of the Battle, of how shocked she was when she saw her distraught brother emerge from a hallway with one of her best friends. "Luna Lovegood," she breathed.

"That's right," said Hermione. "We all know what George told us, about how they fought Rookwood side-by-side that day. As far as I know, they haven't spoken since then. Maybe it would benefit him if they…reconnected."

Harry piped up, "I say we give it a go. We need to explore other options."

"And Luna is naturally good with people," said Ginny. "Particularly people who are hurting."

"So that's that, then." Hermione clapped her hands together. "I'll Apparate over to her house right now and ask her myself."

###

Luna sat alone in the living room of her house, reading a muggle Anatomy textbook and drinking tea. The house had felt rather lonely since her father left for his trip, but she'd sort of grown to enjoy the silence and the feeling of being grown up and self-sufficient.

One thing she very rarely got was visitors. And on those occasions, most were people stopping by to see her father without knowing he'd gone abroad. So, she did not think much of it when she heard three soft knocks at the front door.

She opened the door to find that this guest was indeed for her, this time. "Oh, good morning, Hermione Granger," she said politely. "What a surprise. A good one, though. Please, come in—it's nice and cool in the house."

The girls did not sit down right away; they stood awkwardly in the entryway, Luna brandishing a kind smile and Hermione staring at her feet with a somber expression. Luna said at last, "I don't mean to be rude by asking, but what brings Hermione Granger to my house on this gloomy morning? You look quite nervous. Is there something wrong?" She noticed that Hermione held a piece of folded parchment in her hands.

"Um—no, nothing's wrong. Not with me, at least. I've actually come to ask you a favor, if you have time."

"Oh, believe me, I have plenty of time on my hands. With my father gone to Norway to research their magical forest creatures, there's really not much I do besides take care of the house. Did you know that Norwegian wizards refer to Quidditch as 'Rumpeldunk?'"

"No, Luna, that's very interesting. But I was wondering…do you remember the Battle of Hogwarts? How you helped defeat the Death Eater Augustus Rookwood?"

A knot twisted itself in Luna's chest. Of course she remembered, how could she forget? She thought about it daily, repeated the scenes over in her head, wondered if she really had done the right thing by sending Rookwood to Azkaban instead of allowing George Weasley to kill him. She spent her nights awake in bed wishing she'd said a proper goodbye to him before they went their separate ways after the battle.

"This has something to do with him, hasn't it?" she inquired, not accusingly, but with innocent curiosity.

Hermione exhaled. "Yes, it does. You have every right to decline, but his family and I were wondering if maybe you would…go and visit him. Today. As soon as possible. You see, he hasn't been doing well since he lost Fred. We've tried everything. We take turns going there every day to see if he's all right. I thought maybe you could go this time. Maybe he would…benefit from seeing you. After all, you do know what it's like to suffer a loss and learn to heal."

Luna took only a split second to consider it. Then she nodded slowly. "I will."

"Thank you so much, Luna. Really, you have no idea how much this means—we're all just so worried and so desperate—"

In a sincere gesture, Luna took gentle hold of Hermione's wrists. "It's my pleasure. I'd love to help."

Hermione chewed her lower lip and nodded. She turned to head out the door, then suddenly remembered the folded paper in her hands. "Oh, and one more thing. Take this." She handed Luna the parchment. "It has some tips. You might need them when you go over there." Then she turned and walked out the door without saying goodbye.
"Bye, Hermione," Luna whispered to the empty house. Hermione's last words disturbed her. Was he really in such a bad state, that she would need tips to aid her? Like reading instructions for making a potion? She unfolded up the paper in her hands.

Knock on the door and wait for an answer. Wait sixty seconds.

If he does not answer, enter the flat yourself.

If the door is locked, unlock it using Alohomora.

If he's asleep, wake him.

Encourage him to bathe, eat, and drink.

If the place is a mess, help him clean it.

Finally, above all, don't cry.

Luna turned this list over in her head for a long moment. It did not seem right to her. Something told her that they were using too much force. Practically breaking into his home, forcing him out of his sleep—a period of painlessness—and forcing him into this sort of daily routine of being forced. Yes, they were making sure he was taking care of himself, and they were well-meaning, but what were they doing for him emotionally? Why in the world shouldn't they cry in front of him, or at least with him?

The first three tips were the only ones that Luna thought would be of use to her. She would do the rest according to her own judgment.

She crumpled the paper in her small, pale hands and tossed it carelessly into the remaining glowing cinders in the fireplace. Having recently turned seventeen, she could use magic on her own and had passed her Apparition test with a near-perfect score. Apparating was her one of her favorite magical abilities. Everyone always found it to be nauseating at first, but Luna found the swooping sensation in her belly rather exciting.

She took her wand from where it sat next to the tea pot, and Apparated to 93 Diagon Alley.

###

The bare wooden floorboards in the meager hallway outside the flat creaked as she walked across them. Combined with the clap, clap, clap of her purple sneakers, the noises made her uneasy. She poised herself in front of the door, then raised her fist. Hesitating, she lowered her hand and first pressed her ear to the door. Complete silence. With a deep breath, she swallowed her fear and gave three steady knocks on the door.

As she suspected, no answer.

"George Weasley," she called gently with three more knocks."It's Luna Lovegood. Remember me? From Dumbledore's Army. I…I've come to see you." Knock, knock, knock. "Please let me in. I really don't want to break in. George Fabian Weasley!" Nothing. Luna decided to give him one last chance.

After a final series of knocks, then she waited precisely sixty seconds, as Hermione's instructions said. Still there was no answer. With a rueful sigh, she drew her wand from the pocket in the inside lining of her coat. She aimed the tip at the doorknob and tapped it thrice. "Alohomora," she murmured. The lock slid open and Luna turned the knob slowly, quietly, aware of the sound of her own breath.

Inside the flat, a rush of cold bit her nose. Despite the summer temperatures outside, the atmosphere inside was frigid. In the air lingered a faint unpleasant smell. An odor of sweat, stale breath, and misery. The main area of the apartment wasn't a complete wreck, but it was not tidy either. Dishes lay undone in the kitchen sink, couch pillows were strewn around the living room floor, and, peaking in the bathroom, Luna noticed the mirror had been covered with a bath towel tacked to the wall around it.

George must be in his bedroom, she thought. But she really did not want to disturb his sleep. She remembered treasuring every second of it she got when her mum had recently died. Especially if it was dreamless. Just herself, floating in a dark abyss, no world, no grief. But sometimes, the nightmares would creep in. That was when she began sneaking into Daddy's potion cabinet for a few drops of sleeping elixir. Just enough to make the bad dreams go away. Now, examining the kitchen once more, Luna found an empty container of the exact same mixture. George obviously took much more than just four or five drops.

Looking at the time, Luna decided that she really had nothing else to do today, so she would stay as long as she needed to. She would stay until George woke up on his own, and after that, as long as he wanted her to stay until he got tired of her and kicked her out.

For a good hour she busied herself by cleaning the flat, without magic, until it was immaculate. She fluffed and rearranged the couch pillows so they were plump and symmetrical. She scrubbed the dishes until they shone like a Snitch, and stacked them back in the cupboards.

Another half hour passed and she began to feel impatient, worried. Mustering a bit of courage, she decided to have a peak in George's bedroom to make sure nothing was seriously wrong.

He huddled under his thick comforter, curled up tightly. His face and most of his body was hidden by the blankets, but Luna could see a naked, bone-white, freckled shoulder peeking out, as well as the bright orange of his hair. In a sudden wave of emotion, she walked to the edge of his bed and before she could think the better of it, her hand affectionately stroked over his tangled hair. She withdrew her hand swiftly, but George's eyelids began to twitch and soon he was staring straight up at her, his expression unreadable.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed.

He blinked a few times and confusedly examined her face. "Luna? What are you doing here?" His hoarse voice was barely above a whisper.

Luna relaxed her tense shoulders and explained in a calm voice that wouldn't startle him anymore in his bleary state. "I'm here on behalf of your family and friends. They thought I should visit you. I'm not quite sure why, though. But I do want to help."

He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. Quickly realizing he was not wearing a shirt, he lifted the comforter up in front of him to cover his slender torso in embarrassment.

"Here." Luna boldly rummaged through his dresser drawers, and tossed a plum-colored shirt and tan pants at him. She turned to face the wall and pressed her palms against her eyes for extra good measure. Once she'd heard him zip the pants, she turned back around with a sweet smile. "That's better," she said.

He continued to stare at her with blank, emotionless eyes. His expression hadn't moved a bit since she tossed him the clothes.

She felt a bit like she was playing a game of chess. All about strategy, cleverly planning your next move based on your opponent's actions. She tried, "See? That was easier than I thought. Getting you out of bed and dressed. I don't know why they think you're so difficult. You just need the right sort of approach. I promise I'll try not to be as bossy as them. They like to boss you around, don't they?"

George sat back down on the bed and stared irritably at the floor. "Every bloody day, they do."

She sat next to him, about six inches away, and kept her hands folded in her lap. "They sent me here because I've known death. I know what it's like."

"No, you don't."

"That's exactly what I thought. Losing a mum and losing a twin brother—identical twin at that—are two completely different things. But maybe you could make me understand better, if you told me about it. You can trust me to listen. I won't interrupt, or tell anyone."

After considering this for a moment, he let out a breath. Luna knew she'd won at least a sliver of his trust. He gave a wet sniffle and pressed his fists over his eye sockets. He croaked, "We were the same."

"It's okay if you want to cry," Luna murmured, "I'm not afraid of crying. It's only natural."

"But I'm a grown man! Twenty years old!"
"Sadness does not discriminate between age or gender, George."

His hands went to his hair, his face red and twisted in anguish. Between clenched teeth, he said, "We'd never spent a full day apart. Never been a mile between us."

There was a pause in the speech as the first sob crawled out of his throat with a shudder. The tears came at full force; discharge leaked from his nose. Luna was not wavered at all by this, as sometimes the messier the cry, the more effective it is. In fact, she was a bit charmed, in a bizarre way, at the emotion that gushed forth from this former joker, the class clown that always had a smile plastered to his face.

She noticed him shrinking away from her as his sobs got heavier. "I'm not going to touch you, George. Not unless you want me to. I know that when my mum first died, my daddy wanted to hold and cuddle me all the time, but it only made me more sad. Made me want to cry worse. So if you want me to touch you, just touch me first. Only then, I promise."

His crying halted at once. He removed his hands from his face and stared straight at her with his bloodshot, watery eyes, biting his trembling lip. "You…" he began, but never finished. Gradually, he inched himself closer to her. When their knees were just barely touching, he whispered, "I hope you don't mind…" He leaned into her, and she laid her head on his shoulder and he laid his head on hers. Luna felt a tear soak into her hair, dampening her scalp. Their hands, however, remained to themselves.

"You know a little more than I thought you would," he finished at last.

They remained like this for a few minutes. Luna's head fell in a rather ideal spot on his shoulder, where she could faintly hear his heart, and his breathing, and smell his scent. While he did not smell like a rose garden, she hardly minded it. He only smelled human to her.

At last, she pulled away from him and stood. Offering her hand out to help him up, she said, "Here. How about I make you something to eat? I've gotten quite good at cooking recently, since my dad's been on vacation. I could make anything you want. And while I cook, you could take a bath. How about a nice, deep, hot one, with lots and lots of bubbles? It's so relaxing."

"I don't want to fight you," was all he said in reply. He did not take her hand, only helped himself up. He followed her into the kitchen, where he said, "I'm afraid I don't have much in here for you to work with."

"Well, out of what you have here, I'll make anything you want. Just say what—"

"How about you just surprise me? Only, I don't have any knives. Real knives. Only butter knives. They took all my other ones away."

"Why?"

"They thought I might try and…off myself with 'em. Apparently it's a thing, more common among Muggles than wizards. They like to draw their own blood, cut themselves up, to try and ease emotional pain. Dad heard of it, and they all thought…"

Luna tried not to seem as outraged as she was. After all, they were well-meaning. They only did what they thought was best. It wasn't their fault. Still, she said, "That is a bit absurd. Why don't you just get in the bath, make it nice and long, and I'll think of something." She marched into the bathroom and turned the faucet until the tub was almost overflowing with warm, steamy water and mountains of floral-scented suds. "There you go, fit for a wizard king…"

"Thanks," he mumbled.

She spun around girlishly on her heel, then walked back to the kitchen.

###

Sunset had fallen in the sky around them. Light of an astounding orange hue leaked through the kitchen window where Luna and George had been sitting in silence for a very long time. There had been occasional words, occasional tears—from both of them—but mostly silence, and the simple appreciation of each other's company.

When Luna finally stood up from her chair to leave, George got up and followed her to the doorway.

"Come again," he said politely, almost as if not aware he was saying it. Immediately he blushed. "I mean, only if you want to. It's—I mean, today was one of the easier days, since I lost him. My family was right about you, not exactly in the ways they thought, but still."

"Oh, no, it's my pleasure. It was nice to spend time with you as well, since I've spent the better part of two weeks alone at home. I'll see you sometime. Bye, George."

"Bye, Luna."

AN: Nothing much to say here, except you can probably tell that I'm going to make the relationship happen faster than I normally would, simply because I don't want this to be a huge 20-chapter story. Thought I'd point that out, considering I was rolling my eyes at myself for how fast it seems to be going so far. Forgive please :)

And, reviews keep the Nargles away ;)