“But really, their presence tonight is just a sign that we’re due for a blood moon within the fortnight.” Luna says, which seems like the conclusion to her ramble about tiny, butterfly-like creatures whose colours can be used to tell the future, so Harry nods.
“Blood moons are good for finding certain potion ingredients.” Harry parrots, remembering Draco mention it in his brief Potions lessons last year. Shit, that was almost a year ago.
“Yes!” Luna agrees excitedly. “And collecting water under the blood moon can produce much stronger results than using full moon water.”
They’ve just arrived at Luna’s garden gate, and she hesitates.
“You will be okay out tonight, right Harry?” She asks, flicking the gate lock open.
“Yeah, I’m great.” Harry says, more than a little bewildered by the question. “Do I not seem fine?”
“The wrackspurts are following you.” She says cryptically, before taking Harry’s hand and squeezing it. “It’s not good for them to linger, you should pursue treatment. Lavender Brown has something that might help.”
“Oh yeah, I heard that she’s doing that.” Harry says, wondering how many people Lavender has been using the aura spell on. She’s far more adept at the spell than Harry had been, fumbling blindly with Draco.
“She’s very good.” Luna says. “I’m trying to get Ginny to let Lavender help her. Ginny’s still a bit off, since the diary possession.”
Harry knows what that feels like.
“Yeah, that’s difficult.” He says, wondering if Ginny feels any different now that the horcruxes and Tom Riddle are all dead. He’s not sure if he feels any different without his horcrux.
Luna waves her hands to shoo invisible, possibly mythical, bugs from Harry’s ears.
“They’re gathering again.” She says, frowning.
“I should probably go.”
“If you must.” Luna says, passing through the gate. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”
“Yeah, me too.” Harry says, smiling as he backs away from the Lovegoods’ property. “See you around.”
Luna waves, and Harry lingers until she passes the radish tree and disappears through the front door.
When he walks away, Harry pulls the sides of his jacket closer around his chest. The sun has gone down, and the evening frost has set in.
Luna might be a bit left of centre, but she’s very perceptive. Lavender could probably help iron out some of the wrinkles lingering in Harry’s aura.
In the quiet of the night, the only sounds are crickets and the crunch of Harry’s boots as he walks.
Draco certainly seems to be thriving under her care. He’s been seeing her regularly to help get out of the depression Harry’s death had sunk him in. Even though Harry’s back now, Draco still has off days, where he falls into thought spirals and needs strong distractions before he can fully dismiss them.
It’s not like Harry never gets that way. He does. He remembers the horrible loops of dread that set up camp in his stomach anytime he gets bad news.
The worst had been throughout the summer, waiting to be killed. Trying to enjoy his final month but feeling like he was watching himself from afar, performing happiness.
But now that it’s all over, it’s fine. Harry’s fine. Mostly. More or less.
A bird squawks in a tree, and Harry jolts, letting out a shaky laugh when the noise fades to a rustle of branches. The Burrow is full of sounds and noises, but the afterdeath is mostly silent, muted even when he had been trying to hear. Like listening to things underwater. Harry’s still adjusting to Life again.
