Ties That Bind

Ties That Bind

It was the second of January, and the festive hubbub of a Weasley Christmas had given way to a hush that seemed almost eerie by contrast. The Burrow was nearly deserted. Outside, lawn and gardens lay muffled under thick, grey clouds and thigh-deep snow. Even the occasional chirping of birds seemed desultory.

Charlie and Luna scuffed through the snow, not bothering to clear a path with their wands. Winter in Devon seemed downright tame to Charlie, who lived in the mountains of Romania, where it was cold most of the year and snowy for months on end. As for Luna, she was happily kicking her way through the drifts. Charlie felt several degrees warmer just watching her have fun.

Huge wet snowflakes began to fall, and Luna stopped dead to catch them on her mittens, examining each one with intense interest. Then she stuck out her tongue and giggled like a six-year-old when she caught a huge snowflake on her tongue.

Charlie grinned at her. "You look like a frog catching a fly." Immediately, he could have kicked himself. Luna's eyes did protrude a bit, but she looked nothing at all like a frog, and he would have died before hurting her feelings. Luna, however, appeared unfazed.

"Oh, do I?" she said seriously. "There is a big difference, you know, Charlie. I don't think frogs catch snowflakes."

Charlie certainly couldn't argue that point. "Well, anyway, you're much cuter than a frog," he said, squeezing her mittened hand.

It delighted him to see her so carefree. True, he hadn't known her when she was enduring the battles of the last war, beginning with the ill-fated attempt to rescue Harry's godfather from Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic.

Among other horrors, she'd been taken by Death Eaters from the Hogwarts Express during her sixth year and imprisoned in a dungeon at Malfoy Manor. He had heard the story of her bravery, and it made him shudder to think of her locked up in that awful, dark place, hungry and scared and not knowing what was to become of her . . . His younger siblings and their friends had been through so much--they'd been forced to grow up far too fast.

The pair walked along in silence for a few minutes, until Luna's voice broke the quiet.

"Charlie?"

"Ummm?"

"I think the birds aren't singing because they're too cold. Are you too cold to talk?"

Charlie smiled at the question, but with a little sigh. "No, of course not. I just--"

The fact was, Charlie's thoughts had drifted to the Christmas holiday just past. He was glad he'd come, happy that Luna was with him--first as a friend, then, somehow, as something more. Overall, he visit was a reminder of how lively and funny and loving his family was.

But Charlie wouldn't be a dragon researcher extraordinaire without his keen powers of observation, and he could not avoid noticing his mother's coolness toward Luna. She'd been polite, of course, hospitable as always--but considerably more distant than she was with Hermione and even Fleur.

Well, he thought, Molly Weasley and Luna Lovegood were hardly dragons of a scale, were they?

"Your family is so nice," Luna said dreamily, as though she'd read his mind--or part of it. "And it was very kind of you to invite me. I--"

Charlie interrupted her hastily, as embarrassed by her gratitude as he'd been distressed at the thought of her spending the holiday by herself. Luna hadn't said much, but he could guess how hard her father's imprisonment was for her.

They made another circuit around the garden, the wintry stillness creating a kind of limbo between the Burrow and the Dragon Research Center. Lunch over, it was time to be on their way.

It dawned on Charlie how much he was looking forward to getting back to his beloved dragons. The though of having Luna with him made the thought even sweeter. In the short time since she'd arrived out of nowhere one snowy night in December, Luna had managed to transform both the compound and Charlie's life.

"Are you all packed?" Charlie asked as they neared the house.

Luna looked at him, her grey eyes cloudy under the soft overcast sky. "Oh, yes; I didn't bring very much, you know."

In fact, Luna was leaving with less than she'd come with, having brought gifts for everyone and received only one in return, the beautiful enchanted comb Charlie had given her. Well, it was his own fault. If only he'd written to tell his family he was bringing her . . .

Just as Luna bent over to brush the snow off her boots, an owl the color of the sky swooped down and landed on the back of her head.

"Hey!" Charlie shouted, taken by surprise.

Luna merely straightened up. The owl shifted its position to the top of her hood-covered head and stared disdainfully at Charlie with its enormous yellow eyes.

"What is it, Charlie?" she asked. "You haven't seen an Erumpent, have you? I don't think they live around here, but you never know."

"it's an owl, Luna."

"Oh, really? I don't see it--is it invisible? I read an article once in the Quibbler that there's a species of invisible owl that people use to send anonymous messages." Luna's expression was so hopeful that Charlie hated to disillusion her.

"It's on your head, actually. Here--" He stuck his arm out, and the bird took the hint. "I think that means the message is for you," he said with a straight face.

Luna removed the folded parchment from the owl's outstretched leg, but instead of opening it, she stroked the bird's soft feathers. To Charlie's horror, her eyes swam with tears.

"Oh, Charlie," she said, "I don't have any treats for the poor thing. Suppose he's been traveling for thousands of miles? He's probably really hungry."

Charlie was about to remind her that owls don't actually live on manufactured bird treats, but he couldn't stand seeing her worried.

"Hang on," he said. "I'll get some pellets from the house. Pig won't mind."

He transferred the owl to Luna's shoulder and went inside. When he returned, he was shocked to see that Luna's face had turned white as the snow.

"It's Father," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "He's home."

ooOoo

Since Charlie had never seen the Lovegood home, Luna took him there by Side-Along Apparition. They landed just outside what looked to be a small, fenced-in front garden, though the snow covered everything except the fenceposts.

Someone--presumably Luna's father--had cleared away enough snow to allow the dilapidated gate to swing open. A narrow path zigzagged from the gate to the front door. Gnarled, leafless trees stood on either side of the door, which was nearly hidden by an overgrowth of snow-covered vines. Mistletoe clung to the top branches of the trees.

Charlie was about to point that out to Luna, but his grin faded when he caught sight of her face. She was still very pale, and her features were set in an expression of mingled eagerness, determination, and uncharacteristic nervousness. She stood still, making no attempt to open the gate.

"Luna," said Charlie, keeping his hand on her arm and pulling her closer to his side, "what's wrong?"

She looked at him, her grey eyes troubled.

"I--oh, Charlie, I know I should be happy, but--" She ventured a small, tremulous smile, which quickly faded. In a voice so low Charlie had to bend his head to hear, she went on. "My father betrayed Harry, you know. Harry said it was because the Death Eaters threatened to hurt me if he didn't cooperate, so I've forgiven him, I think. But it's been so long--"

"So long since you've seen him or heard from him, and you don't know what to expect, of either him or yourself." He hoped he didn't sound like a know-it-all. He was only guessing, anyway, but he went ahead.

"Look, Luna, anybody would be nervous under the circumstances. I shake in my boots every time I approach a new colony of dragons." He was exaggerating, but only a little. "When that happens I try to think of the things I do know about dragons, and that helps. You know your father better than anyone, even if you've both probably gone through some changes."

Luna's face brightened. "I know. Thanks for telling me about being scared of dragons sometimes. That made me feel better." Her cheeks had regained a little color.

A sign near the walk read "Pick Your Own Mistletoe." On impulse, Charlie tugged a small clump free and held it over Luna's head. Before she could say anything, he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. She responded warmly, but there was a little tremor in her voice when she said, "We should probably go in now."

She turned and Charlie followed, hanging back a little to get a better look at the house, which was unusual, to say the least: tall, black, and cylindrical. It reminded Charlie of a chess rook, and he wondered if Xenophilius was an aficionado of the game.

From inside, he could hear odd whirs and clacks, as though from some sort of machinery. Then he remembered that Xenophilius Lovegood published the Quibbler from his home. How had Luna put up with the ungodly racket all those years?

Luna opened a squeaky door, which was unlocked, and Charlie followed her into a room that was every bit as peculiar as the exterior of the house.

It was obviously a kitchen, since it had all the usual fittings. The odd thing was, they were all curved to fit against the walls. A large pot bubbled on the stove, sending up clouds of unpleasantly pungent steam.

Every surface--floor, walls, everything--was plastered with flora and fauna of every description, all in eye-popping colors. A Muggle observer might be reminded of an impossibly riotous Garden of Eden. Once Charlie got over the initial shock, he could appreciate the artistry. Luna had undertaken some beautification projects around the Center, and he recognized her style.

"Did you do all this yourself?" he asked. "It must have taken you forever."

Luna smiled. "I'm glad you like it, but I'm glad it didn't take forever, or I wouldn't have time for anything else. I had other things to do, so I decided to paint just the things I've never actually seen." Charlie wondered which of the thousands of animals and plants were merely exotic and which were Luna's own inventions.

He would have enjoyed examining the decor in more detail, but they'd come here for a reason. "Don't you think you should let your father know we're here?" he asked.

In answer, Luna took Charlie's hand and led him toward the stairs. Her hand felt cold, and Charlie gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The room upstairs occupied the whole floor, and a clattering wooden press took up most of the space in it. It was spitting out sheets of paper, while a wraithlike figure stooped to pick them up, his rhythm matching the machine's.

In a second, Luna had reached the figure. "Father?" She shouted over the press's noise, but Xenophilius Lovegood did not respond until his daughter laid a hand on his shoulder.

His reaction to her touch was swift and dramatic. "NO!" he yelled, whipping around to face what he obviously interpreted as a threat. His wand was pointed at Luna's face. She shrank back, and Charlie could well understand why. The man's appearance was truly shocking, the ghostly effect enhanced by his extreme emaciation. His threadbare robes, once white but now grey with dirt, were patched and badly frayed. Unwashed white hair straggled to his knees. His cheeks were sunken, and he looked at his daughter with eyes blank as iced-over ponds. Had he gone blind in the darkness of an Azkaban cell? Charlie wondered.

Once over the initial shock, Luna approached the old man once more, this time the way one would a wild animal--slowly and carefully, with her hand outstretched, to signal harmlessness. Charlie saw her lips move but couldn't hear the words above the din.

Xenophilius looked confused, but he didn't back away. Luna came a little closer, then took out her wand.

What's she going to do, Stun him? Charlie wondered, absurdly. He reached for his own wand, in case Xenophilius decided to stun Luna first.

But Luna merely waved the wand at the machinery, which chuntered to a stop. A few last sheets dropped to the floor, sounding loud in the now-silent room.

"Father, it's me, Luna," she said softly. "Don't you recognize me?"

The old man stared at her.

"Luna--Luna--I had a daughter named Luna, you know. Such a sweet girl. Where is she--do you know?" His voice was tremulous and reedy.

Tears were beginning to gather in Luna's eyes, and Charlie felt it was time to step in.

"Mr. Lovegood? he said. "I'm Charlie Weasley, a friend of Luna's. You were at my brother Bill's wedding, remember? Please tell us, can you see?"

The man turned toward Charlie. "Oh, I'm no seer, young man. I'm just keeping this contraption going--though I'm not sure exactly why." A puzzled expression crossed his face. "And I don't know what all this paper is for." He shoved a sheaf of newsprint into Charlie's hands.

It was as blank as the man's eyes.

Charlie and Luna exchanged looks. Unshed tears glistened in Luna's eyes.

"Oh, Father, don't you remember? You publish a newspaper--the Quibbler."

The old man's face cleared a bit. "'Quibbler.' That means someone who argues over trivial matters. So this newspaper was argumentative in nature, was it?"

Clearly, they were getting nowhere, and Charlie changed the subject. "How are you feeling, sir?" he asked. "Luna's been worried about you."

"Right as rain, young man, though I'm not quite sure what you and this girl are doing in my house. She is quite attractive, though perhaps not quite so pretty as my Luna."

Luna's reply was surprisingly calm and steady. "I am Luna, Father. I remember you, even if you don't remember me. And I don't think you're very well at all."

Xenophilius looked at her kindly. "Well, perhaps we'll all feel more chipper when we've had some soup. It must be ready by now. It's been cooking since this morning--or perhaps yesterday." A brief look of confusion crossed his face, but he quickly turned and walked toward the stairs. To Charlie, his gait looked a bit unsteady. He would have conjured a cane for the old man but thought that might be pushing things.

Luna and Charlie could only follow Xenophilius down the stairs.

ooOoo

"It doesn't seem quite as tasty as usual," Xenophilius observed. "Perhaps it needs other ingredients, though I can't quite think which ones. It wouldn't have mattered, however, as the pantry and cellar were entirely empty except for this. However, I believe Wordyboot is quite nourishing all by itself."

"It's Gurdyroot," Luna whispered in Charlie's ear, but she didn't correct her father's mistake. Gurdyroot soup dripped down the old man's chin onto his robes, though he didn't seem to notice and waved Luna away when she sprang forward to dab it away.

"Don't trouble yourself, miss," he said politely. "Please sit down and eat your soup--you're far too thin, you know."

Coming from someone who was positively skeletal, this was a bit thick. Charlie ventured a cautious spoonful of soup and had to struggle not to spit it out.

Luna noticed. "Are you all right, Charlie? Is the soup too hot for you? Father always says Gurdyroot is more healthful when well heated."

"Em--yeah, that's it, it's a little too hot. I'll just let it cool for a while." In fact, the soup tasted horrible, with a flavor somewhere between rotted fish and Skele-Gro. He wasn't sure he could choke down another spoonful, cooled or not.

It was equally hard to conduct a polite conversation with this strange man, who obviously didn't recognize his own daughter. Luckily, Xenophilius Lovegood didn't linger for long. After a few more mouthfuls of soup, he jumped up, waving his hand vaguely. "Papers, you know," he said cheerfully. "Make yourselves comfortable. Help yourselves to more soup." He turned and mounted the stairs to the second floor.

As soon as he was out of sight, Luna got up and extinguished the flame under the pot. Evidently she felt two days of boiling were enough.

"Father doesn't seem quite himself, does he?" she said, sounding more curious than perturbed. "I wonder, do you suppose the Wrackspurt got to him? That would explain a lot . . ."

"Er--maybe." Composure was one thing; denial was something else. Charlie decided to take the plunge. "I'm sorry he doesn't recognize you, Luna. That must be very hard for you."

He hesitated to say so, the old wizard seemed to be suffering from some serious form of dementia. Whatever was causing it--Azkaban, a spell, or even, what the hell, Wrackspurt--his condition was a matter of real concern.

Luna didn't respond, but continued downing the wretched soup.

"Luna," said Charlie softly, "do you think your father is capable of taking care of himself?"

Much to Charlie's surprise, Luna looked at him as one might look at a very slow, if beloved, three-year-old.

"Oh, no, Charlie, can't you see? All the evidence points to the opposite conclusion. Of course, he used to take care of himself when I was in school, but he was younger then. He never let his hair or his robes get so dirty, and I think he's forgotten how to cook, too. The didn't taste right at all. It's the simplest thing in the world to make, so if he can't do that properly--"

Not to mention that he doesn't remember his own child, Charlie thought, but he'd said enough on that subject.

"Perhaps we should take him to St. Mungo's," Charlie suggested. "Have him thoroughly checked out."

Luna looked at him, her face calm as the moon's.

"I enjoyed hearing you use the word 'we,' Charlie, but I don't think you can come with me. Your dragons need you."

Charlie realized he hadn't thought the situation through at all. Much as he wanted to stay and help Luna, he really did need to get back to Romania.

"Luna---"

She looked at him with mingled affection and pity. "I think it will be hard for Father to live with someone he's forgotten, but he's bound to get used to me in time. And it will be perfectly safe. you know. He's quite a powerful wizard, but he doesn't breathe fire or anything."

Was that a joke? If so, it was a good sign. He was proud of her for facing the situation with so much composure. Hard as it was, she did need to stay, and he had no choice but to go.

He took a deep breath. The idea of life at the Dragon Study Center without Luna was every bit as distasteful as the Gurdyroot soup. Somehow, ever since her unexpected arrival at the compound, Luna had filled a void in his life he hadn't known was there. Clearly, Xenophilius Lovegood needed help. But what was he going to do without his friend, his sidekick, his--?

"I could stay for a while," he said, knowing he really couldn't leave his partner Cozma and the rest of the team in the lurch.

Luna smiled sadly. "I wish you could. But even though Father doesn't know me, the dragons do know you, and they might pine away if you don't go back soon."

Charlie snorted inwardly. He was pretty sure his burns and scars were not the product of dracontine affection. Before he could answer, though, Luna got up and moved toward the stairs. Was she just going to leave him like that, with his heart breaking?

"Come with me, Charlie," she said. "I want to show you something."

As they passed the second floor, Xenophilius Lovegood was far too occupied with the blank newspapers spitting from his press to notice them. Luna led Charlie up another flight of stairs and into a blue-carpeted bedroom which he instantly realized was Luna's. In fact, she'd created an exact replica of it at the compound.

There was a thick coating of dust over the furniture and carpet, but otherwise the room was intact, like the rest of the house.

"Luna--now that I think of it, wasn't your house pretty much destroyed at one point?"

Luna sat on the bed and pulled Charlie down to sit beside her. "Yes, it was," she said, "but Harry and some of my other friends helped put it back together again after the war. I'm lucky to have friends like that. Close your eyes for a minute, all right?"

The request came out of the blue, but Charlie did as she asked. He heard a series of swishes and the murmured words of some spell or spells he didn't recognize.

"You can open your eyes now," she said. When he did, he saw that everything was exactly the same, including the dust. He'd assumed she was cleaning. Had she forgotten her domestic spellwork? Then again, she wasn't Molly Weasley, was she?

Luna giggled at his obvious confusion. "Look up," she said, pointing to the ceiling.

It was an extraordinary sight: the names of six people, beautifully inscribed, and entwined with thin golden chains, so that they formed a large circle on the ceiling. Harry's name was there, and Hermione's and Ron's and Neville Longbottom's and Ginny's--and his.

"No matter where we are, you'll always be my friend," said Luna softly, and she took Charlie's hand. "I'd rather see you, of course, but looking at your name will make me feel less lonely."

There was only one possible answer to that. Charlie gathered Luna into his arms and kissed her, enthusiastically and at length.

When they broke apart, Luna asked, in her dreamiest voice, "Charlie, have you ever had sex?"

Charlie was used to Luna's verbal detours, but this was a bit much. He felt his cheeks grow hot.

"Well, er--yes, as a matter of fact, I have." Images flooded into his mind, images he made haste to shoo away.

Luna nodded. "I thought so. Most people do, eventually, and you're very attractive, you know. Was it nice?"

Charlie tugged at the collar of his robes. The room was definitely too warm. But there was no getting out of this.

"Yes, it was," he said, taking care to sound matter-of-fact.

"I thought it must be. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any children, would there?"

"I suppose not--good point." What next?

Luna's response was wordless. She kissed him again, her lips soft and warm on his. It was not a sisterly kiss.

When she finally drew back, she looked rueful. "I'm afraid we can't have sex right now," she said. "I know Father is busy, but he might remember we're still here at any time."

Things were happening to Charlie that made him glad he was wearing voluminous robes. "No, I suppose this isn't the time or place," he agreed reluctantly. "Luna--"

"I know," she said, putting her slim hand on his cheek. "I'll miss you, too."

ooOoo

Spring came late to the mountains of Romania, bringing with it torrents of chilly rain, fog, and general gloom.

Charlie Weasley had reasons other than the weather for feeling depressed. One was the owl from his mother than now lay crumpled on the floor beside his cot. While everyone was well and happy at the Burrow, the letter contained a passage that disturbed him greatly.

I invited your friend Luna to join us for lunch on Sunday, as Harry and Ginny have been asking about her. She looked very cheerful in bright orange, complete with carrot earrings. Orange is such a difficult color to wear--though I don't believe Luna cares much about appearances, does she?

She is determined to stay with her father until his recovery is complete. She obviously believes that his memory will improve, but frankly, dear, at his age, that seems unlikely. He will no doubt require her tender care for the rest of his life.

Neville Longbottom was there, too, and I must say he and Luna were very happy to see one another. According to Ginny, they were extremely

close friends at Hogwarts, so perhaps the poor girl needn't be so very lonely after all

Charlie loved his mother, but he understood exactly what she was hinting at. The thought of Luna finding consolation with anyone else, Neville included, made him feel like throwing back his head and howling like a Romanian wolf.

The heavy rains were keeping him and the rest of the research team from starting their expedition to an area said to be rich with unexplored caverns. Where there were caverns, there might be dragons as yet unknown to wizards.

The prospect was exciting, and the expedition would have kept Charlie's mind off his mother's letter, as well as Luna's recent, uncharacteristic silence. He hadn't heard from her in over two weeks, and he didn't want to think about what might be keeping her busy.

Luna's last owl had been upbeat, but vague about her future plans.

Dear Charlie,

I have been thinking of you a lot, and your new project, too. Have you ever tried offering strange dragons some Calming Draught before trying to approach them? Of course, it might be difficult to find a large enough cauldron.

Father seems to be doing better. As you know, he did not want to go to St. Mungo's, but when I finally convinced him that his hair was infested with Formosan Fighting Fleas, he agreed to see the Healers at once. Their bites have a dangerous blood-thinning effect, you know.

They checked him out thoroughly and said that a good wash and comb ought to take care of the Fighting Fleas. I fear they were wrong, since everyone knows the only effective treatment is to perform a Truce spell, so they'll stop fighting and listen, then tell them how to get back to Formosa. At least Father looked better afterward.

The Healers couldn't find any evidence of Wrackspurt or enchantments, so his memory loss is still a mystery.

I've been following their advice and making sure he eats right and gets plenty of sleep. And oh, Charlie, I think he may be beginning to remember me. He hasn't said anything, but he has stopped asking why I call him Father.

Your name is the last thing I look at before I go to sleep.

Love, Luna

The last line reassured him somewhat, but it wasn't enough to lift his mood much. On this especially dismal afternoon, he lay on his cot in the tent, trying to summon the energy to write up his weekly report.

Aside from the ticking of the dragon-shaped clock on his bedside table, the silence was absolute. Cozma, Charlie's cheerful research partner, was spending the weekend with his family in the village.

Charlie's room grew dark, and he lighted his bedside lamp. This is stupid, he thought. He swung his legs tot he floor, intending to go the kitchen and make a cup of tea. Before he could get up, however, a pale face framed by drenched and bedraggled blonde hair peered through the open door of his small bedroom.

"Hello, Charlie," said Luna. "I'd come in and hug you, but I'm rather wet."

Charlie was beside her in two strides, engulfing her--sopping cloak and all--in a fierce hug. He could feel her shivering and stepped back to perform quick Warming and Drying charms on her.

"Oh, thank you, Charlie, that's much better," she said. "I haven't been that wet since Clovis Spearhead dumped a cauldron full of potion on me in third year."

Trust Luna to derail a conversation. "What kind of potion was it?" Charlie couldn't help asking.

"It was a Draught of Peace, so of course I couldn't be angry with him. If he'd only tasted it, he probably wouldn't have acted so aggressively." Luna smiled beatifically, her moonlike eyes shining in the soft lamplight.

"I was just about to make tea," Charlie said, leading Luna out into the common area. He lighted the swinging lantern that hung over a roughhewn wooden table flanked by benches. A few shabby armchairs, a couple of low tables piled with books and journals, and a crowded bookshelf completed the furnishings. A small kitchen nook occupied one end of the room.

Without being asked, Luna helped Charlie with tea preparations. She's done it so many times that they quickly fell into their old rhythm. When the tea was ready, Charlie carried the tray to one of the small tables, and Luna cleared aside some books to make room.

Luna sank into her favorite chair, the one whose drab upholstery she'd transformed into a tropical jungle print. Charlie didn't have to ask how she liked her tea or whether she wanted one of the Romanian tea cookies he'd heaped onto a chipped blue and white plate.

"Apricot's my favorite," she said happily. "My mother used to make these, you know. She wasn't Romanian, though. I wonder where she learned the recipe?"

Charlie didn't know and didn't really care. Other questions swarmed through his mind, but he knew Luna would answer them without having to be asked--eventually.

Moments passed as the two sipped their tea and ate cookies in companionable silence. Then Luna brushed some stray crumbs from her lap and said, "My father's gone, Charlie."

Charlie nearly choked on his last mouthful of tea. "You mean--he's dead?" Why on earth hadn't' she told him before? How could she be so calm?

"Oh, no, Charlie. I meant he's--away. I woke up one morning and he wasn't there. I found this--here, look." She held out a crumpled piece of parchment, which read, I'm off somewhere to search for something--I can't quite think what, but I'll know it when I see it. Make yourself at home for as long as you like. It has been no trouble having you as a guest, though I never did understand why you came to see me in the first place or why you were pretending to be my daughter Luna. If you happen to see her, please tell her where I am.

Yours sincerely,

Xenophilius Lovegood

Charlie found this missive even more infuriating than his mother's. The selfish old wizard had enjoyed the tender care of a daughter he didn't even recognize, who never complained and asked for nothing in return. And he couldn't even say "thank you"?

But he stifled his indignation and kept his voice calm. "His memory doesn't seem to have improved much," he said. Evidently the man had gained strength under Luna's ministrations, but there was clearly something seriously wrong with him still. Perhaps he should ask his mother what she thought. Now that Luna was back, he was prepared to forgive Molly for being a little snide. At least, she was still healthy and functional, and he was very grateful for that.

Luna smiled a little sadly. "No, I was hoping it would. I was going to make a Memory potion, but he left before I could get any Jobberknoll feathers."

Charlie put his mug down and reached for Luna's hand. "I'm really sorry about your father," he said, "but I'm awfully glad to have you back."

He was afraid to ask if she was staying; it was enough to be sitting beside her now in the shadowy room, which felt warmer by several degrees than it had before she came.

Her hand was soft and warm, and Charlie found himself thinking about how soft and warm the rest of her would be . . .

But first things first. Luna's recently-sodden hair was in a sad tangle.

"Did you bring your comb with you?" Charlie asked.

Luna looked puzzled. "Of course, Charlie. It's my most treasured possession."

"I was thinking of combing your hair," said Charlie. "It's been such a long time . . ."

"Eleven weeks and three days, and twenty-two hours, taking time zones into account," said Luna, smiling. "I'd like that very much."

The next moment they were in Luna's room, sitting on her comfortable quilted bed.

Luna handed Charlie the enchanted comb he'd given her for Christmas and turned away from him. With his left hand, Charlie lifted Luna's snarled hair in his left hand and began drawing the comb through it. Since the comb was imbued with a no-snag charm, it took less than a minute to comb out the tangles.

Luna's hair now fell in shining waves, but Charlie kept going. The grooming pleased Luna, whose mother used to comb her hair in just this way, and Charlie enjoyed the silky softness of Luna's tresses as they slid over his hand. Even in the dim light, he could distinguish stands of every shade from platinum to cocoa.

After a few more minutes, Charlie lifted Luna's gleaming locks aside and planted a gentle kiss on the back of her neck.

"Ooh, Charlie, that tickles," Luna giggled. She turned around, and before Charlie knew what had hit him, they were engaged in a passionate kiss.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were flushed and panting a little.

"Luna, you're so beautiful," Charlie breathed.

She smiled. "Since that isn't literally true, I think you may have said it because you're sexually aroused. Is that true?"

Charlie flushed even more deeply. "Er--yes, I suppose it is. Although," he hastened to add, "the statement is also factual."

Luna looked deeply into Charlie's eyes, and he found his head reeling. "I think that I'm rather aroused myself," she said in an uncharacteristically husky voice. "Perhaps this would be a good time to have sex."

Charlie wasted no time in arguing.

THE END