Epilogue
Luna Lovegood was not nervous. She didn’t get nervous very often, actually. She thought she might have felt a little nervous when she was taking her practical N.E.W.T.s in Arithmancy, her toughest subject. She remembered that she had felt a little nervous on her first day at Hogwarts, while stepping up to the Sorting Hat. But Ginny had been standing next to her on that occasion, and had squeezed her hand in reassurance. She recalled wishing fervently that she would be sorted into Ginny’s house, because Ginny had been the first friend Luna had ever made of her own age, but it didn’t work out that way. So it had been right to feel nervous: that day had been the first day of long years of loneliness.
Oddly enough, she had not felt the least bit nervous during any of the four battles she had participated in. She knew that death was nothing to fear, and probably (more importantly) she had known in her heart that it was her destiny to be here, like this, today. Since this day hadn’t happened as of the beginning of any of those battles, she had always felt fairly confident in her survival.
When Luna had talked to Harry, several years before, about ‘the dead never really leaving,’ he had more than likely taken a figurative interpretation away with him. And that was probably a good thing, because Harry had always had far too many people watching him, for varied reasons, and might not have liked the idea of countless dead people looking over his shoulder, too. But Luna could feel the presence of dozens of dead loved ones all around her today, and not just her mother, who was always nearby.
Her mother had actually given her this moment as a recurring dream years ago. A little blurry perhaps, and always ending just before she could get a good look at the man at the end of the aisle, but clear enough to understand. Luna was absolutely certain that when she opened the door and stepped into the garden that there would be clematis climbing the iron trellis to her left and that the aisle, which was really just a crooked garden path made of flagstones, would be bordered with small bunches of violets. She knew also that wisteria would hang from the arbor at the end of the aisle.
But more than anything, she could picture the dozens of smiling well-wishers that would be turned in her direction. She also knew that amongst the happy sunlit faces would be others, not noticeable to the naked eye, but just as emotionally invested in the proceedings. Her mother would be there, of course, standing next to her father. The three missing Weasleys would again stand proudly with the rest of family. George’s uncles would be there, too, for they had kept their eyes on him since birth, always encouraging, prodding, and whispering wicked suggestions into his ear. Former teachers and comrades who had been lost would also be there, smiling their approval.
As a lonely teenager, Luna had wondered at the sheer number of people in her vision that would turn to her with affection and excitement. The idea that that so many people could ever care about her had seemed preposterous. But now she recognized it as a precious gift from her mother. A new family - loud, boisterous and loving - to make up for the one she lost so early in life. And there they all would be, with their lovely bright hair and eyes and their warm hearts, welcoming her as one of their own.
And friends, too, dear friends, more friends than she could easily count, something that she could have done with one hand not five years before. She doubted that she’d ever hear the name ‘Loony Lovegood’ again, and not just because ‘Loony’ didn’t sound as funny with ‘Weasley’ as it did with ‘Lovegood.’ She suspected that the hated nickname might make an appearance in the history books, one of which was already being written by her soon-to-be sister-in-law, but in that context the name wouldn’t bother her as much as it used to. Maybe it would help other lonely children realize that they were not doomed to spend their life feeling alienated, that some day they could have true friends without suppressing their individuality. These people outside valued Luna’s thoughts and opinions even when they didn’t always understand or agree with them.
Her mother had given her another gift the night before: a vision of the future, of the tiny life that was just beginning to grow inside of her. This child would be the last female Weasley for the next two generations and the only child Luna would have. Her daughter would also be intelligent, kind, beloved by many, and eager to carry on her grandmother’s experiments, bringing at least two of them to a successful conclusion.
Luna could see her daughter’s childhood spread out before her, surrounded by cousins, aunts, and uncles, but with an uncanny and fierce bond to Fred’s son, her closest cousin. They would be tempted by the reputation of their famous fathers to spend their school years focused on troublemaking and fun, but in the end, they would make their own marks on the school, through sports, study, and talent.
Luna felt a depth of gratitude to her mother, for loving her so completely in the short time they’d had together, and for guiding her after death to the man who saw her and loved her for who she really was. George had become her closest friend, her gallant knight, a salve for her wounds, a cheerful fire in a dark, cold place. And best of all, he needed her, for many of the same reasons. Luna knew, without any false conceit, that George would never have pulled through the pain of the last few months without her.
Luna knew better than to tell anyone other than George about her visions of the future. He was probably the only person on earth that would believe her. The night before, when she had finally told him the details of her childhood dream, there had not even been a moment of awkward skepticism. He remembered her mention of the dream years before, and he was glad she had waited to tell him. He reckoned that he would have hated knowing about his losses before they happened, even if it meant assurance that he had a long future to look forward to.
They talked for a long time after that -- about what they had accomplished together, about the pain they had suffered and the sacrifices they had been forced to make. Both their triumphs and their sacrifices had changed both of them fundamentally. Some of these differences were a direct result of the influence they had on each other, and they would not have changed those things at all. But much of it had to do with the war, and the grief and guilt and anger that were an unfortunate by-product even of the winning side. George had lost some of his manic high-spiritedness. He was more serious, and his laughter did not always reach his eyes. Luna, on the other hand, was no longer able to retreat into apparent obliviousness when things became painful. George had taught her to live, to grasp for what she wanted, and not to calmly allow people to take advantage of her.
Her mind journeyed back to a summer day, very much like this one, during which another wedding had taken place. Luna was well aware that she had been invited purely as a neighborly gesture, but could not resist the chance to socialize with a group of people who knew who she was and had been kind to her on occasion. By the end of the evening, however, Luna had managed to capture the attention of the boy who had been often on her mind since the first Potions class of her fifth year, when she had approached a cauldron of Amortentia and smelled newspaper ink, daisies, and gunpowder.
Many of the same guests would be there when she opened the door, but they would no longer be strangers and acquaintances. They would be dear friends, family, and the love of her life. Her once cavernous heart was filled to bursting with them.
No, Luna was not nervous. Any other bride would have been anxiously arranging the gauzy silver skirt of her gown and repeatedly fussing over the hair that flowed freely down her back, woven throughout with fragrant white stephanotis. There was nothing to be nervous about. The worst of the pain was behind her. Through the door was nothing but love. Through the door was home.
A/N: Well, that’s it, and I’m actually rather sad to let this story go.
Thanks to all who have followed this and especially to those who have commented; you have made writing this story a wonderful experience. Thanks also to Mizaya, my beta, who has always been a delight to work with, and made the story better than it was.
I don’t plan a sequel, but I have a bedchamber-type outtake floating around the edges of my brain. If it does happen it will be bittersweet, dealing directly with the losses hinted at in the epilogue.
If this story is the one made you consider this pairing as a possibility, then get out there and fill the internet with your own stories about these two. I will be looking for them. The world needs more George/Luna love, in my opinion.
Thanks for reading!