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It’s a bright, spring day, with the sun in the sky and a fresh chill in the air. A good day, really, for a new start. Luna’s been up an hour already, having risen with the dawn – the best time for clearing the house of wrackspurts. She’s making breakfast for Hermione, fussing and wondering what will set her up best for the day, though they’ve been planning this for a while now. Floral tea, Luna decides, will put a spring in Hermione’s step; nettle and rose, sweetened with lavender honey.
She’s spelling the toast to carry runic symbols for good luck and strength when Hermione appears, already dressed in her smart work robes. They look starchy and unfamiliar after weeks of seeing her in skirts or jeans, the heavy fabric seeming to wear Hermione as much as she wears it. Hermione stands tall, though, her jaw set with familiar determination. Luna knows that Hermione’s a firm believer in the principle of faking it until you make it, that feigning confidence is almost as good as having it for real. She doesn’t entirely agree, but perhaps today there is a place for it.
‘Good morning,’ Luna says brightly, crossing the kitchen to press a soft kiss to Hermione’s cheek. ‘I made you breakfast.’
‘Thank you.’ Hermione sits with a thin smile, tapping the pot so that it floats up and pours out a cup of tea. Luna’s charmed her toast to stay warm, so the butter melts easily as she spreads it.
‘Quince marmalade or cloudberry jam?’ offers Luna.
‘Jam, please,’ says Hermione.
While she’s spreading it over her toast, Luna fetches the potion bottle from the cupboard. It’s not to be taken on an empty stomach.
Hermione chews thoughtfully, asking questions in between mouthfuls about Luna’s father’s current expedition to Sweden. Luna answers cheerfully, though she knows full well that Hermione isn’t really listening, and has the spoon ready when Hermione swallows the last mouthful of toast.
She tries not to show it, but Hermione grimaces as she swallows the potion, and Luna wonders if that’s a sign of shame as much as the unfortunate taste. Hermione had been at the forefront of petitioning the Ministry and St Mungo’s to make potions such as this one available when it became clear that many of those who’d fought against Voldemort were suffering still. They call it Shadow Sickness; the creeping, claustrophobic misery that lingers behind, a lasting impression from all that violence and Dark Magic. Muggles have their own words, Luna knows from reading Hermione’s books – depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder. There’s so many ways a person can fall apart.
‘Hopefully I won’t have to take it much longer,’ says Hermione with forced brightness. Luna just hums and nods, knowing there’s no use telling Hermione that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Hermione would say just the same to anyone else, but she’s always been hardest on herself.
‘You’re doing so well,’ Luna says instead, reaching across the table to take Hermione’s hands in her own. This time, Hermione’s smile is wider, a little more genuine.
‘I’d best finish getting ready,’ is all she says.
Luna watches Hermione as she does her hair, fascinated by the messy halo of soft curls that stay resolutely, rebelliously bouncy despite Hermione’s best efforts to tame them. Well, strictly speaking not her best efforts; during her early days at the Ministry Hermione had painstakingly straightened her hair, having been told it would look more “professional” that way, but it hadn’t taken long for her own stubborn impatience to resurface and give that activity up as an annoying waste of time. Luna’s glad, because Hermione’s her prettiest when she’s herself.
It’s nice, though, watching Hermione get ready for work again. Over the past months there had times when Luna had wondered – silently, secretly – whether she really would make it. That perhaps the day Luna had been called to the Ministry because Hermione couldn’t stop crying at her desk would be the end of her astonishing career. It’s taken longer than Luna hoped for Hermione to put herself back together, and she’s far from done yet, but it’d taken such a long time for her to fall apart, so maybe it was to be expected.
Luna’s just about over chastising herself for not nipping it in the bud, because the signs had been there. The sleepless nights, and a tiredness that couldn’t be cured by sleep anyway. The way Hermione had started shutting herself off by degrees, so that even Harry had trouble getting a conversation out of her. Luna had wondered if something was amiss when Hermione stopped arguing with her about the Rotfang conspiracy and the infiltration of St Mungo’s by sun-stealing mice. They’d always enjoyed arguing about those things when Hermione had been more herself.
‘Will I do?’ asks Hermione when she’s done. Age hasn’t made Hermione any more fashion conscious, but Luna can see that familiar desire for approval on her face.
‘Perfect,’ she says brightly, jumping off her chair to press a quick kiss to Hermione’s cheek.
Hermione manages another weak smile. ‘What if…’ she begins uncertainly. ‘What if I can’t manage?’
‘Then you’ll come home again,’ says Luna. ‘And I’ll take a break from investigating Muggle sightings of magical creatures to make you some soup, and I’ll owl the Healers, and you might feel a bit embarrassed but nothing really terrible will happen.’
‘I’m glad someone thinks me making an idiot of myself again isn’t terrible,’ says Hermione, with a trace of the grim humour she’s been learning. Luna thinks it may be Ron’s influence.
Luna tries to look stern, but she doesn’t think she’s very good at it. ‘You know it isn’t,’ she says. ‘And you know the Ministry can survive without you.’
Sometimes Luna wonders if that’s why it took so long for Hermione to succumb to the Shadow Sickness, because she kept soldiering on until she had a brief window to pencil in her breakdown. It’s medically unlikely, from what Luna’s read, but Hermione defies so many things, why not the normal limits of medicine and healing?
‘Survive, perhaps,’ says Hermione. ‘I’m more concerned they might not be doing any good.’
‘That’s my girl.’ Luna beams proudly. ‘Do you want me to come to the Ministry with you?’
Hermione appears to consider it before giving her head a small, but resolute shake. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, but today… I think I have to do this on my own.’
Luna nods her understanding. She knows it’s true, but this is the hardest part of watching the woman she loves fall ill and recover; she can give Hermione all the tender support and encouragement in the world, but in the end it’s Hermione herself who has had to do all the heavy lifting.
‘I put an acorn in your bag for luck,’ she tells Hermione. ‘Of course you won’t need it, but it’s there.’
‘Thanks.’ Hermione picks up the bag and looks back at Luna. She raises her eyebrows. ‘That was very restrained of you not to make a bracelet of them.’
Luna had started off threading acorns onto a necklace, actually, but it’s good to know she made the right call.
‘Don’t work too hard,’ she says when they’re at the door. ‘And watch out for heliopaths.’
Hermione’s smile is fonder this time. ‘I’ve been practicing my Freezing Charms specially. Don’t worry, I won’t be late home.’
A quick kiss and a moment later she’s gone, leaving Luna leaning back against the front door wondering how she’s ever going to keep herself distracted enough all day to avoid going out of her mind with worry.
~*~
Luna spends the morning reading several of the many dental health articles Hermione has saved in a bid to persuade her there’s nothing sinister about the causes of tooth decay (Luna remains unconvinced), planting some puffapod seeds, and re-arranging her sock drawer. She gets a little work done in the afternoon, sorting through a number of articles about Muggle sightings of yetis, which she mentions in the letter she writes to her father. That only takes her to half-past-three, the most dangerous time in the afternoon, so Luna has a short nap before popping out to buy Hermione some flowers. The sunflowers are the most cheerful thing in the shop, and they are even better when Luna gets them home and charms them to sing.
True to her word, Hermione arrives home on the dot of half-past-five. She looks exhausted, so Luna bites her tongue and refrains from asking any of the one hundred and one questions that bubble around her mind, and instead just fetches Hermione a cup of tea.
Later, after they’ve made dinner together and listened to the evening news on the WWN, Hermione curls up on the sofa next to Luna, looking fit to fall asleep on her shoulder.
‘So,’ Luna starts at last, unable to stop herself any longer. ‘How was it?’
‘Scary,’ admits Hermione. ‘Tiring. Weird. I think it might get easier tomorrow.’
‘Yes.’ Luna hugs Hermione close, dropping a kiss onto her mess of curls. ‘I think it might.’