Work Text:
Luna was in Romania for three months, hired to illustrate a book about dragons for children. The latest scheme to raise galleons for the Sanctuary. As the warm spring air turned the mountain meadows purple with wildflowers, and the dragons emerged from their winter sleep, Luna’s warm golden personality stirred something in Charlie, and he pursued her as a Drakon would a Drakania.
They worked all day, made love all night; and in the early hours of the morning Luna would sip her tea and paint the walls of his stone cabin. With her usual blunt honesty Luna told him he was too lonely and would feel better surrounded by his loved ones.
Morning after morning she filled his walls, floor to ceiling, with the green hills and navy valleys of their Devon home. Then, under the perfect facsimile of the great oak that stood at the end of the Burrow’s garden, Luna painted friends and family, dead and alive, and told him: “these are the people you love.”
It was a warm summer's day when, with things left unsaid, they kissed goodbye. After Luna left, Charlie retreated into his cabin, and spent hours staring at the wall, at the green hills and the faces of his family: at Ginny and his brothers, at Tonks, Fred, his nieces: at Hagrid striding over the hill. He frowned when he realised that Luna’s sunny face was not part of the scene.
All autumn he took comfort in the walls surrounding him, but missed Luna’s face, and as the days grew shorter and the first snow of winter arrived, Charlie packed his bag and headed home for the first time in years.
With a belly full of his mother’s cooking, Charlie strolled to the Lovegood house, amazed to be walking through the landscape that decorated his wall. Old Lovegood said, “you must be one of Arthur’s boys” when he opened the door, “Luna is not here. She said she has a shadow on her heart and needs the sun to chase it away.”
A bitter wind blew from the east when Charlie returned to Romania. It howled down the mountain, screamed through the valley and battered at Charlie’s heart. “Luna I love you,” Charlie pleaded at the wall, “why aren’t you here?” The wall shimmers with magic, and from behind the tree a figure emerges, the long golden curls, the pale blue eyes: unmistakably Luna. She reaches out with her arms beckoning Charlie towards her.
Charlie releases a deep breath, awed by the magic. Their hands touch on the wall then: the sharp tug of a portkey.
Disoriented, confused Charlie is sprawled on a floor, deposited somewhere new, somewhere warm and sunny, somewhere at the feet of Luna.
They stare at each other in silence, faces alight, each thinking: I can’t believe you’re here!
“Luna,” Charlie breaks the silence, pulls her into his arms, “was that your magic?”
Delicate hands on his face, Luna’s silver eyes searching his face, “not just my magic.”
Soft kisses on her face, on her lips. “No, not just your magic.”