This is for the Sober Universe ladies and gentlemen (gentleman?); for Katy and Suzanne and Christopher and Rita and Dejsha and Kara and Holly and everyone else I've forgotten.

Also, for Zach—August 9th, 1990-November 21st, 2009. Nineteen is gone too soon, but may you find the peace you never did in life. You are always loved and forever missed. RIP.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

The sky is grey today, like it is every day, but it's a different grey and Luna Lovegood finds beauty in it.

She is lying on her back in the green green grass, under the grey grey sky and she is thinking about hazel eyes and a smile that makes her stomach feel funny and her knees feel a little wobbly.

In fourth year, she had a kind of a crush on Ron Weasley, with his gangly walk and his red, red hair and his brown eyes. It never came to fruition, because Luna knew Ron couldn't hold her wild pieces and, besides, he was going to marry Hermione Granger, so it was a moot point.

The next year, she kind of sort of liked Neville Longbottom, with his slow, shy smile. That didn't happen, either, because Luna didn't fit into Neville's clean, neat-lines world and Hannah Abbott's blonde pigtails and vanilla smile were a perfect look for Neville, and Luna doesn't mess with Fate.

At 19, Luna met Rolf Scamander and he tried to tame her wild edges and mesh her with picket fences and he wouldn't let her wear sunflowers in her hair on her wedding day and Luna could never love Rolf like he deserved to be loved, so she let him go, set him free. He looks better with Padma Patil, anyway—something about Luna's flyaway blonde hair didn't quite match with Rolf's sharp edges and clean breaks. Padma fits better—Rolf and Padma are smooth and streamlined, and Luna is happy for them.

George is kind and sweet and nice and funny and crazy and understands Luna, unlike Ron or Neville or Rolf. He knows where she's been and doesn't care and loves her for Luna and that is the true beauty of it all.

And George does not ask her the hard questions, the one even she, Luna Lovegood, Queen of All Things Uncomfortable, doesn't want to answer. He knows all the answers, anyway, even before Luna can say them and she doesn't have to tell him to know that her answers and his answers are the same.

Because they did not fight for glory or for honor or for a medal or for someone to shake their hand and say "thank you." They fought because there wasn't another option, but people don't want to hear that; they want a story about a hero, about something different, something brave and beautiful and poetic, but that didn't exist that horrible, horrible year. They didn't have a choice—when it came down to it, when the lines were drawn, nobody had a choice. Even the ones who were neutral, who minded their own business were just as guilty. Standing by while innocents die paints the hands of those who did nothing and Luna cannot—would not—just stand there. She is not that type—she will go down fighting, rather than stand by and die, neutral and just as guilty. Is that what she says when people ask why? Because she wanted to go down fighting? No, people want to hear heroic stories and Luna is not a hero, and George understands all of it, everything, and Luna doesn't have to say a word.

Luna is good at finding the beauty in people, good at saying what they need to hear, good at being the voice that says they can when all they hear is they can't.

Neville has told her she was the only reason he kept leading and, though Luna doubts this very much, because surely blonde pigtails had something to do with it, too (love is the greatest power of all—it conquers all things), Luna appreciates it all the same.

Mr. Ollivander (though he passed away shortly after the war ended) had family that sent her a letter telling her how grateful they were; they spoke of how he—in the last few days—remembered his sunshine girl in the dark dankness of the Malfoy dungeons. Luna cannot find the words to say how thankful she was for his presence, too. The sunshine is useless without the flowers and their victory over the dark desolation of the dungeons wouldn't be nearly as sweet if only the sunshine had survived.

Luna finds beauty, finds courage and sparks and loveliness in the coldest, darkest places and she finds it overflowing in George.

Not that he's perfect; there are no perfect people and everyone comes with their scars, but Luna can look beyond those scars and see George, brave and broken and imperfect and she falls madly, irrevocably, wonderfully in love with him.

The sky is grey today, and it is a lovely, perfect grey, and Luna lies on her back and finds the beauty in it, George by her side, hand-in-hand.

I went to a funeral today. I spoke with lots of people, spent the day with a couple of good friends, and reminisced and, somehow, this has been the most healing of all. Thanks for letting me share it with you.