[ Sometimes he wonders if his desire to chase dragons was a lingering childhood escape mechanism, if growing up under the threat of He Who Must Not Be Named left any scars on his psyche, if spending the first decade or so of his life constantly worried that someone might come and murder his family for being blood traitors meant all he wanted was to get away and hide out in the forest where nobody could find him.
One morning, when he was home for Christmas and had spent half the night awake with nightmares lingering, he'd been sitting in the kitchen near dawn and Hermione had appeared at his elbow; they'd sat together at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and not really chatting about much of consequence for so long that when she'd suggested he try seeing a therapist, he'd been floored.
A therapist? For what?
No. He's fine. He's got a good life and he's happy with it, and all that unpleasantness is in the past where it belongs.
Right now, he has other things to focus on, like the tickling of her hair against his arm as Luna leans back, the gentle lilt of her voice as she rambles on about her life post-Hogwarts. Post-war. Post-fear.
He has to resist the urge to turn his wrist and fiddle with her hair. ]
Yeah, my brother Percy is still with the Ministry. I could never do what he does. [ He shudders theatrically, wanting to make her smile again. ] I think you have the right of it, love. You're young yet, you've all the time in the world to decide.
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One morning, when he was home for Christmas and had spent half the night awake with nightmares lingering, he'd been sitting in the kitchen near dawn and Hermione had appeared at his elbow; they'd sat together at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and not really chatting about much of consequence for so long that when she'd suggested he try seeing a therapist, he'd been floored.
A therapist? For what?
No. He's fine. He's got a good life and he's happy with it, and all that unpleasantness is in the past where it belongs.
Right now, he has other things to focus on, like the tickling of her hair against his arm as Luna leans back, the gentle lilt of her voice as she rambles on about her life post-Hogwarts. Post-war. Post-fear.
He has to resist the urge to turn his wrist and fiddle with her hair. ]
Yeah, my brother Percy is still with the Ministry. I could never do what he does. [ He shudders theatrically, wanting to make her smile again. ] I think you have the right of it, love. You're young yet, you've all the time in the world to decide.