The first night, she sleeps under the stars.

Well, that's not quite true – the first night is already underway as soon as she arrives, and she spends the whole time awake, listening to the conversations and helping to bury the bravest house-elf she's ever known, but the second night she sleeps, and she sleeps outside.

Bill and Fleur try to convince her not to – it's cold outside, the ground will get wet, what if the tide comes in? – but they can't tell her it's not safe, can they, not when they've just put the Fidelius Charm up, so she eventually wears them down.

She's been inside too long. At the first blessed taste of fresh air her lungs contracted – the pleasure almost painful, and she was giddy. Though it hurt, she couldn't stop breathing it in. She spoke to Bill when he came to the door, and he let them into the house but she didn't want to go in. She wanted to stay outside forever.

But now there's a Fidelius Charm, and it's safe to be outside, and she can't stand to spend any more time shut away, even if it will keep her safe.

She needs to heal.

She thinks that some part of her recognizes that after this, she will never be fully healed. Something was lost in that cellar, some part of her has been sucked up by the darkness. It's too soon to know what part that was, but she hopes it was small.

And even the small fact that she can still hope gives her hope.

During the day, after they buried and honored Dobby, Dean, Bill, and Fleur slept. Eventually, so did Harry, Ron, and Hermione. And Mr. Ollivander has been sleeping since they arrived.

She didn't. She couldn't.

It was too much all at once – light, fresh air, space. She doesn't have to curl up in a tiny ball in a dark and dirty cellar anymore. She can breathe.

But it's such a shock still – it hurts. She saw herself in the mirror, and though little surprises her and that shouldn't have, she couldn't help a gasp of shock.

Her hair is too long – too long and too thin and tangled and stained and still flecked with blood. It's grown dark from months of darkness, even as her skin is now almost as pale as the Gray Lady. She is all bone – figure skeletal, and none of the clothes that any of them can offer fit her.

Bill and Fleur offered her food – pressed it onto her, really – but she couldn't eat it. Two bites, maybe. Her stomach has shrunk to a miniscule size.

Fleur fretted when she wouldn't eat, and now that she's seen herself she can understand why, but she couldn't.

They couldn't take care of her medically. They healed the cuts and bruises on Dean's face, the gashes on Hermione and Griphook after the chandelier dropped them – even Mr. Ollivander is too exhausted not to sleep. They can't do so much for him, but they can do a little.

There's nothing they can do for her.

Sickness can be healed. Direct injuries. There are even potions for the aftereffects of torture, just to lessen the pain.

Her pain is something else entirely.

She's experiencing more pain now than she has in months – she was in the cellar for months; she knows the date now – because she somehow sank away. Curled up. Hid inside herself, in a place where the pain wouldn't reach her. And now it's here – bright, loud, bold. Life has caught up to her.

It hurts, but if it didn't hurt, she wouldn't know it was real.

She finds a blanket. Two blankets. Wraps them up into a bundle, with a pillow, tugs them into her arms, hauls them outside. She's become painfully weak – no muscles left in her arms or legs, and she has to stop and rest even on the short journey outside.

The stars are out. She can see them – it's been so long, she's almost forgotten what they look like. But Daddy taught her the constellations – Orion, the Big Dipper, and so many more – and some of the original stars. She lingers on Sirius, tries to skip Bellatrix altogether.

But that star seems the brightest to her, burning under her eyelids, and all she can hear is the awful voice – "Do you like games, little loon? . . . Oh, this one does like to play . . ." – ringing in her ears.

But she's safe, she reminds herself. Over and over, "I'm safe."

Her voice is reedy, as though it will snap any moment. Somehow, she manages to murmur her Mermish song to herself. She rolls onto her stomach, pushes the pillow aside, presses her face into the grass. Inhales its clean scent.

Footsteps. Someone is coming.

She listens to the breathing. Deeper and heavier – a man. It's not Mr. Ollivander. She's become so attuned to every sound he makes over the last few months. And he couldn't walk out here, anyway.

She knows what Harry, Ron, and Dean sound like, and this is none of them. They wouldn't be coming out here anyway.

"Hello, Bill," she says, her face still pressed into the grass.

The footsteps stop, not far from her head. "How did you know it was me?"

"I heard you coming," she replies simply. Rolls onto her back again, fixes her gaze once more on the stars. She tries to separate Bellatrix Lestrange from hers. It isn't the star's fault that she cringes at the woman's name.

Weight, gently settling onto the ground beside her. Rustling noises and a gentle breeze. Bill has brought a bedroll of his own; he settles down.

"Why did you want to sleep out here?" he asks.

"Because it's all out here," she replies. That's the best way she can phrase it – everything beautiful, everything that matters, everything she's been deprived of for the last three months – all of it can be found out here, under the stars.

Her eyes focus on the moon. Luna. It's much brighter than all the other stars, and she wonders if this isn't a sign. Bellatrix may be imprinted on her eyelids for now, just as the woman may have scarred her forever, but the moon is brighter. Luna will keep shining, just as brightly as before.

The moon hasn't gone out. Just as Bellatrix's star won't, when the woman is finally gone from the earth. The concerns of the stars are so much greater than these petty human affairs.

Mars is bright. The centaurs have been saying that for years. Not everyone has the talent for Divination, but it exists. It may be difficult, but it is no less real for that.

"I see," says Bill finally.

She wonders why he decided to join her. Turning onto her side, she can see that he's not sleeping. His open eyes reflect the starlight, and his hand is clenched tightly around his wand.

"Do you not trust the Fidelius Charm?" she asks.

He shrugs, wearily. "You can never be too careful." He pauses. "And I couldn't let them take you again, especially not when you've only just escaped. Who knows if you would survive this time – and I'd never be able to face Ginny again."

Ginny. Luna has thought of her at least once a day since she was captured – as far as she knows, as to how long a day is. "Is she all right?" she asks.

"Yes." Bill expels the word in a long sigh. "They all are."

For now, he doesn't say. And she doesn't reply.

"You should go to sleep," he says, after a time has passed. They both lie awake, staring at the stars.

"I don't know if I can," she murmurs.

Too much. Too much all at once – too much bad and too much good and the world is too much.

But it's still here. She's woken up at last, and the world has not deserted her.

And finally, her exhaustion carries her off to sleep.

Okay, folks, it's the sequel to Kidnapped! And I don't really know how it works, but I figure there HAS to be some trauma related to being locked in that cellar, so this is my interpretation of Luna slowly dealing with the aftermath.