That night, when Caesar left, the rain had stopped completely.
The sound of rain outside the window gradually faded.
Luna leaned over the little desk covered with a star-patterned cloth, opening her diary, which was decorated with colorful feathers and specimens of strange plant veins.
The tip of her fountain pen hovered for a moment, then touched the page, leaving behind letters that looked a little childish but were written with painstaking care:
[It rained today. Really hard.]
[Derek and the others called me stinky in the hallway again. They said Mum was a crazy woman who studied mushrooms. I told them about the Nargles, and they laughed even harder.]
At that, Luna set down her quill and rested her face in her hands.
She loved the light that shone in her mother's eyes whenever she talked about mushrooms. It was brighter than Lumos.
She loved listening to her father explain why he was convinced that the colors of the rainbow made Floo travel more enjoyable. He spoke at length, with the earnestness of someone revealing the truths of the universe.
Their home, with all its strange smells, odd noises, and little magical "accidents" that could happen at any moment, was a vast, warm playground that was always full of surprises.
So, when faced with the prejudice of other Muggles, she had learned to lower her head.
She had learned to keep her gaze fixed on the small patch of ground in front of her toes, and to let her unruly pale-blond hair hang loose like a thin curtain of light, putting a little distance between herself and those overly sharp stares.
When sharp laughter and whispered gossip came pelting down like hail,
she silently counted the sunflowers along the fence in her backyard, the ones that always turned toward