She’s tall. Taller than any of the others in the group, probably even without the knee high black gogo boots she has on. With them, she looks like a giantess, elevated at least fifteen centimetres above the other heads. There’s legs, legs, legs, going on forever, wrapped in torn up fishnet tights and leading up to a black pleated miniskirt. The rest of her outfit is mostly obscured by a fluffy, bubblegum pink coat. The group settles in, chatting casually. Harry watches as they pass a lighter around to light their cigarettes. He’s vaguely aware that he's once again staring, and there's a voice in the back of his head that sounds like Luna's that's chastising him for it, but between half a joint and some boob-temperature beer he doesn't have the wherewithal to tear his eyes away. And that’s how she finds him when she leans over the balustrade of the deck to smoke her cigarette; starstruck and staring up at her from the grass. She tucks her long, white blonde hair behind one ear and tilts her head at him, regarding him curiously. Her eyes are bright and sparkling, rimmed with black and highlighted with silver shimmer. Her lips are painted in dark purple, shaping into an amused smile as she takes Harry in. 