Luna and her father love each other very, very much. Characters belong to Rowling.
Do you remember when you were a little girl, and he sat by your bed and read you a goodnight story? Of course you do. You just have to close your eyes, and you'll remember those stories he used to tell - fantastic tales about dragons and goblins and little girls - just like yourself, having marvellous adventures. He used to gesture as he talked - big, wild gestures - and his face wrinkled as he did the voices. You always loved it when he did the voices.
And do you remember when you were out in the woods, roaming and playing and looking for things. Of course you do. You always played the game of who could find the secret treasure, and he always let you win - except for the time when he found the little bird that had fallen out of its nest, the one that you took back home and fed and cared for and taught to fly when it was time for it. You thought that it was the most precious treasure there ever was, and you were so happy with him for finding it.
And do you remember how he and mum used to lie in bed in the mornings, drinking tea and reading the morning papers and talking and laughing? Of course you do. There used to be this warm spot right between them, under the blanket, were you used to squeeze in when you had been out doing your morning dance in the garden. And he always complained about your cold feet, and then he hugged you and told you about something interesting that he had read in the paper, or that he had dreamed, or that he made up just then. You have always loved the smell of tea in the mornings.
Do you still remember when he took you outside, late at night, to show you the night sky? Of course you do. He told you about the stars and the galaxies and about things so far away and so long ago that you got dizzy just thinking of it. There was nothing your daddy didn't know, and you used to ask him about everything, question upon question, until he laughed and ruffled your hair and asked if you knew what happens to curious little girls. So you asked him what happens to curious little girls, and he laughed again and said that he supposed that they get answers. So he answered all your questions, and when he didn't know the answer you would make up one together which was just as good. You still like those answers best.
Do you remember how he suddenly could smile and say something so funny that it had you shrieking in a fit of laughter? Of course you do. He would ruffle your hair and ask you if you wanted him to tell you about the latest issue of the Quibbler. You always did.
Do you remember how he used to hold you and say that he loved you, and how you looked up at him and said that you loved him too?
Do you remember that sad day when you were nine, and your mother died? I know that you do. You remember how he came home with white face and streaming tears, far too late. You remember how cold your mother's hand was in yours as you looked up and met your father's eyes, and you remember what you saw in them. Do you remember how distraught he was, those first, terrible weeks? How strong you had to be for daddy then? I know that you do. You just have to close your eyes to remember.
Do you remember those months afterwards, when it was just you and your dad in the whole wide world? Do you remember the travels you did, and the stories you told, and how you sat awake all night and talked about everything. Of course you do. Do you remember how you laughed and played and cried?
And now you have left, for Hogwarts and friends and left him all alone in the world. You write to him as often as you can - sometimes you write several times a day, and the poor owls give you a reproaching look when you come to the owlery with yet another piece of parchment full of thoughts and ideas and scribbles, and you apologize profoundly and ask them if they pretty please can fly just one more time - but it's not the same, and you worry a bit for him sometimes, actually.
And when you see each other these days, there are always things to do, and you always have to talk about such serious things. About war and death and that you have to be really careful when you save the wizarding world from evil. And you put your hands on your back and promise him solemnly that you will. And you hug him and he promises you that he will be careful too.
But then he says something so funny that it has you shrieking in a fit of laughter, and you can be a silly little girl again and hide your face in his arms, and hear him telling you about the latest issue of the Quibbler., feel his hand ruffle your hair, and everything is all right, everything.
He loves you, very, very much, you know. And you love him too.