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Every year, this particular day, Valentine’s Day, saw a further increase in activity in the already quite lively Hogwarts castle. Harry, though, had had decidedly mixed experiences in the past, ranging from indifference, to embarrassing cards read by surly dwarves, to awkward dates.
And even this year, with Voldemort in the open and the attacks by his followers growing ever bolder, the somewhat subdued students seemed to forget the grim troubles of the outside world. Though none of the teachers let up with the workload, giving the students a full schedule, as the day plodded on the general activity only grew more frenetic. The already established couples vanished to various hiding spots and smitten boys and amorous girls tried to pursue the targets of their affection.
Yet, there was an oasis of peace amidst this chaos. In the Gryffindor Common Room, next to a merrily crackling fire, a trio of Gryffindors sat around a table, various books and parchments strewn all around them in a glorious mess that only the three of them could make any sense of. Hermione had at least three parchments she was writing on and five books she was referencing, a manic gleam in her eyes.
Long used to this sight that never failed to unnerve the Gryffindor first years, Ron sat and relaxed. His homework for the day was already finished, so Ron with obvious relish took a large bite of his sandwich. Harry, Ron noticed, had a dreamy smile on his face. That was not an unusual occurrence lately, but now Harry was also nervously playing with a small package.
“Got any Valentine plans, mate?” Ron asked with a grin. “With a certain French lady in Hogsmeade, perhaps?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
In a fraction of a second, Harry’s eyes zero’ed in on Ron and the package vanished in Harry’s pocket. At that moment, they were interrupted by yet another squeal as a fourth-year girl loudly announced she had been invited to Hogsmeade. Harry narrowed his eyes, spotting at least three different younger girls trying to be inconspicuous as they watched him, a variety of cards, sweets, and packages in their hands.
“I’ll have to spend the day dodging lovestruck witches, it looks like,” he murmured.
“True that.” Ron nodded sagely after swallowing yet another bite. He would have spoken with his mouth full, but Hermione’s withering glare stopped him. He had no wish to tempt fate, for at least one tree had withered after encountering an annoyed Hermione Granger. “It’s wild this year, eh?”
Hermione’s huff was the answer that met his pronouncement. When Ron looked at her in askance, she elaborated. “Of course it’s ‘wild’, Ron. You hear the news just as well as they do.” She blew a lock of her hair out of her eyes. “They want to forget. The attacks, the murders.” She speared him with an intense look. “They’re afraid and desperate.”
Ron finished his sandwich and gestured to the room. “Oh, I noticed that, Hermione.” He threw a quick look at Harry. “But even you must admit that all the hubbub this year is a bit much.” Pointing now at Harry, he continued, “That love potion around Christmas, Harry’s new fanclub. And they all know he is together with Fleur.”
“For Merlin’s sake, Ron,” Harry gritted out, “We are just friends.” This was not the first time they had this conversation.
“Yeah.” Ron snorted. “Just friends, right.” He folded his hands. “And that’s why you have that silly smile when you go to sleep. And lately, you’ve had that lovesick look in the evenings. It must be Fleur, you’re never with any other girl.” He nodded decisively, apparently satisfied with his deduction.
Harry heaved a sigh and shrugged. “Believe what you will.” He took a look out of a window, noticing the Moon rising. “Anyway, I have plans for today, places to be.”
Hermione just waved absent-mindedly, almost completely immersed in her complex arithmetic calculations of six-dimensional geometry, and Ron snorted, before opening a book of his own, apparently content with revising for the Defence class.
All three girls watching Harry quickly left the room as well, happy that the object of their affection was finally alone. As they rushed after him, nearly not fitting through the portrait hole as all tried to leave at once, they let out sighs of bone-deep disappointment. The corridor behind the portrait was bereft of Potters.
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As the trio of young witches ran through the corridor in hopes of catching up to their quarry, there was a soft exhale from behind one of the armours lining the corridor and with a ripple resembling a mirage on a hot summer day, Harry Potter suddenly appeared, one hand clutching an unusual silver pin on his robe, while the other wiped off the sweat from his forehead.
“That’s,” he began, looking at his watch, “five seconds more. Not bad, getting there, Potter.”
With a quick look to make sure he was alone, he let go of the crescent-shaped pin, threw his winter cloak over himself, and cautiously went down the corridor.
Many couples he met along the way, though they had eyes only for each other, something Harry heartily preferred. Was that Tracey Davis entwined in a tight embrace with Ernie MacMillan? Indeed. And so busy with their kiss they were, that the Slytherin forewent her usual reaction to being close to Harry. Without the usual mocking sneer, she was indeed cute.
Another corner rounded and he nearly ran into Colin holding hands with a fifth-year Hufflepuff.
“A-Ah, h-hey Harry?” Colin stuttered as he sometimes did when nervous.
“Hullo there, Colin.” Harry smiled at his housemate. “And who is that with you?”
Colin’s face nearly glowed with Gryffindor crimson, but his partner just squeezed his hand.
“Harry, m-meet John, we’re in Herbology together.” Colin’s gaze flitted between Harry’s face and his and John’s entwined fingers. Harry noted the slump in Colin’s shoulders. It was quite rare to see the excitable Gryffindor so nervous.
“Well, John,” Harry intoned in mock seriousness, “it’s nice to meet you.”
“Thank you, Mr Potter.” Even John studiously gazed at his shoes. Was Harry really that intimidating?
“Oh, look up, you two.” Harry tried to inject as much warmth into his voice as he could. “It really was nice to meet you, John, Colin.” He smiled widely at them. “Have a nice afternoon and enjoy Valentine’s Day.”
The mirrored bright smiles almost blinded him and both parties were soon on their way, with Harry chuckling fondly. Long gone were the days when he was annoyed by Colin’s energy. The earnest young man with a passion for photography just grew on anybody he was in contact with for more than a week now, and many Gryffindors had a few photos in their trunks, gifts from Colin.
There was a photo of Harry and Ron sandwiching Hermione in a tight embrace standing in front of a boulder near the Black Lake, Harry and Ron grinning widely while Hermione sported an exasperated but unmistakably fond smile. It was one of the things Harry counted among his treasures, and Colin’s grin and energetic hops in place after Harry praised him for the shot were among Harry’s fondest memories of the school.
But there was no more time for fond reminiscing as Harry had to duck into a side corridor, for his pursuers appeared again. Fortunately, they missed him, so caught up in their ardour were they, and so Harry finally got to the main staircase.
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Harry knew better than to go through the Great Hall, there was no chance he could slip through unnoticed. Hogwarts being Hogwarts, there were numerous side corridors and secret passages, and Harry, without false modesty, could say that he knew most of them. And so he chose one of the less known ones and rushed towards his destination, urged on by the sight of the Moon in the sky.
But even the corridor he chose was not completely abandoned. He did his best to be as quiet as he could when going around an unused classroom where Pansy Parkinson was just dumping Draco Malfoy, abandoning all semblance of control, as she slapped him, proclaiming him to be an unfaithful, filthy bastard.
Having the feeling that his eavesdropping would not be appreciated, Harry hurried along. Had he stayed, he would have heard Pansy’s tearful tirade as she cursed the entire Greengrass family.
Fate had a sense of irony, though, for the next classroom that was occupied contained the elder Greengrass, facing Amanda Brocklehurst with a card and a hopeful expression. But Amanda’s negative response, tearful though it was, seemed to crush the shy Slytherin’s hopes. She let the hand-made card fall to the ground and wordlessly shuffled out of the classroom. Harry would have stayed to help, but his past experience with Daphne Greengrass had taught him that she hated company when in one of her moods.
And so he went on, passing classrooms and broom cupboards, both those occupied by students and haunted by ghosts, giving a jaunty wave to Seamus, whom he saw together with Parvati, and started whistling a cheerful ditty. True darkness gathered outside, but life went on, hope was not yet extinguished.
Just as he finished the stanza, he noticed a figure standing a bit slumped in the shadow of another armour.
“Neville?” Harry whispered.
It indeed was Neville. Though he had gained much more confidence last school year, he now again seemed to be shuffling and mumbling to himself.
“Neville, what are you doing?” Harry whispered to his friend.
Neville’s eyes darted around to make sure there was nobody else and he leaned closer to Harry, mumbling something.
“What?” Harry was truly puzzled, this seemed very unlike the Neville of this school year. “Could you repeat that a bit louder?”
Neville released a deep sigh and tried again. “I, well, I should be going on a date with Padma.”
This brought a wide smile to Harry’s lips. “That’s great!” He squeezed Neville’s shoulder. “Good on you, Nev. Padma’s very nice.”
“Y-yes.” Neville nodded. “She is.”
“So what’s the problem?” Harry had an inkling but wanted Neville to say it.
Neville shrunk in on himself a bit but replied. “I didn’t buy her a flower.”
“Can’t you conjure one?” Harry asked, knowing they had done this conjuration a few weeks ago. Neville’s was among the most praised by Professor McGonagall. “It would be nice, putting your personal touch to it.”
“No.” Neville shook his head. “I have one.”
He opened his cloak and revealed an interesting flower. Although Harry had taken care of his aunt’s flowerbeds quite often, this flower was unfamiliar.
“That’s a nice one, Nev,” Harry admitted, genuinely impressed. “What flower is it?”
Neville blushed. “You, well, you wouldn’t know.” He showed the yellow petals to Harry. “It’s one I bred in my greenhouse.”
“One of your own?” Harry whistled. “Wow. I’m impressed. So what’s the problem?”
Neville looked at the floor. “Well, it’s just a flower bred by me.” He coughed a bit. “It’s nothing special.”
Harry grabbed Neville by his shoulders and squeezed. “Listen, Nev, look me in the eyes,” Harry commanded. When Neville raised his head, Harry continued. “It’s amazing. That flower is gorgeous. And you made it, it’s your work.” Harry’s eyes shone with warmth and he tried to put as much of that feeling into his voice. “You admitted that Padma is nice, right?”
“Right.” Neville gulped and nodded in sync with Harry.
“So,” Harry continued, “she isn’t the type to be cruel.” Harry smiled and hoped it was encouraging. “She is also smart. She’s going to love this, especially because it is your work.” He squeezed Neville’s shoulders again. “You’re a great bloke, Nev, and Padma’s a great girl. Go give you two a chance. If you don’t try, you will surely fail.”
Neville visibly steeled himself and nodded, so Harry let go of Neville’s shoulders.
“Harry.” Neville looked him in the eyes and there was again that focused look that was typical for Neville at the end of the last year. “Thank you, you’re right.” He nodded at Harry. “So enjoy your French date, hm?”
Harry rolled his eyes at Neville’s wink, not even bothering to deny, glad that Neville now seemed determined to pursue his own happiness. A quick look out a window reminded him of his own plans, however, because the Moon was quite high in the sky.
-------(/\)-------
There was, mercifully, a marked lack of other dramas occurring along the route Harry had chosen. In fact, the only other encounter Harry had before reaching the main gates was Nearly-Headless Nick. They exchanged cheerful greetings before Nick saw the pin on Harry’s robes. His translucent face grew solemn and his eyes darted to the Moon, before seeking out Harry’s gaze again. At Nick’s unasked question, Harry just nodded and caressed the crescent-shaped pin.
“You have chosen a perilous path, Harry,” Nick intoned. “Many tried to walk it, yet none succeeded.” His gaze grew thoughtful. “Yet you, who have faced legends and lived… Yes, I wish you good luck, young Potter.”
Nick followed his slightly ominous pronouncement by turning right and passing through a wall. Knowing he could not follow him and well aware that he had to soon be elsewhere, Harry hurried along. His Gryffindor pursuers and admirers had, fortunately, long lost track of him, so he passed through the main gates unmolested.
The grounds looked as picturesque as they did every winter. Snow crunched beneath his feet and the air was crisp. There was a group of first years shrieking in delight, the excitement of a snow battle briefly erasing House boundaries as alliances were made and broken and fun was had. A few pairs had found comfortable spots, sitting under trees, and there was also a circle of seventh years, sitting in a circle, drinking butterbeer and singing.
As he passed Hagrid’s hut, the smoke from its chimney rising like a twisted snake to the skies, Harry waved to the gentle Groundskeeper. Though he no longer took Hagrid’s classes, Harry still maintained his friendship with Hagrid and visited him regularly.
“Heading out, Harry?” Hagrid’s black eyes twinkled merrily under his bushy brows and his beard twitched, which Harry knew meant that Hagrid was smiling widely, a sight Harry knew quite well and saw very often. “Any special plans?”
“Can’t get anything past you, Hagrid.” Harry smiled in return. “How are you?”
“Same old, same old.” Hagrid laughed and Fang the boarhound, curled near the door to Hagrid’s hut, gave Harry a friendly bark. “Taking care of the critters.”
Hagrid looked back, checking on his fireplace, and continued. “It’s as if I saw James again, out on a date with Lily.” One of Hagrid’s large hands landed on Harry’s shoulder and Harry heard the snow crunch just a little more. “Won’t take up yer time then. Yer heading for a far nicer company.”
Both left that encounter chuckling. Many in the wizarding world saw Hagrid as uncouth, but at least just as many knew him to have a heart of gold and Harry was immensely fond of the man.
But it was time to be careful now, for his destination lay in the Forbidden Forest. And so he crept onwards. This far from the school, it was silent as many animals were hibernating for the winter, and so the only sound was the snow crunching beneath Harry’s feet as he strode between the trees. He knew that the acromantula territory was much further and even the centaurs didn’t venture to this part of the forest.
He heard a rustle to his left and there was a flash of silver, obscured by the snow. More snow crunched, and then Harry heard a snort. A unicorn emerged from among the trees, and a familiar one at that. There was a friendly look in his eyes, one that professor Grubbly-Plank would be extremely surprised to see. The unicorn looked into his eyes and turned to Harry’s right, but kept looking at him. It was clear for all to see that the unicorn whom he had met in the other forest wanted him to follow.
They walked in companionable silence, weaving between trees, accompanied by the crunching of snow and branches. No birds were singing, only the wind moved the bare branches. In years past, Harry would have found his surroundings and the sounds quite unnerving, but his destination and present company kept his mind focused. Finally, after ten minutes of walking, the unicorn stopped and nudged Harry towards a denser grove.
“Thank you, faithful Irruahacrax,” Harry mumbled while patting his friend’s flank. He would go on alone, for only he would be allowed into this specific grove at this time.
And so, with the Moon shining above and its rays illuminating Harry’s path, he entered the grove. He had to chuckle at his thought, the transition indeed was as if by magic. He now found himself on dry, grass-covered ground and in the middle of the grove. Shining brilliantly, there was a small lake, long, narrow, and bent, resembling the pin on his robes in shape.
At the same time he entered, the sky cleared, for no clouds dared obscure the Moon’s face. The calm waters were caressed by the silvery beams of moonlight. The air shimmered, warmer than the rest of the forest.
He released a breath he hardly realised he was holding and took off his cloak as he wouldn’t need it here. Neatly folded, the cloak was discarded on a flat rock close to the lake. Next, Harry walked around the grove, once, twice, and then for the third time in the opposite direction. After the patrol, he stood on the shore of the lake, face raised to the moon.
“By Moonlight guided I come,” Harry intoned, spreading his hands. “A daughter locked, cursed, to see.”
He lowered his head, his gaze tracing the edges of the lake. “By this lake to temptation sweet I succumb.” His hand reached for the silver pin, now gleaming with an inner light. “A maiden fair I shall await with glee.”
The pin in his hand grew, twisted, shifted. Its curve straightened, its length grew. Where before Harry grasped a simple pin, a pearlescent hilt now rested in his hand, a coin-shaped pommel bearing the sign of the crescent appeared, growing closer to his face.
“With this key, the way shall be opened!”
A blade grew out, milky white, keener than any of human make, bearing a rippling pattern along its length, from the elegant crossguard to the deadly tip.
“On my vow, I shall see her bindings broken!”
With the last syllable spoken, Harry lowered the sword, allowing the tip to gently disturb the water’s surface.
Though the air was still since no wind dared enter the grove, the air pressure increased drastically. But no storm was coming. Instead, a bright beam of moonlight descended from the heavens, gently touching the water. The light concentrated around the spot where the sword’s tip touched the water surface, the reflection growing bright. When the water started bubbling, Harry withdrew, knowing well that his part was done. Tied to his belt now, an elegant yet simple scabbard rested, pearly white, with a silvery crescent moon proudly displayed near its throat. And into this scabbard, Harry sheathed the unearthly blade.
The bubbling grew in intensity and what seemed like vapour rose into the air, ascending the shaft of silvery light. Accompanied by the sound of bubbling water and tinkling icicles, the vapour began to take shape.
Tall and slender, like a figure of vapour and sparkling light, reflecting off miniscule shards of ice, a splendid gown emerged. Even as imperfect as the projection was, Harry saw and admired the swirling pattern of moons and stars, of silver on pearl. As it went up, the skirt tapered off to a slender waist, before rising to a magnificent bodice. The sleeves, simple yet decorated, ended connected to elegant rings put on long, slender fingers. Next, the face, formed of water, ice, and moonlight, one that appeared to Harry in dreams, regal, yet fairer than any Harry had ever seen. Each feature sharp, were it on a statue, a bold sculptor’s work it would have been. Cheekbones were prominent and the chin strong and sharp. The lips, glinting with starlight, generous yet stern. Slanted eyes alight, suggesting a sharp mind. On her brow a circlet rested, bearing the crescent proudly. And from her silvery mane grew a pair of proud antlers, silver and majestic.
Yet even that could not compare to the majesty of her wings, each feather glittering with cold light. Splayed as they were, Harry thought they resembled the starry skies.
“In response to your summons, I have come.” A regal voice came from the awe-inspiring figure.
Were Harry to listen to the tinkling of silver bells, hesitate he would not to call the voice even sweeter.
“I ask of you, are you my knight?”
The Daughter of the Moon stood before him.
He bowed deeply, making an extravagant gesture to the side.
“Indeed, my lady most fair,” he intoned in a deep voice. “Unable to bear the deep yearning in my heart any longer, I have called for you on this special day.”
“Arise, young sir, and allow me to gaze upon your eyes.”
As he did so, an incredible change came over the regal apparition. Her calm, serious face was transformed by a wide smile, her eyes, gleaming akin to small stars, twinkled mischievously. But it was Harry who first cracked and the grove was filled by the sound of two souls, one young, the other ancient, laughing to their hearts’ content.
“Oh Harry, I missed you,” the Daughter of the Moon remarked fondly. “Cursed be the clouds not letting Moonlight through.”
“I missed you too,” Harry agreed. “Our dream visits, I’ve grown used to them.”
“Do you mean to say that you do not dream of me without the visitations?” A perfect eyebrow of twinkling lights was arched.
“No, no, but.” Harry was startled. “Well, it isn’t the same.” He shrugged, morose. “And, hm, others try to gain access to my dreams.”
A stormcloud seemed to pass over her brow and her eyes gleamed threateningly.
“Oh, we shall have to remedy that.” Though still sweet, her voice carried undertones of threat and rolling thunder. “You have sworn yourself to me. And so your dreams shall answer to MY decree!”
Instead of the shiver Harry would have felt just a year prior, the pronouncement evoked a feeling of assurance in him, a certainty. Though shadows ever darker were trying to envelop his dreams, they would find a shield of silver and moonlight there to ward them off.
“But,” she said, her tone changing again, “today, our foes have no power over us.” The charge in the air seemed gone, and instead of the threatening figure reminiscent of an embodiment of storms and unrest, she now bore a sweet smile and her starlike eyes watched Harry attentively. “Tell me how you have been, Harry, please.”
Though Harry would have acquiesced with her request, he had to admit that the pout she wore was yet more of a reason not to deny her.
“Oh, since we last saw each other,” Harry began, “it’s like the castle grew crazy.”
“What do you mean,” she interjected, “how could a castle grow crazy?”
“Well.” he shrugged. “It’s mostly the students. The teachers try to keep the order, but the students…” Here Harry hesitated, looking for words. “They are a bit obsessed now with romance. In years past everybody celebrated Valentine’s, but this year it’s much more intense.” He looked her over. “Absolutely everybody was obsessed with pairing up. Just this afternoon I had to dodge a trio of determined witches to get here safely.”
“Oh? Should I be jealous?” she asked in a lilting tone.
“No reason for that.” Harry smiled. “None could compare to you.”
She nodded in mock seriousness, but her curiosity overcame her again. “But what about your female friend? Even she?”
“I know what you mean.” Harry grinned. “When she thinks we don’t see her, she’s exchanging longing letters with Viktor Krum.”
“Ah, your fellow champion?”
“That’s him. For such a big bloke, he’s a sensitive softie, that’s how he claimed Hermione’s heart.” Harry took a deep breath. “But that’s not all. The castle always seemed a bit sentient, but now it looks like it conspires with the students against the teachers.”
“How?”
“It’s hard to believe, I know,” Harry agreed. “But you wouldn’t believe the number of unused classrooms, broom closets, and corridors that students are suddenly discovering.”
“So the Hogwarts castle is a romantic at heart.” She giggled.
“It seems so.” Even Harry had to chuckle.
-------(/\)-------
It took much longer for Harry to colourfully describe the various antics of the student body, helped along by a mischievous thousand-year-old fortress and time passed. Harry spent time with his charming companion, unburdened by worries, opening his hearts, guarded for years, to a maiden yearning to know of the world that had been denied to her for so long. Ever since their first true, fateful meeting, neither could even touch the other, yet moments such as this, peaceful sharing of tales, exchange of laughter and jokes, allowed the two hearts, wounded and scarred, to touch one another.
“And then…” Harry had trouble finishing his story due to bouts of laughter. “And then it turns out that all the elves really wanted was to throw the Headmaster a belated birthday party, but, since he was born in August, they never managed it.”
“Really?” It was now quite difficult to remember her regal stature, as she was sitting on a chair made of water, holding her stomach and gasping for breath in between laughs.
“Oh yes. Professor McGonagall looked ready to burst, but the Headmaster just announced that the entire school was invited to the Great Hall,” Harry continued his tale. “Oh, it was glorious, the elves made a cake large enough to fill it with the entire backlog of candles. And remember, the Headmaster is a hundred and fifteen years old.”
“Oh my, and you said he had to blow all the candles?”
“Yes, but Dobby, I told you about Dobby, right?” At her nod, he continued. “Well, Dobby put in some candles that relit themselves. And the best part? No magic.”
“Was he not punished?” She sounded quite worried for Harry’s little friend.
“No, in fact, I haven’t seen the Headmaster laugh so hard in all the years at school.” Harry had to wipe away a few tears. It had indeed been the most glorious party Hogwarts had seen in centuries. At least the Grey Lady claimed so.
“Ah.” Harry fidgeted a bit and rummaged in his pockets, finally fishing out a small package. “I, well, I prepared something.”
She smiled gently at Harry’s sudden blush and bashful behaviour as he fished out a rough-looking flute from the package.
“This flute was a gift from Hagrid, my first-ever friend.” Then Harry pointed at the sack in which he brought the flute. “And this, I received for Christmas that year. I never found out who gave it to me, but it is enchanted to keep clean and protect what I put inside.” Harry smiled. “And the flute fits in perfectly.”
She scratched her chin, a sigh somewhat curious due to the way she was projected, and suggested after a moment of thought, “Perhaps somebody saw the gift you would receive and thought it would complement it well?”
“Hm.” Harry shrugged. “Then they were right.” He touched both the pouch and the flute with fondness.
Blushing once more, Harry looked at the flute. “It...it doesn’t have a name, but, well, I thought...”
“Please,” she interrupted him, “Harry, I wish to hear your song.”
Recalling the way her eyes always lit up during their dream visitations when she recalled musical performances by her past guests, Harry gathered what determination he possessed and put the flute to his lips.
Though unsteady at first, Harry gained confidence and soon, a soft melody filled the grove, surprisingly deep tones elicited from the instrument, manufactured by the rough hands of a gentle giant.
Harry played. It was no song one could find in songbooks, no notation for it was ever written. Perhaps, should any ask him to repeat the performance at a later time, he would be unable to do so precisely for he played as he felt. As he recalled meeting his beloved Hedwig for the first time, joyful tones seemed to make the air in the grove dance. The proud, imperious owl would surely approve of the performance in her honour.
Then the melody and tones changed, growing majestic, filled with awe, as he recalled his first glance at the castle that would become his home, towering over the first-year students in boats, seemingly touching the night sky with its silhouette.
As Harry played, sitting and swaying with the music, she sat, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes shining with passion, she paid rapt attention. And at the edge of the grove, with a gentle rustle, a silhouette of a unicorn appeared.
The melody grew more complex, as Harry added the themes of his best friends, Hermione, fiercely loyal, Ron, grounding them both, and Harry focused on their times. Both the adventures, finding a Cerberus, smuggling a dragon and the wonders of discovering magic together were woven into the song, playful, cheerful, with sudden spikes of drama. When he got to the part when he had met Voldemort’s spectre in the forest, Irruahacrax, watching from the sidelines, lowered his head in mourning for his fallen kin.
And as Harry progressed in his song, melodies of fright, terror, and darkness entered, when he recalled facing Voldemort, the terror of the basilisk, or the despair as he was surrounded by dementors.
But even so, the melody stayed hopeful, uplifting, for just as he had to face the Darkness, he gained so much. More friends joined him on his journey, and Harry overcame.
More guests appeared at the edge of the grove, a white hart with twelve-pointed antlers, decorated by silvery petals, directed his soulful gaze first to the Daughter of the Moon, listening attentively to Harry’s song, and then to the flautist himself.
Another theme appeared in the song, for it was time for the Triwizard Tournament and, in a way, for their first meeting. Playful, shy tones spoke of furtive glances and tentative friendship formed, even as Harry had to struggle to survive a deadly scheme.
And he did, he returned, alive, from a trap that would have killed a lesser man, and though the future looked grim, there was a glimmer of hope expressed in that song, for it spoke of the time Harry and Fleur affirmed their friendship and grew together, and with it, the fateful meeting grew ever closer.
A third guest appeared, an antlered figure, a gruff man, possessing wild hair and a long beard. He watched, careful not to be spotted, as the maiden made of Moonlight had eyes only for the young man lost in his song. And as the music reached a majestic crescendo and the young lovers truly met for the first time, a glittering tear rolled from his eye, getting lost in the silvery beard.
But every song has an end, and so even Harry had to stop playing. Once again, they were alone, all guests vanishing faster than a mirage in a desert, but Harry had eyes only for the maiden in front of him, glittering with light; beaming with delight.
“It was beautiful, Harry,” she breathed out. “I-I have no words.”
“No, I, I’m not very good,” Harry protested but was interrupted.
“Humility,” she began, “has its place. And truly, more agile fingers could have caressed the flute, a defter flautist’s lips could have touched it, but in playing your heart’s song,” she spoke with reverence, “none could eclipse you. With love the flute was made, and with love it was played. No sweeter music there is than that.”
Her sincere smile and heartfelt praise brought a tear to Harry’s eye and there was much tenderness in his look as he haltingly spoke, “Thank you, for listening and for being with me.”
For the first time this eve, Harry regretted their circumstance, for meet and speak they could, yet touch was denied to them. How he longed to take the fair maiden in his arms, but his voice, smile, and look would need to suffice.
“Thank you for being a light so bright.” He tried to say more, but his voice failed him. Fortunately, no more words were needed.
The tenderness in his eyes was mirrored in hers too and so she, sitting on the water surface, and he, sitting on the lakeshore, moved as close to each other as they could and raised their eyes to the Moon, together.
But it wasn’t silence that reigned in the grove, no. She began humming at first, but soon words burst from her throat, and she sang a song that for ages wasn’t heard, neither in the world of mortals, nor among the Fey, the song her mother sang, beautiful, sad, yet full of hope. And Harry listened attentively, the song filling another piece of the void in his yearning heart.
But this wasn’t a romantic story where lovers could stay together in a grove, forgetting about the world, no. Time, the merciless but fair measure, went on. Both had to return, to his school, to her prison. With great reluctance both stood and faced one another, neither willing to truly leave. It was Harry who heaved the first weary sigh and spoke up first.
“It’s time to go. Again.”
She spoke slowly in return. “But we do not truly part.” She raised her hand towards him.
He touched the tip of her fingers with his own, feeling the chill of water and ice. “No, never. And Moonlight will ever guide my dreams to you.”
“Farewell then,” they spoke in unison. “For now.”