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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Precisely seven months and six hours later, Harry Potter woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath, thin sheets uncomfortably twisted around his bare legs.

"Shit."

His voice was raw from the nightmares — reliving moments of death, torture, grotesque rebirth, aethereal visions of lost souls, every night for eighteen days. He woke screaming, again and again, and it didn't seem to be getting any better at all.

Hating his time with the Dursley's wasn't unusual, but he couldn't remember feeling this alone, this defeated.

And bloody hell, was it hot. While he was away, Vernon hired an air conditioning tech to reroute the air flow from his room to Dudley's. Bastard.

Yet it wasn't the Dursley's venom that haunted him. He came to expect this sort of abuse. Nor was it the relentless heat, the throbbing stabs of pain emanating from his scar, or even the pervading sense of helplessness that was driving him to despair.

It was the distance of his friends.

Letters were a lifeline for Harry while he was detained at Privet Drive. Every summer for three years he'd written to his best friends, Ron and Hermoine, as often as they'd write back. And they did write back, more or less consistently. Sure, Ron's letters were spotty, often short, and seemed less concerned about life than quidditch. But Hermoine made up for it with sincere questions, meandering musings, and asides related to her most recent research interests. As silly as it sounded, Harry depended on these notes. They anchored him to a better life — a life that seemed thousands of miles away in the isolation of the summer months.

And he was thrilled to hear from Sirius last summer. Of course, it made sense that Sirius wasn't as accessible as he'd like — he'd marveled at Hedwig's magical sense of destination as he considered round trips to Morocco, Tunisia, or Egypt to deliver a quick note to his godfather. He didn't expect frequent communication, but the occasional update from Sirius or even the sporadic check-in from Remus began to foster in Harry a sense of family.

He needed those letters. To survive the summer, to remember his distant community.

And he'd felt that need viscerally for the last eighteen days.

It seemed a cruel joke that everyone, at once, just stopped writing. He'd received two brief, dismissive rebukes from his godfather and a quick "hope you're well" from Hermoine that communicated absolutely nothing of substance. That last one was fourteen days ago. Since then, suffocating silence.

Any other summer he'd be swimming in replies, not to mention stashing Mrs. Weasley's baked goods every third note or so. He'd be scheming with Ron about trips to the Burrow, or pretending interest in the Runes textbook that Hermoine had recently finished.

But this summer, nothing. When he needed his people most. As he grieved the life of his friend, as he wept for the life he could have had. His friends were nowhere to be found.

Reluctantly he sat up, untangled his sheets, and pivoted to the side of the bed. The Dursley's didn't allow him a clock, but from the deep dark of the night sky, he supposed it was 2 or 3 AM. When the nightmares woke him this early, he rarely made it back to sleep.

He suspected, in a distant way, that Dumbledore might be behind the silence. It would be like him to make decisions like this unilaterally. Maybe there was a good reason to leave Harry in the dark. He sincerely hoped this was the case. The alternative — that his friends, that his godfather didn't really care that much — threatened what semblance of hope he desperately clung to.

He threw a shoe at the faulty, hand-me-down, oscillating fan that was rattling in the corner.

Forcing himself to his feet, Harry stumbled sleepily to the open window. At this hour, Hedwig was likely hunting. To his right, Hedwig's cage was lined with the torn remains of Sirius' second letter. It was no warmer than the first, but sharper-edged, and in a fit of frustration Harry had ripped it to shreds.

If he'd have known it would be the last letter of the summer, he thought to himself, he'd have kept it for rereading despite it all.

God, he needed to talk to someone. So much was swimming in his head. So much horrifying speculation, so much regret, so much fear.

It was just at that moment that he remembered Luna.

Lovegood, was it?

Harry glanced across his room at the Quibbler Luna had given him last fall. He'd read it, cover to cover, nine times since he'd left the castle. There hadn't been much else to read.

Harry wondered whether it would violate wizarding world etiquette to send her a note. He'd sent six to Hermoine, four to Ron, eight to Sirius, and two to Lupin. But no response from that direction was coming, and he felt desperate for some sort of conversation.

Not knowing what to say, or whether he was wasting his time, Harry pulled out his quill and ink, and jotted down the following:

Hi Luna.

I'm not really sure whether it's normal in "our" world to write someone a note out of the blue. I'm not even sure that Hedwig knows how to find you. But I wouldn't mind corresponding on occasion, if you're up for it.

If you're too busy, or you're not interested in this sort of thing, that's okay.

Hope you're well.

Harry P.

PS - Thank you for your copy of the Quibbler. I read it nine times.

Just before penning the post-script, Hedwig arrived. She nuzzled and nipped Harry, who gave her a treat and explained the situation.

"This is for Luna Lovegood. I'm not sure how you do this, and I'm not sure if you know her, or how you'll find her, but if you can drop it by sometime soon I'd appreciate it."

At once, Hedwig was off, and Harry was left to his thoughts.

Her reply arrived just before dawn.

Hi Harry Potter.

I've never been happier to receive a letter from a friend. But I've also never had a person-friend, and I've never received a letter.

While I'm not the authority on what is or isn't normal in "our" world, I giggled when I read your letter. I'd be happy to correspond. And I hope we correspond more than occasionally.

I am well, especially since receiving your note.

Luna L.

PS - I was delighted to read that you'd enjoyed my copy of the Quibbler. I've sent a copy of next week's with Hedwig. You'll find a fascinating article about Moon Frogs and their subtle influence on Wizengamot parliamentary procedure.

Chapter Text

The sheer weight of Harry's isolation wasn't quite clear to him until it lifted. It was silly, the thrill he felt when he broke the seal, and the wave of comfort as he began reading. She's just a friend, right? And this is just a friendly note.

But he loved the letter. He loved that she penned a response immediately. He loved that it was playful and lighthearted. More than anything, he loved that he'd been heard. That somebody had cared enough to respond.

Still in his boxers, seated on the edge of his bed, Harry held the note in his hand like treasure, scanning the slanted sentences yet again. Her handwriting was wispy and thin, simple and beautiful. The undecorated utility of his own scratchy print was barbaric in comparison. He must have read Luna's letter two dozen times before folding it carefully, and storing it in a small wooden lockbox Hagrid gifted him for his fourteenth birthday.

Would it be too forward to send an immediate reply? Harry didn't want to chase off the one person who seemed even remotely interested in returning his notes. Not to mention, if she'd been woken by Hedwig at 3 a.m., a tap on her window at 7 may not be welcome.

He took a breath. He paced from one side of the room to the other twice. And then he smirked.

Against his better judgment, Harry rushed to his trunk and grabbed the parchment, quill, and ink he'd tossed aside haphazardly four hours ago.

Hi Luna.

I was thrilled to see your note. It's nice to have another person to talk to, really. I've been spending a lot of time alone lately. That hasn't been easy. I heard that Dumbledore explained what happened after the tournament in the Great Hall, so I assume you're aware of the series of recent events. I feel shaken by all of it.

I realized just now that it's early, and you likely don't want to think about dark things.

I was reflecting on our very first conversation this morning. Thanks for that. It's difficult for anyone, even my closest friends, to have a conversation with me that doesn't involve "You-Know-Who." I didn't ask for all that, and sometimes the weight of those expectations seem unbearable. So when you and I spoke for over an hour about normal, everyday things — well I don't know how to say it except to tell you that it was exactly what I needed.

How did we not become friends sooner?

Harry P.

PS - Thank you for a copy of next week's Quibbler. I'll be reading it all morning.

As he sealed the letter, Harry promised himself he'd find a way to reward Hedwig for a morning's hard work.

Luna Lovegood couldn't stop smiling.

Six hours before she had woken to a light tap on her bedroom window. She knew for days, with some confidence, that this would happen. But she also knew that knowing wouldn't make it happen any sooner, and that there was nothing precisely to prepare for. So she laid down the night prior in her white lace nightgown around 11, and slept like a mooncalf. Around 2 or 3 in the morning, a striking and determined Snowy Owl landed on her sill with a note lightly tied to her left leg.

Her sight hadn't granted any particulars. Just that a note would arrive, and that this note would be important.

After a soft yawn and a quick stretch, Luna skipped across the room, unlatched the window, and invited the owl to her perch for a treat.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Luna, and you're lovely."

The owl nuzzled Luna fondly in appreciation.

Luna sat cross-legged on her four-poster with the mysterious note on her lap. She turned the folded paper this way and that, smelled it twice, felt its rough edges with closed eyes, and smirked in anticipation.

This sort of feeling was new.

Hope wasn't something that commanded the heart of Luna Lovegood. Her mother's tragic death had taught her hard lessons about the world, and what to expect from it. Her father's subsequent emotional paralysis was even harder to bear. She loved her daddy, but he didn't see her anymore.

So when she was sorted into Ravenclaw nearly four years ago, she hadn't expected to be warmly received. And when her shoes began disappearing, she wasn't terribly disappointed. She had come to expect that, when people were involved, there would be distance and pain.

Something about this note, though, and something about this early morning felt different.

Luna broke the seal of the first letter she'd ever received, unfolded the parchment, and drank in the words.

Harry Potter. It was a note from Harry Potter.

She giggled for nearly three minutes, then sighed, let her body fall into her pillows, and clutched the simple invitation to her chest.

Harry Potter, my first friend.

Luna gazed into the horizon as Hedwig set off to deliver her reply.

This was going to be a perfect summer.

She ran a bath, humming along to the warbles of barn swallows while she soaked, and traded her nightgown for a white tee and a pair of skinny jeans.

Lightly prancing down the spiral staircase, twisting around a dusty heap of derelict printing equipment, dodging a precariously arranged pile of books, and hopping over a pile of dried dittany root, Luna opened the pantry and set to breakfast.

Twelve minutes later she was spooning oats silently, as she gazed gratefully around the house. Daddy was on a research trip for the next few weeks, so the common areas were much tidier than usual.

She'd just wrapped clean-up when she heard a tap on the foyer window.

"Hedwig! Hi! Meet me upstairs!"

Hopping and dodging and twisting and prancing back up the spiral staircase, she unlatched her bedroom window and welcomed the snowy owl back on the perch. Three treats, a few sips, and a healthy snug later, she accepted the message tied to Hedwig's left leg.

"Look at you! You must be exhausted. You're welcome to rest here, Hedwig. I can send Asher back in a moment."

At this, Hedwig chirped and bobbed, and Luna nuzzled comfortably into a worn wingback situated opposite her four-poster.

She broke the seal promptly and unfolded the note in a gleeful rush.

It was Harry. Of course it was Harry, but it had seemed too much to hope for. She'd never kept anyone's attention. But this was the second note from the boy who'd sat with her for, what was it, at least an hour — just to talk.

As soon as she opened the letter, time slowed. She sipped the words.

At first she grinned — a big, toothy grin with wide eyes. A few moments later, her brow furrowed, her lips pursed, and she shook her head with determination. And just then, a calm settled over her disposition. She smiled again, and giggled, and then blushed.

She read the letter again. And then a third time. Dropping the letter to her lap, her lower lip dropped just a touch, her eyes shifted to the distant horizon, and she breathed, slowly exhaling.

It was just at this moment that she marched directly to her bed, threw her face into a pile of down pillows, and squealed like a giddy schoolgirl.

After she caught her breath, she settled back into her desk and penned a response.

Hi Harry Potter.

I don't always know what to say to people. I suspect that I trespass social boundaries sometimes, and it isn't unusual that I learn that what I've said, or how I said it, or when I said it, made someone uncomfortable. So I sincerely hope that isn't what will happen now.

Today is my favorite day. Thank you for giving me my favorite day.

I'm sorry to hear that you've been alone, and that you've felt alone (which is much worse).

Yes, I know what happened that evening at the tournament. Only in the way that someone can know how high a mountain is by reading about it in a book. I cannot imagine the climbing of it. I don't know what burdens you're carrying now, Harry. But if I can, I'd like to help you carry them.

You stopped yourself. You said that I don't want to think about dark things. No, Harry Potter.

The things we encounter, whether light or dark, they become a part of us. The hard things, the dark things, they shape us too. And I wouldn't know you, Harry Potter, if you kept them from me. And I want to know you.

That was what I left the library with. I left knowing that I wanted to know you. Introduce yourself to me, Harry.

Luna L.

PS - Hedwig and I have become friends, and I've offered my perch for a bit of rest. Sending Asher to deliver this letter, and to await a reply. Is that too forward?

After folding and sealing the parchment, Luna leaned out of the open window and hummed three bars of an ancient melody. In a few moments, a midnight black raven flew into the room and settled beside Hedwig (who looked distinctly off-put by the sudden intrusion).

"Asher, find Harry Potter and give him this. Don't leave until he sends something back."

The raven set off immediately.

Chapter Text

Shortly after Hedwig's departure, Harry tossed on a beaten pair of blue jeans, grabbed the latest copy of theQuibblerand settled into the far corner of his cluttered room. Shoving aside a few tattered volumes of last year's textbooks and a pile of dirty laundry, he sat leaning against the wall with his legs idly crossed.

He didn't expect another letter today. But he couldn't help but hope for one. And every few minutes he found himself second-guessing — dwelling obsessively on what he wrote, or what he could have written, and how it may have been perceived. He wondered what she might be thinking, how she might respond.

He was spiraling, and he needed a distraction.

The front page of theQuibblerfeatured an amateur sketch of a moon frog, blinking occasionally and wearing a sinister expression. Behind it, a divided Wizengamot was boiling nearly to an uproar. The headline:A DARK INFLUENCE DIVIDING THE WIZARDING WORLD. This was going to be great.

After finishing the headline editorial, a short piece on a troubling infestation of Wrackspurts plaguing the press affairs office of the Ministry, and a meandering exposé on the rapid decline in tenure length at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a midnight black raven literally tore through the paper with a short, and mildly frustrated, grunt.

Harry shouted, nearly wet himself, threw the paper haphazardly aside, and reached desperately for the wand laying (inconveniently) four feet to his right.

That's when he noticed the letter tied neatly just above to the raven's right talon.

"Oh! Geez. Um... Hi. I'm Harry."

The raven tottled, dipped his head respectfully twice, and uttered a polite, guttural croak.

"What's your name? I wasn't expecting you. Do you, uh, do you like owl treats?"

The raven hopped lightly, and gave a quick, measured squeak.

Harry invited the bird to his forearm and carried him carefully to Hedwig's perch.

It took every ounce of resolve not to rush the introductory formalities, because Harry was desperate to read that note.

Once the Raven had a few bites to eat and a bit of water, Harry carefully untied the letter and returned to his sitting corner.

He took a quick breath, paused a beat, and exhaled slowly. He was excited, and felt foolish for it. It hardly made sense that his pulse had quickened, that his heart was in his throat. A sage voice whispered in the rear stage of his mind, "Measure your expectations, boy, this sort of thing is nearly always a disappointment." He refused to listen.

Just before breaking the seal, he noticed the words,"To Harry"magically etched on the wax in Luna's delicate script. Suddenly all of his apprehension dissolved. What a wonderful way to begin.

An unconscious sigh escaped Harry's lips as he read the first lines. His face froze for a moment, breaking into wide eyes and a sharp intake of breath. A calm settled over his features as he felt, perhaps for the first time, truly understood. A moment later, his eyes blurred, and with one hand he lifted his disheveled glasses from the bridge of his nose while with the other he wiped a tear from his right eye.

"That was what I left the library with. I left knowing that I wanted to know you. Introduce yourself to me, Harry."

Harry Potter was overcome. He forced himself to lay the letter aside, overwhelmed with the notion that this — whatever this was — was precisely what he needed. He couldn't shake the sense that the vague distress which he'd carried for years was leading him to a moment of resolution in this letter, in those words.

He glanced at his parchment and quill. But he stopped himself, picked up the letter again. He read the note over and over.

Finally, he folded the note, regretting profoundly that he wasn't permitted a quick "reparo" on the lovely wax seal, and placed it carefully in his magical lockbox.

Dipping his quill into ink, he began writing immediately.

Luna,

You haven't made me uncomfortable. I don't know how to say it without sounding ridiculous, but your last letter may have been the best thing I've ever read.

Your words move me.

You say you want to know me, even the darkness that I've faced? I want that, too, Luna. I really want to share that with you. But I'm afraid of it. I'm haunted every day by these memories. I feel pain and loss every morning, I'm woken by my own screams every night. I don't want that, any of that, for you.

I've always hurt the people around me, just by being me. And, desperately, I don't want to hurt you. I'm cursed, Luna, maybe literally. I don't want you to carry that curse, too.

Yet even as I write this, I'm terrified that I'll push you away. I always push people away. I hope you won't let me.

I'm rereading what I've just written, and I sound like a fool. I hope you don't think less of me — I've been alone in my thoughts for weeks.

Maybe I should start over.

You asked me to introduce myself.

Hi, Luna Lovegood. I'm Harry Potter. I'm a mess. But if you're okay with this mess, I'd love to share it with you.

Harry P.

PS — Asher is brilliant. I've finished half of next week's Quibbler already. And no, it isn't too forward. When I read those words, my heart raced. Is that too forward?

Luna sat in the highest sturdy branch of the ancient oak nearly a stone's throw from her home. She was, at least sometimes, sketching vignettes illustrating the social patterns of a local wood fairy village. A naturally elusive creature, Luna had devoted the better part of last summer leaving peace offerings two branches below their community. They were especially fond of blueberries and bottle caps.

But every few minutes, she'd shift her gaze to the distant horizon, searching for a tiny black dot.

It was around 11 a.m, and the heat was quickly rising. She lifted the lower seam of her tee to wipe a bead of sweat trickling down her neck, and at that moment recognized the distant, echoing cry of a raven.

Her heart skipped a beat, in a burst of joy she whispered "Asher!", and she swung her weight from branch to branch, quickly descending. As soon as her bare feet touched the ground, she ran to the door and up the stairs, arriving just in time to unlatch her window.

She feared she had perhaps said too much in her last letter. Her fondness for Harry notwithstanding, she knew that most people withheld thoughts like these, at least initially. But she couldn't bear the thought of Harry, alone — carrying the weight alone. Struck by that image, she had no regrets.

But the waiting was torture.

Asher arrived with a letter tied gently to his left leg, and with a bobbing dance of affection.

He approved. That was a good sign.

She leaned over to kiss her raven lightly above the eyes, untied the note, and dove into bed.

Almost immediately she gasped, overwhelmed by the sheer joy of it. She hadn't trusted herself to hope that he felt as she did. A moment later, brows lightly furrowed, Luna's lower lip trembled just slightly. Oh, how he was hurting.

She smiled as she read the words, "Hi, Luna Lovegood." And then she unconsciously, enthusiastically nodded. As the letter drew to a close, her eyes fell upon the words, "my heart raced."

And she knew, right then, that everything was going to be okay.

Harry,

Oh, Harry. You must know it isn't your fault. You must know that any curse you bear, you bear for all of us. If it hadn't been you, it would have been thousands of others. You saved us, Harry Potter. You saved me.

I won't. I won't let you push me away. If you're a mess, you're my mess.

And when I think about you, 'alone in your thoughts for weeks,' I want to be there. I want to ask you to start from the beginning and work through all of your thoughts, all your fears.

So tell me, as much as you're willing to tell.

Luna L.

PS - You're running out of Quibbler, and as there won't be another issue for two weeks, I'm afraid I'll have to fill your time with more notes. And Harry — your words move me, too. Reply quickly?

Chapter Text

Asher perched on his shoulder as Harry read and reread Luna's words. He couldn't remember feeling this happy.

But as he set quill to parchment, Harry hesitated. This felt like undressing. Luna wanted to know him — wanted to know his past, and his thoughts, and what haunts him. That invitation was like a breath of fresh air. He was suffocating, and she was oxygen. Yet he was terrified that she'd see, immediately, that he was a disaster. That she'd see through him, see his cowardice and frailty — see that there was nothing truly special about him at all.

Would he lose her, then? Would he lose this?

He was desperate to be seen, and desperately afraid of being laid bare.

But nobody had ever cared like this. Not Ron or Hermoine, not Sirius, not Dumbledore. Luna had asked what nobody else asked. Luna drew near when everyone else faded away. And he was beginning to believe that, whatever this was, it was real.

So he took a breath, set aside her letter, and set to writing.

Dear Luna,

Thank you. You don't know how much this means to me. And Luna — I want you to be here, too.

I don't quite know where to start, except to say that it all seems to revolve around my mum.

Dumbledore tells me it was her love that saved me. And I thought at first he was speaking metaphorically. But she was a clever witch, and she found a way to wrap her love for me, her sacrifice, in some complex and powerful magic. It's what killed Voldemort. (Killed doesn't seem to be the right word.) And it's why he's been obsessed with me since.

I have nightmares about that night at the graveyard.

Actually, it occurs to me now that you may not know any details about that night.

Cedric and I were dropped in a graveyard when we grabbed that cup — the graveyard of Tom's father. (Did you know that was his name? God, there's so much I have to tell you.) It's where Cedric died. It's where a part of me died, too.

Tom needed me there, apparently, to undo what my mother did. And now he's back. And now whatever protection my mother died to give me is gone.

That was what was special about me, Luna. It was my mum's power, my mum's brilliance, my mum's sacrifice. And all this nonsense about "the boy who lived" doesn't seem to matter anymore, because I'm just Harry now, and Voldemort's living and breathing and walking and murdering.

And all of that makes me feel insignificant and afraid and helpless. But deeper than all that, I think I just miss her. I didn't even know her, but I owe her everything. And on my dark days I wish she hadn't made that sacrifice. That way she'd be here.

You mentioned that you lost your mother. Does it haunt you like this?

Harry P.

PS - Do fill my days. If it meant more of you, I'd finish every book I own.

After a late lunch and a bit of tidying up, Luna spent the afternoon rereading the various appendices to the first edition of Newt Scamander'sFantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. That was her intention, anyway. But shortly after she'd settled into the wingback beside her window, her eyes strayed to the pile of letter on the side table.

She picked up and read the first. Then the second. Then the third.

"Your words move me."A sharp intake of breath.

"I'm terrified I'll push you away."She bit her lower lip.

"If you're okay with this mess, I'd love to share it with you."She looked away, blushed.

"When I read those words, my heart raced."A sound escaped her. A soft, longing sigh.

Whatever this was, she didn't want it to stop.

She looked up, not knowing whom exactly, or what, she was addressing. "Oh, thank you! Thank you for quills and ink and parchment and ravens and owls and words. And thank you for Harry."

Harry Potter. Her first friend. She must be dreaming.

At that moment, Asher flew into the open window and settled gracefully beside Hedwig, a folded letter tied gently to his left leg.

She leapt out of the chair, delighted.

"Oh, thank you, Asher!"

Dear Harry,

I'm so sorry you lost your mother. She sounds like a brilliant witch.

My mother was an exceptional witch, too. I lost her nearly six years ago. She was the light of our home — the bright, shining light.

Does it haunt me? I do think about her every day. And in that way she's never left me. I think something would be wrong with the world if it felt right without her. Love leaves impressions — deep, lasting impressions. The beauty of this world is in the cracks that love leaves behind. Like kintsugi — broken pieces of pottery, stitched together with threads of gold. So I suppose I'm glad that my mother's death still haunts me. She made me who I am, in death as much as in life.

And I think that's true for you, Harry. You are a gift that your Mother chose to give to the world. Her life, her love, her brilliance — they were hers to give. And she gave them to you. And in that way she gave you to the world. You can't take that away from her.

So much of what we are is what we do. And that act of sacrifice is as much a part of her as every smile captured in a photo, as every charm cast, as every kiss exchanged, as every letter written. Wishing that she hadn't laid down her life for yours is like wishing she were different.

Don't regret that beautiful act, Harry. Cherish it. Cherish the gift she's given you. Cherish the gift she's given the world.

I do.

Luna L.

PS - If you'll have me, I'll be yours, 'till Britain is bereft of ink and parchment.

She sent Hedwig, fully rested and eager to return home, with the freshly sealed letter.

Every word she'd written felt like an extension of herself. She'd never been this open with anyone. But at every turn she suppressed her instincts to mask, to distract, to run full speed away from pain. Because she loved this. She loved this day, she loved this feeling, she loved this conversation, she loved every ounce of potential she saw in this friendship.

But she hated waiting. She hated not knowing how Harry would feel about her words of comfort, her vulnerability, her flirtation.

God, it would be amazing to be with him. To see him and speak to him. To feel him.

At that moment, an idea occurred to Luna Lovegood that had her pacing to and fro, with furrowed brow and determined expression, for nearly two hours.

That's when Hedwig returned, announcing himself with melodic trill. Luna ran to the perch and nuzzled the snowy owl fondly.

"Hello, my dear Hedwig. Thank you so much for this."

She untied the note, broke the seal without sitting, and began reading immediately.

Dear Luna,

You're right. To take from her what she gave to me would be wrong. I just can't help but feel that all of the hope that the world has invested in me was due her. And that feels like yet another way I've hurt everyone who loves me.

Thank you.

Luna, no one has ever cared like this. I'm honestly terrified that this is all just a dream.

I'm so sorry you lost your mother. Tell me more about her.

I think sometimes that it's easier not to remember mine. But that's all shit, really, because it's built on the notion that pain of loss is worse than the joy of having. And I don't believe that.

Tell me about your mother, and about your father, and about your home, and about your interests, and about your thoughts. Introduce yourself to me, Luna Lovegood.

I wish you were here, Luna.

Harry P.

PS - This. Whatever this is, I don't want it to stop.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Harry strolled back to Number 4 Privet Drive, unhurried, reflecting on every moment of the last two hours. He carefully replayed every conversation, summoning his faculties to etch into his memory in fine detail every every second he'd spent with Luna.

She was perfect.

He smiled, reflecting on her light, melodic voice. Her words were piercing and profound and playful. He laughed, remembering her occasionally bizarre speculations about the world, about the influence of invisible forces, about wrackspurts and nargles and moon frogs and fairies. She was lovely, and she was so so kind.

His features stilled as he reflected on her shape, her piercing eyes, her full, enchanting lips. In his mind's eye, he could see the gentle slope of her neck as she spoke. He traced the graceful path of her clavicles, her delicate shoulders. He dwelt on the barely visible lift of her chest as she breathed, the movement of her fingers as she toyed with a loose strand of hair. He followed the shape of her dress, the fabric's tension around her breasts, the lines and shapes and what they might reveal. His pulse quickened. He considered her hips, the way her dress played with her form in the evening breeze. He remembered the soft curve of her thighs and the way she wiggled her toes when she was nervous.

In a word, he was absolutely taken by her. And he was blissfully happy.

Harry opened the door and made his way to the kitchen. He threw together a sandwich with some stale bread and a jar of peanut butter that the Durleys had left on a corner, next to a post-it note that read "Food." He made short work of the sandwich, quickly drank two glasses of water, and took the stairs two at a time.

Asher bobbed twice and gave a playful croak. He said hello, tickled his chin. Pulling pen, ink, and parchment from his trunk, and set to writing.

Luna,

This day began as one of my darkest, but it's ended so wonderfully.

Thank you for your visit. I'm sorry about the state of my room. I hope you don't think less of me. I don't remember ever liking it here, ever feeling comfortable in this place. But then you arrived. You've cast a charm on this stuffy room, Luna, and the memory of you has made it one of my favorite places.

I'm so sorry to have kept you up so late. I realized just now that Hedwig must have woken you around 3 this morning. When you mentioned the time, I felt awful. Yet I lose myself in our conversations, and that is something I cannot regret. I'll try to do better tomorrow.

Thank you for the invitation to visit tomorrow morning. I've been afraid that this —whatever this is —was just a dream. That you feel, like I do, that this might be the beginning of something beautiful, has taught my heart to hope .

I feel silly now. You'll have to excuse me, I haven't slept in a while, and I haven't slept well in ages.

Thank you for today. I'll treasure it forever.

Yours,

Harry Potter

PS - You looked absolutely stunning in that dress.

Twelve minutes after Harry had sealed his letter, tied it gently just above Asher's left talon, and sent him off with thanks, Hedwig arrived with a note from Luna.

Hedwig nipped Harry's ear affectionately as he gently stroked her feathers. After a treat and a bit of water, he untied the letter and threw himself upon his bed.

Dear Harry,

I've spent the last hour remembering every detail of this day. Thank you for sending me letters. Thank you for sharing your burdens. Thank you for patiently bearing my unexpected visit. Thank you for making me laugh and for holding my hand. You've made me so happy.

I've replayed our last moments a thousand times. I'm realizing now that I didn't give you any choice about visiting tomorrow. I suppose I should relieve you of that obligation, but I want to see you again so badly that I altogether refuse.

When I consider that we were merely acquaintances until early this morning, I'm terrified that we've been enchanted by some cruel and clever spellwork. And if that's what's happened, if this is all just a beautiful dream, I want you to know that I'd charm myself to sleep a thousand times to relive this day once more.

As I lay here writing these words, I suppose you're in your room, with quill and parchment, writing to me with Asher on your shoulder. And I can hardly imagine anything more perfect. Hardly. As for the few exceptions, my imagination will be busy with these until morning.

Yours,

Luna L.

PS - The river fairies are spectacular at dawn. Come to me quickly?

Chapter Text

Harry woke from a deep, dreamless sleep just before dawn. It was his first full night's rest since the graveyard, and he felt absolutely amazing.

He sat up, pivoted to the edge of his bed, and stretched. His face warmed to a broad smile, recalling the highlights of yesterday's visit, and Luna's final letter.
He stood, glanced out of his open window, inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. This was going to be a good day.

As he brushed his teeth and shaved, Harry stood naked, inspecting himself in the mirror. He was in decent shape, his features cut to definition by grueling stretches of training. He had hated the tournament, but desperate efforts to survive had their benefits. Aroused when he woke, he was still faintly swollen. He thought about Luna, what she might think of him, whether she'd be satisfied with his length. He blushed. He grimaced at a minor blemish on his chest. After a quick shower, he dug through his wardrobe to find his favorite tee and the least beaten pair of denim he could find. He attempted, to no avail, to tame his messy hair. He grabbed his wand, left a pile of treats for Hedwig, and set off.

Luna Lovegood woke slowly. She blinked awake around an hour before dawn. Almost immediately her features shifted, and with wide eyes she dug her face back into her pillows and giggled with infectious joy.
She had slept peacefully, her dreams a distant reflection on Harry's smile, Harry's embrace, Harry's fingers intertwined with hers.
Sitting up after a moment, Luna stretched her arms high in the air, yawning. She stood, greeted Asher warmly, and glanced out of the open window. She inhaled deeply, drawing in the fragrance of the lavender and rosemary bushes growing in the garden below.
Luna skipped her way to the wash room and ran a warm bath in her ceramic, claw-footed tub. As the water rose, she shed her nightgown and stood naked before her mirror.

Her skin was pale, her breasts were full and firm. She couldn't help but notice that they were smaller than some boys seemed to prefer, and she wondered whether Harry shared that preference. Her eyes reviewed the contours of her body. She ran her fingers from the back of her neck, traced the soft curve of her breasts, along the gentle slope of her hip. She trailed her fingers lightly over her flaxen mound, the intimate folds at her center. She imagined what this might feel like to Harry, whether it would excite him.

She smirked, rolled her eyes, and shook her yet, Luna Lovegood.

Singing soft melodies, Luna soaked for around twenty minutes, her toes wiggling cutely above the bubbles. She wrapped herself in a fresh towel, grabbed her favorite pair of skinny jeans, a scoop neck black tee, and put up her hair in a messy twist. She pocketed her wand, skipped down the spiral staircase, twisted around a potted orange tree, and made her way directly to the foot of an ancient ash tree.

Harry paced quickly toward the far hedge of the nearby primary school, waving a friendly hello to Mrs. Figg, who was out on a morning stroll.

A few minutes later, Harry arrived at the hedge, picked up the rusty tin can, and held it apprehensively to his face.

"Luna Lovegood"

Everything went sideways, he felt vaguely nauseous, and an uncomfortable twist behind his navel.

He appeared, just a moment later, at the foot of an ancient ash tree.

"Good morning, Harry Potter."

Luna Lovegood had been waiting for less than a minute when Harry appeared, an arm's length away, holding a rusty tin can, punctured, with a string of loose thread hanging from one end.

He was wearing a crimson red tee, lived-in but not oversized, and a pair of weathered dark blue jeans. After a moment to get his bearings, his eyes settled on Luna's and they both smiled, flushed.

"Hi Luna. How are you?" He said, a bit awkwardly. The intensity of the last 24 hours weren't lost on him.

Luna smiled. "I had pleasant dreams, and I slept so well. Thank you for asking, Harry. Now you must come quickly. It's nearly dawn and the river fairies are brilliant this season."

She led him by the hand to a brook running through the wood beyond the Lovegood home. A stone's throw beyond them, on the far side of the brook, a small grove of willow trees swayed gently in the morning breeze. Luna led Harry to a great oak that stood four paces from the water's edge, its broad branches stretching over the running water. Luna sat among the ancient roots, and with her wand conjured a leather bound sketchbook and a charcoal pencil.

"Wait. How? Did you just… Luna. Did you just do magic?!"

For a moment Luna looked confused, until her features snapped into comprehension and she smiled with kind eyes. "I've just realized that I haven't told you something that I think you'll love. And now I'm so excited. Here, on the Lovegood estate, you needn't worry about the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Actually, you needn't worry about any Ministry decrees. Our home is, more or less, ungoverned."

Harry brightened immediately, and wore an expression that managed to be entirely confused and overwhelmingly excited.

"Okay, wait. I don't understand."

Luna adopted her distant, melodic tone. "Our family is an ancient family, Harry. And theQuibblerhas been a part of it, in some form or another, as far back as family records go, because our family has always fostered a healthy distrust of personal ambition, and of its end, political power. Nine generations ago, when the Ministry of Magic was established in Britain, my eight-times-great-grandfather, Cadogan (I think it was Cadogan…) began to ward our property against nation-wide traces, unwelcome apparition, and any form of binding magic. And every generation since has carefully maintained those wards, and occasionally strengthened them. I have inherited the protective strength of nine generations of extraordinary witches and wizards. And so have you, as often as you're here with me."

It was so much better than Christmas. Harry pulled out his wand, pointed it at a nearby river stone, looked to Luna to make absolutely certain she wasn't pulling his leg, hesitated for a beat, and then whispered, "gemenio." A duplicate of the stone appeared from thin air. Then he paused, breath held and eyes scanning the horizon, and waited for the automated expulsion letter. It didn't come.

Luna nodded with an affirming smile, and Harry laughed out loud.

"Goodness, this is the best news! Thank you, Luna! You're brilliant, and your family's brilliant, and I never want to leave."

Luna smiled broadly. "Let's circle back on that idea later."

She grabbed his hand, threading her fingers between his, and pulled him to the ground beside her. She took his chin in her hand and playfully directed his face toward the brook. "Now watch."

At first Harry didn't see anything. He turned to Luna, who was sketching (masterfully, he noted) a nude figure of deep blue. He turned back to the brook and had nearly dismissed this creature to the realm of speculative magical theory when a pair of small iridescent auras became slowly visible to him. The lights flitted about, dancing on the surface of the water. Over the next twenty minutes, as he watched and listened, the auras slowly faded, and in their place he saw river fairies, every moment more tangible.

The river fairies were around three inches tall, and resembled adult humans — except that they were translucent, their color an ever-shifting gradient of deep blue, and their hair churning upward like the curling peak of a wave. They were playing, a male and a female, chasing one another and laughing, flitting here and there, dancing like the waters beneath them. They laughed, and the sound was like distant echoes of bells.

"God, they're beautiful." Harry whispered. Luna, not looking up, smirked.

There was something deeply magical about these creatures, and Harry found that, as he watched, he was being drawn in. Their figures, their play captured his attention altogether, and he found himself leaning toward them, a bit further every few minutes.

"They are fairies," Luna spoke into the silence, "so they live and play on two planes. If you don't avert your eyes occasionally, you'll be drawn to them, further and further, until you find yourself not in Britain, but in Faerie. And entering Faerie uninvited is a perilous decision."

Harry shifted his gaze back to Luna's sketchbook, breaking the spell of the fairies.

"We've just passed the summer solstice, and they're most active at dawn. This is the best time to observe their behavior."

She shifted her attention away from the sketch, set down her pencil, took Harry's hand, and watched in silence.

The male was chasing the female now, and she giggled as she flitted from river stone to river stone. He laughed playfully, leaping with flourish to catch her. Suddenly she turned, pivoting her delicate body toward her pursuer, with a mischievous smirk. His weight fell full into her form, and they leapt together, intertwined, the sounds of distant bells rang fuller. They rose, spinning in a graceful dance, and fell full into a water lily. She grabbed his waist, pulled him closer. His waist moved, back and forth, the rhythm of the waters rising into a swell. The song of the bells grew deeper, and she tensed, lifted her face in ecstasy, and trembled. The river fairies melted into one another, and disappeared under the surface.

As soon as the surface of the waters steadied, the enchantment broke.

Eyes wide, Luna looked away, blushing.

"The summer solstice is the peak of mating season for elemental fairies…"

Harry laughed, and then Luna laughed, and then she stood and grabbed his hand.

"Are you hungry, Harry Potter?"

Chapter Text

Luna Lovegood's house was absolutely brilliant.

From the brook, Luna led Harry up a slight incline, at the top of which was a perfectly round tower of brilliant white stone. Not as tall as a lighthouse, but nearly as narrow, it cast a long, thin shadow over the surrounding features. A round door, like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob squarely in the middle, was the sole entrance.

"It's like a rook," thought Harry, "from Wizard's chess."

Their fingers interlaced, Luna led him through the front door.

A narrow, spiral staircase ran the height of the tower, circling the diameter of the house at least four times. At the center of the tower was a wide expanse, a living area cluttered with mismatched sofas and threadbare chairs, pillars of perilously stacked books, piles of magical artifacts, a heap of derelict printing equipment, and a large, potted orange tree directly in the center of the room. The outer wall of the room was of the same brilliant white stone, a perfect circle interrupted by six ruby red, perfectly round doors leading to rooms whose outer wall was shared by the home's exterior. Floral designs, made of copper and threaded within the stone as if veins of ore, decorated the walls throughout.

The ceiling of the living area stretched to the uppermost roof of the tower. Those rooms which weren't accessible from the first floor were staggered, not traditionally located on a second, third, or fourth floor, but directly connected to the spiral staircase itself at random intervals. At least twenty ruby red, round doors were scattered along the spiral staircase, each marked with a rune engraved in gold above the door's knob.

Perhaps the most striking feature of the house was a large symbol, seeming to rise from within the rock, just above the front door. It was a triangle with three sides of equal length. Within the triangle, a circle touched each side. Directly down the center of both, splitting the symbol in halves, was a straight, solid line.

Luna halted, took a deep breath, and smiled proudly. "This is my home. It's been in my family for fourteen generations."

When Harry was first introduced to the Burrow, the Weasley's home, he was wholly impressed. As pots washed themselves, as spoons stirred stews in midair,

he was certain he'd never encounter any place more magical. Yet the Lovegood House radiated magic in a way that Harry had never experienced.

Though there were no windows that Harry could see, yet the tower was gently illuminated with a pleasant, warm light. He noticed the floral designs threaded within the walls were shifting, like vines growing slowly on a trellis. He watched, on a nearby side table, as a quill carefully annotating a charcoal sketch of a bowtruckle. And as soon as he entered the home, he felt totally, overwhelmingly safe.

"It's beautiful, Luna. Wonderful."

She squeezed his hand, smiled, and let him through the second door to the left. It was a kitchen, with a small pantry and informal dining room.

"Have you had breakfast?" She asked.

"No, actually," he replied. "I'm famished. How can I help?"

Harry and Luna worked together, frying mushrooms and eggs, toast, sausages and tomatoes. She laughed as he reached around her for the salt, grabbing her waist and whispering playfully in her ear. He melted as she leaned into his side, kissed his cheek.

They sat and ate quietly together, and everything was right in the world.

"Tell me about fairies, Luna," Harry asked, after his last bite, "and why they've never come up in any coursework."

Luna adopted a distant expression, and through the window gazed at the ancient ash tree with a distant expression. "The existence of fairies, I'm afraid, is rarely acknowledged among magical communities, so the discussion of their nature and activities is taboo. Magic, Harry Potter, has always dwelt in the hearts of men — and not just witches and wizards — humanity has always harbored a magical core. The best magical theorists know this, that we in the wizarding world are not alone. Our magic is a type of magic — powerful, yes, but not unique."

She frowned, slightly shook her head. "You see, in our case magic can be dangerous. Untouched, the magical core of witches and wizards grows restless, and without appropriate expression will lash out in violent passion. It is said that, many years ago, the great Fairies gave the first witches and wizards the tools to appropriately express their magic. Wands, the seeds of spellcraft, were not the clever craftwork of men, but the gracious gift of Fairie. Yet in their histories, their books, their schools, the wizarding world quickly forgot the world of Fairie. And the great Fairies, being a proud race, turned away from this plane."

Harry stood to grab their plates, began to wash up. "But the fairies we saw this morning (they were amazing, by the way) were there, they were clearly right there. I don't understand how their existence could be flatly denied."

Luna stood, wiped down the table, set a kettle on.

"They allowed you to see them, Harry. The lesser fairies are bashful. They are innocent creatures, and they desire to be praised. River fairies, actually, are among the most social of the lesser fairy races. You saw them because they saw you, and they understood that you'd find them beautiful. Did you see them immediately, Harry?"

"No, actually." Harry began drying the dishes he'd washed. "It took a moment. And initially I only saw lights, like auras or something. It took twenty minutes to see them clearly."

"Remarkable." Luna smiled, her melodic voice intoxicating. "They must really like you. I didn't see their true form clearly for three visits." She paused, blushed. "I understand why they might like you."

Harry finished drying, turned. "Thank you, Luna, for breakfast. It was delicious."

Luna bit her lip, laced her fingers through his. "Come, Harry Potter, I want to show you around."

Luna and Harry exited the kitchen, and she led him to the nearest ruby red door.

"This is my daddy's study. It houses the Quibbler's printing press."

Xenophilius Lovegood's office was lined on every side with shelves, haphazardly stacked with books, magical trinkets, and stacks of yellowing papers. A desk made of dark red wood sat in the far left corner, upon which sat a typewriter, a half dozen inkwells of various sizes and colors, a quill, a ream of paper and a stack of parchment.

Toward the far right of the room sat two leather mid-century sofas. Between them, a side table upon which sat framed sketches of a variety of mythical creatures. Judging by this morning's observations, these seemed to be Luna's work, and of the finest quality.

The room was dominated, however, by a large, squat table, upon which sat an enormous printing press. The mechanism was complex. A large lever handle jutted from the far right side, and at its center were countless rows of iron letter tiles. It showed no evidence of magical improvement.

Luna let go of Harry's hand and stepped to the far side of the table. "Do you want to see how it works?"

She shifted her weight lower, and lifted the heavy right-hand lever until the top of the machine pivoted open and lay flat beside the bottom. She reached to her right and grabbed a handful of cast-iron letters, and she stretched her lean body over the far side of the table to carefully arrange the letters in one of the many iron rows.

As she did this, her cotton, scoop neck tee shifted subtly with her movement, falling open just enough to reveal the soft curve of her full, firm breasts. The black lace of her bra was just visible beneath.

Harry's lips parted, his jaw dropped slowly, and his breathing shifted. His pulse quickened, and with wide eyes he drank her in.

"The large letters are for headlines, and these—" She halted, looking up and suddenly recognized that the nature of the situation had changed.

Harry blinked suddenly, flushed, quickly turned his face away. "I'm sorry, Luna. I—"

"No." She paused. "It's okay… I like the way you look at me, Harry." She said, slowly and softly.

Harry turned back. She hadn't moved. Her eyes gazed piercingly into his own. His eyes traced her lips, her jaw. He couldn't help but glance again at the gentle slopes of her chest. She shifted a bit further, and the tee fell open a touch more. Her expression relaxed distinctly. Her lips parted, her breathing changed. After a moment, she bit her lip, flirtatiously smirked.

"Shall I show you the rest of the house, Harry Potter?"

Chapter Text

Luna Lovegood, stretching over the far side of the squat table upon which the Quibbler's printing press sat, slid four cast iron tiles into the headline row of the forthcoming issue.

"The large letters are for headlines, and these —" She looked up, paused, and noticed that Harry's expression had changed dramatically. His jaw had dropped slightly, his eyes wide, pupils dilated.

She recognized at that moment that Harry could see her chest, the curve of her breasts. The thin laces of her bra. Time slowed as she watched him enjoy her.

He blinked, flushed, and turned his face away. "I'm Sorry, Luna. I—"

"No." She interrupted him, because she didn't want him to stop. Melodically, softly, she whispered. "It's okay… I like the way you look at me, Harry."

She waited, her pulse quickening. She wanted his attention, longed for that captivated gaze to return to her body. He turned, caught her gaze. Her heart leapt as Harry's green eyes met her own. She watched. She waited.

His eyes traced her lips, her jaw.

Her heart raced. Her lips parted. She breathed, slowly. She felt a shiver run up her spine, and then a slow, pleasant tension in her chest, her lower body.

His gaze fell to her breasts. She shifted to the left, just slightly, to give him a broader glimpse. He exhaled slowly.

She bit her lip, smirked. "Shall I show you the rest of the house, Harry Potter?"

Luna closed the printing press, took Harry's hand into her own, and led him out of the study to the adjacent room. It was a large library, whose walls were covered floor to ceiling in shelves bearing leather tomes of every size, shape, and color. At the center of the room sat a single worn leather chair, and a side table upon which sat a large magnifying glass, and a lamp of emerald green glass. A long, narrow window stretched the length of the far wall.

Unlike the rest of the home, the room was empty of clutter.

"This is where my daddy reads. He prefers to read in silence, and alone. I have my own library upstairs, and it's much more comfortable."

Next to the library was a potions lab. Harry hadn't ever enjoyed potions, likely because it was so closely associated with Snape, but he couldn't contain his curiosity.

Like the library and the study, the nearest wall was lined with shelves, but in this case the shelves were tightly arranged, bearing thousands of magical ingredients. Small plaques of etched copper identified each item. Within the room, seven tables were evenly placed throughout, each bearing a cauldron. Five of these were lit, nurturing potions in various states of preparation. Directly in the center of the wall to his far right was a thin, rectangular door.

"This is our potions lab. My father is a Potions Master. As our family has never charged a fee for copies of the Quibbler, the sale of potions represents the bulk of his income."

Luna led him through the thin door into a greenhouse, the last room on the first floor of the tower. The room was humid, and the stone walls had been magically altered to translucence, allowing a healthy bath of natural light to fall on what must have been fifty large pots, anchored to the stone ceiling, bearing magical plants at various heights. The room was full of movement, as clippers of various sizes hovered about the room, and as a watering can tipped itself here and there.

Luna continued the tour in her distant, melodic voice. "Many of the ingredients necessary for daddy's potions are grown here. He also sells ingredients directly. Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore are among his most frequent customers."

They exited the greenhouse through the front, ruby red round door, and Harry found they were at the foot of the great spiral staircase that circled the diameter of the tower. Luna trailed her hand behind her, grasping Harry's fingers loosely as she led him up the stairs.

"The Lovegood House was once home to three generations simultaneously, so many of these rooms are now guestrooms." She stopped at what may have been the fifth or sixth door. "Here we are. I think you'll like this one, Harry."

Luna ran her right index finger over the golden rune above the center knob, then opened the door. Harry entered a large expanse, so wide that he supposed it actually wrapped around the full diameter of the tower like a broad hall. A long weapons rack was affixed to the near wall, next to which hung protective headgear and vests. A narrow window punctuated the far wall about every three meters. Between these windows were hung framed sketches of dark magical creatures, annotated to indicate vulnerabilities. In the center of the room, at twenty meter intervals, suits of armor stood upon which were painted red targets.

"This floor is dedicated to Defense Against the Dark Arts. The violence of dark witches and wizards often gravitates toward my family, and has for many generations. It is a Lovegood tradition to prioritize the mastery of defensive spells at a young age, and to encourage a development of offensive spellcraft as well. The room is enchanted to dampen the strength of offensive spells, so that even a powerful spell, successfully landed, won't cause physical harm. The weapons, likewise, won't pierce skin or break bones. It's really a lovely training environment."

Harry was elated. "Luna, I could kiss you."

She blushed. Harry smirked, bashful, turned away. "It really is brilliant! And the ministry's magical restrictions are warded here, right? So you can spend your summers strengthening your spell work. Unbelievable."

Luna smiled, and then sighed distantly. "I often wonder whether dark wizards would have so much success if defense were more highly prioritized. My Defense Against the Dark Arts classes have been spotty at best since I arrived at Hogwarts."

"Mine, too." Harry nodded, surveying the room. "You know, I'd love to spar with you, Luna. If you've grown up developing these skills, I could learn a lot."

They spend the remainder of the morning dodging and casting. They first alternated betweenprotegoandrictusempra— the tickling charm. Luna and Harry both landed the spells twice, giggling hysterically. They shifted their attention toexpelliarmus, noon they were exhausted.

Luna's final "stupefy" landed perfectly, lightly stunning Harry. She pocketed her wand, closed the gap between him, and offered him her hand with a flirtatious smirk.

"Nicely done!" And he meant it. He'd never enjoyed training so much in his life, and Luna was truly impressive. She cast a spell to reset the room. He watched a bead of sweat trickle slowly down her neck from just behind her ear, and something inside him stirred.

God, she was amazing.

Luna turned, noticed his attention, winked flirtatiously. "Hungry?"

They shared a light meal, chunks of crusty bread with a variety of cheeses, some fruit and olives, and cool glasses of lemonade. Between bites, Luna asked Harry questions about Gryffindor House, and about his friends.

"It feels like an extended family, really." Harry looked off, reflective. "There are some students I don't know all that well. Neville's brilliant. Ginny's quiet but fierce. Dean and Seamus are rowdy. Good for a laugh, but I wouldn't consider them close friends. Fred and George are a bit like older brothers, I suppose. Ron is my best mate, or at least it's always felt that way. He's like a twin, I guess. We drive eachother nuts sometimes, and I think we're slowly growing apart, but it seems he'll always feel like a brother."

"And…" Luna hesitated, "...what about Hermoine?"

Hermoine had been on Luna's mind. It was clear that Harry and she were close. And as her feelings for Harry rapidly developed, Luna couldn't help but fear that Harry's affection for Hermoine transcended friendship.

"Hermoine is a lot like Ron, really. We spend a lot of time together. But we're at odds frequently, and she's a bit bossy. But she's been there for me countless times, and I'll always care about her." Harry looked up, held her gaze for a moment. "She's like a sister to me."

Luna nodded, attempting to mask the relief she felt.

"They seem nice. And I'm glad you have them. It's cruel, what you've been through. I can't imagine facing such cruelty alone."

Harry stood, began to wash up. "I've never felt less alone." Harry replied, almost in passing.

Luna paused, struck by the significance of those words.

"What about Ravenclaw?" Harry asked, still scrubbing. "Aside from the pranks, have you enjoyed the community?"

"Most of my housemates are polite, though I wouldn't consider them friends. I can see that I make them uncomfortable." Luna replied, matter of factly. "Witches and wizards aren't terribly fond of what they don't understand."

She reflected melodically, frowned. "And I think that's sad, really, because the most brilliant and powerful magic is rooted outside of the boundaries of our everyday experience. I think I make them uncomfortable because I want to find that magic." She paused, shifted. "The Hufflepuff common room, though, is quite nice."

Wiping the table, she added, "There's a pocket, in the northernmost corner, that's been cleverly charmed to remain a sound vacuum. There's really no place in the castle like it, and it's perfect for meditation."

Luna turned, smiled broadly. "Come, Harry Potter, I want to show you my library."

She laced her fingers through his and led him to what must have been the tenth door on the spiral staircase. The ruby red door opened to a vast library, twice as broad at least as the one below. Rather than traditional shelving, throughout Luna's library floated rows of shelves, a variety of lengths, some holding perhaps two or three hundred volumes each, others twenty or thirty. They floated mid-air around shoulder height, drifting. Shifting shapes of magical creatures, like copper ore threaded within the stone itself, animated the walls. Hundreds of distinctly shaped and sized shadow boxes seemed to grow directly from the rock, containing magical artifacts, cunningly crafted tools, and other mysterious objects.

At the center of the room was a vast, overstuffed green sofa, upon which at least thirty pillows were thrown. Three soft, gray blankets were lightly tossed about the couch. A long, narrow table stood before the sitting area. There had to be at least one hundred lit candlesticks in the room, sat upon every surface, casting a pleasant warm light in every corner.

"Would you like to read with me, Harry Potter?"

She grinned broadly, bursting with pride. "Here's how it works. The library sorts itself topically. And as it senses what you're thinking about, it makes recommendations accordingly."

She pulled him with her to stand in front of the long sofa.

"For instance." She paused for a moment, reflected distantly. Just then, three shelves, each holding about sixty volumes, drifted from various locations in the library to stack directly in front of them. The first row hovered about waist height, the second around their shoulders, and the third just above their heads.

Luna grabbed a volume entitled,"Reflections on River Fairies"and from the first shelf,"Speculations on the Fairie Plane"from the second shelf.

The volumes on the third shelf, though, were just out of her reach. When a title caught her eye, she stretched her lean form to grab it, standing on her toes. Suddenly Harry noticed her body. His gaze traced her adorable toes, the subtle lift of her calves, the soft curves of her thighs, the tight swell of her bottom. Just above her jean's waistline, her tee lifted to reveal the soft contours of her hips.

Just then, a fourth shelf arrived, directly in front of Harry, holding around twenty volumes. Confused, he scanned the titles

"Beauty and the Feminine Form"

"Sexual Intimacy: A Beginner's Guide"

"Sensual Touch: The Ecstacy of Exploration"

Harry blinked, suddenly comprehending, flushed. "Uh, I don't… I mean, I'm not sure that…" He scratched the back of his head and tried desperately to stop thinking.

Luna, blushing wildly, rolled her eyes playfully, sat down on the overstuffed couch, and patted the seat just beside her.

Harry smirked, utterly embarrassed. "Maybe I can read one of your books?"

Chapter Text

Harry woke around mid-afternoon, stirring slowly into consciousness as long shelves drifted midair nearby. Luna had fallen asleep, tucked comfortably under his left arm, head laid back against his chest, her book open on her thighs. His arm was wrapped around her, palm laid gently on her abdomen, fingers draped loosely over the clasp of her jeans. Harry couldn't remember feeling this comfortable.

He pulled her closer, gently kissed the top of her head. At this she stirred also, waking slowly with a soft yawn. She smiled, set asideSpeculations on the Fairie Plane, and turned her body into his. Digging her face into his chest, she wrapped her arm around his waist. She spoke softly.

"I really like you, Harry Potter."

After leaving the library, Luna led Harry back down the stairs, out of the house, and to the kitchen.

"I want to show you something else, but first we'll need at least a dozen blueberries and a handful of bottle caps."

Harry laughed at this, stated so matter-of-factly without the slightest explanation.

She led him to the ancient ash tree at the foot of which lay the tin can threaded with string, and immediately began climbing, skillfully shifting her weight from branch to branch.

He followed her, trying to mimic her patterns of movement, steadying himself on each sturdy bough. As she neared the highest branches, Luna slowed, pivoted to swing her legs loosely, and patted the branch upon which she sat.

"Just above us dwells a wood fairy community." Her distant, melodic voice reflecting humble appreciation. "Wood fairies are the most bashful of the lesser fairy races. They've allowed me to climb higher than this, but that was after a summer's peace offerings. They don't know you, Harry Potter, so you may see nothing this afternoon. But we're leaving a sizable heap of their favorite things, so perhaps you'll at least be granted an impression of their aura."

Harry smiled. "So where do I leave this offering?"

She guided his hand to the branch just above them. There was a smooth, ornately floral bowl growing out of the branch toward the trunk of the ash. In the bowl, in two distinct piles, Harry left twelve ripe blueberries and seven loose bottlecaps.

And then they waited. Again, Luna conjured a leather bound sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. What she saw, Harry couldn't see, but he gazed nonetheless at the branches above them. Occasionally he turned, and glanced at Luna's work.

After an hour, Harry began to perceive not a luminescent aura, as with the River Fairies this morning, but what can only be described as an absence. Tiny folds in the visible plane, like light briefly collapsed upon itself. At the center of these folds, the truest green emanated. These folds didn't flit about, as the river fairies had, but slowly navigated in weightless circles the broad boughs of the ash tree.

Luna had cast a light cooling charm on the surrounding area, but warned that any dramatic shifts in temperature would disturb the village. So it was still hot, and despite her efforts they were both sweating.

Harry shifted his attention to Luna as she sketched. Her damp tee clung closely to her chest. He traced the outline of her lace bra, the textures beneath. A tiny bead of sweat trickled down her brow, and she lifted the hem of her tee to wipe it away. The contours of her lean torso were visible for just a moment. Harry stirred, exhaled slowly, shifted his gaze to her lips for just a moment, and then back to the branch above.

After another half hour, Harry could just begin to see the distant outlines, in another fifteen minutes he noticed the shapes of leaves covering their otherwise nude bodies. He began to feel the pull of enchantment, as their form became ever more tangible.

"Do you see them?" Luna whispered curiously.

"I see small figures, nude but covered here and there with small leaves. I've never seen a green so deep." He replied, awestruck.

She laid down her pencil, studied him."Remarkable."

"How are they — I mean, it doesn't appear that they're walking. But they aren't flying either…"

"They navigate the branches of their trees on delicate vines which extend magically from their auras. It's quite beautiful to watch. It was the last thing I saw, after they introduced themselves."

Harry turned his face to her, breaking the enchantment. "You speak about them as if they're aware of us, relating to us in ways that seem so intentional. Are they clever?"

"The elemental fairies are the cleverest of the lesser fairy races, in my experience. They are quite social, not only among their own communities. They know, it seems, as soon as they're sought. And they give permission, in some cases, to be seen. Seeing a fairy, or the impression of a fairy on this plane, is like an invitation."

Harry reflected for a moment, returning his gaze to the wood fairy village.

"Why do you spend so much time with them? I mean, they're beautiful, but it seems like you've spent as much time reading about them as you've spent observing their communities."

Luna shifted her gaze from her sketch to the community above them. "I think we lost something, Harry Potter, when we stepped away from the great fairies. We were lost, those many generations ago, and our magic was killing us. And something they did, something they gave us, made it right again."

At this, she turned her distant gaze to Harry, and looked at him with a rare intensity.

"Does it strike you as odd, Harry, that magical communities have been plagued by darkness from the moment we refused to acknowledge the ancient and lost magic ofFairie. And right here, right now, the fate of the Wizarding world hinges on the dark magic of Voldemort. What if the answer lies here?" She pointed to her finished charcoal sketch of a wood fairy.

Harry nodded slowly, considering. "You said something this morning — something I didn't understand at the time. You said, 'To enterFairieuninvited is a perilous decision.'"

"No witch or wizard has ever returned who has entered Fairie uninvited, Harry Potter." She replied. "Yet what if we were granted an invitation?"

Harry smiled with kind eyes. "You're fascinating, Luna Lovegood."

At this, she pivoted her body towards his, her thighs straddling the broad branch upon which they sat. She leaned forward, chest out, her elbows straight and palms pressed flat against the branch between them. Her shoulder shrugged, arms gently pressing her breasts together, accentuating the soft curves of her chest.

She bit her lip, looked at Harry with vulnerable eyes. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

After an uncomfortable tug behind his navel, Harry Potter appeared beside the far hedge of a primary school two blocks from the Dursley's home, holding a tin can threaded with loose string. After taking a moment to get his bearings, he set off, strolling leisurely through Little Whinging, enjoying the evening breeze and reflecting on the last sixteen hours.

Luna Lovegood was absolutely perfect. He thought about her smile, the sense of mystery behind her melodic speculations. He thought about her charcoal sketches, the bead of sweat that trickled down her neck. He thought about the way she stretched her lean body over the printing press, how her face shifted as he returned her gaze to the soft curves of her chest. He thought about the tight swell of her bottom in those jeans, her thighs wrapped around his waist. He thought about her lips, her tongue, her longing sighs and the intimate rhythm of her movement as they kissed.

She was fascinating in every conceivable way. And he was completely taken with her.

Harry fought to contain what must have been a ridiculously broad grin as he turned the knob to the front door of No. 4 Privet Drive.

Just to Harry's left, Albus Dumbledore sat in a oversized crimson wingback conjured squarely in the center of the Dursley's living room, wearing a deep purple robe with thin, bright orange pinstripes, casting an expression of weighty concern through the rising steam of a hot cup of tea.

"Good evening, Harry Potter."

Harry, expecting an empty home, leapt back violently, shouted and nearly wet himself.

Dumbledore's expression shifted immediately, and stumbling to quickly conjure a side table upon which to set his tea, he leapt to his feet. "Of course. I'm terribly sorry, Harry. I expect my presence was unanticipated." He gathered himself, taking a breath. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

The headmaster immediately conjured a slightly smaller crimson wingback, opposite his, a second side table, and a steaming cup of fragrant lavender tea. Luna came to mind, piercing a storm of questions and a general sense of confusion.

The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, seated on an oversized crimson wingback, sipping lavender tea in the midst of the Dursley's family room, surrounded by plastic wrapped sofa covers, struck Harry as surreal on a level he hadn't yet encountered.

"Thank you, Professor. I… uh… I don't mean to be rude, but why…"

Dumbledore nodded his head differentially. "Ah. Why am I here, right now, in your home at nearly midnight? A valid question." He paused, shifted his eyes to the far corner of the room. "The answer? I'm here because we have much to discuss. And because, I'm afraid, I owe you a sincere apology."

Harry, not any less confused, made his way, disheveled, to the nearest wingback chair. He took a seat, and his tea in hand.

The headmaster conjured a small, emerald green glass bowl full of small, yellow candies. "Would you like a lemon drop?"

Harry shook his head politely.

Dumbledore smiled, a gravity behind his aged eyes. He sat again, continued. "It's difficult to know where to start, Harry, so I hope you'll bear with me. Perhaps the most direct route is to begin at the beginning. I am here, at your home at midnight, because nearly 17 years ago I cast a powerful trace on your still recovering infant body. It was, if I may say so, a nimble bit of magic. With this trace, I have since been able to monitor your location from anywhere in the world, and to ensure at a glance that you were alive."

He hesitated. "I suppose your first questions may relate to privacy. Suffice it to say that, in those dark days, I had every reason to suppose you were in danger, and facilitating a knowledge of your whereabouts was one of the tools I employed to keep you safe. Yet it occurs to me now that keeping such a trace active without your knowledge is a trespass perhaps inexcusable."

Dumbledore set down his tea, looked at Harry directly. "The trace I cast, as I mentioned, was quite powerful. And it has failed only on two occasions since your infancy. For nearly an hour, the night you were sent by portkey to the graveyard of Tom Riddle's father. And today, from around 6:30 am until ten minutes ago."

He paused, shifted his gaze away. "Only the magic of a powerful wizard can ward against the trace I cast that day, Harry. And this morning, I feared you were lost to us."

At this, Dumbledore sipped his tea, kindly smiled. "I see that I was wrong. I have questions for you about your departure. Before I ask them, I'm afraid, I have much more to confess."

Albus Dumbledore adjusted his crescent moon spectacles. "Are you familiar, Harry, with forensic magic?"

Harry shook his head, utterly lost.

He nodded. "You are aware, of course, of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The DMLE houses the Auror office. Aurors, in a word, fight dark magic. They find and apprehend dark witches and wizards, and they assist in providing evidence against them. And for many centuries the evidence to convict dark witches and wizards was limited to eye witness accounts. The nefarious influence of intimidation, imperious curses, and the sheer terror of testifying against a great wizard undermined the efficacy of such evidence. Within the last three generations, however, clever spellwork has facilitated the investigation of crime scenes for evidence left behind. We've found a way for the past to speak to the present."

The gravity behind his eyes loomed larger, and his brow furrowed.

"You see, Harry, darkness leaves scars. On places, as well as on people. Over time, clever witches and wizards learned how to find the scars left behind by darkness, and how to trace those scars to the criminal act that left them. We call these spells Forensic Magic, and many of Voldemort's closest associates were convicted on the basis of the evidence gleaned from spells like these."

He paused, troubled.

"Around 7:45 this morning I learned of your sudden disappearance. Naturally, I apparated to Little Whinging immediately, and within moments stood in this very room, desperate to discover evidence of the dark magic which took you. I cast the most powerful and comprehensive of forensic spells, expecting to find recent signs of struggle, dark curses cast by dark wizards. That isn't what I found."

At this, Harry began to understand, and looked away. Dumbledore's voice caught, and he summoned the courage to continue despite himself.

"Instead, I found over a decade of neglect, child endangerment, and abuse. I found harsh emotional manipulation, forced labor, and punitive malnutrition. And with open eyes I looked around this home and I saw what I should have seen many years ago, Harry."

Tears were welling in Albus Dumbledore's aged eyes. And he trembled.

"I am responsible for leaving you here. I have failed you, my dear boy. My blind eyes have facilitated more than a decade of darkness, and there is nothing I can say or do to atone for those sins."

Small pools of tears cast a shadow over Harry's green eyes. He was stunned, overwhelmed by a profound sense of relief that was muddied by a notion of looming fear, and overwhelming shame, all threaded throughout with heartfelt affection. He began to speak, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"If my too distant observations of your character ring true, your instinct at this moment will be to comfort me in my distress, to relieve the burden of guilt which I carry at this moment. And I will ask you, my dear boy, to refrain from that course of action. I am, by many accounts, among the most powerful wizards of my generation, and have been entrusted with matters of true, lasting importance. I count your life, Harry, as the chief among them. So if I may, I'd like to take the first step in making it right."

"I have something to show you, Harry."

Dumbledore stood, invited Harry outside, and banished the chairs, side tables and tea.

They stood just outside the white picket fence and latched gate of No. 4, Privet Drive. "Early this morning, I soon realized that your disappearance was not a consequence of dark or violent magic, so I called upon your neighbor, Ms. Figg."

"Ms. Figg? The cat lady?" The idea didn't fit squarely within Harry's mental categories.

Dumbledore nodded, smiling. "I suppose she does have many cats. Yes, Harry. I'm afraid you may grow tired of my apologies before the night's past. Ms. Figg is a squib, the non-magical descendant of a magical family. After your parents died, we needed help — someone nearby from the wizarding world to keep close watch on you as you grew up under the care of a muggle family. Ms. Figg volunteered, those many years ago, to relocate to Little Whinging."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Alas, the presence of Ms. Figg fostered a false sense of awareness. For she did not see, perhaps she could not see, the true nature of your harsh and abusive upbringing. Yet her proximity and an unhealthy set of assumptions on my part facilitated an unfounded confidence that you were safe."

He paused, returned his gaze to Harry. "Perhaps it has occurred to you that her presence may have afforded countless opportunities to facilitate some understanding of your past, some sense of magical community to combat your harsh isolation. Again, Harry, I offer my sincere apologies. My distance, and the consequences of that distance, is, I'm afraid, unforgivable."

He took a deep breath, continued. "As I mentioned, I called upon Ms. Figg to inquire whether any recent activity might shed light on your absence. She mentioned that, just yesterday, you were visited by the young Miss Luna Lovegood. Counting Xenophilius Lovegood among my close associates, I am aware that the Lovegood property is protected by some of the most powerful wards I've encountered in my many years, wards which render the Ministry's efforts at observation obsolete. Suddenly it became clear to me that your situation wasn't perilous."

Dumbledore looked down at Harry with a playful smile. "From that moment, I set to work rectifying, as much as possible, the damage I've done."

He handed him a narrow slip of yellowed parchment.

"Read it, Harry. Not out loud."

Harry unfolded the slip of paper, and his eyes scanned the following words:

The home of Harry Potter may be found at No. 4 , Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore handed Harry a narrow slip of yellowed parchment.

"Read it, Harry. Not out loud."

Harry glanced down at the parchment, utterly confused.

The home of Harry Potter may be found at No. 4 , Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

At first nothing happened. Harry looked around, glanced once more at the note, and then back at Dumbledore.

Suddenly the ground beneath them shifted. A deep, trembling rumble of concrete scraping against stone thundered. Directly in front of them the pavement expanded, interval adding upon interval as if unfolding from thin air. As the street slowly emerged, a house seemed to grow out of the left side of Dursley's home, like a reflection in still water. It was of identical construction structurally, but the presentation of the home had shifted dramatically. The front door was no longer a uniform rectangle, but arched, crafted from a single cut of dark stained wood, etched cunningly in an ancient floral style, with a seamless porthole just above shoulder height. The windows were wider and taller, and the exterior brick was painted white. The house was lined not with a picket fence, but with a waist-high hedge of the deepest green. And the path toward the front door wasn't concrete pavement, but a charcoal gray stone walkway.

Dumbledore wore a satisfied smile. "This is No. 4 , Privet Drive. Welcome to your new home, Harry."

Harry was dumbstruck, his feet rooted to the ground beneath him as the headmaster took a step toward the front door of the home that had, just a moment before, appeared out of nowhere.

Dumbledore looked back, recognized this immediately, and stopped mid-stride to explain.

"Ah." He wore a patient, affectionate smile. "I see you're confused. Let me explain."

Dumbledore settled himself, gathering his thoughts. "As soon as I was aware of the nature of your living situation, I began to explore alternative accommodations. You needed a home, Harry — a safe place — because you've never had one. And yet, at that moment, I was faced with a dilemma."

He paused, his furrowed brow exuding compassion and a distant sense of loss. "You see, your mother, quite a clever and powerful witch in her own right, cast a number of powerful wards on No. 4 Privet Drive. Her sister and she were estranged, but she was aware of Voldemort's vindictive hate, and she loved her sister despite her prejudices."

"And you're also aware of the remarkably powerful blood ward which your mother cast by sacrificing herself on your behalf? Well, Harry, upon the sacrificial death of your mother and your subsequent placement at No. 4 Privet Drive, these wards merged in some sense, each becoming a more powerful version of themselves."

He shifted his gaze toward the Dursley's home. "You are safer here than anywhere in the world, because of the brilliant magic of your mother. And I couldn't let that go."

"You see, perhaps, the difficulty of the situation. I was forced to consider an avenue by which the extraordinarily powerful wards maintained a shield of protection around you, and yet I couldn't for a moment allow you to return to those horrid people."

At this, his expression brightened. "The home which lies before you is, if I may say so, quite a clever series of answers to those difficult questions. No. 4 Privet Drive is, in many ways, like a magical extension of your Aunt and Uncle's home. It exists in a pocket, folded within the far edge of their property. Its structure is indeed a mirrored duplicate of their own. And because of this, unless I'm terribly mistaken, the protective wards placed over their home will be maintained over yours until the day you come of age. It's also protected by a Fidelius Charm — a complex and very powerful spell which will maintain the absolute secrecy of your home and render it impenetrably invisible except to those few to whom you choose to reveal it."

Dumbledore crossed his arms and smiled. "And I think you'll find it quite a bit more comfortable. Shall we?"

Harry's expression remained one of blank, dumbstruck unbelief. He stared, wide-eyed, at the brick home before him, repressing the recurring instinct that he had fallen asleep and was dreaming, imagining a series of the most perfect vignettes.

Dumbledore led him to the front door, twisted the knob, and beckoned him in.

No. 4 Privet Drive cast the distinct impression of warmth, from the moment Harry entered the home. Instead of the Dursleys' shaggy beige carpet, this home was covered in a dark, stained wood flooring. Just beyond the threshold, a rich, colorful rug stood before the entryway. Beside him, a copper coat rack stood in the corner just beside the door.

To his left, a broad living space was filled with an overstuffed, crimson red sofa, and two leather wingback chairs, each with a velvet padded footstool. Side tables of a variety of heights and sizes were available beside each seat. At the center of the far wall, a large stone fireplace dominated the room.

Covering the mantle and side tables were dozens of photos of Harry's mother and father. In some, they were doting on their infant son. In some they were standing happily beside Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. In others they were celebrating with a broader group including Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore himself.

A large gold rug covered the center of the room, woven intricately with crimson red patterns of lions surrounding a large Gryffindor house crest.

Dumbledore, leading Harry through the room, paused briefly.

"At my request, Sirius gathered the photos of your mother and father, their infant son, and their dearest friends, and you'll find these arranged throughout your house. Also, the chimney is connected to the floo network. You'll find you've been granted exclusive access to the Gryffindor common room, as well as No. 12 Grimmauld Place — your godfather's home. I've made a formal exception to our student housing policies to afford you perpetual access to your home throughout your remaining years at Hogwarts School. You'll see why in just a moment."

They continue through the living area to what would have been the kitchen. In its place was a small potions lab, equipped with two cauldrons, sitting on either side of a broad working table for the preparation of ingredients.

Along the wall, a meticulously arranged inventory of potions ingredients was stored in floor-to-ceiling shelving. On the opposite wall, a wall-to-wall, waist-high shelf housed potions texts of every type, arranged topically by application.

"I understand that potions is not your preferred subject, Harry, but you'll find ready access to a potions lab a priceless convenience in the coming years, I'm sure."

The Dursley's small, circular table, at which Harry rarely fit comfortably after the others sat, was replaced by a broad, rectangular table that sat at least a dozen, with benches rather than chairs on either side. The table and benches appeared to be crafted to mimic in miniature the dining room of the great hall.

Above the table, at least forty candlesticks hung mid-air, magically sustained and casting a warm light throughout the room. Again, the walls were colored with a small gallery of moving photos of Harry's parents and their closest friends.

"As you'll be staying here alone, Harry, I've arranged for the house elves of Hogwarts School to provide your meals. They were exceptionally thrilled to have the privilege of serving Harry Potter. Additionally, as soon as Dobby was told of your new living arrangement, he insisted on transferring his service permanently from the institution to care for you directly. He is, as you know, a free elf, and it is his right to do so. You need only call his name to gain his audience, here or at Hogwarts."

He beckoned Harry to turn the corner, to the master bedroom. This had been Vernon and Petunia's sanctuary, and Harry had indeed never seen it.

The large room, which would have comfortably held a king-sized bed, a sitting area, and a master bath, had been gutted completely, and what now stood in its place was a massive library. At least twenty rows of shelves, extending from floor to ceiling, crowded the room, in addition to the shelving on every wall. Leather tomes of every shape and size, ancient and modern, filled the shelves without a single gap.

"You are aware, I assume, that your parents left you everything from the ancient Potter line. Magically speaking, the most valuable aspect of this rich inheritance is a library that represents a collection of the finest works of magical knowledge, collected over twenty generations. I know of few libraries that rival it, including my own. This room is filled with some of the more poignant and relevant works from that collection. The entire house, indeed, couldn't contain the full library. But I've hand-selected those works that I believe might be of particular interest, with Sirius' assistance. You'll find it, I think, particularly helpful when preparing for your end-of-term exams."

Exiting the library, Dumbledore led Harry up the stairs. There was no longer a second floor hallway. Rather, the stairs opened into a large upper room, at the center of which was a comfortable reading nook. Against the backdrop on several more waist-high bookshelves, two more crimson red wingbacks and a mid-century leather sofa sat around a rich crimson carpet, ornately woven in the patterns of a phoenix aflame. Between these sat two wooden side tables and a wicker basket full of comfortable patchwork blankets. Commanding the room to the right was a large walnut writing desk, upon which sat an ornate glass inkwell and fresh quill. Further to the right, a mirror duplicate of his Gryffindor four-poster extended from the far corner, at the foot of which sat a large, ornate trunk. Beside these sat a large cherry wardrobe, into which was carved a forest scene with centaurs gazing into a starry night.

To the left of the reading nook stood a circular stand holding Hedwig's cage, alongside a copper rod that extended from the wall itself, directly next to a wide, open window. Next to this, on the far left wall, an arched wooden door led to a washroom featuring, among other essentials, a claw-footed tub, a large standing oval mirror beside a smaller wardrobe, and a separate shower room.

As Dumbledore escorted Harry back down the stairs, he continued in an apologetic tone.

"I understand, Harry, if some of the decisions I've made related to the arrangement or design of your new home may not represent your preference. If there's anything you find dissatisfactory, I'd be happy to help remedy your concerns. My chief objective was that you'd find a home where you'd left a house."

At this, they arrived at the foot of the stairs, and turned again toward the entryway.

Harry had, to this point, followed Dumbledore with a distant expression, between confused and stunned. As his headmaster directed his attention to this or that feature of his new home, he took it all in with wide eyes and otherwise expressionless silence.

But just at that moment he noticed something was missing. The home was structurally identical to No. 4 Privet Drive, and while though here and there walls were shifted and occasionally removed, every room of the one was represented in the other.

Every room but one. Harry, almost in passing, noticed the glaring absence of a cupboard under the stairs. He halted mid-step, and he passed his eyes over the wall where the cupboard door would have been, where the rusty exterior latch would have scraped the paint off of the beaten trim. He stopped and he stared blankly at that empty wall for two uninterrupted minutes.

And then in one sudden movement Harry threw his body into Dumbledore's purple robes, dug his head into Dumbledore's chest, wrapped his arms full strength around Dumbledore's torso, and wept.

"I know, my dear boy." Dumbledore whispered. "I know. And I'm so, so sorry."

Chapter Text

Luna,

I have so much to tell you.

I'm so sorry about the time. As I write this, it's late. I'm nearly certain that Hedwig will wake you to deliver this letter. I considered delaying her departure until morning, but I have something to show you and I truly hope you'll consider an early visit.

Dumbledore was here when I arrived, sitting in the Dursley's living room. So much has changed, Luna, and I can't wait to talk to you about it.

And Luna. Today was perfect. You are perfect. Part of me is terrified that someone so perfect has no place in a life like mine. And every other part of me has declared war on that part of me, because I don't want this to stop, and I can't wait to see you again.

Yours, Harry

PS — I can still feel you on my lips. I don't want that to stop, either.

Luna appeared just after dawn beside the far hedge of a primary school two blocks from No. 4 Privet Drive, holding a tin can threaded with loose string. She was wearing a dark green wrap skirt and a loose, bright white tank. Her hair was down, lightly fallen over her right shoulder. She paused, took a deep breath, smiled with bright eyes, and set off toward Privet Drive.

Harry was waiting for her outside, beaming. He was wearing a fitted black tee, a tapered pair of dark blue jeans, and a pair of grey trainers. Luna noticed that none of these had a threadbare, or even worn, appearance. This was the first time outside of Hogwarts that she had seen him in clothing that fit nicely. And as he stood there, leaning on the white picket fence, Luna noticed the contours of his chest, his abdomen. She shifted her gaze to his eyes, saw how carefully he watched her, studying her movement, and she stirred, smirked bashfully.

"Hi Luna. You look beautiful this morning."

In her final steps, she rushed into him, pulling him close to her and holding him there. She felt his body pressed full against hers, enjoyed the firmness of his chest against her breasts, dug her face into his neck, and tried to suppress the sheer thrill that was pulsing through her.

"Good morning, Harry Potter. Thank you for the invitation. I'm quite excited to see you, and your letter was intriguing."

"I meant every word. I woke hours ago, because I couldn't wait to show you."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thin strip of yellowed parchment.

"But first, I need you to read this. Not out loud."

She took the parchment, fascinated.

The home of Harry Potter may be found at No. 4 , Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Harry opened the door of No. 4 Privet Drive wearing an expression of giddy excitement. He escorted her through the living area, pointing out every photo of his parents and their dearest friends. He explained excitedly that the fireplace would afford him access to his home throughout the school year.

Luna beamed with an expression of sincere joy and full-hearted relief. "Oh Harry, it's perfect. I want to see everything."

It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

He paraded her through the potions room, reflecting on the possibilities. He expressed interest, maybe, in sitting under the instruction of her father someday.

He turned into the dining room, explained how the Hogwarts house elves were falling over themselves to provide breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner, and snacks sufficient to feed a family of eight. He laughed affectionately as he explained that Dobby had volunteered to care for him exclusively, that he'd always be available to help if need arises.

He opened the door to the library, dripping with pride as he told her about his family's efforts to collect the most important magical works for fourteen generations. She gushed, laced her fingers through his, and they slowly navigated the aisles, commenting on the exciting potential of this or that volume.

Hand-in-hand, he led her up the stairs. "And this is my room."

As Luna reached the top of the stairs, she halted. Harry continued, elated, highlighting his favorite aspects of the room, but it was all lost to Luna. Her gaze had set on the reading nook, and it didn't move an inch.

He paused, noticing her fixation. "Luna?"

She smiled broadly, set her piercing eyes on his.

"Oh, Harry. You have a chair, now." She threw her body into his, squeezed him affectionately. "I'm so happy that you have a chair now."

They sat at the dining room table before a pile of at least four dozen pastries, fifteen bacon sandwiches, thirty flaky croissants, a giant bowl of yogurt, a shoulder-height tower of pancakes, and countless slices of toast surrounded by bowls of assorted preserves.

As they ate, Harry tried to recall every turn in his conversation with Dumbledore. He relayed it all to Luna. She listened with unshifting interest.

"Oh! I nearly forgot. Dumbledore mentioned something on his way out." Harry continued, after filling his plate a second time. "He told me that he'd asked Hermione, Ron, Sirius, and Lupin to keep their distance."

Luna stopped chewing.

"He thinks that Tom and I share some sort of connection, something related to the curse he cast that left this scar. He said that he doesn't quite understand the nature of that connection. He was afraid Tom would exploit it somehow, and he panicked."

Luna desperately attempted to chew like a normal person would chew.

"He said that it was a mistake. He said that alienating me, if anything, would foster that connection. So now I don't know really what to think about Tom, and how I might be connected to him. Dumbledore seems to have a few ideas, but nothing he's ready to share yet. But it's nice to know that my friends, and Sirius, hadn't left me alone without reason."

Luna looked at Harry, feigning a smile but lost in fear. Just then, Harry noticed.

"Luna?"

She stumbled. "Harry… I just… Harry, I'm so glad your friends haven't abandoned you. I'm so glad you have them back"

Harry set his eyes on hers and didn't move them for a second.

"Luna?"

Her breath caught, she faltered, and then the words fell out of her mouth like a landslide. "It's just — all the time we've spent together, Harry Potter. Wasn't it because they were gone? I'm truly relieved that you haven't lost them, but I'm truly afraid that I've lost you."

His kind eyes held her gaze for a solid minute. He brought the tips of her fingers to his lips and kissed them slowly.

Drawing his face nearer to hers, he spoke slowly and softly. "Dumbledore is my secret-keeper. By his invitation alone others are allowed to visit No. 4 Privet Drive. And when he asked whether I'd like Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and Lupin to visit, I told him yes."

Her heart faltered.

"But I told him not yet. Because I wanted to share this place with you, just you, before anyone else."

Time slowed, and her hope stirred.

"Luna, I really like that it's just you and me right now. And I really like that it's been just you and me. And I want it to stay that way for a little while."

She flushed, turned full to face him.

He drew nearer, spoke softly. "When I first saw this place, all I could think about was showing it to you."

At this she threw herself into him, her lips pressing full into his. Her weight had shifted his balance on the bench beside her, and they tumbled a bit as she pressed into him. Flushing with bashful smiles, they halted just long enough to face one another, straddling the bench between them, knees pressed together and ankles kicked back.

As they kissed, his right hand was tracing the line of her jaw, running through her hair at the crook of her neck. His left hand was gently rubbing against the outside of her right thigh, back and forth like a slow, rhythmic dance, his fingers sometimes grabbing at folds in her skirt.

Her right hand was gently pressed against his chest, moving here or there to explore the lines and contours. Her left hand was on his thigh, massaging and pressing and pulling at random, heated intervals.

They gently kissed for what felt like hours. Her tongue played with his, flirted with the edge of his teeth, the corner of his lips. She gently bit his lower lip, smiled bashfully when he longingly sighed. She kissed his cheek, the lines of his jaw, gently pressed his left earlobe between her lips.Oh, how he breathed.

When the surges of pleasure were too much, he would grab her face, return his lips to hers, and slowly, passionately return her affections. He traced the line of her jaw with small kisses, shifted lower to kiss her neck carefully, first with his lips softly, then with his tongue darting here and there.

As soon as his lips touched her neck, a pleasant tension surged between her thighs. She arched her back involuntarily, lost in a distant, perfect smile. As his tongue darted here and there, an intimate rhythm controlled her movement, her breathing. Without thought, she grabbed his tee into her closed fist in moments of intense pleasure, pulled him just a touch closer.

They breathed together, moved slowly together in a shuffling rhythm. After a time, Harry rested his forehead on Luna's, and they gathered their breath with flushed smiles.

Luna's eyes shifted from his as they both leaned back, and she surveyed once more his chest, his abdomen, his waist. She couldn't help but notice that Harry was hard in his jeans, his excitement clearly visible in sharp contours. She faltered, her breath just catching, lips parted, exhaled slowly.

Harry noticed her renewed attention, immediately understood, and blushed a deep crimson. "I, er… Luna, I, um—"

She stopped him, pulled his head back to hers, whispered, "No, Harry. I like the way your body responds to me." She blushed, looked bashfully away for a moment. "My body responds to you, too."

Their eyes met in the fullest uninterrupted gaze, and then they both giggled bashfully, turned back to their plates, and finished breakfast.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"Are you mine, Harry Potter?"

He held her gaze directly, unflinchingly. "Yours, as long as you'll have me."

At this, they kissed — a soft, slow, passionate kiss of unanchored affection.

She nodded, bit her lip. "I'm yours, Harry Potter. Yours, as long as you'll have me."

From that moment, Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood were free. Something about that conversation, the explicit expression of their commitment, unbridled their mutual affections. Meaningful glances, comforting touches, soft kisses, playful flirtations were the steady rhythm of their every moment together.

After lunch, Harry led Luna to the potions lab.

He brought the book, laid it open on the work table, and turned bashfully to Luna. "I know this may seem a little silly, but I found this book fascinating and I'm fairly certain I have the ingredients necessary for at least one of these potions. Would you like to help me?" He smirked nervously, feeling vulnerable. "It's just that I can't do magic here — No. 4 1/2 isn't warded like your place is. But I'd love to continue to build my knowledge and make some use of my time."

Luna was delighted. "I'd love to help! I truly enjoy potions, Harry — it's one of the few activities I still share with Daddy. I'm not as qualified as he is, of course, but I'm quite comfortable before a cauldron."

Harry was thrilled. "Thank you. I'm a bit embarrassed to be this excited. Does that make sense? I guess I'm just learning that it's okay to be excited about learning. Hermione always wore that hat, but Ron was adamantly opposed to such efforts. I sort of took a middle ground, never truly applying myself to any subject other than Defence Against the Dark Arts. But now that I'm here, surrounded by the wizarding world's best texts, a potions lab, and a brilliant witch, I can't help but imagine the possibilities."

Lune caught the compliment, blushed, then nodded with furrowed brow. "As far as I can tell, I like Ron. But I hate that you felt pressured to distance yourself from such brilliant opportunities as Hogwarts affords." Her melodic tone turned aethereal, as she scanned the shelf of ingredients. "Our world is bursting with magic, Harry Potter, truly beautiful magic. To pretend that any opportunity to search that world, to find and behold that magic, is anything less than a dramatic privilege seems like tragic foolishness."

At this, they began discussing which potion to attempt, finally landing on Intelligentia Concentrata. It was a relatively simple recipe; preparation was quick, and (assuming the best) the potion would be ready within three days. They also noted that consumption of the potion (if it worked) might strengthen their efforts to grapple with more difficult tasks.

Intelligentia Concentrata

A pocioun to honne the endevours of a mynde, particularlye when laboring to vnderstand a difficult subiecte

Ingredients
1 dram Griffin Clawe
2 Billywigge Stings
1 Newt's Eye, dryed
6 Lacewing Flies
5 tufts Knotgrass

Beginne with 2 gallons of standarde pociouns base (seuen partes highland springe water, one parte freshe rainwater). Bring to soft boyle. Add ground Gryffin's Claw, fifteien graines every 15 minutes. Waite until mixture glowes a soft emeralde greene. Adde both Billywigge Stinges after crushing with a dull, siluer knife. Lette simmer for 24 houres. Waite until mixture captures surroundyng lyght. Pierce the Dried Newte's Eye and adde with 4 Lacewing Flyes. After 2 houres, adde the remaining Lacewing Flyes, grounde. Waite 26 houres. Mixture should be whispering softly in an indiscernible language. Adde 5 tuftes of Knotgrasse, one every twenty minutes. Finished pocioun should issue a soft siluer haze, and smelle like freshlye clipped rosemarie.

They worked together beautifully, interrupting their diligent efforts occasionally with flirtatiously play and affectionate touch.

First, they readied ingredients. Harry stood behind Luna, reaching with his right arm around her for the box labeled "Griffin Claw." He paused mid-stretch, reaching his left arm around her and pulling her waist into his with an open palm just above her navel. Face pressed to her hair, he whispered, "You always smell like Lavender, Luna Lovegood. And that's my favorite scent." She flushed, placed her hand over his, pressing it further into her abdomen, stirring as she felt his body pressed against hers. She turned her head into his, their lips met, and they kissed, carefully and slowly. She nudged her nose into his, pulled away for a moment. "We should craft potions together more often," she whispered, smirking flirtatiously.

She set the cauldron to a soft boil as Harry ground the Griffin's Claw. After readying the Billywig Stings, she flirted for his attention. She peeked over his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist. He laughed as she squeezed him tightly, commented on his unfortunate singular focus. As her arms released the embrace, she let her fingers trail over his firm abdomen, one hand falling to just rest on the clasp of his jeans. She let the weight of her arm hang just a moment on his belt. She felt him tense, sensed a slow exhale.

After the Griffin's Claw was ground, they took turns adding fifteen grains (just less than a gram) every fifteen minutes. While they waited, they made plans.

They agreed that the best use of their summer should include exploring the Potter Library. A mastery of magical theory seemed within their reach, and the ability to brew potions simultaneously was an added perk to remaining at No. 4 1/2. But they also agreed that strengthening their spell work was an opportunity they shouldn't ignore, especially considering they'd made such excellent sparring partners. In the end, they agreed to spend every other day at Luna's home, for practical magic, unless a potions recipe called for their attention at Harry's place. Neither of them considered for an instant spending a moment apart.

They left the cauldron glowing a soft, emerald green.

As soon as they arrived in the dining room, hearty portions of Shepherds Pie, Yorkshire pudding, Fish & Chips, and Cornish Pasties appeared tabletop. They sat beside one another on the far bench facing the garden. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder on occasion, tracing the curve of his feet with her toes.

They spoke of potential. The potential of potions, the potential of fairies, the potential of summers used well. As they dreamed, a gravity seemed to pull them together at every interaction. They were fundamentally drawn to one another.

After another hour reading together, this time on the overstuffed crimson sofa in Harry's living room, the thin hours of several short evenings began to weigh heavily on Luna. She closed her book, pulled away from his loose embrace, stretched, and yawned widely.

"I don't want to leave, Harry Potter, but I'm afraid you may need you to walk me home."

They strolled slowly, hand-in-hand, to the far hedge of the nearby primary school. She turned into him at the last moment, pressing her body full into his, with her arms wrapped around his waist. He clung to her tightly.

"Thank you, Luna, for today. May I see you at your place tomorrow?"

She released the embrace, nodded, yawned sleepily, kissed him gently, and picked up a rusty tin can, punctured on one end, with a loose thread attached.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Luna?"

"Write to me tonight?"

"Of course."

"Home."

My dear Luna,

You've made me so ridiculously happy.

I've never felt this comfortable. When you sit next to me, all the distant fears that have haunted me for so many years dissipate altogether. Your warmth is an anchor to me, your touch is a shield around me. For the first time, I feel I can truly rest.

I feel so aware of you, Luna. The way you breathe, the way you wiggle your toes, the way you play with your hair, the way you hum to the song of swallows. Is it too soon to know your rhythms? To notice every contour, every gentle swell and sharp line of your body as you stretch?

I am taken by the shape of you. The soft swell of your lips, the delicate lines of your chin, the gentle slope of your neck. I study the soft contours of your chest, the curve of your hips, the swells and shapes suggested in the shifting of your skirt. I want to attend to every whisper, uncover every distant suggestion.

You are, my Luna, intoxicating. I want to drink deeply.

Yours, truly.

Harry

PS — The memory of your kiss, your body against mine… my body responds to you.

Harry's attempts to sleep were interrupted by the friendly croak of a raven, landing directly on Harry's chest with a playful tottle.

"Hello there, Asher!" Asher bobbed affectionately, lifted his right talon.

"Why, thank you, sir." Harry walked Asher to the perch beside his wide bedroom window, dished a handful of treats and a bowl of water, and tickled the underside of his beak in gratitude.

My Harry,

I am yours, altogether. With your words, with your glance, with your touch, with your kiss, you have claimed me forever. I am taken by you, in every sense.

I feel safe with you, in your strong arms. Pressing into you, feeling your body against mine, impresses a peace more profound that that which I thought I'd lost forever six years ago. Feeling the rise and fall of your chest, I feel as if I myself am breathing. I slide into the wax and wane of your rhythms, and they are mine.

Your body stirs me. My pulse quickens when your firm chest presses against my breasts, when your arms wrap around my hip, when your lips touch mine, when your tongue darts along my neck, when your fingers stray to my shoulders. I want to describe to you in intimate detail how my body responds when you press against me, when you whisper into my ear, when you kiss my neck.

I am, clearly, yours.

Luna

PS — If only you could join me in my dreams tonight. Come quickly, Harry Potter.

Chapter Text

The next morning, just after dawn, Harry stirred awake at the soft flutter of Hedwig's return. It had been his third consecutive night of uninterrupted sleep, and Harry felt amazing. He yawned, stretched, pivoted to the edge of the bed, and considered his surroundings.

It was almost too much. His four-poster was covered in down pillows, soft sheets and warm blankets. His wardrobe was full of new clothing that fit perfectly. He discovered yesterday evening that the Hogwarts house elves had made his bed, laundered every item he'd worn the day before. He reflected on the broad writing desk beside his bed, the reading nook at the center of the room. A small pile of books from the Potter library that had captured his interest. He considered gratefully the stunning shift in his fortune.

Harry stood, stretched, and cleared the distance to Hedwig's perch. "Hello, Hedwig. Successful hunt?" He nuzzled her affectionately, shifted his gaze to the sun slowly rising over Little Whinging. He took a long, deep breath, and headed to the shower.

After a quick wash, Harry dressed, brushed his teeth, and headed down the stairs. As he turned to check on the brewingIntelligentia Concentrata, he noticed that the house elves had returned the lab to pristine condition — every ingredient nicely sorted, and every surface spotless. Just then he recalled a series of decisions he'd made the night before. He smiled.

"Dobby?"

The room echoed with the sound of a loud whip-crack, followed immediately by a shrill squeal of unadulterated glee. "Harry Potter! Such an honor it is! Dobby is your humble servant."

He was wearing two mismatched woolen socks, bundled loosely around his legs, a pair of plaid shorts, a charcoal grey child's tuxedo vest, and a burnt orange scarf. He lowered himself in a deeply reverential bow.

Harry smiled with affectionate eyes. "Good morning, Dobby. How are you?"

He erupted in beaming joy. "Oh, how kind you are, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is very well, especially since Headmaster Dumbledore informed Dobby of such a tremendous opportunity to serve the house of Harry Potter. Dobby will always be a free elf, Harry Potter, but now Dobby is your free elf." He raised his chin proudly.

"That's actually why I wanted to speak with you." Harry led Dobby to the living room, sat in one of the wingbacks, leaning forward. Dobby's eyes set unwaveringly on Harry's.

"I'd like to ask something of you." He paused, hesitated, and then continued with purpose. "You aren't going to like it, but I'll need you to agree beforehand and I promise it won't hurt or shame you in any way."

Dobby faltered, thought for a moment, turned his eyes determinedly back to Harry's. "Dobby…" his chest puffed, "Dobby trusts Harry Potter, and he'll do anything he asks."

Harry smiled with kind eyes. "Good! I have two tasks for you to accomplish, as soon as you possibly can. First, I want you to set an appointment at Madam Malkin's."

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! Is this appointment for you, Harry Potter?"

Harry shook his head playfully. "No, Dobby. It's for you. I'd like you to ask Madam Malkin to tailor seven three-piece suits that fit you perfectly, in any color you prefer, or any variety of colors you prefer. Tell her to charge these to the Potter account at Gringotts."

Dobby's lip trembled. "Harry Potter, sir! Dear Harry Potter is to give Dobby clothes — clothes that fit Dobby nicely! Oh, it is too much! I cannot —"

Harry furrowed his brow in a playfully stern disposition. "Now Dobby, you promised me you'd do what I asked."

Dobby bowed his head in tearful submission. "Dobby shall never forget the generosity of Harry Potter."

Harry smiled broadly. "Now for the second task. Professor Dumbledore tells me that I've inherited a sizable fortune, managed directly by a goblin steward in my name. I'd like you to go to Gringotts and speak directly with my steward. Ask him to reference house records for the salary of my grandfather's chief of staff. Then, by my authority, ask him to issue funds equal to that salary in monthly installments to a new account in your name. That shall be your salary, Dobby, for the assistance you've offered, as long as you're willing to serve my house."

Dobby was struck silent for nearly twenty seconds, his broad eyes welling with tears. He hiccuped the words,"No, Harry Potter, sir. It isn't necessary. Dobby has enough — Dobby couldn't for a moment rob the vaults of Harry —"

Again, Harry interrupted him, feigning a stern, furrowed brow. "You are, Dobby, my friend. You've set aside everything to serve me, to protect and preserve my house, to come at my beckon call at any hour. And you are a free elf. I will not allow you to serve the House of Potter without compensation equal to your worth." He paused, smiled affectionately. "And remember Dobby, you promised."

At this, Dobby bowed lower than Harry had yet seen. "Great, he is…" he said, almost in a whisper, "...and good." And at that, a loud crack echoed through the house.

Harry arrived beside the ancient ash, holding a rusty tin can with a string of loose thread hanging from one end.

"Good morning, Harry Potter." Her voice came from above him, and he looked up to see Luna Lovegood nimbly descending from limb to limb until she landed softly before him.

She was wearing a dark pair of blue jeans and a crimson red tee. Her hair was up loosely in a twist, and she was barefoot. For a moment she just stood there, her shoulders shrugged cutely with her fingers loosely tucked in her back pockets, surveying him with flirtatious eyes. She bit her lip, expression shifting to a joyful smile. She cleared the distance between them and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Have you had breakfast?"

As they prepared porridge with fresh berries, Harry reflected on his conversation with Dobby.

"He can be a bit much sometimes, but he seems genuinely excited to be a part of my home. I've actually been thinking how he might genuinely help in our efforts." Harry said, speculative.

Luna smiled broadly. "He seems lovely. And I'm so grateful that you're taking care of him. The Lovegood House has never had a house elf. We've fundamentally fought the notion of slavery almost since the beginning. But freeing a house elf without affording them an opportunity to earn a living seems like damning them to a different sort of slavery."

She paused for a moment, and just then her eyes went wide. "It just occurred to me, Harry Potter, that scholars within ancient houses sometimes leverage their staff of house elves for research purposes. I wonder whether Dobby might help us find answers to questions when they arise? Perhaps search for potions ingredients or lost texts that we've found reference to?"

Harry considered. "You know, that isn't a bad idea. I'll ask him about it this afternoon. I'll need to check on the potion around three. Would you like to come with me?"

Luna playfully feigned a furrowed brow. "You meanourpotion? Yes, I'd like to oversee the next phase ofourpotion."

Harry laughed, held up his hands in mock surrender. "Forgive me."

They decided to spend their morning in the Defense chambers. Harry had stumbled upon a threadbare, cloth-bound volume shelved high in the Potter Library, entitled Ancient, Rare and Powerful Spells. The front matter indicated it was a limited publication, funded by Gideon J. Potter, apparently Harry's great-great grandfather, in 1912.

Harry immediately realized that he'd not encountered any of these spells in his studies at Hogwarts. The book sorted the spells into broad categories, like Offense, Defense, and Utility, and detailed the pronunciation, execution, and effects of each, as well as some historical context of its creation when available. He couldn't wait to show Luna.

They decided to take turns attempting to cast each spell, while the other took notes. Luna sat leaning against the far wall on the floor, facing Harry who stood in the center of the room. She conjured her sketchbook and charcoal pencil, looked into Harry's eyes, and smirked.

"You've nothing to worry about, Harry Potter. This room is warded against nargles."

He smiled, opened the book, and turned to the first chapter.

—Chapter One—

Ancient, Rare, and PowerfulOffensiveSpells

decidere (deh-kee-DEH-reh) wand arm outstretched at waist height, wave at half speed to the opposite waist, center wand arm at penultimate syllable, rapidly lift wand arm to shoulder height, finishing pronunciation with wand pointed directly at opponent.

Effect: The spell shifts the target's center of gravity to the nearest heavy object. When executed properly by a powerful witch or wizard, the shift may be rapid enough to physically stun opponent on impact

The first nine attempts yielded nothing. Luna watched carefully, noticed that Harry's wand arm wasn't fully extended, then coached him verbally on the half-speed movement from waist to waist. Four attempts later, the suit of arms shuttered visibly (they both shouted with glee at this). Finally, on his eighteenth attempt, after Luna noticed he was terminating the pronunciation of the curse prematurely, Harry executed a perfect dicedere. The suit of arms slammed violently into the wall to his right, crushing the left arm under the force of the spell.

They were struck silent at the powerful display. After a moment, the suit of arms was magically restored, and Harry's expression shifted to an awestruck smile.

"This is so cool."

Harry turned to Luna, cleared the distance between them, helped her up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Your turn, Luna Lovegood."

She got it in two tries, the full left side of the armor crushed completely in a raw display of sweeping power. Harry's jaw dropped, impressed and more than a little embarrassed. Feigning offense, he shouted, "Just you remember I survived a dragon."

She turned, smirked flirtatiously, stepped toward him in a sexy, confident glide. She bent over full, kissed him on the nose, and whispered, "Beginner's luck, dragon-slayer."

tenebrae totales (teh-NEH-brae toh-TAH-lehs) wand arm relaxed at the waist, twist wrist at first syllable, draw wand arm to opposite side at chest height by pronunciation of third syllable. Draw wand to center, twisting wrist to point wand directly above target, outstretch arm at final syllable.

Effect: The spell covers the target in impenetrable darkness. Executed perfectly by a powerful wizard, the field of darkness may spread thirty meters on every side.

The trick of it, as Harry discovered after a few dozen attempts, was the relaxed hold of his wand and the timing of the twists of his wrist. Around twenty minutes after his first attempt, he successfully cast a field of impenetrable darkness, surrounding the suit of armor wall-to-wall. Luna set down her sketchbook, stepped into the thick cloud.

"It's true, Harry Potter. I can see nothing at all." She emerged a moment later, bit her lip. "What a tremendously useful spell."

Just then, she raised her wand and, on her first attempt, cast a perfecttenebrae totaleson Harry.

All the light in the world left him immediately. He was lost in it, utter darkness, without any sense of direction or his surroundings. He laughed at the brilliance of the spell and the genius of the witch who cast it. And just then, without warning, her lips met his in the darkness. He didn't see anything, but he felt everything.

He stood motionless as he felt her body glide softly into him. He felt her breasts, firm and full, press against his chest. He opened his mouth in a longing sigh, felt her tongue flit playfully against his lips. He felt her heated breath. He felt her body move, felt her palm explore his chest in shifting pressures. He felt her arm wrap around him, up his back, her fingertips lightly scratching the back of his neck, running through his hair.

She kissed him, slowly and carefully, shifting her body here and there. He stirred, his pulse ever quickening. She pulled him closer, pressed her body full against his, kissed his neck again and again, and he was hard against her. He felt her involuntary gasp. His pressing tension sensed every movement with radiating pleasure.

She paused, pulled away, slowly exhaled. "Harry…" She whispered, longing.

And then she was gone.

Chapter Text

immersio aquae (im-MER-see-oh AH-kwai) wand held loosely in dominant hand, palm up; gradually draw wand arm to chest height, wand directed toward target, until fourth syllable is pronounced, rapidly drop arm, center mass, on pronunciation of penultimate syllable, then tighten grip on wand and twist clockwise. Effect is maintained by uninterrupted eye contact with target.

Effect: The spell immerses target in a suspended sphere of water. A powerful cast can stun, disarm, and even drown target, if eye contact is maintained after cast.

Harry held the weathered copy ofAncient, Rare and Powerful Spellsbefore him, a bit intimidated by the execution instructions on the next spell he and Luna decided to tackle.

Initially, he stumbled over the wand grip. He'd never held his wand loosely, palm up. Some part of him hated the notion, as he distinctly recalled Voldemort's long, serpentine fingers gripping his pale white wand in such a manner. It took him a half dozen attempts to feel even remotely comfortable.

It took another fifteen attempts to master the rapid drop and the timing of the spell's pronunciation. Within a dozen more attempts, he felt comfortable with the timing and the tightened, clockwise grip. At every stage, Luna gave him pointers.

When he finally got it, the effect of the spell was brilliant. The suit of arms was wrapped completely in a perfect sphere of deep blue water, two meters wide. He held his gaze upon what would have been his target's eyes, and the sphere lifted, suspending the target three meters above the floor.

Harry broke eye contact, turning to Luna in awestruck glee. She was grinning, with proud eyes. "Well done, Harry Potter! That was brilliant."

He paced to the far wall, helped her to her feet. She smiled, thanked him, and kissed him on his cheek.

After she reread the text once again, she settled herself in the middle of the room. This spell didn't come as naturally to Luna, because she could hardly grapple with the notion of maintaining eye contact with a thing that had no eyes. The grip and the motions seemed simple enough, but she found herself shifting her gaze to her wand at just the wrong moment.

Finally, after a dozen attempts, she executed a perfect immersio aquae. The suit of armor suspended four meters above the floor, in a sphere at least three meters wide.

She smiled happily, skipped back to Harry, and settled next to him, lacing her fingers between his.

He was astounded, and beaming with pride. "Luna Lovegood, I'm afraid you're a more powerful witch than I am a wizard." Harry said, with a broad, happy smile.

She laughed, turned to him playfully. In a distant, melodic voice she replied, "No need to be afraid. I can't think of a single reason I'd like to drown you."

Exhausted, they decided to break for lunch, and thought it best to head to Harry's so they could seamlessly shift their attention to the cauldron full ofIntelligentia Concentrata.

Harry picked up the rusty tin can beside the ancient ash, punctured with a string of loose thread attached, laced his fingers through Luna's.

"Home."

After an uncomfortable twist behind their navels, they arrived at the far hedge of a primary school in Little Whinging.

As Harry reached down to twist the knob of his front door, it opened of its own accord. Just beyond the entryway stood Dobby, nicely dressed in a smart french violet three-piece suit, with a small gold pocket watch tucked into the chest pocket, attached to the jacket loosely with a gold chain. He wore shiny, pastel orange oxfords and a bright green bowler hat.

"Harry Potter is home! And he's brought a guest! Dobby is pleased to welcome you to Potter House." At this, Dobby bowed reverentially.

Luna smiled kindly, and returned his bow. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dobby. My name is Luna Lovegood. Harry has told me so much about you, and I'm sure we'll become the best of friends."

Dobby was struck by her kindness. "Oh, thank you, Ms. Luna Lovegood. Dobby is thrilled to meet you, and is always at your service."

Dobby formally reported that he'd completed the tasks Harry had assigned him this morning, interrupting himself on a number of occasions to laud the generosity of his Harry Potter. A moment later Harry remembered his conversation this morning with Luna.

"Oh! Dobby? Have you ever been tasked with finding magical books? And do you have the ability to apparate internationally?"

Dobby lit up. "Indeed, Harry Potter. Dobby can apparate anywhere in the world. And Dobby has on many occasions assisted with the research efforts of witches and wizards." His brow furrowed. "Many times Dobby hated the dark and wicked books he was tasked to find." His expression brightened. "But Dobby does enjoy searching for books, and he would dearly love to do so to assist Harry Potter and Ms. Luna Lovegood."

They were thrilled. "That's brilliant, Dobby!" Luna exclaimed. "We're desperately in need of your help."

A tremor of glee visibly pulsed through Dobby's body, and he bobbed happily in on his toes.

Harry jumped in. "Dobby, I wonder if you can visit the most notable magical book shops in Britain, and every major magical book shop internationally, to search for ancient books on Fairies, Fairy Communities, Fairy Lore, and the Realm of Fairie. Please withdraw from the Potter vault to cover the cost of the books and your expenses"

Dobby was trembling with excitement. "Dobby would be most happy to do so, Harry Potter! I shall leave immediately."

"One more thing, Dobby. Are you able to access a list of volumes present in the Potter Library?" Harry asked.

Dobby nodded proudly, his chin up. "Indeed, Harry Potter. Dobby has magical access to all of your inherited properties, and associated records."

"Brilliant." Harry said with a smile. "I'd like to supplement our library with any notable potions contributions published in the last 40 years. Would you seek those volumes as well?"

Dobby puffed with pride. "Indeed sir, Dobby will not disappoint you." At this, the room echoed with a loud whip-crack, and Dobby was gone.

They arrived to a tall pile of freshly baked flaky croissants, a long stained-wood platter covered in a variety of cheeses, smoked meats, and olives, a half dozen bowls full of sliced fruits, and cold pitchers of pumpkin juice.

They spoke of ancient spells, speculating about the nature of spellcraft, how movements, emotions, and expression, when formally associated with Latin words, might prompt the reality of the world to bend. They traded notions about cultural values that might lead a society to abandon some spells and prioritize the transmission of others. They shared their regrets about the pace of the coursework at Hogwarts School, determined with shared resolve to do what they could to offset the imbalance of their education.

They sat across the table from one another for over an hour, Luna's bare toes gently tracing the curves of Harry's feet beneath the table as they spoke. They had a comfortable, thoughtless intimacy.

Around 2:30 they headed to the potions lab. Harry read aloud the recipe for Intelligencia Concentrata for reference, as Luna returned the neatly arranged shelves of potions ingredients. She set aside a single Dried Newt's Eye and six Lacewing Flies on the preparation table, as Harry inspected the batch in the simmering cauldron.

"Look at this, Luna. It's amazing." He directed her attention to the surface of the brewing potion. It was notable for what you couldn't see. Within the cauldron was a void, the complete lack of color, texture and movement. As they gazed into the void, it became increasingly apparent that the color of the cauldron, even the color of the magical tools and the wall upon which they hung beside the cauldron, were being gathered slowly. The light surrounding the brew seemed to fade, tendrils of color in wisps gathering into the void all the time.

Luna reflected distantly. "The recipe says to 'wait until mixture captures surrounding light,' and I supposed it referred to a distorted reflection of light in some sense, like oil on water reflects the surrounding light in swimming iridescent rainbows. It appears the potion is actually absorbing the light of surrounding objects."

Harry's gaze never left the void below. " I never knew potions could be this interesting." He paused, his brow furrowed. He turned to Luna, exasperated. "You know I have so many regrets, Luna. I've been so passive. I let Snape crush any interest in Potions, I let Ron stifle any interest I had in studies. I even let Dumbledore disrupt relationships, foster distance between my godfather and I."

He clenched his jaw, fighting frustration. "At any stage I could have said no. At any point I could have refused to be tossed around. How much have I lost, just by accepting that path? I mean, until a few days ago I'd never truly applied myself. And in that time, in that impossibly short window, I feel like the world's opened to me. I feel new and whole and fascinated. More than that, I feel there's hope, as if I'm not doomed to die. I don't have to be a frail, powerless boy fated to sacrifice himself to the wicked power of a wicked man." He gathered himself, took a breath and slowly exhaled. "That freedom — it was within my reach all the time."

Luna, standing at his side, gazing into the cauldron, took his hand into hers, drew his fingers to her lips, and kissed him softly. After a moment, she turned to him. She spoke softly, melodically.

"We are crafting our characters all the time, Harry Potter. What we do shapes us into who we are. Don't be paralyzed by regret, and don't be crippled by bitterness. Every decision you've made, even those you'll never make again, have led you here, to all the beauty that lies before you."

She kissed his cheek, leaned her forehead into his shoulder. "Your past is a part of who you are. And I wouldn't trade who you are for anything."

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood spent the rest of their afternoon in his loft, reading together on the short mid-century leather sofa. Harry sat on the far end, next to a short stack of magical theory texts piled on the table beside him. Luna lay with her head in his lap, feet angled over the opposite arm, toes wiggling thoughtlessly as she turned the pages of Rumors of Fairie. A few minutes after they settled, Harry's eyes wandered from the volume in his hand.

As she lay beside him, he studied her body. Her tee had bunched up slightly, just exposing the soft curves of her torso, her navel, the midline of her abdomen. He was profoundly attracted to her. His pulse stirred as he shifted his gaze to the rise and fall of her chest. He traced the slope of her breasts with his eyes, noticed the textures of her thin lace bra subtly visible beneath her tee. He wondered at the shapes and textures beneath it. He harbored regret that it wasn't just a touch colder in his home.

Just then, Harry accidentally discovered that the climate at No. 4 magically corresponded to his will, and it was suddenly chilly.

A few moments later, Luna shivered thoughtlessly, goosebumps rising on her arms. She nuzzled into the soft cushions of the sofa, reached for his unoccupied arm and laid it gently on her torso. Time slowed as Harry noticed a subtle shift in the shape of her, the slowly visible textured lift at the center of her breasts.

He stirred, acutely aware of the building pressure radiating through his waist, his thighs, his abdomen, after days of intense sexual tension. His eyes shifted to her waist, the clasp of her jeans. He traced the contours of her hips, the slope of her thighs. His lips parted, and he slowly exhaled.

It was chilly, bizarrely so. Luna stirred, sat up, and turned to sit cross legged, facing Harry. She shivered.

"Is it suddenly cold?" She asked, lacing her fingers through his unoccupied hand.

Just then she became aware of his unwavering attention. She flushed, her pulse quickened and she smiled vulnerably. She noticed his dilated eyes, his parted lips. She noticed his firm chest rising full, falling in a slow, steady rhythm. She noticed the way his eyes strayed to her chest, and she began to understand the sudden shift in temperature.

Luna bit her lip, steadied her gaze and watched him enjoy her. Smirking flirtatiously, she leaned, pulled back her shoulders, and stretched slowly, her fingertips lacing overhead with outstretched arms. She drew her hands behind her to tease out the twist in her hair. And as her hair fell, the contours of her body ushered his attention to her full, perfect breasts.

She watched Harry drink her in, utterly unable to speak. She relished the ability to capture him completely, render him speechless.

Luna shifted her weight forward, leaning closer to him. She whispered, "I like when you look at me, Harry Potter." And then she kissed him, softly, gently pressing her barely open lips on his.

And after a moment she pulled away, leaned her forehead against his, and fought every inclination to press further, because she never wanted this to end.

"I like it when you look at me, Harry Potter."

Something about the way she whispered in his ear sent chills through Harry's spine.

What had begun as a glance had changed fundamentally. She saw him watching her, and she invited his gaze. She enjoyed him enjoying her, and as she arched her back and stretched, as she played and she teased, Harry was altogether taken.

He hadn't known it was possible to be this into someone.

She leaned forward and he felt her lips softly pressed against his own, and he felt her breathe. And he fought every inclination to pull her closer, because he never wanted this to end.

Luna shifted her body into his, sitting directly beside him on the mid-century sofa and cuddling into his shoulder. She pulled his arm tight around her, laying his hand on her torso.

After a few more minutes of reading, she turned away from her book, looked up at him.

"Harry?"

Harry's attention broke, shifted to her with an affectionate smile. "Luna?"

She liked that, and smiled. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Harry laughed at this. "Um… Yeah, I mean, of course."

She steadied herself, her gaze distant and her voice melodic. "I understand that I make people uncomfortable sometimes, and I suppose it's because I don't have some of the same boundaries that other people have. And I suspect that the question I'd like to ask you trespasses one of those boundaries — one of the boundaries that everyone else has, but not me, I mean."

He adored her completely, because nothing felt more like Luna Lovegood than this, and he smiled with kind eyes. "Luna, you can ask me anything."

Her expression brightened, and she pulled his arm tighter around her waist. "Thank you, Harry Potter." She paused, arranging her thoughts. "I wanted to ask you how you handle the… physical tension that you must be experiencing." After noticing his vaguely confused look, she continued. "I've done quite a lot of reading on human sexuality. I find the topic fascinating." At this, she blushed for a moment, smiled bashfully. "I also find you fascinating, and those two things in tandem have worked against my long-term goals." She gathered herself, continued.

"We've been together a lot in the last few days, and we've kissed many times. And I've pressed my body against yours many times. And I've sat on your lap on one occasion."

She faltered for a moment, steeled herself. "And I've also noticed your… excitement in many of those moments."

Harry turned a deep crimson. Luna caught his embarrassment and smiled broadly.

"Harry Potter, I like that you like me." At this she grabbed his hand, drew it to her lips, and kissed his fingers affectionately.

After a moment she pressed on, unhindered. "From what I've read, a series of pleasant interactions like ours can foster a building tension in men, a tension that can even become uncomfortable and can inhibit clear, rational thought."

Harry, still blushing a bit, nodded with an awkward smile. "That's pretty spot on."

Luna was encouraged at this, shifted to face him, seated on her knees.

"So what do you do?"

Harry flushed. "Luna, are you asking what I do to relieve sexual tension?"

She smiled playfully. "Yes. I want to know, Harry Potter."

Harry stumbled. "I mean, uh… well, until recently I haven't had much need to, honestly."

She waited.

"I mean to say that this sort of interaction — the kissing, I mean, and the other stuff (all of which I really enjoy, by the way) — is new to me. So the tension is, uh, pretty new to me as well."

She bit her lip, pressing further. "So, in the past, you haven't…" She left the sentence unfinished, and she looked at him meaningfully.

He laughed, relinquishing any hope to dodge the true nature of the conversation. "No, not a lot. I've explored that avenue on a few occasions just to discover. And sometimes I wake and it's just happened. But no, not a lot."

Her expression shifted, her piercing gaze steadied on his eyes. She drew closer to him, her voice noticeably softer. "And since we met? Since we've kissed?"

His pulse quickened. "I've thought about it." He blushed again. "I do feel that tension, Luna. Sometimes you're all I can think about. And every kiss, every touch radiates. Part of me wants to relieve that tension, and another part of me relishes it." He looked directly into her eyes. "I truly enjoy that my every thought revolves around you, that my body throbs when I see you, think about you. You are intoxicating, and since we met I haven't really wanted to be sober."

She exhaled slowly, shifted closer. "What does it feel like, Harry Potter?"

He looked away, thought for a moment. "It's like hunger, in one sense, but without pain. When you're near me, it's sometimes like waves crashing over me, again and again and again. It's like Odysseus, tied to his ship's mast because he wanted to hear the irresistible call of the Siren. I feel in those moments as if nothing matters except you, except the shape of you and the attention of you and the pleasure of your touch."

He paused. "Physically it's like a pressure— a pleasant, pulsing pressure." He hesitated. "Sometimes it feels like throbbing. Sometimes it's a tension, in my abdomen, radiating through my thighs."

Harry noticed that her face had relaxed, her lips had parted, and that she was slowly, softly breathing. Her hand absentmindedly began to gently massage his right knee.

"When we kiss, when you press yourself into me, all of that turns into something like a heightened awareness. I can feel everything — every breath you take, every shape and texture of your body, every movement you make. I feel everything viscerally."

Her hand shifted, closer now to his hip than his knee. She held his gaze unwaveringly.

"That heightened awareness, that radiating pleasure, it drives, compounds the building tension. So every moment we're together I long for more… and I also long for release."

As he spoke she leaned nearer to him still, her left hand rhythmically massaging his thigh. Her fingers loosely dragging, her expression completely relaxed. "You… long for release?"

He leaned his forehead into hers. "I long for you, Luna."

She exhaled slowly, her hand rhythmically pressing, now firmly, now softly, into his thigh, her fingers tracing the inside seam of his jeans. She began to lean further, flushed, drawn to him at every breath.

And just then, in a moment, the enchantment broke. Her expression brightened, and with a flirtatious smile she leaned back.

"Fascinating. I think I've just thought of a solution."

Harry laughed at the sudden shift, totally confused. "A solution, Luna?"

"Leave it to me, Harry Potter. I know just the thing." At this she stood, grabbed his hand, and led him downstairs. "I'm afraid I'll need a few hours of privacy, Harry Potter. Would you mind walking me home?"

As they walked to the far hedge of the primary school, Luna skipped beside Harry, bubbling with excitement, her fingers laced between his. He laughed, enjoying her playful attention.

She picked up the rusty tin can, punctured, with a string of loose thread attached.

"Luna?"

She turned to him with a broad, mischievous smile.

He smiled. "I really like you."

She giggled, kissed his nose. "I know."

"Home."

Chapter Text

Harry strolled home, genuinely puzzled and genuinely amused. He wondered whether Luna Lovegood would ever stop surprising him. He loved every moment he spent with her, and he was also more than a little intrigued by her request for a few hours of privacy. He stirred, imagining.

When he arrived home, there was a massive bowl of Paneer Tikka Masala next to a platter piled high with buttered garlic Naan, a plate of Samosa Chaat, and a variety of chutney in small bowls. He spent the next hour slowly savoring the brilliant flavors, reflecting distantly on the summer of peanut butter sandwiches he'd left in his recent past.

He headed up the stairs to his loft after dinner. Planning to wash up, he headed to his wardrobe. On the way, he noticed a small stack of letters on his writing desk.

Harry,

I've just heard from Dumbledore that it's okay to write to you again.

Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry you've been so alone. I received all your letters, and I hated every minute thereafter. I'm so sorry. I've doubted a hundred times whether it was the right thing to ignore them. There's just so much I don't know. I was afraid, Harry. I was afraid that by writing you back I'd compromise your safety, and I couldn't accept that, even if it meant sending a thousand notes of apology.

I hope you're okay. I can't imagine what you're going through. On the heels of Cedric's death, after everything you went through at the tournament, in the graveyard. With no one to speak to aside from those awful Dursleys. Oh, Harry, I can't imagine, and I'm so sorry.

I want to do whatever I can to make it right. Please write back, Harry, as soon as you're able.

— Hermione

Harry,

God, I've been such an ass. It wasn't enough, apparently, that I failed you fourteen years ago. It wasn't enough that I fled like a coward last summer. It wasn't enough that I've hardly had a moment with you since my freedom.

Dumbledore. I fear I've been enslaved to him, somehow. I fear that my allegiance, my damned blind allegiance to the old fool has cost me everything.

He told me, Harry, that you and Voldy shared some sort of connection. He told me that we had to keep distance — for your safety, and for the greater good. He told me that the Death Eaters would have a leg up if we kept in touch.

And I bought it. I sent you some bullshit note asking you to 'calm down' and 'be patient,' when all I wanted to do was blow a hole in that damned Dursley's home and get you out of there.

I don't imagine you'll want anything to do with me. I understand. But I'm here, as I should have always been.

— Snuffles

PS – Folded into this note is a slip of paper. Read it, not out loud. You can come visit my place any time. That is, of course, if you can ever forget how much of a royal bastard I've been.

Harry,

Dumbles says I can write you again. What a mess this summer's been. It's not been the same, you being out of reach and all.

They've moved us all to Sirius' place. It's protected by some sort of magic that means we're safe from You-Know-Who's guys. Fred and George are driving Mom nuts, and Ginny won't stop asking if you're alright.

I'm not worried though. After fighting a dragon and surviving a duel with You-Know-Who, what's a few weeks, right?

Do you think you'll be allowed to visit sometime soon?

— Ron

Harry sat in the nearest crimson red wingback, flipping from letter to letter, not at all knowing what to think.

He reread Hermione's note. He couldn't help but feel her contrition, and it helped that she recognized the darkness they'd left him in. He could imagine her tears as she fought every inclination to reply, as she willingly, eagerly drafted the first of what could be dozens of apologies (though Harry had no intention of pressing her).

Yes, she'd contributed to a difficult season. But knowing that she knew what that must have felt like really helped Harry forgive her for the distance.

Hermione,

You're right. It was a really difficult stretch. I needed you there. You've always been the one to help me think clearly about dark, complicated matters. Your distance was painful.

I understand, though.

I question, sometimes, how much confidence we've invested in Dumbledore. He is, of course, brilliantly powerful and so consistently wise. But he's made mistakes, more than a few. I trust him, but I wonder whether unflinching loyalty and blind obedience is the way to go.

He visited me recently. I've never seen him like that, Hermione. He was broken. He apologized, really apologized for a series of bad decisions. Really bad decisions that have made my life so much harder than it needed to be. But he also gave me something that I can't wait to show you.

I am okay, Hermione. So much better than okay. I met someone.

We actually met last year. Her name is Luna. We've been spending a lot of time together, and she's brilliant. I can't wait for you to meet her, Hermione, she's lovely.

I've got a strange request, but it'll make sense soon. When can you convince your parents to let you visit? Yes, here.

It's so good to hear from you again.

— Harry

Harry sealed and set aside his reply to Hermione. He reread Sirius's letter.

On the one hand, he could never harbor bitterness toward his godfather. Sirius had already suffered so much, and his freedom hinged in many ways on Dumbledore's benevolence. He was at the mercy of circumstance, his luck running thinner every time he risked a stroll on a public street. If anyone's letters were to trigger a series of catastrophic events, it would be Sirius's.

On the other hand, Harry's unwavering affection for his godfather made the summer's distance that much more painful. He had come to rely on Sirius, whose fatherly love and sage counsel had steadied him throughout the course of the last year and the trauma of the tournament.

Harry thought for a moment, reread the letter once more, and set quill to parchment.

Snuffles,

Yes, I hated the distance. It's been a really tough summer, and I have so many questions, and I needed you there.

But I get it. Dumbledore isn't easy to ignore. He explained it all to me, and I understand to some degree why he asked you to keep your distance. It was your choice to do so, and it sucked that you went that direction. But I'm not sure I wouldn't have done the same thing.

It's so hard to know, now, what Voldemort will do, and how to keep everyone safe.

As far as whatever "connection" I may share with Voldemort, I don't have any further insight and Dumbledore hasn't been willing to share his thoughts. It's bullshit, how Tom's found a way into every arena of my life. I'd do anything to be rid of him, and all that he stands for, forever.

Speaking of. I think I've been wasting a lot of time. The library here is brilliant, and I've learned more in the last few days than I did in my first year at Hogwarts. I was hoping you'd help me focus my efforts.

Can I drop by sometime tomorrow?

— Harry

PS — I've met someone, Snuffles. A girl named Luna Lovegood. I want you to meet her, she's absolutely brilliant.

After sealing his letter to Sirius, Harry glanced again at the short note from Ron.

Ron.

What an idiot.

As much as Harry had appreciated his friendship, a lot had changed since the tournament began. Months of Ron's foolish jealousy, harsh bitterness, and sharp-edged silence had seriously damaged, perhaps permanently, the easy bond they once shared. Harry had hoped that painful stretch was an anomaly, that Ron would recognize he'd been a comprehensive ass and forever change course. But things weren't the same. Ron wasn't there. Ron didn't care.

And as much as Harry wanted to ignore it, he was beginning to think that Ron wasn't capable of depth. The trials of Harry's first years at Hogwarts had forced him to mature beyond his years. Hermione, too, had changed, developing empathy and awareness and compassion and depth as they survived perilous seasons together. But Ron was still… just Ron.

Harry reread the note and rolled his eyes, deciding not to reply at all.

Just then, Asher flew into the open window of Harry's loft bedroom. He bobbed excitedly on the perch, a letter loosely tied just above his left talon, and a small vial loosely attached to his right.

Chapter Text

My Harry,

I've made something for you.

When I was nine, after my mother died, my daddy decided to postpone my primary education for a year. In that time, he taught me everything he knew about memory magic. He wanted me to remember her, to preserve every memory I had of her. He taught me how to use a pensieve, and how to store my memories.

Neither of us could imagine a world without her. Yet in just a moment, memories were all we had. To keep her, to be with her, to reflect her light on the dark corners of our world. We weren't really, in the end, pursuing the magic of memory. We were pursuing her.

I took to the magic quickly, and over time I began to delve deeper into the theoretical magic of memory. We collected ancient volumes from ancient libraries. We courted the counsel of ghosts and goblins. In time, we knew more about memories than perhaps anyone alive.

I learned to preserve not only the sensory perception of a moment, but to preserve thought and to graft those thoughts seamlessly into the memories themselves, even to navigate the perspectives of those within the memory.

My father, too, pursued the magical possibility of memory. He explored the theory behind pensieves, ultimately discovering a means to mimic the experience of a pensieve in a lucid, dream-like state with a sleep potion he called Dilecta Somnia.

So I've been thinking about the tension you described today…

(My heart races even as I write this. I am, Harry Potter, utterly fascinated by you.)

… and it suddenly occurred to me that you might find my memories… helpful.

Yours,

Luna L.

PS — Come see me. Quickly, Harry.

Harry wore a flushed expression, his pulse relentless as he reflected on Luna's intimate attention. He'd learned that Luna's curiosity led her to explore all the closets and corners of human experience without a second thought of social boundaries. Her total absence of filters in many ways made their every interaction thrilling. He had her permission to speak about anything — how he felt, what he was experiencing, all of his fears and interests and ideas. And she had his. He didn't feel that comfortable with anyone. He felt intimately near to her; he found a connection with her that felt natural, unlike anything he'd experienced.

But he also felt naked before her. That vulnerability was new to him, too.

He folded her letter, stored it carefully in the small walnut box Hagrid had gifted him last year, and took a deep, meaningful breath. He stood, made his way to his wardrobe, grabbed a fresh pair of boxers and a black tee, and headed to the shower. After a quick wash, he took the vial in hand and laid in his four-poster.

The glass vial held a silver liquid, stirring like a dense fog.

Fighting a touch of apprehension, driven by a pulsing excitement, he reached for the vial, pulled the cork, and drank deeply.

Luna paced two steps above him, her fingers laced between his, leading him up the spiral staircase past nineteen ruby red, round doors. He watched her casual confidence, her playful pace. He traced the contours of her jeans with his wandering eyes, the gentle slope of her thighs and the tight swell of her rear, swaying slightly as she walked. He was entranced.

As they reached the final door, she turned with a flirtatious smile and kind, piercing eyes.

They entered a room of stunning beauty. Gold seams grafted into white walls, iridescent fields of color cast throughout the room by the setting sun.

Their fingers laced, she led him to the center of the leather sofa, sat him at the center, sat directly beside him, her thigh pressed against his, her shoulder leaning into his side.

A moment later, he heard her voice, whispering in his mind. "Kiss me, Harry."

Harry's pulse quickened.

"Harry…" she turned, looked up with vulnerable eyes, wrapped her arm around his waist, "...would you like to kiss me now?"

At this, time literally slowed to a crawl, and the perspective of the dream shifted. Suddenly it was as if he was standing just in front of them, watching himself slowly lean into her. Their lips met, and for a moment time stopped completely. He traced the shape of her as she leaned into him, her back tensed into a gentle slope, directing his attention to the shape of her chest. He could see specks of dust, still in the air, luminescent within fields of color.

Time resumed at half-speed as their lips met. He watched her open her lips, gently pressing herself further into him.

He heard her thoughts, piercing his mind. "More, Harry…"

He watched as his tongue just touched her lips. He heard her soft moan, watched her fists clench into his tee and the denim of his jeans.

Tension built in Harry's abdomen, radiating through his thighs.

She reached her hand to the crook of his neck, played with his hair. He could hear his breathing, her breathing, building in chorus with sharp intake.

She shifted her weight, sat on his lap, wrapped her thigh around his waist.

At this, the perspective shifted once again, and he was, just for a moment, viewing the world through her eyes, feeling the world through her body.

He felt her pulse, building, radiating pleasure throughout her body. He felt her face flush, her lips and her tongue play. A tingle shot up her spine as she felt Harry, hard beneath her thighs.

He heard her thoughts, piecing his mind. "Is he…?" A gasp. "You're perfect, Harry Potter."

The building tension came to a crest, all the pleasure in the world was at hand. He couldn't breathe.

The perspective shifted again, and he watched from beside them. Time reversed, then slowed again to a crawl, as he watched her shift her weight, sit on his lap, wrap her thigh around his waist.

She pressed her chest against his, pressed her lips full into his. And then he watched her eyes go wide in sudden realization. He heard her moan.

And he watched her slowly push her torso into his abdomen in waves. He watched their bodies move in intimate rhythm as she pressed against him again and again.

He heard her thoughts, piercing his mind. "Harry. More. Please, Harry. More."

Suddenly, days of building pressure released in an orchestration of ecstasy, wave upon wave of intense, unimaginable pleasure overtook him. All control left his body and his mind and everything within him tensed into an explosion of sudden, overwhelming release.

Chapter Text

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Sirius,

I have reason to suspect a dementor attack in a few days. I need your help, and your advice. Bring every relevant book from the Black Library as soon as you can.

— Harry

PS — I'm assuming Dumbledore granted you access to my home. If not, read the bit of parchment attached to this letter, not out loud. If you're able, come soon.

For at least three minutes after she arrived at his home, Luna held Harry in a tight embrace. She kissed him softly, meaningfully, and then pulled away. Harry decided immediately to send for Sirius, whose first-hand experience with dementors was unparalleled, and who had access to one of the most significant magical libraries in Britain, perhaps the most significant library as far as dark magical texts were concerned.

After sending Hedwig away with a note to his godfather, Harry led Luna, fingers laced, back downstairs to the dining table piled high with fresh-sliced, crusty bread, a platter of aged cheeses and olives, bowls of olive oil with coarse ground spices, and smashed avocado.

Harry asked Luna dozens of questions about her vision. He asked her to describe the alley, pressed her for as many details as her strained memory could recall. He asked her about his shouts, whether she could recall the movement of his lips and perhaps piece together some comprehension of why he'd be in an alleyway in Little Whinging in the first place. He asked her about the dementors — how they moved, from what direction they closed in on him and their location relative to his. After exhausting every potentially relevant question, he started over, and again asked her to describe the alleyway in meticulous detail.

As soon as they'd had their fill, Luna led Harry to the library, and for an hour they pulled every volume on dark creatures, defense against dark magic, and any historical works that might touch on the unsteady relationship between dementors and the wizarding community.

They acquired a dozen leather and cloth-bound volumes and carried them to the reading nook in Harry's loft. Just as Harry set these upon the side table, a ghostly pale barn owl that he'd never seen arrived, alighting on Hedwig's perch just inside the broad window behind them. Harry was greeted with a few polite bobs as he untied the leather strap holding a note just above his right talons.

Harry,

I cannot express the relief I felt when I received your letter. I'm ever in your debt, Harry, for so quickly forgiving what I fear is a terrible lapse in judgment.

Yes. Dumbledore is brilliant. But I agree, we've followed him blindly. I suspect even he would recommend we think for ourselves a bit more than we have. When I picture his contrition, I find myself stunned, and I want to hear the full account.

Luna? I think I may know of her in a distant sort of way. I'm so happy to hear that you're happy, and I can't wait to meet her.

I can, indeed, visit whenever I wish, as I've convinced my parents that it's the only way you'll truly forgive me.

Send me the address and I'll be there at the next available moment.

Thank you, Harry, for being such a friend.

— Hermione

PS — This is Newton. He's a barn owl from Maine — a gift from my parents, and a not-so-subtle suggestion that I keep in touch throughout the school year. He's quite friendly; I hope he and Hedwig might become friends.

Hermione,

Something's come up, and we need your mind. Come as soon as possible.

Harry

PS — Take the bit of parchment attached to this letter to No. 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Then unroll the parchment and read it, not out loud.

Harry scratched the note to Hermione as soon as he'd read his reply.

"Newton, hm?" Harry nuzzled the barn owl affectionately. "I think we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Unfortunately I've just sent Hedwig off, but you'll see each other soon enough."

He tied the folded parchment loosely, just above his left talon, and sent him off.

They headed back downstairs to tend to the cauldron full ofIntelligentia Concentrata, which was ready for final preparations.

As they entered the potions lab, they were met by the strong fragrance of freshly clipped rosemary. The cauldron boiled softly, whispers in an indiscernible language seemed to rise from the bubbles as they burst. Where a void had been, a soft silver haze was developing.

Luna readied the tufts of Knotgrass, which Harry added every twenty minutes. While they waited, they read aloud relevant portions of two volumes they had found,Dangerous and Dark Creaturesin Luna's hands, andAzkaban: A Historyin Harry's.

By mid afternoon, the silver haze had adopted a bright sheen, shining a distant light in tempestuous patterns upon their faces.

They filled sixteen small glass vials with the mixture. As they did so, a narrow cabinet of carved woodwork materialized at shoulder height above the workstation. Opening it, Harry found a half dozen empty shelves, the top left of which was labeled with a copper plate, "Intelligentia Concentrata."

They proceeded to the reading nook in Harry's loft. A few moments after he sat beside the short pile of books, a patronus in the shape of a large black dog rushed through the broad window. It sat before them and spoke, and they heard the voice of Sirius Black.

"Harry. I've received your note. I'm quite concerned about this, and I'll do all I can to help. I've around a half dozen relevant books from the library at Grimmauld Place, none of which are unique and most of which you'll likely have copies of. The most important and rare works are housed in Black Manor. If I remember correctly, there's also a magical artifact there that you'll find indispensable. I'm going there now. Expect me first thing tomorrow morning. And Harry? Stay put until then."

At this, the Patronus dissolved into a cloud of bright silvery white mist.

It was late afternoon. Luna leaned into Harry's chest and shoulder, her legs curled beside her on the mid-century leather sofa. She absentmindedly traced the inside seam of Harry's jeans with the trailing fingertips of her left hand. With her right hand she held open a cloth-bound book entitledMagical Theory and the Emotional Realm, carefully skimming the yellowed pages with furrowed brow. She had just finished scanningDangerous and Dark Creatures, marking with bits of spare parchment the relevant chapters.

Harry, too, had set aside the book he'd been reading,Azkaban: A History, in favor of a parallel work on the contractual relationships between the Ministry of Magic and magical races, entitled,Perilous Alliances: Magical Race Relations.

Just as Harry began to read what felt like an important passage to Luna, they heard a knock at the door of Harry's home.

Hermoine stood before the cunningly etched front door of No. 4 1/2 Privet Drive, stunned at the display of magic that had just unfolded before her eyes.

She'd heard of expansion charms, pocket dynamics, andfideliusprotections. But the cunning orchestration of these, the interplay of disparate spells that culminated in the impossible existence of Harry's new home struck her silent.

This was Dumbledore's work. It had to be.

She took in the hedges, the stone path, the wide, tall windows, the white painted brick, the pavement that had unfolded from thin air. She smiled broadly, aware of the pulsing magic behind it all.

Suddenly she realized that she'd never announced herself. She knocked three times, and waited with a polite smile.

The door opened and there was Harry, smiling broadly in a white tee that fit perfectly, in a pair of blue jeans without holes or stains. Hermoine appreciated at once the distinction between this Harry and the one who greeted her every Autumn on the Hogwarts Express.

"Harry!" She rushed in and hugged him tightly. Pulling away, she laughed happily, "Your home is amazing!"

"I wholeheartedly agree." Harry replied with a wide grin. "How are you, Hermione?"

Just then, Luna Lovegood approached with a kind smile, lacing her fingers through Harry's right hand, and leaning her form into his. The intimacy they shared wasn't something Hermione had expected.

Hermione recognized Luna vaguely — a third year Ravenclaw, if memory served. Yet she'd never given her much attention, and she was immediately struck by her piercing silver-grey eyes, her full-bodied dirty-blonde hair done up loosely in a twist, her confident presence and striking figure. She noticed immediately that Luna was beautiful, and she supposed her beauty had been obscured by the inter-house rumors of missing shoes and radish earrings.

Hermione smiled nicely, extending her hand. "Hi. I'm Hermione Granger."

Luna immediately let go of Harry's hand and threw her arms around Hermoine's neck, pulling her into a friendly embrace. "Thank you, Hermione Granger. You're a lovely friend, and Harry's told me so much, and I couldn't be more excited to meet you."

Chapter Text

Hermoine stood stiffly in the entryway to No. 4 1/2 Privet Drive, enveloped in Luna Lovegood's tight embrace. She wore a half-awkward smile and couldn't help but laugh as she returned her embrace with a quick squeeze and three soft pats, communicating without words "It's nice to meet you" as much as "Okay, we're done now."

Luna released her reluctantly, pulled back, and smiled with wide eyes.

At this, Harry stepped in. "Let me show you around."

He paraded her through the living room, potions lab, and dining room. The tour ground to a screeching halt as soon as they stepped into the library.

"Oh, Harry…" Hermoine spoke softly after a sharp intake of breath. "It's perfect."

There was no use pushing her along. For the next half hour, Hermoine languidly perused the floor-to ceiling shelves, here and there pulling ancient tomes and softly thumbing through titles with affectionate hums. After she'd traced the outer walls a second time, Harry called her name playfully; at last the enchantment broke.

"Oh! Right. Sorry." She smiled bashfully.

After a quick run through his loft, Harry led them back down the stairs to the living room. Luna took a seat directly next to Harry on the near side of the overstuffed, crimson red sofa. Hermione sat directly across from them in one of the leather wingbacks.

"You mentioned, Harry, that something had come up. It sounded urgent, and I've already wasted nearly an hour gushing over your library."

"Right." Harry hesitated for just a moment, then gathered himself. "We have reason to believe that in three days I'll be attacked by two dementors in an alleyway of Little Whinging."

Hermione's face was unreadable. "What reason?"

Harry stumbled. "I'm sorry. What?"

Hermione blinked. "Apologies. I meant, what reason do you have to believe that two dementors will attack you in an alleyway in Little Whinging?"

Harry began to respond, then hesitated. At this, Luna leaned into him, wrapping his left arm over her shoulder and lacing her fingers through his left hand. She held a steady, piercing gaze. With furrowed brow and trembling chin she spoke, her voice just breaking.

"I saw it. I'm a seer, Hermione. I saw the dementors attack, and I saw Harry bound and arrested by two Aurors, and I saw him stand before a divided Wizengamot."

For a moment nothing happened. Then the air in the room shifted, and everything was still, and it was suddenly cooler.

The slightest lift of Hermione's left eyebrow, and nothing beyond this, exhibited a restraint of which Harry did not know her capable.

"You… saw it?" She exerted every energy to withhold judgment.

Luna nodded.

"Okay. Um. Okay." Hermione gathered herself. "I'm not terribly familiar with…"

"Sight." Luna explained, her voice adopting a vague distance and melody. "The sight has been passed from mother to daughter in my family for over twenty generations. There has never been, at any known point, more than two seers in Britain, or more than seven in the world. You've been told that Professor Trawleney has the sight, but she doesn't. The sight always passes within a family, from mother to daughter, and only ever at the mother's passing. My mother died six years ago, and that's when the sight passed to me."

Hermione was watching, evaluating. She took a breath. "So you can… you see the future?"

Luna shook her head. "It isn't as simple as that. I have no control over the sight. It comes to me, sometimes. My mother told me that the frequency and duration increases with age, and I'm an especially young seer. But sometimes, seemingly at random, my experience of the world around me fades altogether, and for a time I see what will happen. And I know, with absolute certainty, that it will happen. And I know precisely when it will happen. And it has always happened, Hermione, exactly as I saw it, every single time."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Okay." She exhaled slowly. "Okay." She hesitated. "I suppose you must understand that I've no way to feel, with the same certainty, that what you expect will happen will actually happen. But I'm more than willing to suspend my disbelief to prepare for a threat which will, surely, inevitably, threaten the society which we've a duty to preserve. Dementors are a horrid evil, a blight upon the Wizarding pursuit of justice. And they will, of course, turn against us in the end."

She took another breath. "If what you say is true, it challenges everything I know about time, and free will, and ultimately it undoes several central components to the framework with which I account for the world and all that's within it."

She hesitated, caught Luna's gaze directly. "Luna, forgive me. I don't want to cast doubt upon something of which you're certain. I'm with you, and I'll help in whatever way I can."

Luna's eyes welled. "Hermione, I think we'll be the best of friends."

Hermione immediately borrowed a quill and parchment, sending Hedwig with a note to her parents, asking permission to stay the night with her friends to assist with a last minute research project. Within the hour, her request was granted.

"I haven't made much progress, Hermione." Harry admitted, with furrowed brow. "I've scanned the text of a few books, looking for some actionable insight related to the relationship between the Ministry and Azkaban. Nothing there that we didn't already know, as far as I can tell."

Luna spoke up. "I've found a thread that might be worth following. As we all know, the relevant dynamic is emotional, both offensive and defensive. Dementors feed on happiness, on joy, on love. And the Patronus charm is more or less effective, hinging on a wizard's ability to summon happy memories. The best theory texts seem to suggest that this emotional realm has more influence over the efficacy of spellcraft than we've historically acknowledged. I think there's something there, but I'm not sure what."

While they spoke, Hermione scanned the titles they'd pulled earlier that afternoon. "I can see why you'd pursue that angle, Harry." She commented without looking up. "Surely some clever bit of magic was employed to restrain the dementor's impulses while the Ministry negotiated their role as guards of Azkaban. Sirius might be a helpful counselor on that front." She paused, thinking. "Luna, you're right. As I've pursued magical theory independently, I find that emotion is a fundamental ingredient to powerful spellcraft, and such dynamics must be especially important in defense against dark creatures that feed on hope."

She paused mid-thought. "I can't help but think that we're missing something, though."

At this, Harry stomach growled. Turning, they noticed the dining room table was piled high with dishes of Shepherd's Pie, platters of roasted vegetables, baskets of large yeast rolls dripping with butter, bowls of mushy peas, and ice cold pitchers of pumpkin juice.

Hermione looked utterly confused.

"Harry, how did food just appear on your table?"

They traded ideas in turns over the feast spread before them. Luna once again explained every detail she could recall from the vision, as Harry and Hermione listened carefully. Hermione's focus narrowed on the divided Wizengamot. She asked if Luna could discern the nature of the uproar — whether there were clear lines of division visible among the members which might represent political factions. Harry couldn't shake the sense that he was missing something important from the alley scene. They fought the distinct notion that they'd wasted time after uncovering a number of clear dead ends.

It wasn't until dessert that Harry remembered the potion.

"Oh!" Harry shouted, interrupting a speculative back-and-forth between Hermione and Luna. "Well now I feel like a total idiot. Hermione, we've just finished brewing a potion that might help."

Hermione crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed. "You were brewing a potion?"

He laughed. "I know!" After a beat, he continued. "I know. It's just that I started reading one of the ancient potions texts from the Potter Library, and the theory was fascinating, Hermione. And I found myself actually wanting to try a brew, especially considering I've got all I need here in the home. And I realized just then that it wasn't potions I hated, it was Snape."

He paused, smiled broadly. "Actually I've been meaning to tell you. A lot has changed recently, and it's all worked together to clarify some things. I haven't really applied myself since entering the Wizarding World, Hermione, despite your efforts. I think I was afraid of what Ron might think, or distracted by this ridiculous rivalry with Malfoy, or obsessed with Quidditch. It's as if I've had blinders on. Almost as soon as I discovered the beauty of magic, I lost sight of it. Anyway, when everything changed recently, the opportunity before me became crystal clear. I want to grow. I want to understand. And I don't want to let anything get in my way."

Luna laced her fingers through his hand, smiling with a proud affection.

Hermione beamed. "Oh Harry, I've been waiting for you to say that to me for years."

Harry led them into the potions lab. As he approached, a narrow cabinet of carved woodwork magically emerged from the wall just above the workstation. He opened it, and grabbed three vials from the top left shelf.

"It's called Intelligentia Concentrata. It's from a mid nineteenth century text on potions intended to strengthen efforts of the mind, and to protect the mind from foreign influence. Dumbledore mentioned a vague suspicion that Voldemort and I share some sort of mental or emotional connection that could be exploited, so it seemed pretty relevant. But I stumbled upon this recipe."

He opened the text, flipped to the yellowed, annotated page. "A potion to hone the endeavors of a mind, particularly when laboring to understand a difficult subject."

He looked up from the recipe. "If I'm reading the margin notes rightly, it's been used for at least a half dozen Potters. Luna and I just finished crafting it this afternoon. I figure, if anything will help us find some answers, it's this."

Hermione bit her lip, picking up the text and scanning the pages with furrowed brow. "While I'm not typically the first to ingest untested potions, by all appearances you've executed the preparations flawlessly. And the scratches in the margin indicate it's particularly helpful."

Harry smiled hopefully, held out two vials, glancing from Hermione to Luna. "So what do we think, guys?"

Hermione shrugged with a nervous smile, tucking a stray chestnut curl behind her right ear, and took the vial from his hand.

Luna bobbed on her tiptoes, leaned forward and kissed Harry's cheek as she took the vial from his hand.

Harry pulled the cork, held the glass vial before him. "Cheers?"

Chapter Text

As soon as the last drop of Intelligentia Concentratatouched the tip of her tongue, Hermoine Granger looked up with wide eyes.

"It's a ward. That's what we've been missing."

Luna was struck with sudden comprehension.

"Of course. A ward designed to dampen the influence of the dementors would weaken their field of emotional enchantment and strengthen the force of charms cast against them."

All that Harry had been reading, and everything they'd discussed, immediately fell into place. "That's what I was running toward in the alley. It didn't make sense to me. I can cast a Patronus — why would I run away from attacking dementors? I must have been running toward a ward."

He paused to retrieve Azkaban: A History from the dining room table, locating the relevant page and reading aloud. "In the early fifteenth century, a delegate council of witches and wizards were sent as ambassadors of the Noble Houses, to meet with representatives of the Dementor race. They were tasked with negotiating a contract stipulating terms for the perpetual enlistment of guards over the Azkaban population. A weeklong summit at Stonehenge resulted in formal proximity boundaries around prisoners, and strict limits regarding the use of the Dementor's kiss.""These contractual terms have been renewed every twenty years, a recurring negotiation commonly referred to as theStonehenge Summit. In the late eighteenth century, management of the Azkaban guard population passed from the delegate council to the office of the Senior Undersecretary of the Minister of Magic, in cooperation with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Harry closed the book, shifting his gaze to Hermione. "It makes sense. Negotiations like that couldn't unfold without some sort of dampening field."

Luna nodded, reflective. "We need to find that ward and cast it in the alleyway."

Hermione furrowed her brow in concentration. "There's a cloth-bound book on the far wall of your library, Harry, entitled Protective Enchantments of the Early Renaissance. If the final form of the ward was crystallized in the early fifteenth century, that'd be the best place to start."

She paused, her glance shifting from Luna to Harry pensively. "The ward, however, is merely one aspect of the solution."

At this, Luna spoke, melodically reflecting in a distant sort of way. "Indeed, we need a spell powerful enough to kill Dementors." She frowned. "Unfortunately, the Patronus Charm, even in its most tangible corporeal form, has never so much as injured a Dementor. Theoretical texts suggest an emotional dynamic at play, overwhelming the Dementor's thirst so forcefully that they must flee. Yet the Patronus was only ever intended to be a guardian. That's the sense of the Latin phrase. Expecto,meaning 'I await,' Patronum, meaning 'a Guardian.'"

Harry was deep in thought. After a moment, he lifted his face to Hermione. "When was the last wizarding conflict involving Dementors?"

She nodded, following his logic. "If I remember correctly, it was the twelfth century. The Byzantine War, wherein the Thracian Sorcerers established a loose alliance with the Dementor race and thereby won the Macedonian front in 1189."

Harry's eyes brightened. "Hang on!" He disappeared, and after a few moments returned with a book entitled, The Spellcraft of War: Medieval Martial Charms and their Uses. "Perhaps this might come in handy."

The potion had made the experience of thinking carefully absolutely exhilarating. Suddenly they each had access to the totality of their cognitive associations, distant memories, even relevant sensory experiences.

Harry could recall, in a moment, the location of every book he'd taken note of in his library, even some that he'd hardly glanced at. The sum of his past work in Charms, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts came to the surface of his memory as soon as he needed them. He felt that, every moment before this one, he'd been laboring in a thick fog, blindly attempting to draw connections, to realize a synthesis of thought beyond his reach. That fog had cleared, and suddenly his logic was bulletproof, his connections seamless, his conclusions profound.

Hermione returned to the library to quickly retrieve Protective Enchantments of the Early Renaissance. Luna grabbed the copy of Potions for the Strengthenying & Protection of the Myndethey'd been using. Harry led them to the reading nook in his loft, settled on the far end of the mid-century leather sofa, and began flipping eagerly through The Spellcraft of War.

Within two hours, they had a plan.

Tutela Animae

Description: A useful ward originally crafted for the purpose of preserving the emotional and cognitive capacities of witches and wizards delegated to represent the Noble Houses at the Stonehenge Summits. This spell casts a protective field that dampens the efficacy of a Dementor's enchantment, which otherwise actively cripples human capacity and renders all but the most powerful wizards incapable of complex defensive spells.

Effect: When cast by a powerful wizard, the resulting field envelops an area with a radius as wide as fifty yards. Within this field, not only are humans insulated from the most crippling components of the Dementor's nefarious enchantments, but the Dementors themselves are rendered physically vulnerable. The field will remain without requiring maintenance for up to seven days.

Instructions: Wave wand arm in a circular pattern overhead, recalling a series of intense memories associated with profound joy, uninterrupted until ward is set. Whisper incantation repeatedly with eyes closed until a silver haze issues from the wand. Broaden circular wave until the wand arm is outstretched to full length. Finish cast with a clear, forceful articulation of incantation while the wand arm relaxes to point wand directly downward.

Fortitudo Inflexibilis

A pocioun to protecte the witche or wizarde fromne neferious inchantmentes relatyd to emotiouns.

Ingredients

4 Newtes Eyes, Dryed 2 Ashwynder Egges 1 Spanne Boomslang Skynne 3 Sprigges Dittanie

Bringe foure measures standarde pociouns base to softe boyle. Grynde dryed newtes eyes, recallyng bittere memories, tosse in cauldron whilste grindinge teeth. Wayte twelve mynutes, then Breake Ashwynder Egges directlie into cauldron whilste reflectinge on the death of a lovede one. Trimme Boomslang Skynne into sevenne strippes, depositinge each into the brewe, whilste reflectinge on an acte of intense sexual intimacie. Precysely one houre later, drope a sprigge of dittanie into the cauldron everie nyne mynutes, remembringe the affectione of deare friendes. Executed properlye, the pocioun should caste a softe purpelle glow, and smelle of honie.

Expecto Bellator

Far less common than its twin, "Expecto Patronum," and far more difficult to properly execute, this spell was crafted as a response to mercenary efforts on the Macedonian front of the Byzantine Conflict in 1189.

When properly cast, the spell produces a corporeal Patronus — a magical guardian capable of driving away Dementors and Lethifolds. Yet in this case the most powerful magicians are capable of producing a fully tangible Patronus, capable of rendering physical harm to Dementors. Indeed, it is the only known magic capable of destroying Dementors altogether, and was put to great use to regain the Macedonian front.

Execution: Maintain perfect focus on a memory of profound joy. Clearly, slowly, and forcefully articulate the first half of the incantation, "Expecto," while sweeping wand arm fluidly from center mass to left shoulder. Return wand arm to center mass, pointing wand directly at target. Shift focus to a memory of unadulterated love. Shout the remaining incantation, "Bellator!"

Effect: If perfectly cast, a fully tangible Patronus will emerge from wand, shining a bright white light on the surrounding area. Patronus will dart full speed to the nearest threat, affecting violent harm.

The trick of it was going to be the spells.

They'd need Sirius to agree to cast the ward, as exceptions to the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcerydidn't include the casting of protective wards on the off chance of a Dementor attack.

The variant Patronus, however, was clearly an advanced bit of magic, beyond Harry even after the tournament. He'd need a lot of practice to get it right. Hermione was absolutely thrilled to learn of the powerful wards protecting Luna's home, and thereby the opportunities to cast without consequence throughout the summer. But they all agreed that violating Sirius's wishes that Harry remain at home wasn't a great first step.

So they set to work on the Potion immediately.

After Luna brought the appropriate measure of potions base to a soft boil, Harry stepped in to prepare the Newt's Eyes. He reflected on memories of Malfoy throughout. He ground his teeth while adding the first ingredient, and stage one was complete. Twelve minutes later, tears welling in his eyes, Harry reflected on the meaningless death of Cedric Diggory as he cracked two Ashwinder eggs into the brew. The cauldron shifted to a sky blue haze.

They waited nearly an hour, hashing and rehashing the course of action upon which they'd decided at the dining room table, each enjoying a pint of Butterbeer that had magically appeared as soon as they settled.

As they returned to the potions table, Harry blushed a wild crimson while rereading aloud the next stage. Luna without a moment's hesitation volunteered, biting her lip and eyeing Harry meaningfully. A longing sigh escaped her lips as she trimmed the Boomslang Skin. Hermione turned away, fighting back an embarrassed giggle.

It was half past ten when Hermione completed the final stage of the potion, wearing a contented smile. A strong fragrance of honey emanated from the cauldron, which glowed a soft purple.

Immediately a narrow cabinet of carved woodwork emerged magically from the wall, shoulder height above the workstation. A copper plate on the upper right-hand corner shelf read Fortitudo Inflexibilis.They bottled a dozen small glass vials and sorted them accordingly.

They worked together to clean up the workstation and return ingredients to the meticulously sorted shelves to their left. After they'd finished, Harry suddenly realized it was late.

"Um… so guys, I've never really hosted before. I guess we can… um… maybe gather some blankets. I can take the sofa downstairs of course, and —"

He halted abruptly, because just then the distant sound of stone scraping against brick echoed from his loft upstairs, followed by two subdued clicks. They drew their wands, caution overtaking their features. Harry led them slowly toward the sound.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Harry immediately noticed that something had changed. After a quick glance around, he noticed two doors had appeared, against the near wall on either side of the staircase. Turning first to the left, Harry slowly pushed open a navy blue door, marked with a large brass letter H. Hermione, just behind him, was beaming.

"Absolutely incredible. It's a perfect duplicate of my bedroom."

She led them into the room, at the center of which was a large, white wooden bed frame, upon which sat a thick mattress covered with a navy blue, fluffy down blanket. A gold duvet was folded at the foot of the bed, and a navy accent pillow upon which was embroidered a gold letter H sat between the four, fluffy white pillows against the headboard.

Beside the bed sat a large chest of drawers. On the far side of the room, a large bookcase sat beside a writing desk.

After a moment's stunned reflection, Luna led them to the opposite door — a perfectly round, crimson red door with a copper knob at its center. Shoulder height above the knob was a golden rune. She traced the golden rune with her right index finger, then turned the copper knob.

Dominating the room was a large four-poster, neatly made with a bright white, overstuffed down blanket. At the head of the bed, at least twelve impossibly fluffy pillows of various sizes were neatly arranged.

The far wall of the room was curved, following the circumference of the Rook's external wall. Grafted into the very stone of the wall, like veins of ore, golden threads cast in the shape of the branches and leaves of a willow shifting in the wind gave the room a peaceful, flowing movement.

To the right of the four-poster, a large standing mirror stood beside a large wardrobe of palest birch. To the left of the four-poster sat a worn golden wingback, beside a small side table stacked with letters.

Luna smiled broadly, and after a long moment's reflection Harry could just hear her whisper, "Magical."

Chapter Text

The black silhouettes of an unbroken line of impossibly high houses towered over Harry to his right and left, stabbing a stormy sky. Between them stretched an unending alleyway of cracked and broken pavement, lined by splintered fences and punctuated with tall, rusted street lamps casting a yellow, tainted light.

Harry was running terrified, the echoes of tears just visible on his cheeks. He cried out, stumbling as he cast frightened glances behind him. The thick darkness drew nearer, an ominous fog of icy black enveloping the alleyway behind him.

He turned, frantically shaking a gate to his left. It was barred and locked. He trembled, shouting for help.

Finally, he faced the frigid darkness.

Torn, flowing black robes emerged from the icy fog. Harry raised his wand, stumbled over the incantation, collapsed to his knees. He screamed as Dementors fell upon him.

Harry Potter's limp body lay on the cracked pavement. His eyes were open, welling with tears. An eyeless face drew near, dominated by thin, dark lips and a wide, open mouth. Row upon row of teeth were just visible in the darkness.

Time slowed as the Dementor's lips touched Harry's. It lay its body upon him in a display of grotesque intimacy, passionlessly consuming his soul. After a moment, Harry was gone forever, his body an empty, lifeless shell.

Luna wept violently, her body curled tight into a fetal position, her sheets and blanket tossed haphazardly to the floor beneath her four-poster. In a moment of panicked movement she gasped for air and sat bolt upright, trembling, slowly regaining awareness of the bedroom around her.

"Harry!" She cried out, her voice breaking.

She leapt out of the bed, quickly clearing the distance to the round, crimson red door. She turned the knob and rushed out of the room.

Harry blinked awake slowly, some part of him vaguely sensing movement nearby. As he fumbled for his glasses in the darkness, he heard Luna's soft, trembling whisper.

"Harry?"

Her form came clearly into his vision in the cool light of the full moon. She was standing an arm's length from his bedside. Her eyes were swollen, dark pink and puffy. She was flushed, and her cheeks were wet with tears. She seemed a fraction of herself, broken and weak.

Harry pivoted to the bed and stood, clearing the distance between them immediately. "Luna? What happened?! Are you okay?"

She threw herself into him, barely containing her sobs as she dug her face into his neck. He held her tightly, whispering softly into her ear.

"I'm here." He kissed her forehead. "It's okay, Luna."

She pulled her body full into his, fighting for control. "You were gone, Harry." She shook her head violently. "I'd lost you."

He scratched her back comfortingly, pulled her closer. "I'm here. I'm so sorry, darling. It was just a dream, Luna. It was only a dream."

He held her like that, softly whispering comforting words, until her tears were spent. She clung to him desperately, every few moments driving her body further into his. In time, the room was perfectly still, and he could hear only her soft, measured breath.

"I can't lose you, Harry Potter." She whispered into his ears, refusing to let go.

He'd never felt so full. "I'll do everything I can to keep that from happening."

She kissed his cheek softly. Pulled away just far enough to look into his eyes with a longing expression. "Harry, can I…" She hesitated. "Can I stay with you, just for a little while?"

He nodded without a second's thought. "Of course."

He kissed her softly and led her, fingers laced, to his bed. As he lay flat on his four-poster, he turned to look at her.

She was wearing a loose heather cami and a short pair of charcoal jersey pajama shorts. The cut of the tank revealed the gentle contours of her chest; the shorts teased the soft slope of thighs. She was biting her lip with a soft, vulnerable expression. Her lips parted as he pulled her gently onto the bed.

She tucked herself into him, slowly shifting her body to curl into his. She laid her head on his shoulder, pressed her chest firmly to his side and wrapped her arm around his waist, tugging him closer. She lay her thigh across his hip, pulling her right knee to rest her leg between his.

She didn't sleep; she watched him with searching eyes and bated breath. Every few minutes, she pulled closer into him, as if assuring herself that he was, indeed, truly there. She curled into him further, shifting her weight to press her chest firmly into his side, pulling her knee further toward his waist. He felt the weight of her thigh against him, the pleasant pressure of her occasional movement radiating through his abdomen and thighs.

They lay like this for hours. With his left hand, Harry gently traced the contours of her side, following the subtle lift of her waist, dragging his fingers slowly down her thigh, back again to her side. They breathed together, slowly.

It must have been three or four in the morning when Luna stirred.

She shifted her weight, pulling her elbow beneath her in the silence and lifting her chest and shoulders from the mattress. Her face was inches away. She held herself there for a moment, her eyes inches from his, her nose nearly touching his own. And then she kissed him, softly pressing her lips against his. She pulled away for a moment, exhaled longingly, and then drew near again, kissing him in patient waves, her tongue dragging softly, carefully against his lips. As she kissed him, her body adopted a slow, intimate rhythm, pressing with gentle pressure against him again and again.

His body stirred, his heart racing. He returned her kiss, his tongue pressing softly against hers as she parted her lips. She shifted her weight again, and he felt her every movement, her breath against his cheek, her breasts against his chest, her bare legs against his own, the weight of her thigh pressing in waves against his center.

As tension built, suddenly it occurred to Harry that he'd fallen asleep that night in a pair of loose linen boxers.

Luna Lovegood bit her lip, watching Harry — impossibly alive — gently pull her toward his bed.

She tucked herself into him, laying her thigh across his hip and her arm around his waist. He was here, with her, and it was going to be okay. He was here, and she wasn't letting go. At intervals, when her nightmare would surge back to the forefront of her mind, she pulled him closer, curling further into his waist, pulling her knee closer to his hips.

They lay like this for hours.

It must have been three or four in the morning. She knew she needed to get back. She knew she needed sleep. Just a moment longer.

She shifted her weight, hovered her face above his, studying his lashes, his emerald green eyes, the shape of his lips, the movement of his body as he breathed. She wanted to kiss him desperately, and just then she forgot altogether why it might not be a great idea.

She pressed her lips softly into his, for a moment absolutely overwhelmed by the thrill of his presence, his nearness, his shape. She pulled away, exhaled softly.

More.

She pressed into him again, kissing him in unhurried waves, the tip of her tongue dragging softly over his perfect lips. She pressed her body against his, gently shifting, again and again, waves crashing against waves in thoughtless, perfect rhythm.

He returned her affections, his tongue pressed softly against hers, and she felt a warm, pleasant tension between her thighs. She pressed full into him, her right leg extending between his, her thigh pressing full into his center.

She felt a building tension on her thigh, a pronounced pressure focused just below his center. Suddenly it occurred to Luna that Harry had fallen asleep that night in a pair of loose linen boxers.

She shifted her weight away, softly pulling back as she bit her lip flirtatiously.

She sighed, a slow, longing moan. "Harry Potter, I think it's best if I go back to my bed now…"

He blushed, uncomfortably aware of the unfolding dilemma.

"Right. I'm, er… sorry about…"

She interrupted him. "Don't, my perfect Harry Potter. It took every ounce of self control to pull myself away."

He smiled. "Luna, I love every moment I spend with you."

She kissed him softly, pivoted to the bed's edge.

"I'd, um…" He stumbled. "I'd walk you back, Luna, but…"

She beamed, bit her lip again, winked flirtatiously. "Goodnight, Harry Potter."

Chapter Text

The distant echoes of playful laughter gently teased Harry awake several hours past dawn. After a quick shower, he threw on a fresh black tee and a pair of dark blue jeans, noting that he hadn't slept this late for at least three summers.

As he descended the stairs, the jovial banter of Harry's favorite people forced a warm smile to overtake his features. Hermione, Sirius, and Luna laughed over piping mugs of tea, piles of freshly baked pastries scattered before them.

Sirius noticed the movement as soon as Harry came into view.

"Harry! You're looking healthy — as well you should, considering the late morning." He winked.

Hermione feigned disapproval, casting a furrowed brow in Sirius' direction. "Harry's earned a long night's sleep, Sirius."

"And uninterrupted rest is such a rare thing." Luna cast a meaningful glance in Harry's direction, biting her lip flirtatiously.

Harry began to blush. "Good morning to you three. Sirius, I'm glad you made it, and I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you. I honestly can't remember the last time I slept in like that."

He sat at the table directly next to Luna, plated a few warm croissants and some flaky babka. A piping hot mug of tea appeared just before him, prepared precisely as he preferred.

Sirius laughed. "You know, Molly's alright but this sort of service is unparalleled."

Luna reached an arm around Harry's waist. "The house elves at Hogwarts are awfully fond of Harry."

Hermione crossed her arms. "While I can't say I wholeheartedly approve of their uncompensated displays of affection, I am quite impressed by your care for Dobby, Harry. Luna and I spoke at length about the new arrangement."

For nearly an hour, they sat discussing Harry's chief-of-staff, his new home, and his recent pursuits with Luna. After a lengthy discussion of the recent defense spells they'd mastered, Sirius shifted the conversation.

"Seeing four empty mugs and four empty plates, perhaps it's time to discuss your letter. Harry, tell me why you're concerned about a dementor attack."

Harry and Luna worked together to explain the events of the last twenty-four hours. Hermione stepped in to summarize the progress they'd made, and the plan that had come together.

Sirius listened with a steady, attentive gaze, interrupting occasionally to ask brief, clarifying questions. After he was fully caught up, he nodded slowly, reflecting.

After a long moment, he spoke.

"First off, you must know that your progress in this arena is astounding. Together, your comprehension of magical theory is far beyond your years. And I'm a bit embarrassed, as I can't say with confidence that I'd have considered the ward at all, though I've had over a decade to consider such things."

Harry, Luna, and Hermione were positively beaming.

"Second. Luna, I think you're a spectacular witch. Your mother was a personal friend, and on at least two occasions her sight led to the capture of notable death eaters at the business end of my wand. I can think of no reason to doubt your vision, though I don't claim to understand how it all works."

If it were possible for Luna to shine brighter, she did.

"Third. Harry, I must confess I find the specter of this attack terrifying. And though I know enough about the Sight to feel confident you'll survive it all, I don't think there's enough in the vision to know whether you'll make it through that Wizengamot session unscathed. I think, if you'll agree, that it's time to inform Dumbledore."

Harry's hesitation was just visible in his halted expression.

Sirius caught it. "I know, and I understand why you might feel some apprehension. But nobody has more influence than he does. Nobody has earned the respect of as many witches and wizards as he. I suggest we reach out to him, explain the contents of the vision, and give him adequate time to prepare a defense."

Harry nodded, offering tacit approval.

Sirius continued. "Finally, I like your plan. The ward, the potion, the spell — it all makes sense, and it seems to factor for all the variables that matter. I cannot help but think, however, that we must make available to Harry any potential advantages if we're to ensure success. With that in mind, I've brought something I'm certain will help."

At this, Sirius reached into his chest pocket and withdrew a small column of polished, dark grey onyx.

"I've collected from the Black Estate a handful of important volumes related to Dementors. But the real reason I made the trip was for this."

He slowly turned the small stone artifact in his left hand. Harry noticed immediately that it had been hollowed, affording nearly a half inch in internal circumference.

"It's a wand handle, Harry. It's been passed to the heir of the House of Black for generations. And it's enchanted to spectacular effect."

He held out his hand. "May I see your wand, Harry?"

Harry pulled his wand out of his right back pocket, and handed it to Sirius right away.

Sirius held the wand in his right hand, the onyx artifact in his right. He closed his eyes and whispered an incantation in guttural tones as he slowly brought the handle and wand together. Initially the movement was controlled. But at the last moment, as the magical incantation gathered momentum, Harry felt certain he could see the two snap together rapidly. The moment they came together, an echo of magical force stirred the room.

Luna, Hermione, and Harry exchanged weighty glances.

Sirius opened his eyes, handed his wand back to Harry.

"Until a moment ago, this handle would have only worked for me. I've just transferred its power to you, Harry. You are my heir, now formally so, and the power of my House will serve you accordingly. As far as this magical artifact in particular, Harry, I think you'll find it particularly helpful."

Sirius paused, reflecting momentarily. "The handle channels the intent of the wizard directly into the wand." He paused, reflective. "Intent, Harry, is the trick of many complex spells. Indeed, when you're casting nonverbally, intent is the whole of it. This handle establishes a direct, uninterrupted channel from the wizard's will to the wizard's wand."

Harry began to understand.

Sirius nodded. "The most powerful magic, the most complex magic, is as much an expression of memorized movement and perfectly pronounced incantation as it is an expression of the will — a magical manifestation of perfectly realized intention. Spellcraft like this is difficult to master, because so much threatens the formulation of the will and the expression of it. Wayward thoughts, fears, distant observations, sensory distraction — these are obstacles to pure intent. This handle eliminates those obstacles."

Harry held the wand in his right hand, feeling the effect immediately.

"So when I attempt to summon memories…"

"If they exist, you'll find them. The artifact doesn't eliminate your fear. It doesn't altogether eliminate distraction. If that were possible, I'm not sure it would be helpful. Rather, it sets these things aside, as soon as you begin to cast. The fear that may have crippled you, the distractions that may have inhibited you, shift into the distant periphery of your mind. The handle, Harry, unchains your will. It's a direct, unadulterated channel of intention."

Harry held his wand before him, noticing now that the handle had magically adapted to his grip. His wand, which had always felt an extension of himself, now felt stronger, more fit to him. Or perhaps he felt more fit to his wand.

He turned to Sirius. "Are you sure I can take this, Sirius? You'll need as much protection as you can get."

Sirius smiled, beaming with proud affection. "Nothing is more important to me, Harry, than you. If I could give you my wand arm, I would."

At this, Harry rushed to him in a tight, affectionate embrace.

They decided together that the highest priority was for Harry to master the offensive spell,Expecto Bellator. Luna at once offered her home, the only real possibility if they were to avoid the potential consequences of Ministry oversight.

Before departing, Sirius penned a quick note to Albus, sending an urgent request for his presence that evening by way of Hedwig.

As soon as the snowy owl departed, Sirius disillusioned himself and with Hermione followed Harry and Luna to the far hedge of the local primary school. Harry explained their method of transport on the way.

"It's a network of portkeys, sort of, installed throughout Britain. It's brilliant, really, because we can access one another from basically anywhere. Without them it's practically impossible to reach the Lovegood residence, as the wards protecting their property are extraordinary."

Harry hadn't noticed Luna's expression shift as they neared the hedge.

He bent down and picked up a rusty tin can, punctured on one end with a string of loose thread attached.

"Here's how it works. You speak into here —"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Harry? You're not holding anything. And I'm fighting the strong impulse to look away altogether."

Harry frowned.

Sirius' disembodied voice jumped in. "I can't see anything either, and I've just thought of a dozen things I meant to do this morning. Harry, is it possible we're warded against these portkeys?"

Confused, Harry turned to Luna.

Her cheeks altogether flushed. "It's just that…" She took a breath, gathering herself. "It is warded, actually, and very few witches and wizards have been granted access to the network."

Hermione considered.

"But Harry's been granted access? Is there a secret keeper or something?"

Luna fidgeted, painfully uncomfortable. "Not exactly." She bit her lip, thought for a moment. "My grandmother was an extraordinary seer. When my grandfather built the network, she set the… parameters for access."

"Parameters?" Hermione eyed her suspiciously. "And what might those be?"

Luna stumbled. "I can't… it's just…" She hesitated. "They're proprietary."

Hermione's left eyebrow shot up, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. "Proprietary, huh?"

Sirius's disembodied chuckle broke the tension.

Luna blushed a deep crimson. "I can't explain exactly, and it's not terribly important at the moment." She huffed, tugged the tin can out of Harry's hand, and cast a determined gaze at Hermione. "Everyone hold on."

"Home."

Expecto Bellator

Execution: Maintain perfect focus on a memory of profound joy. Clearly, slowly, and forcefully articulate the first half of the incantation, "Expecto," while sweeping wand arm fluidly from center mass to left shoulder. Return wand arm to center mass, pointing wand directly at target. Shift focus to a memory of unadulterated love. Shout the remaining incantation, "Bellator!"

Effect: If perfectly cast, a fully tangible Patronus will emerge from wand, shining a bright white light on the surrounding area. Patronus will dart full speed to the nearest threat, affecting violent harm.

They spent the remainder of the morning in the Defense Chambers.

Despite the extraordinary clarity that met Harry as soon as he gripped his newly upgraded wand, the spell didn't come easily.

Summoning the memories proved tricky, not because Harry didn't recall immediately any memory he sought. The wand handle's enchantment eliminated any such obstacles. Unexpectedly, however, Harry found himself perplexed by the nature of joy.

He'd defaulted to the memories that best represented friendship. Vignettes of laughter, camaraderie, deeply felt loyalty that characterized moments of his past. He recalled perfectly scenes with Ron and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express, laughter with Neville, Seamus, Dean and the Twins in the Gryffindor common room. He remembered how he felt when Sirius invited him to stay at Grimmauld Place, before Wormtail escaped and everything fell apart.

The best of these memories produced merely a dense white haze.

He described his efforts to Hermione, Sirius, and Luna.

Sirius thought for a moment. Finally, he responded. "Joy, I think, is more profound than happiness. It resonates deeper, often against the backdrop of pain or loss or fear."

Luna spoke, reflecting melodically. "Joy is victory over darkness. It's the shining light of hope piercing the veil of despair."

The gravity of her words fell heavy upon them, and they reflected together for a moment in silence.

"I think I have it."

Harry returned to the center of the room, swept his wand arm fluidly from center mass to left shoulder. With unwavering focus, he summoned the memory of Luna's delicate script, unfolding before his mind's eye.

The things we encounter, whether light or dark, they become a part of us. The hard things, the dark things, they shape us too. And I wouldn't know you, Harry Potter, if you kept them from me. And I want to know you.

Oh, Harry. You must know it isn't your fault. You must know that any curse you bear, you bear for all of us. If it hadn't been you, it would have been thousands of others. You saved us, Harry Potter. You saved me.

If you'll have me, I am yours, 'til Britain is bereft of ink and parchment.

He spoke. "Expecto…"

A bright white light shone clearly from the tip of his wand. Returning his wand to center mass and pointing it directly at his target, he shifted his focus to a memories of unadulterated love. Harry didn't hesitate for a moment.

Luna stood, struck silent, in his room, gazing upon his threadbare sheets. "Oh, Harry." She cleared the distance between them in two paces, wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and threw her body against his. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." She burrowed her face further into his neck and cried. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

Harry sat beside Luna in the quiet of her library, gently kissed the top of her head. At this she stirred, waking slowly with a soft yawn. She smiled, set aside Speculations on the Fairie Plane, and turned her body into his. Digging her face into his chest, she wrapped her arm around his waist. She spoke softly. "I really like you, Harry Potter."

It was a room of striking beauty, washed in iridescent light. Luna pressed into him, nuzzling into his chest. He'd never felt this comfortable. He'd never felt less alone. "Harry…" Luna leaned toward him, shifting her body. Her tee draped loosely, the contours of her chest just visible as she wrapped her arm around his waist. She looked up with wide eyes. His pulse quickened. "...would you like to kiss me now?"

With perfect clarity and extraordinary force, he shouted, "BELLATOR!"

An enormous stag of brilliant, piercing white light emerged from the tip of his wand and rushed with tremendous force at the suit of armor standing before him. With a striking wave of staggering energy the suit of armor burst into pieces as the stag threw itself full-force into its mass.

Chapter Text

Harry, Luna, Hermione, and Sirius remained in the Rook's Defense Chambers through mid-afternoon, carefully observing Harry's pronunciation, wand movement, and timing. Aside from a quick run to the kitchen for sandwiches, their attention was devoted exclusively to perfecting Harry's execution. By three, he must have cast Expecto Bellator flawlessly two hundred times.

Convinced there wasn't any room for improvement, they decided together to head back to Harry's home and await Dumbledore's arrival.

Dumbledore was sitting on the far leather wingback in Harry's living room when they arrived. He was sipping tea, lost in deep thought. His eyebrows were furrowed, gravity haunting his aged features.

"Ah." He stood as they entered. "I hope you'll forgive my early arrival. Given the nature of our recent communication, I fear we shouldn't waste a moment. Ms. Granger, Ms. Lovegood — it's always a pleasure."

Sirius lifted his Disillusionment charm.

Albus smiled warmly. "Sirius. Thank you for your note. Though I feel some apprehension when you leave the safety of your home, in this case I'm certain it was the right decision."

Sirius gave a half-nod. "Thanks for coming, Albus. We need your help, actually on more than one front."

For nearly an hour they discussed Luna's vision. Dumbledore followed her every word carefully. Initially he asked her for a full, uninterrupted telling of the vision, requesting that she include every detail she could recall. After a first account, he then worked with her scene by scene, asking dozens of questions about each. As Luna recounted the Wizengamot trial a second time, the nature of his questions shifted distinctly. He asked for detailed descriptions of each wizard in Luna's field of vision, their most distinctive features, whether they seemed angry, afraid, or elated. He asked especially about the expression he was wearing, and that of Harry's. He asked how Harry was bound, and to what.

Finally, Dumbledore admitted he could think of no further questions. He then drew the tip of his wand to his temple, withdrawing a silvery wisp of a memory and depositing it in a small glass vial for later recollection.

The conversation shifted as Hermione recounted the plan that she, Luna, and Harry had developed, and what they'd done to prepare.

"My." He reflected, smiling kindly with gentle pride. "In my many years as an educator of young witches and wizards, I've never been so impressed."

Hermione tucked a chestnut curl behind her left ear, positively beaming.

"I dare say your plan is flawless. Perfectly executed, it will accomplish what you seek."

His brow furrowed. "Death, indeed in any form, is sincerely regrettable. Dark creatures like these, however, have become themselves blind instruments of death, and are perhaps beyond redemption."

He paused, just briefly. After a moment, he returned his kind gaze to the children. "Considering accounts of the Thracian Sorcerers in the Byzantine War was a stroke of sheer brilliance. I'm pleased to hear of Harry's recent mastery of the spell. If I may, I'd like to lend my support in the fabrication of theTutela Animeaward. This will be my ninth cast of this extraordinarily useful protection, which is to say my eighth opportunity to learn from my many mistakes."

Elated, they agreed immediately. This was the one aspect of their plan which they had no direct influence over, and they'd learned mid-morning that Sirius, who was certainly willing to try, had very little experience casting wards in his past.

They'd just started discussing the potion when Luna noticed steaming pots of Beef & Ale Stew had appeared on the dining table, surrounded by baskets full of crusty bread and plates of butter.

They spent the final moments of dusk attempting to identify, as nearly as possible, the alleyway referenced in the vision. They'd narrowed the field of possibilities to two alleys, running perpendicular to one another nearly a half block from the Dursleys' home. Harry had occasionally taken each as alternative routes back to the house from the nearby play park or primary school in attempts to avoid Dudley and his cronies.

Dumbledore suggested the ward be cast at the intersection of these alleyways to grant Harry ready access from both directions.

After they all agreed, Harry, Hermione, Luna and a large, black dog sat leaning against a weathered fence, beholding a spectacular display of magic. Dumbledore flawlessly cast Tutela Animea, projecting a protective ward sixty-five yards wide. They stood within it, awestruck as the magical echoes subsided.

Luna smiled distantly. "Amazing."

Sirius, Hermione, and Dumbledore left before ten, exhausted after a long day's preparation.

Luna stood at Harry's side behind the open front door of his home, her fingers laced between his. After seeing off their friends, Harry led her to the overstuffed crimson sofa at the center of his living room, threw himself full upon it, and pulled her playfully beside him. She giggled, curled into him, lay her head on his chest, and they talked for hours.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you suppose Dementor's exist?"

A moment's hesitation.

"Why? You mean…" An awkward pause. "...why do they exist?

"Yes."

"I don't guess I've ever thought about it." A moment's delay. "Why does anything exist?"

"Yes. That's precisely what I mean to ask."

He stumbled. "I… do you… I mean, do you suppose there's an answer?"

"Of course."

A moment later.

"I suppose I do, too."

She nodded. "What do you suppose is the answer, Harry Potter?"

"I'm not sure that matters. Guessing seems audacious, and knowing seems impossible."

She traced his fingers with hers. "If there is an answer, we're meant to find it."

"What do you mean?"

She wiggled her toes. "If there's at all an answer, the mere existence of that answer implies a purpose. And a purpose implies a mind. And a mind that finds purpose in the existence of another mind implies a relationship."

"A mind?"

"If there's an answer at all. Yes."

A moment later. "I'm not sure I'm fond of a mind who finds purpose in Dementors."

Luna nodded. "I understand."

"Why do you suppose Dementor's exist?"

A pause.

"If there is an answer to the question at all, and if there is a purpose, and if there is a mind?"

He nodded.

"My sincerest hope?"

He nodded.

"I think they exist because something, somewhere, went wrong."

He nodded.

A moment later. "Harry?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Are you afraid of what's coming?"

"Do you mean the Dementors?"

"Yes, but beyond that also."

"I'm not afraid. Not of the Dementors, really, or of the Aurors, or of the Wizengamot. I'm not even afraid of Voldemort." A pause. "Not directly, anyway." A breath. "I'm afraid of me. I'm afraid I'll fail."

"You're afraid you'll fail?"

"Yes." A second's hesitation. "I'm not who people think I am. I know who I am. And I'm afraid I'm not enough."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Luna."

"I trust you. And I wouldn't have anyone else standing between me and the darkness. Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Not because you're brilliant. Not because you're courageous. Not because you're strong. It's because you're good." A long pause. "You're good, Harry Potter. And that's all that matters."

He softly kissed her forehead.

"Luna?"

"Yes?"

"Are you afraid of what's coming?"

She shook her head. "I was." A pause. "But then I met you."

Harry woke a few hours later, Luna's body curled into his. She was softly breathing, her palm laid on his chest. He traced the soft contours of her side and hip, dragging the tips of his fingers lightly until she stirred.

The beginnings of a smile were overtaken by a wide yawn as her eyes blinked open. She shifted, angling her body in a lean stretch, finally settling again on his shoulder, her right leg laid between his, her toes playing with the arches of his feet.

"Hi."

"Hi."

She tightened her grip on his chest, pulled him closer. "Harry Potter, I never want to leave you and it's becoming a problem."

He laughed. "I really like you, Luna. You know you don't have to leave."

She groaned playfully. "I know… but propriety demands I preserve at least a bit of distance."

Harry shook his left fist above his chest. "Damn you, Propriety."

"Plus, Hermione will be here in the morning and she'd just know. I'm nearly certain she knew we spent time together in your bed last night — though I've no idea how. She gave me the most playfully mocking smirk as soon as I sat at the table this morning."

"Yeah?" Harry chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it, Luna. She's quite progressive. Also she just adores you."

Luna was taken aback. "You think she likes me? Oh I hope so, Harry Potter. She's brilliant and she's kind and she's so dear to you. I desperately desire her friendship."

Harry kissed her forehead. "She likes you. How could she not?"

Luna smiled. "There are many ways, and my peers have discovered them all." She pivoted her body, kissed him softly. "But I adore you for thinking it."

He returned her kiss, then huffed. "I suppose the gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk you home?"

She smirked flirtatiously. "Pardon me while I reflect for a moment on all the ungentlemanly things you might do instead."

He laughed, helped her up, laced her fingers between his, and led her reluctantly out the door toward the far hedge of the local primary school. She reached for the rusted tin can, punctured on one end with a thread of loose string attached.

"Harry?" Her piercing gaze met his, held him captive. She brought his hand to her lips, kissed his knuckles softly. "I've never been happier than I am right now."

He smiled with kind eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, Luna Lovegood."

"Home."

After a quick shower, Harry fell into bed and slept uninterrupted until nearly nine the next morning. He blinked slowly awake, pivoted to the edge of the bed, and stretched in the stillness. Within ten minutes, he was dressed in a navy v-neck tee, a pair of faded jeans, and dark grey trainers.

Hermione and Luna arrived within a half hour, and they enjoyed a leisurely breakfast together. Luna asked Hermione questions about her family, her life as a muggle, what it was like to discover magic, and her transition into the magical world. Hermione's stories, playfully highlighting the more awkward moments of transition from the muggle to the magical world, had them laughing together for nearly an hour.

By mid-morning, it occurred to them that — at least as far as the looming Dementor attack — there wasn't much preparation left to be done. So they chose to return to Luna's home and show Hermione the small handful of spells they'd mastered since they began exploring the Potter Library.

They lunched at Luna's, and spent the afternoon in Luna's library. If there had been any doubt of Hermione's sincere affection for Luna, it was dispelled as soon as she recalled her first few shelves of topically arranged titles.

Hermione's parents were hosting colleagues for dinner, and she'd been asked to attend, so they headed back to Harry's around five. As soon as she'd departed, heaps of Biriyani, massive bowls of Paneer Butter Masala, and broad platters of Samosa Chaat and Buttered Naan appeared on the dining table.

After dinner they sat in the reading nook of Harry's loft. They brought books with them, which they immediately set them aside. Harry and Luna talked for hours about anything that occurred to them. Around ten he walked her to the far hedge of the local primary school. They kissed, and a moment later she was gone.

Less than an hour later, Harry Potter laid down in his four-poster, fighting the looming fear that whatever happened tomorrow would change his life forever.

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Luna slept uninterrupted until ten the following morning — a dreamless sleep that felt as if it was over mere moments after she'd closed her eyes.

She didn't want to wake like this. She wanted to wake to a knock on the door. She wanted to wake to Hedwig's tap. She wanted to wake to news that it was all over, that everything was going to be okay.

She sat up and stretched. As the duvet fell, she realized she was naked and blushed. She wrapped herself in the loose towel beside her, shifted off the four-poster, and stopped by her wardrobe on the way to the bath.

Within an hour, she was sitting at the desk beside her window, dipping a quill into an inkwell.

Hermione,

It's best, I think, to be honest at the outset. I'm writing to you right now because if I don't do something with my mind and my hands I'm afraid I'll panic. Harry's on my mind. The trial is happening, or has happened. I haven't heard from him yet, and I'm afraid. So I hope you don't mind being my escape.

But I'm also writing to you because I think you're amazing, and I truly hope we'll be friends. I mean real friends, Hermione. So many witches are tied by the loose bonds of mutual affection for a wizard. That's okay, I suppose, as far as it goes. But it isn't enough for you and I. You're brilliant, loyal, fierce, and powerful. I don't just like you, I want to be like you. And that's more than enough reason to write.

I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday.

Have you ever seen what happens when a young witch or wizard is given an owl? These aren't trained animals, Hermione, nor are they magical creatures in the strict sense. Yet as soon as they are introduced to the magical community something changes. They understand our language. They learn us, and adapt to us, their personalities shift to account for ours. Did you know that no one knows why this is the case? Magizoologists can't account for it — the transition which unfolds, without charm or potion, when a snowy owl (or a common raven, or a tabby cat) meets a wizard and from that moment becomes something else entirely.

Or consider runes. Ancient letters — and nothing more, it would seem. Yet when scratched into the soil beneath us they summon the elemental power of earth. When carved into wood these angular shapes summon the pulsing, vibrant life of a forest. When impressed into metal they can summon the light of the stars.

Everything in our magical world is a wonderful, inaccessible mystery. The best we've done is to figure out how some of it works. Behind it all is hidden breathtaking beauty and purpose we've hardly begun to explore.

A carved twig, a phoenix feather. These are nothing in themselves. Yet when wed in a wand they have the power to stop time. A few latin words, uttered in tandem with a swish here and a flick there, can bend the fabric of reality itself. Why?

I suppose I mean to highlight that what we know about the magical world around us tends to obscure what we don't. Knowledge can be a lens, but more often it becomes a blindfold. For some — I'm afraid for most — a cursory knowledge of how is mistaken for the vast wisdom of why. There's so much we don't know — so many questions (of the most fundamental nature) that we haven't even asked. We've allowed our grasp of the single copper penny in our hand to replace our hunt for chests of gold just beyond our reach. And I think that's tragic.

That's why I believe. I believe there are creatures out there we haven't yet found and don't yet understand because I know there are answers out there we haven't yet found and don't yet understand. If magic is an untouched landscape we've just discovered, we are the mosquito-bitten colonists that decided to settle on the near coast. And I refuse to accept that unfortunate lack of imagination.

I want to believe. Do you?

I can't accept that we know all that we could possibly know.

I nurse a suspicion that you can't, either.

Yours,
Luna Lovegood

PS — Meet me at Harry's tomorrow?

Luna sent Asher away, grabbed a handful of almonds and a peach, and spent the afternoon hours observing the vibrant stone fairy community beyond the willows. The structures of the stone fairy village were fully visible now, and the shapes that had appeared as broad brushstrokes took on texture. Luna sketched the sudden shifts and cracks of their distinctive features. Their shapes vaguely resembled the naked forms of giants in miniature, all sharp angles and wind-beaten edges. When they spoke to one another, Luna heard the distant reverberations of ancient near-eastern gongs — even the slightest utterances shook her chest gently. On a number of occasions it seemed the fairies were laughing at her, and at this even the roots of the oak beneath her seemed to tremble.

Every few moments she thought of Harry, and fought the expectation that she might see him anytime soon. Disappointment, she'd found, was more acutely painful than the aching throb of longing. So she beat back the impulse to think of him, with more or less success.

A distant echo of knocking interrupted one of these moments, and Luna's eyes shot wide open. She jumped up, scattering her sketchpad and charcoal pencil haphazardly about, and ran full speed toward the Rook's front door.

Harry, patiently waiting before the round, green door with the shiny yellow brass knob at its center, turned on a hunch just a moment before Luna threw herself, full stride and a leap, into his arms. He was instantly leveled, her body striking his at an odd angle against the door, until the relentless momentum of her aerial form sent them tumbling. Her arms were wrapped full around his neck, and they rolled at least three revolutions down the soft slope before he lay, more than a little beaten, beneath her. Her thighs straddled his waist as she sat at an angle, hovering inches from his face. She was grinning broadly, and breathing hard.

"You're here." She whispered, and then she kissed him, pressing her lips full into his. Frantic energy drove kiss after kiss, and he'd never felt more loved.

"I want to know—" her lips pressed full against him, shifting here and there against his chin, his jaw, his cheek. "—everything." She slowed her affections, gently biting his lower lip in a final, lingering kiss.

At this, she sat up.

"Hi."

She was wearing a white, scoop neck tee and a pair of light washed distressed jeans. Her hair was up in a now quite messy bun. And she was grinning joyfully, her piercing silvery-grey eyes set upon him unflinchingly.

"Hi."

Harry wore the same black v-neck tee, the same pair of dark blue jeans, the same pair of charcoal grey trainers, and a toothy grin.

"Luna?"

"Yes, Harry Potter?"

"I'm sorta laying on a big rock."

"Oh!" She blushed. "Come here." She shot up, leaned forward, and took his hands in hers, pulling him to his feet. As soon as he'd dusted himself off, she kissed him lightly, laced her fingers between his and led him through the front door, up the stairs, through the tenth ruby red round door, to the vast, overstuffed green sofa in her library. Arriving at the center between two piles of pillows, she threw her weight full into him, falling upon him in precisely the same manner as just a moment before. "Is this better?"

He laughed. "Yes, it's perfect."

For a moment he watched her, hovering inches above his face. After breathing deeply, he pulled her nearer and they kissed softly, carefully, savoring every taste and touch for what felt like hours.

In time, she sat up and bit her lip. "I'm torn, Harry Potter, because I'm enjoying myself immeasurably but I'm also desperate to hear every detail that's unfolded in the last twenty four hours."

He smiled, sat up and faced her cross-legged, and told her everything.

She cried when he told her about Dudley, tears falling freely over wet cheeks as she watched him wrestle with his complex grief. She involuntarily shook her head when she learned that he was locked in a room for twenty hours without water or food, nearly forcing him downstairs for an impromptu meal until he reassured her that Mrs. Weasley had stuffed him to the brim. As he described the brilliance of Dumbledore, Tonks, and Kingsley, she smiled broadly and slowly nodded in grateful appreciation.

"None of it would have been possible without you, Luna." He'd halted the story, looking into her eyes with a still expression. "None of it. We'd be lost without you, and I couldn't be more grateful."

She flushed at this, averting her eyes. "It isn't me." She said, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn't do anything, really, to—"

"No." He interrupted her with a kind smile, lacing his fingers through hers. "You're brilliant, Luna. I wouldn't be here without you."

She wrapped her arms around him, smiled with grateful eyes, and pulled him close to her. She leaned her forehead against his, looking deep into his eyes. "Thank you, Harry Potter. I'm so glad you're here. I'd do anything to keep you safe."

At this, she pushed him over once more, smirking flirtatiously. "I'm feeling adequately aware of recent events." She climbed on top of him, wrapping her thighs around his waist and setting her open palm upon his chest. "Now… where were we?"

She leaned forward, her eyes set on his, but this time she stopped a hand's breadth from his chest. She bit her lip, lifted her chin, looked into his eyes meaningfully, and waited. Harry's confusion dissipated as soon as he shifted his gaze.

She was leaning over him in a loosely fitting scoop neck shirt, at just the right angle. She smiled knowingly as his pupils dilated. With parted lips and bated breath he searched the contours of her chest, following the gentle slopes to the teasing lace of her bra. He memorized the sharp lines of her clavicles, the shape and swells of her breasts, the textures barely visible beneath the thin lace.

"I like it when you look at me, Harry."

She didn't move, and for a moment he studied her shape. She shifted her palm to gently grip his chest, pressing and shifting at intervals. She explored his body as he gazed upon hers. In time, her left palm strayed to his abdomen, and as her fingers ran over the firm contours of his stomach she exhaled slowly, closed her eyes, and spoke in a whisper. "I need you to kiss me, Harry."

Harry leaned forward, pressing his lips full into hers. He dragged his tongue slowly over her bottom lip until she opened to him with a longing sigh. He pressed his tongue into hers, and she met him there. They shifted together, their lips and tongues pressing, exploring, tasting, discovering. His eyes opened, met her unflinching gaze, and they watched each other trade affections. She smiled, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. She laughed, and he pressed her body full into him, shifting his attention to the delicate line of her jaw, her adorable earlobe, the graceful slope of her neck. A sharp intake of breath, and suddenly he was gently biting, flitting his tongue against her incredibly soft skin, shifting his attention from just beneath her ear to the center of her neck.

She lifted her chin, cried out softly, and pressed his face further into her neck. She whispered into his ear. "Yes, please. More."

He held her near to him, his hands wrapped behind her arms, gently grasping her shoulders and pressing her near to him, shifting her here and there as he kissed. She was moving with him now, her center driving into his waist in an intimate rhythm. He shifted his hands to her waist, felt her abdomen tense in waves as she pressed her center into his. He followed the sharp line of her clavicle, kissing gently, flitting his tongue and dragging his teeth carefully against her soft flesh. With her right hand she ran her fingers through his hair, scratching and pulling gently as his attention overwhelmed her.

His hands, just a moment ago on her waist, had strayed along her side, and he was holding her firmly just beneath her arms, pressing her into him as he kissed her gently, moving her near in the same intimate waves that controlled their movement.

Between breaths, she whispered. "Touch me, darling. I want you to."

He nodded, his heart racing. The open palm of his right hand shifted from her side. He felt the texture of her lace bra against his fingers, the side of her breast against his thumb. She nodded, eyes closed, breathing hard. In a moment, his open palm was carefully set against her full, firm breast. He gently laid his fingers upon her, softly gripping the soft flesh beneath. He could feel her nipple against his palm, and was immediately overwhelmed by the beauty of her shape. For what felt like hours, he held her, kissing her neck, her chin, her lips. He held her perfect breasts and he rested in her perfect rhythm, and he knew that everything was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Luna,

If my suspicions regarding the nature of your relationship with Harry are correct, I'm afraid this feeling is something you'll have to get used to. Harry Potter is my best friend. I fear for his safety every day, and I have since first year. You'll find, I think, that there's something (pardon the phrase) magical about him. He survives, despite it all, every time. In the midst it isn't much to lift the burden, of course, but it's something.

You needn't apologize. I'll be your escape, if you'll be mine. Ron is hopelessly obtuse, and I've been waiting years for someone who understands.

Asher (who is, by the way, adorable) tapped on my window mere minutes after I finished a special edition ofThe Daily Prophet.I've just read nine pages of articles covering, of all things, a Dementor attack in Little Whinging, the tragic death of a muggle boy, Harry Potter's extraordinary survival, his emergency trial of before the Wizengamot, the sudden revelation of corruption at the highest ranks of the Ministry, and the Prime Minister's pending resignation.

That is to say, you've caught me off balance.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, Luna. I am not the brilliant, loyal, powerful witch you describe. She would be a fearsome thing to behold. What I am is a skeptic. If I can see it, if I can break it down, if I can gauge its effects, if I can understand it and manipulate it —in a word, if it makes good logical sense to me — that I'll believe.

Hence when I first learned of magic, I exerted every effort to understand it. I read anything I could get my hands on, theory or practice, history or philosophy. To be honest, that pursuit was driven less by fascination than desperation. I must understand, you see. I feel lost in a world I cannot wrap my mind around.

So when you told me about your Sight, I was sincerely at a loss.

The notion that a series of events that haven't yet happened might be accessed and understood in the present has always felt (forgive me for saying it) absurd. The idea that an event contingent upon the decisions of free agents might be foreknown — not forecast in a broad sense but comprehensively accounted for in the strictest sense — shakes my conception of the relationship between will and action, determination and liberty, the very nature of time.

Yet everything you saw — every detail of your vision, seemingly without exception — unfolded precisely as you said it would.

Luna, my paradigm has been shaken violently, and I'm genuinely unsettled.

I've always accounted for magic as a set of laws — a clean, logical system of relationships that may be comprehensively understood and manipulated. Clever witches and wizards merely intuit the relationship of these forces more readily than others. The mental calculus, conscious or subconscious, requisite to rightly account for the relationship of this principle to that accounts for the distinction between a more or less powerful witch or wizard.

In a word, magic was physics to my mind. A neat box with clean boundaries.

That isn't the way you speak about magic. You speak of forces, indeed, but with the implication of will, personality, imagination behind them all. You speak of beauty and power and purpose. You speak of magic as the arena of light and darkness, of hope and despair. Perhaps most disruptive of all, you speak of magic as wonderful, inaccessible mystery.

A world that I cannot know terrifies me. Could there be such a thing?

And yet, you've seen.

Some aspect of you has encountered, as fact, a series of events contingent upon tens of thousands of variables. You saw, as fact, that which was merely possibility. And you were right. As I write this, I tremble.

You ask whether I want to believe?

I confess that part of me longs for a taste of the wonder that saturates your mind and your heart. Part of me longs to trace expressions of breathtaking beauty to an articulation of profound purpose. That part of me wants to be like you, Luna.

Yet I do enjoy the occasional neat box with nicely drawn boundaries.

If I'm to go, you'll have to lead me there.

Yours,
Hemione Granger

Hermione,

You're a clever witch, and any efforts to dissuade your curious intellect from piecing together the nature of my relationship with Harry would be, I regret, pointless. For reasons that will perhaps become clear, I've attempted to keep as much from Harry as possible. I cannot help but hope you've seen through that veil. I'm alone in my thoughts, and I'd welcome your kind counsel.

I will be your escape, Hermione Granger, 'til those happy days beyond any need for one.

As far as I can tell, skepticism comes from one of two directions: distrust of people, and distrust of possibility. I can accept, and in some contexts I can even endorse, the former. If my experience has taught me anything, it's that people can be awful —and those that aren't awful are often confused and biased and more often than not wrong.

It's the latter that troubles me. The gut instinct to reject a notion as impossible merely because it hasn't been personally experienced seems to me an expression of profound hopelessness. This sort of skepticism is categorically distinct from the other, because if anything the history of humanity has taught us in every age that what past generations dismissed as impossible was merely beyond their reach, or (in the worst cases) beyond the limits of their imagination.

To the degree that you withhold judgment against the backdrop of mankind's frailty, I welcome the hesitation. Beyond this, I hope you'll consider the lessons of the Enlightenment, of the Agricultural and Industrial Revolutions, the development of the field of Physics. Consider Copernicus, Galileo, and Newton. The history of humanity is a catalogue of impossible discovery.

You say you feel lost in a world you don't fully understand? If my suspicions regarding the nature of your relationship to the Universe are correct, I'm afraid this is a feeling you'll have to get used to.

Perhaps our world is indeed governed by a system of relationships between forces with clear boundaries and logical relationships. Perhaps laws and mathematical principles are the most appropriate framework to understand these relationships. I fail to see why beauty and power and purpose, will and personality and imagination shouldn't saturate them all.

Your keen eyes have seen the trembling leaves, the dancing branches, the soft sway of the ancient oak. You've heard the whispers of the breeze, yet your heart won't allow you to call it "wind."

You ask, "How?" I ask, "Why?" I can't help but believe we need each other.

Yours,
Luna Lovegood

Hi Luna,

A moment ago I dipped my quill in ink and hesitated. We've just spent hours together, and surely you'd like to rest before heading directly to my place first thing tomorrow morning. But then I remembered that I'd just spent a solid twenty hours away from you (in a cold cell, no less), and I was suddenly certain you'd forgive any attempt to make up for lost time.

I miss you, Luna. This evening wasn't nearly enough.

It's also worth noting that when we were together this afternoon, we didn't do much talking. I actually quite like when we don't do much talking, by the way. I mean that only in the most suggestive sense.

I am at this moment thoroughly exhausted, but I have so much on my mind.

I didn't sleep much last night, of course. I couldn't stop thinking about Dudley. Even now, his death haunts me. I've decided to call it "death," by the way. Whatever has been left behind, it isn't him.

The thing that bothers me so much is that I hated him, and I think I was almost right to do it. He was truly awful to me, since we were young boys. I have no memory that doesn't involve his brutish violence. Yet it's there that I'm shaken —in the notion that he's always been this way. It's another way to say that he's been raised this way. His environment, his family, his inherited values. Had he any choice in the matter? Had he any opportunity to be merciful or kind?

I honestly don't know the answer to that question. His soul is gone, and I wonder whether he truly had a chance. It's left me overcome by something like pity.

Malfoy. I keep thinking of Malfoy. He is the spitting image of his father, in more ways than one. And I wonder now whether, given a real opportunity, he'd make a different choice. I wonder whether Dudley would have made a different choice. Malfoy and Dudley. They're so tightly associated in my mind, because I know of each of them only animosity. Yet something about Dudley's death has cast shades of grey between the black and white I've always thought I saw clearly.

Is there anything in Malfoy to be redeemed?

I think, to this point, I've thought about it all as "us" versus "them." Good guys and bad guys, fighting till the end. It seems muddier now. I'm wondering whether we've drawn lines in the sand too quickly, whether we've set ourselves at war against victims.

I must believe. I must believe that change is possible, that hope can transcend the darkness. Or else what are we fighting for?

A moment's reflection has made me certain. Mere weeks ago I was desperate —fighting despair and overwhelmed with dark isolation. Bitter hate haunted the dark corners of my thoughts, and I was spiraling.

But you spoke to me. You saw me and you heard me, and you met me in my fear and pain. In your kindness and hope you led me out of that darkness.

So I must believe in redemption. Because I've met you, Luna, and it's changed me forever.

You are, my darling, a piercing light. You've taught my heart to hope.

And I am,
Yours,
Harry Potter

P.S. —I've just noticed a letter on my window sill. The moment I saw your script, my heart leapt. You have a power over me that I wouldn't have thought possible. Merely the hint of your affection moves me.

Harry Potter,

I can only attribute your reticence to overwhelming exhaustion, as I've given you every indication that your attention is welcome at any hour. Wake me as you please, Harry Potter. I rest in your words.

I'm sorry, Harry. I grieve with you for your cousin's life.

Violence infects. It's the way of the darkness, to capture and transform and destroy. Yet we are free, and darkness has no power over freedom. I cannot help but believe that we act as we will.

Did he have any choice? I think he did, or I don't know what to make of the world. We are not merely the product of our influences. Yet influences matter. Opportunity matters. If there is judgment on the other side of the veil, I must believe it accounts for opportunity.

Dudley was free, and therein lies the tragedy of his death.

Malfoy is free, and therein lies the hope for his life. Hope for him can drive away the darkness. Hope for him, fostering kindness and mercy and relentless goodwill, is an invitation. It's an opportunity. You have within your power to grant that opportunity.

I believe, Harry. I believe in the power of the light over the darkness. And I believe in you.

You, Harry Potter, have my fullest confidence.

And, as it happens, my fullest attention. When might I have your… fullest attention?

Yours,
Luna Lovegood

P.S. — Your touch, my darling. It radiates and captivates, and I cannot stop thinking about it. More, please.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

They were scattered about the house, each pursuing their own ends.

Hermione sat atop the broad, working table in the midst of two cauldrons, her back leaning against the wall nearest the empty cauldron to the left, thumbing through a text on soul magic she'd just found in the Potter Library.

Fred and George loomed over the opposite cauldron, a long stretch of parchment pinned to the wall to their right, at intervals preparing ingredients or referencing a number of potions theory texts they'd found on the waist-high shelf along the wall.

When she was sure they weren't looking, Hermione risked a glance above the pages spread before her. She studied him, and she bit her lip, and she fought the inclination to summon an excuse to capture his attention.

Despite it all, just at that moment, Fred darted his eyes in her direction. And as she shifted her gaze to the text before her, she was nearly certain that he'd blushed.

Ron sat in the living room, utterly defeated by a text on dueling theory. He wrestled, at intervals grabbing large tufts of his hair and shaking his head in bewildered frustration. Yet, though he'd refuse to voice it, every sentence grasped, every page turned, felt like a step toward becoming the person he secretly hoped he'd someday be.

Harry leaned against the arm of the mid-century leather wingback in his loft, his arm wrapped full around Luna, whose body melted into his. She was slowly soaking in a muggle text entitledA Shorter History of Byzantium.He was immersed in a text vaguely entitled Contributions, which catalogued the influence of major potions ingredients as additives to commonly recognized potions recipes.

Every few minutes, Harry's grip would tighten around Luna's torso, and she'd pull closer. As his forearm pressed gently just below her breasts, he felt her fullness and recalled the tension felt against his palm, and his pulse quickened. She knew, somehow, that this was precisely what he was thinking, and she smiled every time.

Just as Harry began thinking about dinner, the room echoed with a loud whip-crack, as Dobby materialised in their midst.

He was a vision in striking neon pink, the jarringly bright three-piece set in contrast against a golden bow-tie that literally glowed with a magical aura, and a pair of shiny golden oxfords.

"Harry Potter, sir! And the dearest Miss Luna Lovegood." At this, he bowed deeply. "Dobby has returned."

"Dobby! You're back!" Harry grinned.

Luna closed the distance between them, bowing in turn with a warm smile. "Welcome, Dobby. It's lovely to see you again." She took a step back, curiosity overtaking her expression. "Were you successful in your efforts?"

Dobby shook with overwhelming affection. "Dobby is pleased to be back, miss! Dobby is working these many years, and never was Dobby met with such kindness." Beaming pride overtook his expression, and his slight chest swelled. "Dobby has done exactly as Harry Potter asked, miss. Dobby has visited one hundred and twenty four book shops in eighty-six magical nations."

Harry's eyes shot wide.

"Dobby is finding tremendous success. Dobby has purchased on Harry Potter's behalf one thousand, six hundred and twenty-one of the finest works on Fairies."

Harry was struck with dumbfounded shock. "One thousand…"

Dobby, pleased with himself, nodded so aggressively his ears shook. "Indeed, sir. One thousand, six hundred, and twenty-one books, sir. Dobby is consulting nineteen scholars to find the rarest books, sir. Dobby is being told that Harry Potter has now the world's finest collection of books on Fairies, sir."

Luna was overcome with a fit of giggles apparently impossible to suppress.

Harry fought for composure. "Wow. Yeah. Okay." He took a breath. "That's, um… that's great Dobby!" A beat of hesitation. "Out of curiosity, how much of the Potter fortune was expended in these efforts?"

Dobby's expression adopted a formal air. "As Harry Potter's chief-of-staff, Dobby has been granted full knowledge of the Potter estate and its holdings. Dobby is taking a measured approach, sir. Dobby has expended forty thousand, eight hundred and nineteen galleons on the Fairy books, sir."

Harry nearly doubled over. Dobby didn't notice.

"Dobby is told that such an expenditure represents three day's earnings on the Potter estate's investments, sir."

Luna flushed, her lips parted, her eyes shot wide, and she slowly exhaled.

Harry was stunned. "Three day's earnings?!"

"Indeed, sir." At this, he again bent in a reverential bow. "Dobby is proud to serve the Ancient and Noble House of Potter."

It took a moment for Harry to grapple with the weight of implications. He shook himself. "Wow. Okay. Well done, Dobby." He smiled, scratching the back of his head. "You've been busy, and I hate to overwhelm you with more work."

Dobby stood erect, hands on his hips, shaking his head violently. "Nonsense, sir! Dobby is eager to serve Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is never feeling more rested, or more fulfilled."

Harry laughed. "Okay, Dobby. When you have a moment. The one thousand, six hundred and…"

"Twenty-one, sir."

"Right. The one thousand, six hundred and twenty-one volumes on Fairies? Would you permanently transfer them to Luna's library?"

Luna, who had rallied her poise first to suppress infectious laughter, and then to stifle an unexpected rush of base pleasure at the notion that her future husband was loaded, was at least a few beats behind the conversation.

Suddenly she darted her eyes to him, wide with stunned disbelief. She shook with a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh, Harry. No, darling, I—"

"Luna, what you've been working toward could change everything. You'll need all the resources you can get."

"But, Harry, it's—"

"Luna." He smiled, lacing his fingers between hers. "If we're to go, you'll need to lead us there."

She stood helpless, her expression stilled, her piercing gaze captured altogether by his. Her voice caught in overwhelming emotion, she whispered. "Thank you, Harry Potter."

He smiled, pulled her hand to his lips, and lightly kissed her fingers.

Dobby, who had been passively observing the two, slowly shifting his attention from Luna to Harry, and then back again, recognized in his own way that the moment was over.

"Dobby will transfer the collection immediately, Harry Potter, sir." He turned again to Luna. "Dobby will be needing kindest Miss Luna Lovegood to grant him access to the Lovegood property, ma'am."

Still recovering, she slowly shifted her gaze away from Harry. "Access? Ah. Of course, Dobby." She set her eyes on Dobby's, shifting her focus in a pointed, formal manner. "I, Luna Lovegood, heiress of the House of Lovegood, do grant you, Dobby, chief-of-staff of the House of Potter, apparition access to the Rook, our family estate."

The air between them stirred and a chill ran up Harry's spine.

Dobby smiled. "Thank you, dearest Miss Luna Lovegood."

She nodded with kind eyes. "Of course, Dobby."

As he was lifting his hands to snap away, Dobby halted in sudden realisation. "Oh! Dobby is nearly forgetting to mention, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby has collected a copy of every potions text published in the last forty years, sir. Dobby has collected three hundred and forty-six volumes, sir. May Dobby add these to the potions library in the laboratory, sir?"

Harry lit up. "Three hundred!?" He paused, his brow furrowing. "Wow. Fantastic. Though I'm not sure they'll fit, Dobby."

Dobby shook his head. "This won't be a problem for Dobby, sir."

At this, he snapped, and a loud whip-crack echoed through the loft.

Hermione pulled her eyes from the pages before her, having heard the distant crack of apparition from the direction of Harry's room. She glanced in the direction of the stairs, and had nearly decided to investigate when another, much nearer, crack shook the Potion's Lab.

"Miss Hermione Granger!" Dobby stood before her. All comprehensible thought flew out the window as soon as her eyes were assaulted by the neon pink three-piece. "Oh, what a pleasure it is to see you! Dobby isn't expecting to see anyone, excepting of course the kindest Miss Luna Lovegood!"

"Dobby!" The twin's warm welcome startled Dobby, and he leapt in surprise.

Hermione set aside her book, shifted off the work table, and knelt to Dobby's eye level. "It's a pleasure to see you, Dobby! I've heard you're in the employ of the Potter House? Congratulations. Such a position couldn't have been given to a finer person."

At this, Dobby's eyes welled and soon he shook with joyful sobs. It took nearly two minutes for him to regain his composure, and Hermione fought the inclination to comfort him.

"Indeed, miss!" He blew two nostrils worth of snot into the handkerchief she'd pulled from her back pocket. "Dobby has never been happier. Never in a hundred lifetimes could Dobby be imagining such generosity and opportunity." He suddenly brightened, their recent conversation coming to mind. "Dobby has been encouraging Winky and many other house elves to pursue such employment."

She smiled broadly. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Dobby."

"Indeed, Dobby." George joined in. "Come to think of it, Fred, weren't we considering supplemental staffing for our… pending operation?"

"That we were, brother." Fred replied, shifting his attention. "Dobby, would you mind putting out feelers for a free house elf we can trust to monitor potions recipes. Talent with expansion charms is essential. Ability to craft chocolate and candied confections is a huge plus. We'd pay well, of course. And the salary includes room, board, and benefits."

Hermione had been watching the exchange with piqued interest. At the offer of generous compensation, however, her pulse quickened, her lips parted and she altogether flushed. Time slowed as he spoke the words. The united influence of an awkward halt in conversation, a stilled room, and nearly twenty seconds of silence forced upon her the sudden realisation that she'd been biting her lip, breathing deeply, and staring with unbroken attention at Fred's gentle smile.

Oh no. "Right! So, um." She was scrambling.Focus, Hermione. "Dobby. What, uh, what occupies your attention this afternoon?" She altogether refused to shift her attention away from Dobby's broad eyes.

"Dobby is delivering a collection of the latest potions texts, at Harry Potter's own request." He puffed with pride, lifted his hand and snapped.

Several things happened just at this moment.

Hermione's attention was pulled to the far wall. The waist-high bookcase just behind the twins was changing, expanding inch-by-inch, as if the very limbs of the trees whose fibres lent structure to the shelves were growing in time-lapse. At eighteen inches, the growth split, out and up. In minutes, the shelf had grown to ceiling height, six empty wall length rows now looming over the full shelves below.

They'd just begun to shift their attention back to Dobby, when Hermione noticed the growth continue, wrapping around the corner and crawling, inch-by-inch, above them on the ceiling. In time, there were twelve additional rows, stretching nearly to the opposite wall.

With another snap, countless books filled the shelves. Wonder caught her, and the huff of an awestruck laugh exited her lips as Hermione stood beneath at least 180 leather volumes, suspended in defiance of gravity.

"Impressive, isn't it brother?" Fred broke the silence.

"But how are we to reach them?" George asked.

Hermione, intuiting the magic, scanned the looming texts. For the briefest of moments, her eyes darted to Fred. "Potions for Sustained Attention and Supernatural Awareness.Sounds interesting."

Just then, the text she'd referenced pulled itself from its row, and gently placed itself on the working table below.

"Brilliant." The word left Fred's lips, loaded with double meaning.

Chapter Text

The house shook with laughter for over an hour that evening, as the twins told stories over heaping piles of cornish pasties and icy cool mugs of butterbeer. Aside from that interruption, however, they each threw themselves into their labors uninterrupted until nearly ten.

Finishing a key phase of their potion, George pulled his attention reluctantly away from the theory text spread before them, and Fred simultaneously unpinned and pocketed the long stretch of parchment they'd referenced throughout the afternoon.

"I reckon dear mother will be furious if we stretch the evening any further. What do you say, Fred?"

Fred sighed, ran his fingers through his hair. "You're probably right, brother." He halted, hesitated briefly, and then turned his gaze to Hermione, catching her attention with a bashful smile. "See you tomorrow, Hermione?"

She blinked, summoned every ounce of composure, and met his gaze with but the faintest blush. "I'm not sure, actually. Perhaps?"

He nodded, and she was nearly certain she'd caught a hint of disappointment in his expression. She smiled, and her eyes held his gaze for a moment longer than either of them felt comfortable with, and not nearly as long as either of them wanted.

Just then, Ron turned the corner. "Guys, I'm spent. My brain hurts, and if I read another ruddy word I'm going to spontaneously combust."

By ten thirty, they bid their farewells and departed in turn. The Weasleys left by way of the floo network. Not long thereafter, Luna stood beneath the threshold of No. 4 1/2 Privet Drive, the fingers of her left hand laced between Harry's, her right hand waving farewell to an apprehensive Hermione, who was presently ignoring the suggestive comments of the shrunken head hanging from the Knight Bus' rear view mirror.

A stir of dust settled on the pavement before them, and suddenly they were perfectly alone.

Bright eyes and a playful smile overtook Luna's expression, as Harry whispered into her ear.

"Hi."

"Hello."

He pulled her closer with his right hand, pressing against her hip with his left hand, until she'd twisted and her lean form fell gently against the door frame.

He drew nearer. "Something's just occurred to me."

She bit her lip, threaded the index finger of her right hand through a nearby belt loop, and pulled his waist against hers. "Tell me, darling."

He leaned his forehead against hers, their eyes inches apart. "This home is invisible to nearly everyone in the universe."

She lifted her chin, her lips so close he could feel her slowly exhale. "I see."

He was nearer still, his lips a hair's breadth from her right ear. "Inaudible, as well."

She felt the teasing warmth of his whispers, and she trembled. "Is that so?"

He nodded, and briefly his lips wrapped around her earlobe. A sharp intake of breath pressed her chest into his as he dragged his lips from just below her ear to the soft slope of her shoulder, playfully biting at building intervals.

She closed her eyes, and the slightest whimper escaped her lips. After a moment, she whispered. "Interesting." A shiver ran up her spine as his tongue found her ear. "And if one were to find oneself pressed against a threshold, fighting desperately for composure against overwhelming pleasure?"

He paused, lifted his eyes and set his attention full upon her parted lips. "No need for composure."

And then he kissed her, pressing his lips gently, softly into hers, carefully tracing the swell of her bottom lip with the slow drag of his tongue, inhaling her longing sigh and gripping her hip passionately. She wrapped her right hand around his back, dug her nails into his shoulders, and pressed full against him. In time, their chests were moving in rhythm, their bodies shifting with building urgency. She pulled away, and her fingers dug into his chest as he gasped. His palm was searching, pressed full against her torso, against her hip, against her right thigh, suddenly wrapped around her, exploring the tight swell of her bottom.

Again she pressed into him, and she longed for more, and she felt him hard against her, and she longed for more. He pulled her near, and he longed for more, and he felt her every shift against his building tension, and he longed for more.

Suddenly they both hesitated. Harry caught her gaze, and for a moment they watched one another, capturing their breath.

Harry spoke first. "Luna Lovegood, you're incredible."

She blushed. "Yeah?"

He smiled. "Yeah. And I should really walk you home."

She sighed. "Yeah." Lifting her full eyes to his, she nodded. "I know."

They paced slowly, hand in hand, toward the rusty tin can, punctured on one end, threaded loosely with string. At intervals, she leaned her body into his and set her head fondly upon his shoulder. At intervals, he'd turn to her, summoning a question just to hear her thoughts.

In time, she held the tin can in her hands beside the far hedge of a local primary school.

"Harry Potter?"

He smiled. "Yes, Luna?"

"I never want this to end, ever."

He smiled. "Yeah." He traced the soft line of her jaw with his fingertips. "I think it, too, every day."

She pulled his hand softly, pressing into a soft embrace. "Will you write to me tonight?"

He leaned into her, kissed her forehead, and nodded.

She pulled away, looked at him with wide, longing eyes.

"Home."

Luna,

Every evening, typically around ten, my desire to keep you here — to hear your words and your whispers, to feel your embrace, to taste your lips on mine and to explore your every contour — nearly overpowers any sense of propriety.

I hope you'll forgive me. Too often my will falters, overcome by your taste and touch. There's so much of you that I don't yet know, and I'm overwhelmed by a drive to discover. It isn't just that, though.

Your desire, darling, feels knit to mine. I find myself desperate for you to feel desperation. I long for you to long. I am taken with your interest, your building pleasure, your sighs and shivers.

These insatiable pursuits dance together, and I am, at least for a moment, overcome. I am lost in you.

I fight them, Luna, to keep what we have and to chase it to the end. I can hardly hope for such an end, yet I can hardly imagine a better end worth pursuing. I fight for that bright, shining end wherein our competing interests wed; wherein my chief hope to protect what we've been given, and my overwhelming desire to discover you completely, are finally allies.

Until that moment, as I pull away, I hope you'll see strength in my sunken shoulders. To walk you home is a battle won.

My head is swimming, Luna. There's so much to talk about.

For instance, I discovered today that I'm insanely wealthy. Goodness gracious. Eighty thousand galleons a week on the Potter Estate's investments. Honestly, I can't imagine it.

I knew, in some vague, abstract sense, that the House of Potter was notable —ancient and influential, like the Black family. I didn't really consider how or why. I guess wealth was a big part of that influence.

I feel ridiculous, honestly, at the revelation of it all. To have so much when so many have so little. I want to do something with it, Luna. That much wealth can change things for people, right?

I had an idea. I don't want to overstep, but I was wondering whetherThe Quibblercould use an investor? It was largely kept from it all, but apparently this summerThe Daily Prophethas been a tool in Fudge's hands. It wasn't a surprise, honestly. Politics and Agenda are unmistakably apparent in the articles. I can't help but suspect that such bias will work against us in the end.

The Quibbler, though, has been a beacon of light. Perhaps some of the content is (forgive me) a touch speculative. But the vision, the bright pursuit of truth, has been there all the time.

You said that your father isThe Quibbler'schief correspondent. I wonder whether he could use support? A team of journalists? Editing staff and researchers? Do you think he'd be open to an investment of sorts? It feels ludicrous to say, but the Potter Estate could fund it on a few weeks of earnings.

Send me your thoughts?

One more thing. I'm enjoying the time we've had with friends, but I miss our days together. Maybe I could drop by the Rook tomorrow? You've yet to teach me the magic of memory…

Yours,

Harry

PS — Is something happening between Hermione and Fred? Am I crazy?

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"Perhaps you might describe to me again the compulsion you both felt?"

Xenophilius was pacing, his long fingers laced behind his back, the sleeves of his white tunic rolled to three quarter length, his long, white hair pulled back with a thin, leather cord. His angular features were fixed, at intervals, on Harry, Luna, and sporadically on a distant shelf in his broad, open library. He'd conjured two chairs, identical to his own.

"It was as if, I dunno, I wanted to know her fully, and to be known by her. To be seen by her. I know how crazy it sounds, it's just—" Harry felt uncomfortable, not for the first time.

"Nonsense, Harry. And you, my dear?"

"It's true. I layered the memories flawlessly, daddy, and it couldn't have been clearer. At precisely the same moment, we each felt an overwhelming compulsion to 'to see and be seen. To fully and comprehensively know, and be known.'"

"And the second memory you explored?"

This time, Luna spoke first. "A sudden, overwhelming impulse 'to protect what we've been given; to patiently discover, fighting compromise at every step, driven by the hope of flesh and spirit finally wed, pressing back the darkness as allies forever.'"

At this he halted, his furrowed brow shifting, his eyes narrowing, set unflinchingly on Luna, piercing and grave.

"Given? You're sure of the language? 'To protect what you've been given?'"

They both nodded, heavy with concern.

"And, pardon me, but would you repeat the last part, my darling? 'Pressing back…'"

"Pressing back the darkness as allies forever." Luna knew, now, that her father was beginning to understand, and a sudden gravity struck her features.

Xenophilius, struck, had shifted his gaze to the window which spanned the breadth of the exterior wall, and to the distant horizon beyond it. Inhaling deeply, his lips moved as if whispering in an ancient tongue. Lost in thought, he paced and nodded and whispered for what must have been three minutes before responding.

"I believe I'm beginning to understand." An idea suddenly occurred to him, and his distant gaze returned to the pair. "Might I see the memories themselves?" He asked.

They looked at him with wide eyes, a shade of crimson washing over their features. Luna appeared as if, just for a moment, she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Ah." He smiled kindly. "I understand, and it's nothing to be ashamed of."

A relief washed over them so rapidly that Harry could have sworn it shifted the air in the room.

For a while they sat, watching him pace with unbridled anticipation, a gravity cast over their features.

At last he spoke. "We know, of course, that what you've experienced is outside the bounds of everyday magic. Any suspicion of accidental confundus or imperio casts are immediately stricken by the sobriety of the moment, the sheer awareness of sensations and impressions you've both exhibited. Potions engineered to foster a cognitive or emotive effect leave a residue which I've not detected in either of you. This home is warded against any creature of magical influence whatever, and I've just confirmed that the wards yet stand. A lapse hasn't been recorded in nearly three hundred years, so it's safe to rule out the influence of Nargles, Wrackspurts, and Moon Frogs."

He smiled, and Harry wasn't entirely sure whether he was serious about that last bit.

"Were there any doubts, the nature of the compulsions you've shared overwhelm them altogether." He shifted his gaze, setting his piercing eyes directly on Luna, and something like a joyful sorrow overwhelmed his features.

"You've described what is called, in the arena of soul magic, a nexus."

Harry merely watched. Luna, however, was struck with a sudden intake of breath.

Xenophilius nodded, and after a moment continued. "Or, in a more ancient tongue, kesratha. The notion, in our language, is soul bond. You are, it seems, at your very heart, knit together. It is, and I cannot stress this enough without sounding absurdly hyperbolic, extraordinarily rare magic. To my knowledge there are six cases in the last three thousand years. Pressing beyond these documented instances forces us to tap into the realm of myth and legend. For legend is, I'm afraid, the only source of explanation we have access to."

He breathed, inhaling full and exhaling slowly. "For nexus is fairy magic, and of a kind extraordinarily precious. Nexus is a gift of the Raven King himself."

Harry cocked his head, brow furrowed. "The Raven King?"

Suddenly an ancient melody sprung from Luna's lips, a song of such striking beauty that Harry felt time itself surrender to its pace. Soft melodies drew them into her melodic enchantment, as the very dust in the air stilled, suspended in the beams of the morning sun. Overtaken by the spell, she swayed gently, shifting her gaze to the ancient oak, to the brook and willows beyond, and suddenly the distant ring of bells joined in chorus.

"Darkness shudders, shadows fall
Trembling, watch the wicked flee
Hear the righteous raven's call
Bound and broken hearts set free

Prince of Fairie, hope of men,
the Raven King reigns again
Prince of Fairie, hope of men,
the Raven King reigns again"

Suddenly the enchantment broke. Luna shook herself, inhaled shapely, and shot her wide eyes to meet the gaze of her father. Tears were welling in her eyes, and a heaviness fell upon her shoulders.

Xenophilius cleared the distance between them and gathered her into a gentle embrace. "I've not heard that melody in six years."

For a moment they held each other, mourning the loss of wife and mother.

As he watched them, suddenly the beauty of their love, an intimacy borne of shared burdens, of mutual understanding, unshakable affection, and unmovable commitment, washed over Harry. Longing and sorrow overtook him, finally overcome by determined resolve to protect her, to protect this, at all costs.

In time, they parted, and suddenly Harry's presence shook Xenophilius, anchoring him to the present.

"The melody you heard, Harry, was the lullaby Pandora once sung over Luna every evening. Ancient lyrics, filtered of course through at least a half dozen linguistic frameworks. It is an artifact of an ancient prophecy — a prophecy, you might say, in which Pandora set her hope."

He took a moment to gather himself, considering. Finally, he spoke, and something of Luna's distant, melodic speculations was evidenced in his musings. "It is said that, many thousands of years ago, the high fairies visited the realm of men, led by their prince, the Raven King. They came bearing gifts."

He shook his head. "Poor students of myth and legend might say they'd given magic to men, yet this interpretation doesn't do justice to the most ancient and faithful textual traditions. Magic is at the heart of men, and it cannot be given or taken away."

"Wands, potions, enchantments and spells — these were the gifts of the Raven King. In a word, he set the magical community on a journey to understand magic."

His brow furrowed. "The high fairies, you must understand, were born of the light. Yet as they dwelt among men, cunningly and silently, darkness seduced the hearts of some. For it took no time at all for wicked men to twist the ancient craft of the Raven King into violence and destruction, and by their dark arts they stole the hearts of not a few ancient souls. As apprentices honed the craft of wandwork, of potions and spellcraft, a new evil emerged, corrupting the hearts of men and fairy alike. Without warning, a fraction of the most powerful witches, wizards, and fairies, unleashed their dark magic against the Raven King himself, and he was violently cast out of the realm of men and the realm of fairies."

At this, Xenophilius shifted his gaze to Harry's, and the shadow of hope lifted his expression. "Yet in the wake of that violent act, it is said, an ancient melody sounded, carrying the song of the Raven King — a prophecy which resounded in the hearts of men. Hence the song you heard just now, Harry Potter, which has been passed down, generation after generation, by those who fight the darkness."

Luna laced her fingers through his, softly singing the last lines.

"Prince of Fairie, hope of men, the Raven King reigns again"

As if from outside of himself, hope rallied in Harry's heart, and he wondered.

Xenophilius smiled.

"Nexus, it is said, is a gift of the Raven King himself. It is a shining light, illuminating the darkest generations. When the light falters and all hope seems lost, it is said that he chooses champions — a pair of champions to embody the light itself, to lead his armies against the darkness itself. And he equips these champions with Nexus."

He smiled awkwardly, shifting his eyes away from the pair. "It's been described as a building emotional and, forgive me, physical connection. Champions are drawn to one another, at first socially and inexplicably. Every word exchanged, every memory shared, every glance and touch strengthens the bond, until a vibrant affection colors every interaction." At this, he blushed. "I'm told that showing physical restraint is an act of nearly impossible willpower, as the soul bond culminates and is maintained by," he hesitated, "one might say, physical acts of intimacy. In the end, they are one in all but the strictly physiological sense. Their will is knit, their minds are knit, their very souls are knit."

He cleared his throat, overcoming his embarrassment by sheer willpower. "Nexus is a gift in that sense, for by knitting the hearts of his champions, they will pierce the darkness itself by the shining light of love."

Chapter Text

"I'm not sure I understand." Harry spoke after a moment, brow furrowed in a searching expression. After a beat, he opened his mouth to speak, then stumbled a bit, hesitating. "I'm sorry." He looked up, shifting his gaze from Luna to her father. "I actually have loads of questions."

Xenophilius smiled fondly, nodding his head and gesturing an invitation with open arms.

"Okay." He paused, gathering himself. "Okay, first. This Nexus — how exactly does it work? And what will it mean for us? You mentioned it was a gift. How does it help? And the Raven King — if he's — I think you said he's been cast from our plane of existence, right? — well if he's gone, how does he know who I am, and how does he know who Luna is? And why did he choose us, of all people? And what are we facing? I mean, is this about Voldemort, or something bigger? And what will it mean for us — for our future, I mean? How can I keep her safe if we're to — I can hardly believe I'm saying it — lead the armies of the light or whatever?"

His pace had quickened as he spoke, and toward the end his questions tore out of him in a frenzy. He took a moment to settle his breathing, and his gaze returned from the floor-to-ceiling shelves on the far wall. He huffed out an awkward laugh. "Sorry. It's just that — well, I've never quite felt in control of my life. And this is just another layer, isn't it? I'm not afraid. At least I don't think I am. I'd just like to know what there is to know."

Xenophilius had stopped pacing, and for a moment merely watched him, his expression heavy with compassion. He nodded, and held Harry's gaze unflinchingly. "Harry Potter, you've every right to ask questions, and you've every right to express frustration. Rarely is the path of mere youth so soon fixed. Few would have chosen the course you both seem destined to follow."

He paused, and Harry and Luna watched with bated breath. Just in that moment they saw a fire in his eyes. "And yet. All that is dark and violent on this forsaken world, all that haunts innocence, all that siphons joy and goodwill from the hearts of men — the darkness is rising, Harry Potter. I feel it everyday. You feel it, too; I can see it in your eyes."

He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes in what can only be called an expression of ferocity. "If I told you there was a way to crush it forever — if I told you it'd cost you blood and sweat and toil and tears, yet on the other side of that sacrificial work the world would be rid of the darkness." He paused, and time slowed. "Harry. Could anything stop you? Can you even imagine ignoring such an opportunity?"

It was this moment, fixed forever in his memory, that would carry Harry through to the very end.

He blinked, inhaled deeply, nodded with a distant expression, and spoke. "I would. Of course I would. All I've ever wanted was to be rid of this darkness."

Luna's eyes, capturing Harry's every movement and shifting expression, blinked away tears as he spoke the words, and just at this moment she knew she'd love him forever and ever.

"I know." Xenophilius' expression shifted, and the enchantment broke. He smiled kindly. "I know, Harry. Perhaps that's why he chose you."

He began pacing again. "I'll try to answer your questions in turn. You ask how the Nexus works? If you're asking about mechanics, only the most brilliant soul magic theorists have the slightest clue. It's an extraordinary bit of magic, the study of which is made even more complex by its fairy origins. If you're asking what it does? Well, in that case we know a lot, because the few cases in human history were so exceptional they were richly documented."

He hesitated for a moment. "You'll have to excuse the nature of my explanation. I am, of course, Luna's father. And you are, of course, Luna's boyfriend. And, traditionally at least, that ought to somewhat complicate our dynamic. Yet to answer your questions I'll need to speak about sex." He smirked and Harry blushed. "You must know it's at least as awkward for me as it is for you." A few seconds later, he took a breath and continued.

"In every case the Nexus draws together. That's the key."

He adopted a distant, melodic cadence. "Human relationships foster affection, and that affection draws lovers in the most natural sense, culminating in affectionate embrace. The physical act of sex is, and has always been, the triumph and seal of true love. It is no mistake that most religions hold marriage sacred, for at the center of marriage is the union — mark the words — of two souls. The notion is that, in marriage, these two are no longer two, but by way of analogy they've become a part of each other."

He stopped, fixed his eyes on the pair of them. "Two become one, you see? Love draws together; it has a powerful force of attraction, until a man and a woman are no longer —indeed cannot any longer be individuals. They become "one flesh," to use the biblical analogy. The ancient word picture for the physical act that symbolizes, at its heart, permanent union. It is a symbol. Alas, it is only a symbol. Yet in the case of Nexus, this union is very real."

"Nexus begins with an extraordinarily powerful attraction. In each documented case, bound souls find one another against all odds, despite social and even physical obstacles — it is said that an overwhelming relief accompanies their first meeting, for every moment prior was something like a half-life. The color of the world, the bright light of every moment, the joys and pleasures of every interaction were only half experienced. Because, unlike traditional relationships, the bond of Nexus precedes the culminating act of union." He shifted his gaze back to the pair, now entranced, fingers laced together, watching with wide eyes. "In other words, until you met nothing truly felt right, because indeed nothing truly was right. You couldn't know fullness outside of one another. Indeed, until your union culminates in that physical act, you'll only know the beauty of the world at a distance."

Something about this stilled him, and for a few seconds his eyes turned again to the far corner. He blinked away tears. After a moment, he gathered himself. "In each case, as friendship shifts to shared affection, the souls bound by Nexus begin to share convictions, interests, values, and priorities. This is unspoken, often even thoughtless. Their minds are becoming knit together at every touch, at every gentle, affectionate exchange, and suddenly the bound souls find themselves thinking alike."

"In time, as the physical relationship develops, the souls bound by nexus begin to feel the same things. Many stories tell of overwhelming joy, experienced by both souls simultaneously, because one witnessed the birth of a child while the other worked the soil of a field hundreds of miles away. I've read accounts of fury shared, simultaneously — as one soul stumbles across the torture of an innocent, while the other washes dishes in their home, halfway across the globe."

"They also (forgive me) want the same things. Indeed, in every documented case, as the relationship develops — as affections turn to physical expressions of interest — the building intensity of their physical desire becomes impossible to manage. It's been said that bound souls are insatiable. They long for one another at nearly every moment. They are physically drawn together because, at every moment, each feels the other's physical interest. It is as if they're simultaneously longing for the other, and feeling at full volume the other's longing for them. For this reason, of course, courting seasons are seldom prolonged, and in many cases the social conventions leading to proposal and consummation of marriage are ignored altogether."

"Finally — and I think this will answer your second question, Harry — when the Nexus is sealed with the physical act of sex, the bound souls are fully united. It is said that, at will, bound souls can trade one another's thoughts, communicate without words. Perhaps more significant than this, their magic is shared, their intentions are shared, their power is shared."

He paused, settled his gaze upon them with gravity. "Magic is, of course, a function of the will, the mind, and the strength. Souls bound by Nexus are extraordinarily powerful, for their will is the united will of two, their mind is the singular mind of a united pair, thus their strength compounds exponentially."

He smiled. "Dark wizards do not survive the resistance of bound souls, because no one man was ever a match for two souls united as one."

A stillness settled over the room. Harry suddenly realized his lips were parted, and he blinked into awareness.

The significance of the exchange held them captive for at least thirty seconds.

Finally, Xenophilius gathered himself, mentally indexing. "Ah. I think your second set of questions were related to the Raven King himself. I'm afraid I don't have some of the answers you're seeking. I'll tell you what I know, and nothing more."

He stilled, his eyes closing briefly. Again, Harry thought he could hear whispers in an unintelligible language.

At last, he spoke. "We're of course dependent on legend to answer some of these questions. Yet I feel the legends ring true. First, you must understand that fairy magic is stronger than human magic, Harry. It is more ancient, more fundamentally woven into the fabric of the created order. It is why, perhaps, shifting from the fairy plane to the human plane is a matter of ease for fairies, and nearly impossible for humans. Fairy magic spans the gap, it shifts from this plane to that unhindered, accomplishing ancient will unlimited by finite imagination."

Something like reverence clouded Xenophilius' vision. "All students of fairy lore agree that the Raven King is not only more powerful than his subjects, but transcendentally so. Some suggest that he was not — indeed he could not have been cast out of this plane. For there is no coalition of darkness so strong as to overcome his light. Instead, acknowledging the darkened counsel of man and fairy, the Raven King willingly withdrew, only to return at the last battle — the final defeat of darkness and the restoration of his kingdom forever."

Something like a bow overtook his figure, and he finished with this. "I cannot tell you, Harry, exactly how he found you, but I can tell you that he's able. And I cannot tell you precisely why he chose you. But I feel that you ought to trust him."

At this, the heaviness that weighed on Harry and Luna seemed unaccountably to lift, and all the implications of his words washed over them as they sat in thought. A peace settled on the room, and Xenophilius took a seat beside them in contemplative silence.

Some time later, he stirred. "I've just noticed the time. It's nearly noon. Harry, would you like to stay for lunch?"

Suddenly an expression of sheer overwhelming panic flooded Luna's features. She shot up from her chair and nearly shouted. "Oh!"

Their eyes shot to hers.

At this point, the entirety of her mental faculties were summoning all behaviors and expressions associated with the phrase, "act normal." Finally, in a wooden, mechanical sort of way, she feigned realization. "I've just remembered that I left something at Harry's." There was too much space between her words, and Harry met Xenophilius' puzzled glance with a shrug. "A book! Yes, I've left a book at Harry's." She suddenly pulled on Harry's hand, forcing him to stand. "Father, forgive me, we can't stay for lunch because I've got to get that book for important reasons."

At this Luna led an entirely bewildered Harry Potter out of the library, through the round green door, down the hill, and to the ancient ash.

As she picked up the tin can, threaded with loose string on one end, and she fought an expression of anxiety. She risked a glance at Harry, and spoke again in a spacey, wooden manner. "Not to worry, Harry. I've just forgotten my book."

She drew the can to her lips and spoke.

"Harry Potter."

Chapter Text

"SURPRISE!"

As soon as Luna Lovegood tugged a bewildered Harry Potter across the threshold of No. 4 ½ Privet Drive, the house erupted in an explosion of joyful cries, brilliantly colored confetti, and what must have been a thousand balloons, enchanted to dance about the ceiling in waves of gold and crimson.

Stunned, Harry shot wide eyes at Luna, who was smirking mischievously.

Sirius rushed forward, pulling Harry into a tight embrace. "Happy Birthday, Harry!" Wrapping his arm around his shoulder, he turned to stand at Harry's side. "I hope you don't mind, but I invited a few friends."

A thick flurry of confetti began to clear. Behind it stood Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the Twins, Mr. & Mrs. Weasley, Tonks and Dumbledore. Harry's attention was captured, however, by a lean figure looming in the far corner of his living room. Remus Lupin wore a kind smile, exuding joy despite his vaguely worn disposition and generally threadbare appearance.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry rushed forward as Lupin closed the distance between them.

"Hello, Harry." He welcomed his former student with a warm embrace. He held Harry's shoulders and pressed him away, inspecting him with paternal pride. Suddenly his expression shifted, and he held Harry's gaze with a heavy expression. "I owe you a handful of apologies."

Harry stumbled over himself to interrupt, yet Remus shook his head with a grave expression. "No, Harry. Truly. My distance this summer has been inexcusable. And the timing of the attack, not to mention your arrest and trial, unfortunately coincided with a difficult lapse related to my… condition. I was unreachable — holed away in an abandoned cottage in Scotland. I apparated as soon as Sirius' letter reached me."

Harry smiled with a measured nod. "I understand, and I forgive you the distance. It's been a, er, complicated summer for all of us. I'm just glad you're here, Professor."

At this the others rushed upon him, and Harry was overwhelmed by happy hugs, claps on the shoulder, and a savory fragrance wafting in from the dining table.

If the Hogwarts house elves' daily provisions were generous, the feast before them was exceptionally lavish to an embarrassing degree. Massive heaps of Yorkshire pudding, giant bowls of curries, stews, mashed potatoes, roasted chicken and summer vegetables, overstuffed platters of crusty breads, dosa, naan, sliced roast beef, and piping dishes of casseroles, precariously tottering upon the magically extended table.

Happy laughter and friendly conversation filled the house. After over an hour of embellished stories, shared memories, and playful teasing, the considerably thinner remnants of their feast were cleared. In its place a towering cake appeared — four tiers of rich chocolate ganache, magically decorated with verdant trees shifting against a strong wind, noble hippogriffs taking flight, galloping centaurs firing white chocolate arrows, and a family of miniature Acromantulas, swinging among sugar thread webbing.

As the enchanted cake sliced itself, they were each served a generous portion around which an enchanted character pranced, galloped, or skittered about through a windblown copse of gnarled trees. Noticing Ron's pale apprehension, Luna clandestinely switched her Centaur for his Acromantula. He flushed, nodding gratefully with a relieved smile.

Seated at the end of the table, Dumbledore stood.

"I do hope you'll excuse me, dear friends. I can hardly attend a feast without issuing some sort of announcement. Yet in this case, I suspect you'll welcome my excess."

Their attention was captured. With a swish he conjured a dozen tall glasses of sparkling champagne. "First, a toast." His kind eyes narrowed in affectionate gratitude. "To Harry. Where would we be without his courage, his strength, and above all, his indomitable love?"

They all raised their glasses in shouts of cheer. "To Harry!"

Harry, humbled by the affectionate display, shifted his gaze to the floor and fought inevitable tears. Luna laced her fingers through his, leaning her head upon his shoulder.

After a moment Dumbledore again spoke, capturing Harry's gaze. "Indeed, Harry, few occasions merit such joyful celebration. For today we not only celebrate your life, we celebrate what your life represents — an unflinching stand against hatred, prejudice, and violence. In your struggle against the darkness, my dear boy, you do not stand alone."

A twinkle lit his eye, and hope washed over his expression. "You are not alone." He paused. "We are not alone." His aged gaze met each of them in turn. "Two days ago, on the heels of the resignation of Cornelius Fudge, I was invited to preside over a special session of the Wizengamot. And this morning, in an expression of near unanimity, Amelia Bones was chosen to lead your magical government."

The room erupted, and for a moment Dumbledore fought for their attention. "Indeed, friends, this is welcome news. Amelia is a friend to the light, and a pillar of justice." At this, he shifted his attention to Sirius. "Now, I'm afraid I must deflate the expectations of many. Indeed, of the many kind gifts I'm sure Harry will receive today, I suspect the tidings I bring may surpass them all. For this morning, after reviewing a number of especially relevant memories, our Minister of Magic has agreed to convene the Wizengamot for the express purpose of overturning the conviction of Sirius Black."

A sharp intake of breath overtook the room, followed by an explosion of sheer rapture. Sirius, his features overcome with shock, sat with a blank expression and parted lips. Harry's efforts to resist joyful tears broke at the revelation, and he literally threw himself at his godfather. For a moment the room hushed as the pair shared tearful laughter.

After collecting himself, Sirius spoke. "I'm of course overcome — but I'm also a bit befuddled. How can it be that simple, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded, his gaze shifting in recollection. "Perhaps simple isn't the word. You see, Sirius, the timing of your escape from Azkaban was unfortunate in one sense, for Cornelius Fudge had just completed a work to which he had devoted his efforts for decades — he had secured the allegiance of a coalition of alliances perhaps unparalleled in recent memory. His political power was, I'm afraid, rather concrete, excepting that sole element which all tyrants seek, which indeed may have solidified popular opinion permanently. He was lacking an enemy."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Not an enemy, of course, powerful enough to shake the Wizarding World. No, Fudge refused to acknowledge the return of Lord Voldemort not from mere denial. Political expediency, and nothing more, blinded his eyes to the specter of all-out war. Yet in your case, Sirius — the mad, solitary efforts of a mere henchman — Fudge was thrilled to rally his base around the specter of your return."

His features stilled, and he shook his head in disappointment. "Hence, when I appealed on your behalf — despite showing him dozens of memories indicating without a shadow of doubt your innocence — he refused to accept the notion that you'd been framed, that you were innocent of your best friend's murder."

At this, Dumbledore shifted his gaze to Luna, wearing a kind smile. "Happily, thanks in full measure to the foresight of our dear friend Miss Luna Lovegood, Fudge's foolish pursuit of power finally backfired. The collapse of his administration has done much to sober the most powerful magical families in Britain. Amelia Bone's election was, I'm overjoyed to say, the fruit of a sizable shift in popular opinion."

He returned his gaze to Sirius. "My appeal to Amelia, now supplemented with Harry's memories of Voldemort's return — evidence, of course, of Peter's survival — was received with open arms. It isn't too much to say that she was appalled at the miscarriage of justice that has haunted your years, Sirius. I suspect popular opinion will soon follow against the backdrop of next week's special session."

Harry, hardly recovered from happy tears, spoke at this. "Brilliant. Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."

Sirius echoed his gratitude. "Indeed. Albus, I've no way to repay your efforts. Thank you."

Mr. Weasley, joyfully observing the exchange, raised his glass. "To Sirius!"

The assembly erupted again, and for hours more they laughed with a liberty for which they hadn't dared to hope in months.

As the sun set, Harry's friends began to depart. In time, only Hermione and Luna remained. A small pile of wrapped gifts sat in the corner of his living room, and the three of them lay sprawled about on the furnishings, recovering from overstuffed bellies.

They'd long felt comfortable sitting together in silence, so for a time they enjoyed the peace. Finally, though, Hermione sat up and caught Harry's gaze. She looked troubled.

"Harry." She furrowed her brow. "I've been wrestling with something, and I'm troubled enough to risk upsetting your otherwise happy evening. It's just that I think you should know what I think I've discovered, and I'm afraid it cannot wait."

Luna's distance gaze, suddenly anchored to the moment, was set unflinchingly on Hermione.

Harry sat up, pivoting his legs off the overstuffed sofa, and steadied his gaze. "Okay." His features stilled, readying himself. "I trust you, Hermione. If it's worth knowing I want to know it."

They watched Hermione stumble, hesitating with the weight of implications. Finally she spoke.

"I've been haunted, you see, by the notion of—" she steeled herself, huffing "—V-Voldemort's interest in your soulless body. It didn't make sense, the idea that he might want your physical body without your immaterial soul. But something about it felt significant. Of course you know, Harry, that I chase ideas to the end, often because this or that aspect of this or that idea captures my interest. It's not that, Harry. Something about this seemed truly important, truly dark and tragic and significant in the deepest sense. So that evening I borrowed your library's best volumes on Soul Magic. I didn't sleep last night, Harry, I just read. And I think I've discovered something."

They watched her, and for a moment she held his gaze with a trembling expression. She took a deep breath, and forced herself to continue.

"I arrived at your home this morning to dig deeper. I found a chorus of voices, the suggestions of each pointing to a field of ancient dark magic none seemed willing even to articulate with any clarity. Finally, I visited your godfather's home, and he led me to his library." She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "There is no finer collection of dark works, Harry. It was horrible in one sense, but I see how it will be tremendously useful in the days to come. In either case, after several hours of research, it was there that, finally, my suspicions were confirmed."

Luna's eyes welled, and her chin trembled. Hermione wondered whether she knew all the time.

"Your scar, Harry. The pain and the visions and the nightmares." She hesitated with sudden gravity. A solitary tear fell from her left eye. "I think you're a Horcrux, Harry. I think there's a piece of Voldemort's soul living inside of you."

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