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He'd ended up in the Astronomy Tower. In the stairwell where he’d watched Dumbledore die. It was an odd choice to come here. Not that he’d really chosen, just wandered. Had he ever chosen anything? Or had he always just wandered?
“Hello.”
Ron would have barged in to ask why he was hiding. He wasn’t hiding, exactly, but Ron would assume. And Hermione, too, though she’d be more polite about it. Professor McGonagall or one of the other adults -- the older adults -- he was an adult, but he didn’t want to be -- would clear their throat or make their presence known in some other way, but wait for him to acknowledge them. He didn’t know what they’d do if he didn’t. Mrs. Weasley would barge in like her son, and hug him, most likely. He didn’t want to be hugged. He also didn’t know what Ginny would do at all. Which probably should bother him. It did bother him, but, maybe not for the right reasons.
Luna was direct, and patient. She didn’t crowd. She didn’t push. She didn’t need an answer.
Harry nodded, both acknowledgement and welcome. The gesture was quiet and contained. Small. She understood. He understood she understood.
She crossed the steps to join him in the nook behind the stairs. “Everyone is looking for you.”
“I’m here.” Beneath the stairs. Ironic he spent ten years with the Dursleys imaging an escape from the cupboard under the stairs and now he found the memory oddly comforting. At least then he knew what he wanted. At least then no one else was hurt.
“I know,” Luna answered in her sing song voice. It also felt comforting. It felt like home.
He met her eyes. “How did you know?” He wasn’t surprised. She was Luna. But he did wonder.
She smiled. Not a happy smile. A gentle smile. “I’m good at finding lost things,” she answered, matter of fact. “When they want to be found.”
A wave of emotions hit Harry square in the chest. He swayed under their weight. Overwhelmed. He’d been fourteen when Cedric had died. He thought of it as the beginning but of course that wasn’t true. He’d destroyed his first Horcrux at twelve. He’d been targeted for death when he was an infant. No. Before he was born. He was a lost thing for years. His whole life.
“I don’t…” He blinked at tears he couldn’t find. If only he could cry. His chest was heavy with it. “I don’t want to go back,” he whispered, afraid of the admission. His head hurt. His everything hurt.
Luna touched a hand to his shoulder. The slightest pressure, in support. Friendship. Compassion. Harry’s eyes moved from her hand to her eyes. Luna was always a riddle. An answer without a question. A stray lock of hair fell across her forehead, cutting their gaze. Harry reached to brush it back with his fingers. Her eyes shone bright. He cupped her chin with both hands and leaned in to brush her lips. Once, gentle. Twice, hungry.
Harry pulled back, suddenly. “I’m sorry, I...I’m sorry.”
Luna cocked her head, watching him with that very specific way she had. The way a tree watches the rain fall. “Where would you go?”
“...What?”
She turned her gaze to the ceiling, the crack of sky from the tower. “If you didn’t go back, where would you go?”
“Oh. Er.” Of course he’d never not go back. He was Harry Potter. He was ...required. “I don’t know.” Privet Lane. Grimmauld Place. Godric’s Hollow. Every home he’d had was tainted. Even here, even Hogwarts. Especially Hogwarts.
He blinked at absent tears again. Luna had lost just as much. They all had. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
“You can kiss me whenever you like.”
Harry stared. Luna smiled.
“Oh,” he said, because he had to say something.
“I don’t mind.”
“Oh.” Again.
Luna touched a finger to her lips and frowned, thoughtful. “I like it.”
Harry’s mouth moved to form the word ‘Oh’ a third time but he thought better of it and pressed his lips to hers instead.
“I like it, too,” he said when they pulled apart. Luna cocked her head again. Harry smiled. A real smile. “I like you.”
“Oh,” said Luna, with deliberation.
“I’m not supposed to.” He was supposed to marry Ginny. Just like he was supposed to defeat Voldemort. And be an Auror like his father. And raise an army for Dumbledore. And win the Triwizard Tournament. And save Sirius and Buckbeak. And save Ginny. And defeat Voldemort. So many things he was supposed to do.
Luna turned to the stairwell, looked up, toward the open top of the tower. “This is where Dumbledore died.”
Harry swallowed. “Yes.”
“You saw it.”
“Yes.” The answer was a whisper.
Luna walked halfway up the final flight of stairs. The moonlight hit her hair, she seemed to glow almost. “It must have been horrible.”
Harry felt a tear fall from his eye. “...Yes. Yes, it was.”
Luna turned to meet his eyes. Now she seemed to be made of moonlight. “It’s pretty, though.”
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “It is.”
Luna reached her hand toward him. An offer of support. Friendship. Compassion. And whatever else he needed. Harry closed the space between them, clasped her hand. Nodded, once, in gratitude.
“I’m ready to be found.”