One night, my clone who insists on being called Kid Dynamite was seated in the corner of the music room, scribbling lyrics that leaned far more into melancholy than rebellion. He always said rock and roll had too much fire and not enough ache. He was the emotional one. Sensitive, dramatic, oddly poetic.
He paused mid-line, sensing a quiet rhythm of soft, bare footsteps against stone. He turned.
Luna.
She was skipping. Not walking, not wandering. Skipping, lightly and dreamily, as if the corridor beneath her was made of clouds. Her eyes were trained upward, scanning the ceiling like it might whisper secrets back.
"Hello, Luna," he greeted, setting his quill down.
She blinked, then lit up like moonlight through glass. "Timmy!"
She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. No hesitation. No explanation. Just warmth. The clones had all agreed without debate that Luna was the only one allowed to call him that.
Kid Dynamite gently patted her head like she was a very delicate, very sparkly owl. "What are you doing up so late, young lady?" he asked, lowering his voice into a playful scolding tone and raising a single brow for dramatic effect.
Luna giggled, eyes wide and glinting with starlight. "The Nargles have taken my shoes again. Cho and Marietta told me they saw them dangling from a chandelier near the charms hallway."
Kid Dynamite's smile faltered for just a moment. Internally, he scowled.
"Did they, now?" he said evenly. "How considerate."
He stood, offered her his hand, and when she took it, he began swinging their arms back and forth like an exaggerated march. She laughed. Loud, open, bright.
"Let's go find those shoes," he said. "And while we search, you can tell me more about these girls and their ceiling investigations."
From that night on, my clones and I decided someone would always keep an eye on her. Not to hover, not to pity. Just to be near. A small force of quiet correction, guiding her gently toward truths she may already know, but had never dared to speak aloud.
The moment came sooner than I hoped.
Daphne, in her own blunt yet caring way, told Luna the truth. Not about Nargles, but about people. About how some girls smiled with their mouths and sneered with their eyes. She did it in the music room. We were all there.
Luna blinked slowly, the words settling like snow in her chest. She did not cry. Not yet. But her breath hitched. Her fingers curled slightly. The room did not go silent, but we all heard the silence inside her.
She already knew.
Her eyes had known it long before her ears accepted it.
Later, when it was just the two of us, I asked the only question that felt right.
"Want to sing about it?"
She gave me a watery smile. The kind that looked like it might fall apart if you stared at it too long.
That was enough.
We waited until the afternoon sun dipped behind clouds, then charmed the room to look like it was the middle of the night. Stars blinked across the ceiling. Shooting stars traced slow arcs overhead. The air shimmered with soft magic, warm and gentle.
Luna stepped into the center of it all, barefoot and quiet. The gentle hum of the enchanted keyboard already waiting for her touch. The room quieted instinctively. Not by spell. By presence.
Then she sang.
[Runaway- Aurora]
"I was listening to the ocean
I saw a face in the sand
But when I picked it up
Then it vanished away from my hands, down"
Her voice was ethereal. Whisper-soft, but steady. It did not echo—it shimmered. Like fog drifting across moonlit water. It carried something ancient, something not quite of this world. Everyone leaned forward as if spellbound.
"I had a dream I was seven
Climbing my way in a tree
I saw a piece of heaven
Waiting, impatient, for me, down"
The lights above dimmed into a dusky blue, and shimmering flecks of gold floated through the air—part of a music spell, reacting to her tone. It looked like the room was suspended in twilight, stars drifting slowly just above their heads. Her voice wove through the magic like a ribbon, soft and weightless. Every note felt like it was pulled from a memory you couldn't quite remember.
"And I was running far away
Would I run off the world someday?
Nobody knows, nobody knows
I was dancing in the rain
I felt alive and I can't complain
But now take me home
Take me home where I belong
I can't take it anymore"
Daphne's arms, usually folded in elegant boredom, had dropped to her sides. Her eyes were wide, glassy. She looked like she was seeing something she could not name.
Susan stared forward with a kind of stunned reverence, her lips parted slightly. Her fingers clutched the hem of her jumper, knuckles white.
Hannah sat very still, blinking back tears she didn't seem to notice. One slipped down her cheek, silent and unacknowledged.
"I was painting a picture
The picture was a painting of you
And for a moment I thought you were here
But then again, it wasn't true, down"
Neville's breath caught. His head tilted slightly, as if trying to anchor himself. One hand gripped his wand under the table.
Hermione pressed a hand to her chest. She had stopped taking notes—her quill forgotten beside her—as if writing anything down would lessen the moment.
"And all this time I have been lying
Oh, lying in secret to myself
I've been putting sorrow on the farthest place on my shelf
And I was running far away
Would I run off the world someday?
Nobody knows, nobody knows
And I was dancing in the rain
I felt alive and I can't complain"
The keyboard behind her responded to her voice like it was alive. Each chord rang out like falling light, trailing sparkles in the air. The room pulsed gently, as though holding its breath with her.
"But now take me home
Take me home where I belong
I got no other place to go
Now take me home
Take me home where I belong
I got no other place to go
Now take me home
Take me home where I belong
I can't take it anymore"
She squeezed her eyes shut as the words cracked at the edges. Her voice trembled, raw and open. There was a weight in her chest, and you could feel it in every note. Her hands trembled over the keys as if the song was the only thing holding her together.
"But I kept running for a soft place to fall
And I kept running for a soft place to fall
And I kept running for a soft place to fall
And I kept running for a soft place to fall"
Her shoulders hunched in, barely perceptible, but it was clear she was breaking in small pieces. Not loudly. Quietly. Honestly. Every line was less a performance and more a confession.
"And I was running far away
Would I run off the world someday?
But now take me home
Take me home where I belong
I got no other place to go
Now take me home
Take me home where I belong
I got no other place to go
Now take me home, home where I belong
Now take me home, home where I belong
Now take me home, home where I belong
Now take me home, home where I belong
I can't take it anymore"
She held the final note longer than anyone expected. Then silence.
Not a spell. Not applause. Just stillness.
Then, one by one, reactions stirred.
Blaise wiped at his face with the sleeve of his robe, muttering something about allergies.
Susan was still motionless, like the magic hadn't released her yet.
Hannah finally took a deep breath, shaky but full.
Hermione clapped first. Just once. Then again. And others followed. Slowly. Reverently.
Daphne looked over at me. There were tears in her eyes. But she didn't wipe them away.
And me?
I just stood there, heart heavy, thinking about how sometimes, even magic can't carry the full weight of someone's pain.
But a voice like hers could come close.
Harry didn't clap.
He just sat there, hands resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the stage long after the music had ended.
He wasn't sure why his throat felt tight. Or why he suddenly remembered the cupboard under the stairs. The rain on the window that night. The way silence used to feel like a cage.
The song had said things he'd never dared to.
He finally looked away, blinking hard, and whispered to no one in particular, "That was... real."
Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a chocolate frog, and unwrapped it with shaking hands.
Because he needed something familiar. Something safe.
And maybe, just maybe, something sweet.
<><><><><><><>
Let it never be said that Harry Potter lacks a protective streak.
After Luna's performance, after her voice cracked open something quiet in all of us, he started writing Sirius more often. The man is doing better. The letters are livelier, sharper. Filled with talk of charm-proofing windows and "aggressively un-haunting" old portraits. He is fixing up Grimmauld Place, preparing it for Harry.
It seems the boy who lived might soon have a home.
And maybe, just maybe, a godfather who is learning how to live again.
But that's not all.
Apparently, there is a bit of the Marauder left in Harry after all, because the pranks that befell Cho and her little coven of cruelty have become legend. Disappearing ink that only reveals your secrets. Hair that screams when touched. Slytherin green feathers growing out of their eyebrows. They were not cruel, but they were precise. The castle whispered in approval. The portraits laughed for days.
Harry never said it outright. But the way he stood beside Luna after, the way his glare silenced an entire group of Ravenclaws in the library, told me everything.
He thanked me again when I gave him the Marauder's Map. I had already made an enhanced version for myself, of course.
I told him the truth. I nicked the original from the Weasley twins. They never noticed. I spent three weeks enhancing my new version with new enchantments, updated locations, secret passages, curse detection, a silencing function, and even a "map mute" for nosy teachers.
Harry laughed when I told him.
He said I was dangerous.
I said thank you.
Let's just say the entire school now understands a simple, permanent truth:
You do not mess with Luna Lovegood.
Even Professor McGonagall seemed torn between pride and exasperation. Her eyes scanned the hall, searching for evidence that never came. I think she knew. I also think she remembered.
She wore nostalgia like an old brooch that afternoon.
Another day passed. One more quiet evening tucked into the corners of Hogwarts.
And I realized, once again, that it was time to improve myself.
Not for power. Not for survival.
But because the people I cared about were starting to move forward.
And I would not let myself be the one left behind.