The walk back to Gryffindor Tower felt like it took hours. Harry's steps were slow, each one heavier than the last, as if the weight of the night was pressing down on him, forcing him into the floor. His hand throbbed with every movement, the makeshift bandage stained red and clinging to his skin. The castle was quiet, almost oppressively so, save for the faint whisper of distant portraits. The warm light of the cozy room he'd fled to had faded from his memory, replaced by the cold, sterile glow of torchlight lining the corridors.
When he finally reached the Fat Lady's portrait, he hesitated. Her painted eyes narrowed as she looked him over, her mouth pulling into a thin line.
"You're late," She said sharply, clearly unimpressed. "The others have been waiting for you."
Harry flinched. He'd been hoping to sneak in unnoticed, but of course, nothing at Hogwarts was ever that simple. He didn't even have the energy to come up with an excuse.
"Password?" She demanded when he didn't respond.
"Courage," He muttered, his voice flat.
The portrait swung open with a reluctant creak, and Harry slipped inside, hoping against hope that Ron and Hermione had already gone to bed. But the moment he stepped into the common room, he knew he wasn't going to be that lucky.
"There you are!" Hermione's voice cut through the low murmur of the very few remaining Gryffindors still awake. She was sitting on the couch near the fire, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Ron was beside her, looking half-asleep but alert enough to give Harry a questioning look.
Harry froze, his stomach twisting. He didn't have the strength for this—not tonight.
"What happened to meeting us here?" Hermione said, standing up. Her voice was sharp, but there was an undercurrent of worry that only made Harry's chest feel tighter. "We waited for you for ages, Harry. Where were you?"
"Out," Harry muttered, heading for the boys' staircase. He didn't stop to explain. He couldn't. He'd say so many things he wouldn't mean.
"Out where?" Hermione pressed, stepping into his path. Her eyes narrowed, flicking down to the faintly bloodied bandage on his hand. "Harry—what's wrong? What happened?"
"Nothing," Harry said shortly, trying to sidestep her. He didn't have the energy to pretend he was okay right now. But Ron was on his feet now too, and the two of them boxed him in, their concern turning into a wall he couldn't push past. It was irritating and endearing at the same time.
"It doesn't look like nothing," Ron said, frowning. "What's with your hand? Did—?"
"Don't," Harry snapped, cutting him off. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, the embers of anger and frustration starting to burn. He didn't mean to, honestly he didn't, but he couldn't stop the anger from bleeding through, he had been holding onto it too tightly all day. "I don't want to talk about it."
"But we're your friends!" Hermione said, her voice rising. "Harry, you've been avoiding us all day—don't you think we deserve to know what's going on? You promised we'd talk tonight!"
"I never promised anything!" Harry shot back, his voice sharp enough to make her flinch. The guilt ate away at his chest like a worm to an apple core. "I never said I'd talk—I didn't even want to agree to the stupid meeting!"
Hermione's mouth fell open, stunned. Ron stepped forward, his brows furrowed. "Mate, we're just trying to help. You'd been acting weird all summer, and now you're sneaking off and coming back with bloody bandages—"
"I don't need your help!" Harry snapped, the words spilling out before he could stop them. His chest heaved as the anger roared to life, hot and consuming, the locket and something else more.. evil igniting it with a horrible glee. "I don't need you two crowding me every second, acting like I can't handle myself! I'm fine!"
"You're not fine!" Hermione shouted back, her face red with anger and hurt, and Harry felt just even worse. "We're not stupid, Harry—we can see you're struggling! Why won't you just let us in? Why do you always have to do everything on your own?"
"Because it's none of your business!" Harry yelled, his voice echoing through the room. The few remaining students still in the common room were staring now, their conversations falling silent as they watched the three of them argue, the golden trio no longer shining so brightly. "You don't get it, Hermione! You don't know what it's like—you don't know what I've been through, so stop pretending you do!"
Silence fell like a heavy weight between them. Hermione's face crumpled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Ron looked stricken, his mouth opening and closing as if he didn't know what to say. Harry felt like he had punched himself.
"Fine," Hermione said quietly, her voice trembling. "If that's how you feel, Harry… fine. We'll stop trying."
"Hermione," Ron started, but she shook her head, stepping back. Her face revealed the determination, her mouth set in a frown. He could see the pain in her eyes.
"No, Ron. He doesn't want our help. Let's just leave him alone. That's clearly exactly what he wants."
She turned and walked away, disappearing up the staircase to the girls' dormitory without another word. Ron lingered for a moment, looking torn, before finally shaking his head.
"You didn't have to be such a git," He muttered, shoving past Harry and heading up to their dorm.
Harry stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but the room felt colder now, emptier. The anger that had burned so brightly just moments ago was already fading, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and a hollow ache in his chest.
He sank into the nearest armchair, burying his face in his hands. He hadn't meant for it to go like this—hadn't wanted to hurt them. But the pressure had been too much, and now… now he'd driven them away. Like always.
The bond with Draco thrummed faintly in the back of his mind, a quiet pulse that reminded him he wasn't entirely alone. But it wasn't enough to fill the void left by Ron and Hermione. Not tonight. He and Draco might have a bond that no one else could ever understand, but he had that bond with Ron and Hermione too. They had been his friends through everything. His family.
Harry sat there for a long time, staring into the dying flames, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. It was for their own good, wasn't it? The more he kept them away, the less likely they'd get hurt. Maybe.. maybe the only way to save them was to ignore them?
Harry didn't sleep that night.
——
Harry wasn't shocked when everything else started to tumble down after that.
That very next morning, when Harry was dressed and about to leave the common room for breakfast, he was pushed to the side by a very angry Seamus Finnigan.
"My mother didn't want me to come to school this year because of you," Seamus went right to the point, his voice a low hiss and his eyes glaring at him as if he could hex him without words.
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the sheer venom in Seamus's voice. He hadn't even opened his mouth yet, and already he could feel the tension crackling in the air.
"What are you on about?" Harry asked, his tone clipped. He didn't have the patience for this—not after the night he'd had. He didn't have the mental capacity to pretend.
Seamus crossed his arms, his expression twisting with anger. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! My mum's been reading all the stuff in The Daily Prophet, all the things they're saying about you. She says you're dangerous, Harry—says you're making things up to get attention and dragging the rest of us into it!"
Harry's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "And you believe her?" He snapped. "You think I'd lie about Voldemort being back? About Cedric dying? You saw when we came back!"
Seamus flinched at the name, but his jaw tightened stubbornly. "I don't know what to believe! You come back acting all weird, and storming around like you're the only one who's got problems! We don't know what happened in that maze, we just know you came back lying on Cedric's body! Maybe if you told people what was actually going on instead of keeping it all to yourself—"
"Don't," Harry interrupted sharply, his voice low and dangerous. He took a step closer, and Seamus's bravado wavered just slightly, Harry's eyes far too intense and battle worn for someone his age. "Don't you dare stand there and tell me what I should or shouldn't be doing. You have no idea what I've been through, Seamus. No idea what I've seen."
"Maybe if you'd stop acting like you're better than the rest of us—" Seamus began, but Harry cut him off again.
"I'm not acting like anything! I didn't ask for any of this!" Harry's voice rose, echoing through the common room. A few younger students lingering by the door froze, their eyes wide as they watched the argument unfold. "I didn't ask to be dragged into this, to lose my parents, to watch Cedric d—to be questioned by people who are supposed to be my friends and ridiculed every single year because of rumors and suspicions. I never asked for any of this."
Seamus opened his mouth to retort, but Dean Thomas stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's enough, Seamus," He said quietly, his gaze flicking to Harry before returning to his friend. "Let it go."
For a moment, Seamus looked like he might push back, but then he huffed and turned away, muttering under his breath as he stalked toward the portrait hole. "This isn't over, Potter."
Dean lingered for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You all right, mate?" He asked cautiously.
Harry let out a sharp breath, the anger simmering just below the surface. "I'm fine," He said shortly, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. He felt like the liar everyone was accusing him of being, and maybe he was with how many lies he had been telling to those who just wanted the best for him.
Dean didn't look convinced, but he didn't press. With a small nod, he followed Seamus out of the common room, leaving Harry standing there, the eyes of the younger students still on him. He always had eyes on him, had to fight and sneak for even a sliver of peace. The locket flared once more, a pulse beating in his skull of anger that definitely didn't belong just to him.
"What are you staring at?" Harry snapped, and they scattered, disappearing up the stairs to their dormitories or out the portrait hole. He regretted it the minute it happened.
Harry's head throbbed, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a physical force. It was barely morning, and already he felt like the day was too much to handle. He was exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally. And now, on top of everything else, he had Seamus turning on him, calling him a liar, acting like Harry was the problem. Maybe he was.
The bond with Draco thrummed faintly again, a quiet reassurance that made Harry's chest tighten. He needed to get out of here, away from the stares, the whispers, the suffocating weight of the Gryffindor common room.
He pushed past the portrait hole and into the corridor, not entirely sure where he was going but desperate to be anywhere else. Maybe he'd find an empty classroom to hide in, or the abandoned Necromancy room where he and Draco had met. Anywhere he could breathe, because right now, it felt like the walls were closing in, and Harry didn't know how much longer he could keep holding it all together. He didn't even know he was holding it together now.
——
He managed to wander down to the kitchens, his stomach controlling his movements more than his anger or his feet. He'd rather face Voldemort a hundred times than show his face in the great hall right now.
After tickling the pear of the portrait entrance, Harry stepped through and let out a sigh of relief. Not many knew about the hidden entrance, just mostly hufflepuffs and those who studied hard like Hermione did. Hermione.. Harry shook his head and squared his shoulders. He couldn't think of her, couldn't think of Ron. He might actually explode if he did.
"Oh, that's very smart, Kip." A soft and serene voice echoed through the bricks as Harry walked farther inside. Luna was there, her knees bent beneath her as she sat on the soles of her feet on the floor, looking at a house elf with a smile. She was nodding, listening intently to the elf. Her long wavy blonde hair was half down and half up, curled around her wand in a haphazard fashion that still looked stylish and sturdy.
Harry didn't say anything at first, but he didn't have to. "Hello, Harry. Are you here to get some breakfast?" Luna spoke without even turning to acknowledge him. He didn't know how she knew he was there, he hadn't made any noise.
"Er, yeah." Harry said awkwardly. He didn't know if she'd be mad at him too for missing out on that meeting.
Luna turned her head then, her silvery eyes meeting his with a calm that was disarming. She tilted her head slightly, studying him in that way she seemingly always did, like she was looking right through the walls Harry had built up around himself. "You look very tired," She said simply, without judgment or pity, just quiet observation.
Harry blinked, not sure how to respond. "Didn't sleep," He admitted after a moment, his voice rough.
Luna nodded, as if this was the most natural answer in the world. "That happens sometimes when your head is too full of thoughts. Kip says chewing ginger root helps, though I find staring at the stars works better."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say to that. He glanced at the house elf, Kip, who was beaming at Luna like she'd just handed him the moon, his beady little eyes full of untapped joy. "Er, yeah. Maybe."
"You should sit," Luna continued, gesturing to the small table tucked into the corner of the kitchen. "It's quieter here. The elves are very kind. They'll bring you whatever you need."
Harry hesitated, but the thought of sitting in the Great Hall, surrounded by whispers and stares, made his stomach twist once again. Reluctantly, he shuffled over to the table and sat down, keeping his head down as he rubbed his bandaged hand absently.
Kip scampered over, his large ears flapping as he bowed low. "What can Kip bring Mister Potter?" He asked eagerly.
"Just toast," Harry mumbled. "And tea, maybe, please. Thanks."
Kip nodded enthusiastically and darted off, leaving Harry alone with Luna. She had moved to sit across from him, her eyes still studying him in that quiet, unblinking way. It should have been unnerving, but somehow it wasn't. Luna's presence was just comforting enough to dull the strangeness.
"You've had a hard morning," Luna said softly. It wasn't a question.
Harry snorted, though there was no humor in it. "You could say that."
"People can be unkind when they're scared," Luna continued, her voice calm and even. "They lash out because it's easier than admitting they don't understand. Daddy says fear makes fools of us all."
Harry glanced up at her, surprised by the insight. "Yeah, well, they don't have to take it out on me."
"No," Luna agreed, her expression thoughtful. "But they will. Because you're the one they're looking to for answers, even if they don't realize it."
Harry frowned, her words stirring something uncomfortable in his chest. "I didn't ask to be that person."
"I know," Luna said simply. She tilted her head again, her gaze softening. "But you are. And that scares them, too. Scares you, most of all."
Kip returned then, setting a plate of toast and a steaming cup of tea in front of Harry. The distraction gave him a moment to collect himself, to push down the constant frustration bubbling under his skin. He muttered a soft thanks and took a sip of the tea, the warmth soothing his raw throat.
"Why are you here?" Harry asked finally, glancing at Luna. "In the kitchens, I mean."
"Oh, I come here often," Luna said lightly. "The elves are good company, and it's quieter than the common room. People don't look at you the same way down here, without any judgement." She paused, her eyes turning sad for a moment before her gaze flicked to his hand. "You could use some dittany for that."
Harry followed her eyes to his bandaged hand and tensed, pulling it off the table and into his lap. "It's fine," He said softly, his tone tired.
Luna's head tilted once more, stray locks of her wild waves falling over her otherworldly eyes. "It is, isn't it? The wrackspurts in your head aren't as sparkly as they were yesterday."
Harry paused, frowning. He didn't know what that was, or why his head was supposedly filled with them. "What's a wrackspurt?"
Luna's lips curved into a faint smile, her expression serene. "Wrackspurts are invisible creatures," She explained matter-of-factly, as though she were discussing the weather. "They float into your ears and make your thoughts go fuzzy. They're often drawn to worry and sadness, which makes them cling even more tightly."
Harry blinked at her, unsure whether she was joking or entirely serious. With Luna, it was always hard to tell. But there was something oddly comforting about the way she spoke, like she saw straight through the mess in his head and chose to see it as something manageable, something small.
"Right," Harry said slowly, not sure how to respond. He took a sip of his tea, letting the warmth soothe the lingering ache in his throat from all the yelling he'd done last night and that morning. "And how exactly do you get rid of them?"
Luna's eyes lit up, not used to anyone really listening to her knowledge on forgotten beasts, and she leaned forward slightly, as if sharing a great secret. "Fresh air helps. Singing does, too. Or thinking of something that makes you feel very peaceful. Wrackspurts don't like calm minds—they drift away when they realize they can't stick."
Luna paused for a moment, a faint haze clouding her eyes, almost unnoticeable. "But for you, it seems pain works too. It doesn't encourage the fuzz, but slices through it. You focus better when you're under stress." She spoke in that soft tone of hers, and Harry realized then that's what happens to Luna when she Sees things. Things no one else could.
Harry stiffened at her words, his cup of tea freezing mid-air as he processed them. Pain? Stress? How could she possibly know that? He hadn't told anyone—not about the sharp clarity he sometimes felt when everything else was chaos, when the pain cut through his spiraling thoughts like a blade. He was smarter when he was in pain, more careful and calculated.
His voice was quieter than before, almost wary. "What do you mean by that?"
Luna tilted her head, her silvery blue eyes meeting his without hesitation. "Oh, it's just something I noticed. Wrackspurts thrive in messy, jumbled thoughts, but your mind seems to sharpen when the rest of you is hurting. It's not very common, you know. It's almost like your thoughts push the wrackspurts away when there's too much pain for them to settle into."
Harry frowned, unease prickling at the edges of his mind. "That's… not normal, is it?" When was anything normal when it came to him?
Luna shrugged, as if "normal" was a word that had never held much importance to her. "Normal isn't always better, Harry. It's just different. But it's not very kind to yourself, is it? To only feel clear when you're hurting?"
Harry looked down at his bandaged hand, guilt and shame twisting in his stomach. It wasn't like he wanted it to be that way—it just… was. And he hadn't even truly realized it until Luna pointed it out.
"I don't do it on purpose," He muttered, more to himself than to her. "I don't want to hurt."
"I know," Luna said softly, her voice gentle and understanding. "But sometimes we get used to things that aren't good for us because they help us survive. It doesn't mean you have to keep doing them, though."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. He stared into his tea, the steam curling up into the air like smoke from a fire, and let her words sink in. Luna seemed to have this way of saying things that felt like riddles but carried more truth than he wanted to admit. He could never doubt her status as a Ravenclaw, too smart for her own good and wise beyond her years.
After a moment, she spoke again, her tone lightening. "My mum used to say that even the sharpest storms can't last forever. They break apart eventually, and the skies clear up again."
Harry glanced at her, his lips quirking into a faint smile despite himself. "You always know what to say, don't you? You must take after your mum. She sounds lovely."
Luna smiled back, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I don't always know what to say, not really. But I do know you'll be alright, Harry. Even if sometimes you don't feel like it."
Harry huffed a small laugh, the sound surprising even him. He felt a little lighter, just for a moment, and he realized he was grateful for Luna in a way he hadn't expected. She wasn't trying to fix him or demand answers—she was just there, with her odd wisdom and quiet presence, not expecting anything at all from him. And maybe, just for now, that was all he really needed.
Another elf wandered over, hiccuping slightly as they stood beside Luna, its voices pitched high as it spoke, "Missy Lu, Winky has another Butterbeer cork for your necklace."
Luna beamed, as though the elf had brought her treasures instead of a simple old cork stopper. "Oh thank you, Winky." Luna took the cork from Winky's small outstretched hand, immediately beginning to twist the cork around a tiny metal hook on her long necklace that was filled with many different corks of the same size. "How are you feeling today?"
"Winky still," She hiccuped, "still misses her family."
Luna's face softened, her expression filled with a quiet understanding that made Harry pause mid-sip of his tea. "Families can leave behind big holes," She said gently, her fingers delicately threading the new cork onto her necklace. "But sometimes, we find other things to fill them with. Maybe not the same, but important in their own way."
Winky hiccuped again, her large, watery eyes glancing shyly up at Luna. "Winky tries. Missy Lu is too kind to Winky. Winky is lucky to have kind witches."
"You're not lucky, Winky," Luna corrected softly, her voice so serene that it felt like the words settled in the air rather than cutting through it. "You're deserving."
Harry watched the interaction in silence, feeling an odd twist in his chest. Luna's quiet compassion wasn't something he was used to seeing. She wasn't trying to fix Winky or tell her to move on—she just was there, offering her presence without expectation, just like she did for Harry. He thought of Hermione and Ron, of the argument that had left his chest aching last night. They cared about him so much, but their care often came with a forcefulness he didn't know how to handle when he himself was in a flux of change.
"Missy Lu," Winky whispered, her voice trembling as her tiny hands clutched the hem of her tea towel dress. "Winky does not feel deserving."
Luna reached out, her long, slender fingers brushing the top of Winky's head in a soft, reassuring motion. "Feelings aren't always true, Winky. But they're still important to listen to. They help you understand where the wrackspurts are settling." She smiled faintly, her dreamy gaze lifting toward Harry. "That's why it's good to have someone remind you when the feelings aren't being very fair."
Harry blinked, caught off guard as the weight of her words settled over him. He wasn't sure if she meant him or Winky—or maybe both—but it hit him all the same. His chest felt heavy, guilt and frustration tangled up with the small seed of relief. Luna seemed like a constant, a new friend he didn't think will ever leave, no matter how hard he shoves and pushes. He already missed Hermione and Ron, but pride was a dangerous thing, especially mixed with pain.
Winky sniffled and hiccuped once more before her gaze turned to look at Harry, her eyes widening. Harry mentally prepared himself for another verbal lashing of the day, remembering just how angry and destroyed Winky had been last year after Barty Crouch gave her clothes and freed her.
Winky instead burst into tears. "Winky is so sorry Harry Potter! Winky was so cruel to you last year!"
Harry froze, his toast halfway to his mouth. Winky's outburst caught him completely off guard. He'd expected anything but that—especially not an apology. He put the toast down, unsure of what to say as the house-elf continued to sob, clutching at the tea towel dress that hung loosely on her small frame.
"Er… it's okay," Harry said awkwardly, shifting in his seat. He'd never been particularly good with emotional situations, and Winky's tears made him feel even more out of his depth. "You don't need to apologize."
"Winky was terrible!" She wailed, her voice cracking. "Winky shouted at Harry Potter, called him bad names, said terrible things! Winky didn't mean it, truly! Winky was so upset—so lost without her family. But Winky should not have taken it out on Harry Potter. Winky is so sorry!"
Harry glanced at Luna, who was watching the scene with her usual serene expression, her head tilted slightly as if she were studying a particularly interesting constellation. She gave him an encouraging nod, silently urging him to respond.
"It's okay, Winky," Harry repeated, his voice softer this time. "I know you were upset. I didn't take it personally."
Winky hiccuped, her watery eyes staring up at him with a mixture of guilt and gratitude. "Harry Potter is too kind—too forgiving. Winky doesn't deserve it."
"There you go again," Luna interjected gently, her voice calm but firm. "Saying you don't deserve things when you do. Harry's forgiven you, hasn't he?"
Winky nodded hesitantly, sniffling as she wiped her nose on the edge of her tea towel.
"Then it's time to forgive yourself too," Luna said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Holding onto guilt only makes the wrackspurts multiply."
Winky blinked at her, her expression torn between confusion and wonder. "Missy Lu always knows how to make Winky feel better."
Luna smiled, her gaze drifting back to Harry. "And I think Harry feels better too, don't you?"
Harry hesitated, the weight in his chest easing just slightly as he looked at the house-elf in front of him. Winky's apology, raw and heartfelt, had shifted something in him. It wasn't just about her—it was about himself, about the guilt he carried for pushing away the people who cared about him. If Winky could admit her mistakes, maybe… maybe he could too.
"Yeah," He said quietly, offering Winky a small smile. "I think I do." He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "but I don't really understand why you're still so.. hung up on your old master. They were bad, and you're free now, Winky. You can be yourself now."
Luna turned toward Winky, her expression soft and inviting, her eyes all knowing. "You helped raise him, didn't you, Winky?"
Winky nodded, sniffling as she wiped at her nose. "Yes, Missy Lu. Winky helped raise young Master Barty. Winky carried him when he was just a baby, fed him, sang to him when he cried. Winky taught him to walk and held his hand when he was scared of storms."
Harry hesitated again, his teacup halfway to his lips. Winky was talking about Barty Crouch Jr. of course—the same man who had disguised himself as Mad-Eye Moody to infiltrate Hogwarts last year, the man who had offered him up to Voldemort with no remorse, who put his name in the goblet for that horrible tournament. Harry's stomach churned at the thought of someone so cruel and twisted being loved so deeply by someone.
Winky's voice trembled as she continued. "He wasn't always bad, Master wasn't. He was always kind to Winky. But his father… his father wanted him to be a certain way. Wanted him to be strong and ruthless and not afraid of anything, but he hurt him to do it. Winky tried to help him, but…" She trailed off, her shoulders slumping. "Master Bartemius made him into something he wasn't. And Winky couldn't save him."
Harry didn't know what to say. His mind was a tangled mess of anger, confusion, and something he couldn't quite name. How could Winky still miss someone like that?
Luna, however, nodded thoughtfully. "Elves don't think of wizards as just their masters," She said softly, as though she were explaining a delicate truth. "They think of them as family. Their magic is tied to the same magicks that runs through wizarding bloodlines, and that bond becomes something… intimate. Personal. They feel as deeply as we do. Intense loyalty, love."
Winky sniffed again and gave a tiny nod. "Yes, Missy Lu is right. We shared family magicks. Winky's life was bound to the Crouch family's magicks for so long. And Winky loved her master… even when he was bad."
Harry stared at Winky, the weight of her words settling heavily on his chest. "But he was—he was horrible," Harry said, his voice strained. "He hurt so many people. How can you still love him?"
Winky looked at him with a mixture of sadness and wisdom far beyond her small frame. "Because love doesn't go away just because someone changes," She said quietly, trembling under the weight of her truth. "Winky remembers the good times, when her young master was kind. Those memories don't disappear, even if there are bad ones too. Winky hates what he became, but she still misses the boy he used to be."
Luna smiled gently, her light blue eyes meeting Harry's. "Bad memories don't always cancel out the good ones, Harry. It's strange, isn't it? How you can miss someone even when you hate what they've done. It doesn't make the love less real—it just makes it more complicated."
Harry's throat tightened. He thought of Sirius and Remus, the Dursleys—people he had loved and hated in different ways at different times. He thought of Cedric, of the moments they had shared before the Triwizard Tournament had turned deadly, the slight dislike and mutual indifference and somewhat respect. And he thought of Ron and Hermione, the way they had stood by him so many times, the times that they didn't. Even when he didn't deserve their kindness, they had been kind.
"I don't know if I could ever forgive someone like that," Harry admitted, his voice low, but confused. He didn't know if he was lying or telling the truth anymore.
Luna tilted her head, her expression serene. "Forgiveness isn't the same as love," She said so surely. "You can love someone and still not forgive them. And you can forgive someone without loving them. It's all very messy, isn't it?"
Harry managed a small, wry smile. "Yeah. Very messy."
Winky shuffled forward then, placing a small plate of biscuits on the table in front of him. Her hands shook slightly, but her eyes held a quiet determination. "Winky hopes Mister Harry Potter knows it is okay to feel both," She said softly. "To feel anger and love at the same time. To miss people even when they've hurt you. It doesn't make you weak."
Harry's chest ached at the raw honesty in her words, his mind flashing to the Durselys. He hated them so much, but a part of him still craved to be loved by them, loved like he belonged to their family and he wasn't an outcast. "Thanks, Winky," He said quietly, and he meant it. "I hope you know it too."
The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the warmth of the school kitchen wrapping around them like a fragile cocoon. It had been awhile, but Harry felt a glimmer of clarity, as though the storm in his mind had eased just a little. He didn't have all the answers—he probably never would—but maybe, just maybe, that was okay. Maybe he could handle it all, maybe he could survive keeping his friends at a distance and destroying Voldemort.
Winky had wandered away, leaving just Luna and Harry alone at the small table. Luna was staring at Harry, her head tilted in curiosity as she mulled over something, like wondering if she should say something. Eventually, she did. "You've got a question you want to ask me, don't you, Harry?"
And to Harry's surprise, he did. He had been wondering how Luna knew it was him when he had entered the kitchen, she hadn't faced him or seen his reflection in anything. She had just.. known. It was too similar to what Harry could do, sensing and differentiating between someone's magic. Could.. could Luna do that too?
Luna smiled softly as she twisted one of the corks on her necklace, her gaze drifting toward Harry as though she were reading thoughts he hadn't yet fully formed. The warmth in her silvery blue eyes was still there, but now it carried a weight that made Harry sit up straighter, his heart giving an uneasy thud. He didn't even have to verbally ask the question, but she knew.
"Harry," She said quietly, her tone taking on a curious sort of gravity that Harry wasn't used to hearing from her. "Do you ever feel… like you can sense things others can't? Like the air around you hums or tingles when something powerful is nearby?"
Harry blinked, startled by the sudden shift in conversation. "What do you mean?"
Luna tilted her head, her eyes never leaving his. "Magic, Harry. I mean magic itself. Do you ever feel like it's more than just spells and wands? Like it's alive—something you can feel in your chest, in your skin? Something you can almost… speak to?"
Harry frowned, her words stirring something deep in his memory—moments when he did just that. Moments where he spoke to magic and it had answered. Like when he'd first stepped into Hogwarts and the castle just seemed to comfort him on instinct, when he cried out for solace last night and it led him to that mysterious room. When he spoke and felt the magic of the Black family so entangled in his bones, when Grimmauld spoke to him with whispers of mysteries long forgotten.
"I guess," He said slowly, unsure of where this was going. "Sometimes. Why?"
Luna's lips curved into a faint smile, a serene sort of knowing lighting her expression. "Because you and I… we're not quite like the others. We're part of something older, something most witches and wizards have forgotten. Most call us Heretics."
Harry stared at her, completely lost. He'd never heard that word before. "Heretics? Whats that?"
Luna moved her head a bit, her long waves of blonde hair shifting like a curtain. "It's just what we're called. Heretics are people who can sense magic in ways others can't. We don't just use it—we feel it, see it, taste it, even smell it. Magic is alive to us, and we can communicate with it in ways other witches and wizards never could. We can tell how a person or even a families' magic differs from the rest."
Harry's mind reeled. "You're saying… I can do that? That we can do that? That I wasn't just.. imagining it?"
"Yes," Luna said simply, her voice gentle but unwavering. "Heretics are rare, Harry. Very rare. There aren't many of us left. We've been hunted for centuries by those who fear us, who think we're too powerful or dangerous to exist. Most witches and wizards don't even know we're real anymore. But we are."
Harry's throat went dry. Another thing he was that people hated. "Hunted? Why?"
"Because people fear what they don't understand," Luna said, her gaze turning distant for a moment, as though she were seeing something far beyond the walls of the kitchen. "Heretics don't just sense magic—we can change it, bend it, speak to it. To someone who doesn't understand, that kind of connection looks like madness. Or power they can't control. And when people can't control something, they destroy it."
Harry felt a chill creep down his spine. "And you're sure I'm… like that? Like you?"
Luna smiled again, softer this time. "Oh, yes. I've known for a while now. I was told to wait until I saw you wear that locket before I told you. It's why Lucrezia's locket affects you the way it does. You're not just feeling the curse—you're feeling the magic inside it. The love, the hatred, the memories it carries. Heretics are attuned to magic like that. We feel everything it holds. That's how Lucrezia left a remnant of herself in it, how you could access it and speak to her."
Harry's stomach twisted at her words, freezing as ice ran through his veins. "You.. you know about Lucrezia and the locket? About the.." He hesitated, his eyes shifting around before he leaned in to whisper, "the horcruxes?"
Luna tilted her head again, her silvery gaze unreadable. For a moment, Harry thought she wasn't going to answer, but then her expression softened into something that resembled a sad sort of understanding. She leaned forward slightly, her voice still calm, still quiet, but carrying an intensity that made Harry's heart race.
"I know more than most," She admitted. "But only because the magic told me, Harry. Not in words, not like a person would—but in echoes, in whispers that carry through time and space. Heretics… we're connected in ways others aren't. And Lucrezia… she's an ancestor we share, Harry. I inherited her gift to See beyond, so her whispers are just louder to me."
Harry stared at Luna, his breath catching in his throat. The weight of her words crashed down on him like a tidal wave, leaving him reeling. He knew Lucrezia was their ancestor, and they shared bits of a bloodline because of it, but the whispers, the connection to magic that he'd always thought was just… him—it was something more. Something ancient. Something that terrified and intrigued him in equal measure.
"You're saying…" His voice faltered, and he tried again, leaning closer to her across the table, he knew Luna was the descendant, Lucrezia had told him that after all, but it was still so confusing, he needed confirmation first. "You're saying that Lucrezia… she's related to you? To us?"
Luna nodded, her expression calm but tinged with a strange sadness. "Yes. She wasn't the first of our kind to be hunted. The magic she possessed—the way she could see and bend it—it frightened people. Wizards and witches didn't understand her, so they called her dangerous, especially since she was muggleborn. She left behind more than just her locket, Harry. She left behind her bloodline… and her gifts. It's why you can feel what you feel. Why you could talk to her when you touched that locket."
Harry's mind raced, a thousand questions fighting for dominance. "But… how do you know all this? How did you know she's related to me and all the things she's told me, things she's told you?"
Luna tilted her head, her dreamy gaze softening as though she understood his panic without him having to explain it. "The locket told me. Before you found it, it was in my mum's possession. My mum was an heir to the locket, somehow her magic awakened Lucrezia's magic inside, and it spoke to me before it went missing. It told me what I needed to know."
Wait.. the last person to own the locket had been a girl named Pandora, one of Regulus Black's friends. Was Pandora.. Luna's mum? Had Pandora been a heretic too?
"Luna.. is your mum's name Pandora?" Harry asked, sheepish and awkward. He had to know.
Luna's serene expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she nodded slowly. "Yes, her name was Pandora Lovegood," She said softly, her tone carrying a faint tremor of emotion. "She… she was a brilliant witch. Curious, fearless, and full of wonder. She understood magic in ways no one else could. She used to tell me stories about the locket and its magic. She always said it carried secrets too big for most people to understand."
Harry's stomach twisted, his suspicions confirmed. Pandora had been the last person to possess the locket before Kreacher took it back, the same locket Regulus Black had stolen from Voldemort and given to her. It all made sense now—the locket had been given to Pandora, and somehow, it had ended up speaking to both her and Luna before it spoke to him.
"Pandora was your mum…" Harry murmured, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on his chest. "And she was a heretic too, wasn't she?"
Luna's gaze softened, her silvery blue eyes shimmering with an almost ethereal light. "Yes," She said quietly. "She was. My mum could see magic the way I can, the way you can. She always said it was both a gift and a curse. She believed it was our duty to protect the balance of magic, to understand it in ways others couldn't. That's why she kept the locket hidden, why she tried to learn its secrets before she destroyed it."
Harry swallowed hard, his mind racing. Pandora must have been trying to protect the locket, to keep it safe from Voldemort—or anyone else who would have sought its power. But something had gone wrong, Kreacher had told him the rest of this story. "She died trying to destroy it, didn't she?" He asked hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Luna's gaze turned distant, her hands absentmindedly twisting one of the corks on her necklace. "She did," She said softly. "It was an accident. She was experimenting with a spell to use on it, but the horcrux had fought back. She didn't destroy it, but she weakened it."
Harry's chest ached at the raw pain in her voice, the quiet strength she carried despite the loss. "I'm sorry, Luna," He said, his voice filled with genuine regret.
Luna offered him a small, sad smile. "Thank you, Harry. But I like to think she's still with me, in a way. Her magic… her knowledge… it's all still here." She tapped her chest lightly, just over her heart. "And now it's in you too. Lucrezia's magic, my mum's magic, your own—they're all connected."
Harry felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of her words pressing heavily on him. "I don't even know if I understand what it means to be a heretic, or how I'm even one. I don't think either of my parents were heretics."
Luna thought for a moment, "My mum said it was a maternal thing. It passes from mother to child, so your mum must have been one too. Maybe no one knew about it."
Harry blinked, the thought catching him off guard. His mum—a heretic? It felt surreal, almost impossible to imagine. But then again, his mother had been extraordinary in so many ways, hadn't she? Her skill in charms, her ability to protect him even in death—it all pointed to a deeper connection to magic than he had ever considered. Everyone who mentioned her, despite saying Harry had her eyes, had said how intelligent she was.
"But…" Harry hesitated, his mind racing as he tried to piece everything together. "How could my mum be a heretic, she was a muggleborn, wasn't she?"
"Lucrezia Slytherin was one too," Luna reminded him. "Just because someone is muggleborn, doesn't mean they don't have magic inside them. And sometimes a muggleborn can be very distantly related to magic, like the great grandchild of a squib. Magic can come and go in family lines."
Grunick had told him that once, way back in the middle of summer. Had his mum been like that? Distantly related to a magical bloodline? Could.. could she be the reason Harry was the heir of Slytherin? Had his mum been an heir too?
Harry's thoughts raced, spinning faster than he could keep up. His mum—Lily Evans—a heretic, and possibly even an heir to Slytherin? It felt absurd, impossible even, and yet… it made a strange sort of sense. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white, as he stared down at the cup of tea in his hands. "But… if my mum was a heretic, wouldn't someone have known? Wouldn't someone have told me? Dumbledore… he never said anything about her being anything other than a muggleborn."
Luna tilted her head, her silvery gaze soft but thoughtful. "Maybe they didn't know," She said gently. "Heretics don't always realize what they are. Some of us just think we're strange or different. And others… well, some hide it on purpose, especially if they're afraid of what others might think."
Harry frowned, his mind flashing back to every story he'd ever heard about his mum. How she'd been brilliant at magic, top of her class, kind and fiery and stubborn, a stress smoker, lover of dragons. But no one had ever mentioned anything about her being… different.
"Do you think she knew?" Harry asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer. "Do you think my mum knew she was a heretic?"
Luna was silent for a moment, her expression distant, as if she were listening to something only she could hear. Then, she smiled faintly, a knowing light in her eyes. "I think she might have," She said softly. "But maybe she didn't call it that. Maybe she just thought it was her magic being especially strong. Or maybe she didn't want anyone else to know, in case it made her stand out even more than being muggleborn already did."
Harry's chest tightened at the thought. His mum, keeping such a powerful secret, carrying it alone. And now… now he was carrying it too, and he didn't even know what it meant. Not really.
"Luna," He said slowly, his voice trembling slightly. "What does it mean for me? Being a heretic, I mean. What am I supposed to do with it?"
Luna's gaze softened, her ethereal calmness wrapping around him like a protective cloak. "It means you're part of something very old, Harry," She said gently. "Something powerful and beautiful and a little scary. Heretics have more than a connection to magic, we have a connection to each other. We're part of a prophecy that dates back to the very first spark of magic."
Harry swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a physical force. He thought of everything he was already carrying—the first prophecy, the horcruxes, the phoenix—and now this. It felt like too much, like he might buckle under the weight of it all. "What kind of prophecy?"
Luna's eyes took on that faraway look again, the kind she got when she was about to say something that Harry knew would stick with himself long after she'd left the room. She toyed with one of the corks on her necklace, her fingers moving in absent patterns as if grounding herself.
"It's not the kind of prophecy you'd hear from Trelawney," She began softly, her voice almost a whisper, haunting. "It's older than words, older than wands and spells. It's the kind of prophecy that magic itself tells. Heretics are rare because we're… how did mummy put it?" She paused, her silvery-blue eyes flickering toward Harry with a glint of fondness. "'Magic's memory,' she used to say. We aren't just connected to it; we carry pieces of its past and its future. And sometimes, when magic has something to say, it chooses us to speak for it."
Harry's breath hitched as he tried to comprehend what she was saying. "So… we're supposed to do something for magic? Like what? Protect it? Fight for it? What does magic even want from us?"
Luna smiled faintly, her head tilting as though she were listening to the room itself. "That's the thing about prophecies, Harry. They don't give you answers—they give you questions. They nudge you toward paths, but they don't tell you where those paths lead. All I know is that heretics have always appeared when the balance of magic is threatened, when something—or someone—tries to tip the scales too far."
"Voldemort," Harry murmured, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. "He's the one threatening the balance, isn't he?"
Luna nodded slowly. "Yes. But it's not just him, Harry. It's the fear he's stirred, the hatred he's reignited, the way he's corrupted magic itself. Dark magic… it's not inherently bad, you know that. But when it's twisted and poisoned by hatred, turned into the blackest and evilest of arts..it becomes something unnatural. Something magic fights against."
Harry clenched his fists, his bandaged hand throbbing faintly as he processed her words. "And Heretics… we're supposed to stop it? Stop him?"
"We're supposed to listen," Luna corrected gently. "To magic, to each other, to the world around us. Magic will show you the way if you're quiet enough to hear it. But yes, Harry, I think you're meant to play a part in this. A big part."
Harry stared into his cup of tea, his thoughts racing. Another prophecy, another weight added to his shoulders. It felt suffocating, overwhelming, but… it also felt strangely right. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Like he finally felt like he wasn't the odd one out, shockingly enough.
"You said heretics are connected to each other," He said slowly, looking up at Luna. "Does that mean… I'm not alone in this?"
Luna's smile softened, and for the first time, Harry saw a flicker of pride behind her calm gaze, like she was happy he was asking the right questions. "No, you're not alone. There are others, but… we come in pairs. Two always come together, bound to each other in spirit and magic. They're supposed to work together, walk the path together."
"Always in pairs?" Harry asked, biting his lip.
"Always." Luna nodded, her wand bobbing slightly in her messy hairdo.
"Did.. did you know who your mum's was?" Harry didn't know why he was curious, exactly, but something was nagging at him. If Luna's mum had one, that meant his mum did too, didn't it?
Luna's expression softened further, a flicker of something bittersweet crossing her serene features. "Yes," She said quietly, her voice tinged with emotion. "My mum's dyad was a boy named Regulus Black."
Harry's stomach dropped. Regulus. Sirius's little brother. The boy who had sacrificed himself to try and destroy Voldemort's horcruxes. The one Kreacher had mourned so deeply and intensely. Harry couldn't help but think of the locket again, of how it had passed from Regulus to Pandora, and now to him. The connections were starting to feel almost too heavy to comprehend.
"Regulus?" Harry echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But… he died. He was so young, he was just seventeen."
Luna nodded, her eyes shimmering with something unspoken. "He was. My mum always said that Regulus was one of the bravest people she'd ever known. He wasn't perfect, but he loved magic deeply and wanted to protect it, even if it cost him everything. He was her dyad, her half of a whole, but they never got to complete their purpose together. She carried that weight her whole life, even after he was gone."
Harry felt a lump rise in his throat. The idea of having a dyad—a connection like that—and then losing them… it was unbearable. He thought of Ron and Hermione, the rift growing between them now, and his blood bond with Draco, so new and fragile but undeniably strong. He didn't think he could keep going if he lost any of them. He started to think of when we met Luna the day before on the train, of the immediate and insanely powerful connection they had, of the foreign flashes of memories that did not belong to him. He thought of Lucrezia, of her prophecy. Luna was the descendant she had spoken of, had told Harry that his fate was entwined with Luna's and she would be his biggest support in the defeat of Voldemort and his horcruxes.
"Luna are you…" Harry hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "Are you my dyad?"
Luna's gaze softened, her silvery-blue eyes meeting his with a quiet understanding that made Harry's breath catch. She tilted her head slightly, her fingers now twisting one of her many rings on her fingers, a small smile on her face. "Yes, Harry. I'm your dyad."
Harry should have been shocked, but he wasn't. Luna had this calmness to her, this serene and pure sweetness to her that made him grateful. Lucrezia had practically spelled it out for him in her message, hadn't she? He was just too unaware at that moment to know what it truly meant.
"I'm glad," He found himself saying, the truth feeling foreign on his tongue after telling so many friends so many lies for so long. "I'm glad it's you, Luna. Even if we just met the day before yesterday, I'm glad it's you. I feel like I've known you my whole life." Harry suspects that's the dyad thing.
Luna's serene smile widened, her silvery-blue eyes sparkling as though Harry's words had reached something deep within her. "I feel the same, Harry," She said softly. "Dyads are connected before they even meet. It's like… magic already knows we're meant to find each other. That's why it feels familiar, even though it's new."
Harry let her words settle, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. He didn't fully understand what being a heretic meant—not yet—but it felt comforting to know he wasn't alone in it. That Luna, with her quiet wisdom and unwavering presence, was here, his dyad.
"Does it… I mean, does it change anything?" Harry asked hesitantly, his fingers toying with the rim of his teacup. "Between us, I mean. Or… with everything else?"
Luna tilted her head thoughtfully, her expression calm but curious. "It changes things, yes. But only in ways that matter. A dyad is more than just a partnership—it's a bond of trust, of shared purpose. It's about being there for each other, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. It's like being whatever the other person needs, a shoulder to cry on, someone to celebrate with, a best friend, things like that."
Harry frowned, his thoughts flickering back to the argument with Ron and Hermione, the crushing weight of the horcruxes, the prophecy, and now this. "So, what do we do? If we're connected, if we're supposed to… to stop Voldemort and all of this… how do we even begin?"
Luna's smile turned wistful, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling as though she could see something far beyond it. "We listen," She said simply. "To magic, to each other, to the whispers of the world around us. Magic will guide us, Harry. It always does. And when it doesn't… we find our own way."
Her words were as cryptic as ever, but there was a comforting certainty in her tone that made Harry want to believe her. He nodded slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. "Alright," Hs said quietly. "We'll figure it out. Together."
Luna's gaze snapped back to his, her eyes bright and filled with something that looked like pure pride. "Yes, Harry. Together." She let her eyes twinkle with mischief before speaking again. "Us, and Draco Malfoy of course."
Harry felt like someone slapped him at that moment with a heavy piece of metal. Should he really be so surprised that Luna knew he and Draco were bound by a blood vow, when she knew everything else? His secret friendship with the Slytherin ice prince wasn't so secret anymore now it seems.
"Oh.. so you know about Draco too.." Harry was sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck while his cheeks turned pink.
Luna smiled, her serene calmness undisturbed. "Of course, Harry. Draco's magic is connected to yours now—it's intertwined with yours, almost one. It's not something most people would notice, but to a heretic, it's quite obvious. Like a sign only we can see."
Harry blinked, unsure whether to feel embarrassed, annoyed, or relieved. "Right. I should've figured you'd know."
Luna's lips twitched, the barest hint of a playful grin. "I wouldn't worry. Secrets are safe with me. Besides, Draco Malfoy isn't as hard to understand as he likes to think."
Harry raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"
Luna tilted her head, her gaze turning distant for a moment. "He's like a cat hiding in the shadows—skittish, defensive, but deeply curious. He's scared, Harry. Of himself, of what others think, of what he's expected to be. But deep down, he doesn't want to hurt people. He wants to belong. He wants to just be himself."
Harry's chest tightened. Luna had a way of cutting through the noise and getting to the heart of things, and she wasn't wrong. He'd seen that vulnerability in Draco, even if the other boy tried to hide it behind his sneers and sharp words, behind his jokes and his distractions.
"He's not like I thought he was before," Harry admitted quietly. "There's so much more to him. I… We've been helping each other, in a weird way. He's different when it's just us."
Luna nodded, her expression thoughtful. "That's because he trusts you, even if you don't realize how much yet. The bond between you two—it's not just magic, Harry. It's a choice. Blood bonds are binding, yes, but they're strongest when both people truly want to honor them. And I think Draco does. If he didn't, you wouldn't be so intertwined."
Harry swallowed, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. He thought of all the moments he and Draco had shared over the summer, the friendship they'd built, the unspoken understanding that had grown between them. It wasn't perfect, and it definitely wasn't easy, but it was real. It was the realest thing he'd ever felt.
"I just… I don't know how this is all going to work," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "With the bond, the prophecy, this heretic stuff—it feels like too much. Like I'm supposed to be everything to everyone, and I don't even know who I am half the time."
Luna's gaze softened, and she reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his in a quiet gesture of comfort. "You don't have to be everything, Harry," She said gently. "You just have to be yourself. Magic chose you for a reason—not because you're perfect, but because you're you. And you don't have to carry all of this alone. You have me. You have Draco. You even have Ron and Hermione, even if things are messy right now."
Harry's throat tightened, and he looked away, staring at the steam rising from his tea. "I yelled at them," He admitted, guilt twisting in his chest. "I said awful things. I pushed them away."
Luna's fingers lingered on his for a moment before she pulled back, her expression thoughtful. "Sometimes we push people away because we're scared they'll leave us first. Or because we think we're protecting them. But Harry, Ron and Hermione love you. They'll forgive you. They just need to understand why you're hurting."
"I don't know if I can explain it to them," Harry said honestly. "I don't even understand half of it myself."
"You don't have to explain everything," Luna said simply. "Just tell them the truth—that you're scared, and you're trying to figure things out. They'll understand. And if they don't, I'll help you remind them."
Harry couldn't help but smile faintly at her unwavering confidence. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not easy," Luna admitted, her voice light but firm. "But it's worth it. People like Ron and Hermione—they're worth fighting for."
Harry nodded slowly, her words settling into his mind like a gentle nudge. He still didn't know how he was going to fix things with Ron and Hermione or navigate the tangled web of prophecy, flame, and heretic magic, but he felt a spark of hope. He wasn't alone. He had Luna, his dyad, and he had Draco, his bondmate. Maybe that was enough to start with.
"Thanks, Luna," He said quietly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "For… everything."
Luna smiled, her silvery-blue eyes shimmering with a warmth that felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. "You're welcome, Harry. And remember—you don't have to have all the answers right now. Just take it one step at a time. Magic will guide us. It always does."
Harry believed her. He believed her more than he believed himself.
Luna began to dig into her pocket, pulling out a handful of small, wrapped sweets. She set it on the table in front of him, a kind smile on her face. "Peppermint humbugs, they're good for anxiety, you know." She said, her voice slow as if she was trying to tell him something without fully telling him something. "They're also great to share with friends, or just a good conversation starter."
Harry stared at the little wrapped sweets on the table, the simplicity of them grounding him in a way he didn't expect. Peppermint humbugs. A small, thoughtful gesture, yet it carried so much weight. Luna always seemed to know what he needed before he even knew it himself.
"Thanks," He murmured, picking one up and turning it over in his fingers. The smooth wrapper caught the light, and for a moment, he focused on it, letting the noise in his head quiet just slightly.
Luna tilted her head, watching him with her usual calm curiosity. "You don't have to eat them now," She said lightly, her voice warm and inviting. "But sometimes it's nice to have something to hold on to. Something small and sweet when the world feels too big."
Harry gave her a faint smile, pocketing the humbug. "I'll keep that in mind."
Luna's gaze softened, her ethereal calmness wrapping around him like a protective charm. "You're stronger than you think, Harry. You've carried so much already, and you'll keep going. But remember, strength isn't about carrying everything on your own. It's about knowing when to share the weight."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. He thought of Ron and Hermione, of the argument that still sat heavy in his chest. He thought of Draco, of the bond they were still figuring out, and now Luna, his dyad, someone who seemed to understand him in ways no one else did.
"I'll try," He said finally, his voice quiet but sincere. "I don't know if I'm any good at it, but… I'll try."
Luna's smile widened, that touch of pride flickering in her silvery blue eyes. "That's all magic asks of us, Harry. To try."
The warmth in her words settled deep into his chest, and Harry allowed himself to believe it. Maybe he didn't have all the answers, and maybe the path ahead was still impossibly daunting, but he wasn't alone. Not anymore.
Luna stood then, brushing off her skirt and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I should go. Kip has promised me a lesson on enchanted toffee-making, and I'd hate to miss it before class starts."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle, the sound surprising even himself. "Enchanted toffee, huh? Sounds… interesting."
"Oh, it is," Luna said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Apparently, if you chew it just right, it makes you hum in perfect harmony with the person next to you. Imagine the possibilities."
Harry shook his head, a real smile tugging at his lips. "You're something else, Luna."
"So are you, Harry," She said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She paused by the door, her gaze lingering on him for a moment. "Don't forget—peppermint humbugs. They're magic, in their own way."
With that, she slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. He looked down at the little sweets on the table, one of them resting in his pocket. He thought of her words, that peppermint humbugs were good to share with friends. He grabbed up the rest and put them in his pockets, standing up from the table. He had plans to put into action.
——
Classes were more simple this time around, now that he didn't have to worry about Defense class with Umbridge today. History of Magic wasn't as boring as it used to be, now that Harry actually wanted to pay attention and pass this class. He seemed to be one of the only ones who were paying attention, sitting off in the back of the class by himself and eagerly listening to Professor Binns drone on, scratching notes down and being proud of himself now that he understood why the goblins had so many wars, thankful to Grunick and the books he recommended on goblins. The goblins never really started the wars anyways, others just never understood or bothered to be respectful to the goblins and their culture. Something casual to a wizard or a werewolf could be an act of war to a goblin faction.
Divination was a bit different.
When Harry had entered the classroom, his eyes immediately sought out Ron, only to find Ron had decided to sit with Neville for that class. Harry wasn't about to throw Neville into his drama with Ron, nor was he going to sit with Dean, who always sat beside Seamus. His worries were cooled when Lavender and Pavarti waved him down.
"Here Harry, you can sit with us." Lavender smiled, waving at him while Pavarti gave him a pitying look.
Harry hesitated, his feet rooted to the spot. He wasn't used to Lavender and Parvati being so welcoming. They usually sat together, giggling about something or another, and rarely paid him much mind. But now, with Ron's absence cutting deeper than he'd expected, he found himself grateful for their offer. He gave a small nod and made his way over, sliding into the seat next to Lavender.
"Thanks," Harry mumbled, keeping his eyes on the table as he set his bag down.
Lavender smiled, a little too brightly. "No problem. It's nice to mix things up once in a while, isn't it?"
Parvati didn't say anything at first, her gaze flicking between Harry and Ron. Harry could tell she'd noticed the tension—she always seemed more perceptive than Lavender—but she didn't press. Instead, she handed him her notes from last year, where he had mostly zoned out completely. He didn't even take notes for this class, nor did he think anyone did. "Here, you can borrow these. Trelawney said last year most of this would be on the OWLs."
"Thanks, Parvati," Harry said, his voice soft but sincere. He took the notes, the neat, looping handwriting a stark contrast to his own hurried scrawl.
As the class began, Professor Trelawney drifted into the room, her shawls trailing behind her and her massive glasses magnifying her wide, dreamy eyes. "Today," She intoned, her voice carrying a theatrical edge, "we shall delve back into the mysteries of the crystal ball. The mists of fate are swirling, my dears, and they carry whispers of what is to come."
Lavender and Parvati exchanged excited glances, clearly thrilled by the dramatic tone of the lesson. Harry, on the other hand, felt a familiar dread settle in his chest. He'd never been good at Divination—his predictions were always laughably bad and he could never actually predict anything.
Still, he pulled a crystal ball toward him, the cool surface smooth under his fingers. He tried to focus, to see anything other than the swirling fog within, but his mind kept drifting. To Ron, to Hermione, to Luna's words that morning, to Draco, to the horcruxes, to the prophecy, to the Phoenix buried within. It was all too much.
"Harry?" Lavender's voice broke through his thoughts, soft but insistent. "Are you okay? You've been staring at that thing for ages."
Harry blinked, realizing he'd been lost in his own head again. He forced a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… tired."
Lavender frowned, nodding. "That's okay. I was just going to suggest perhaps you should clear your mind before looking into the crystal ball. Divination is a mind magic, and most mind magics perform better with a clear mind."
Harry blinked at her, surprised by the thoughtful suggestion. Lavender might not have been the most studious of his classmates, but she clearly took Divination seriously. "Clear my mind?" He repeated, glancing down at the swirling fog in the crystal ball. "How do you do that?"
Lavender smiled faintly, a rare touch of seriousness in her expression. "It's like meditation," She said. "Close your eyes, focus on your breathing, and let all the noise in your head fade away. It's easier to see the future if you're not distracted by the present."
Harry hesitated, his hands resting on the smooth surface of the crystal ball. Clear his mind? That seemed impossible with the weight of everything bearing down on him. But Lavender's calm, patient demeanor made him want to try. He nodded slightly and closed his eyes, his breathing uneven at first before settling into a steadier rhythm.
Inhale. Exhale. The noise in his mind didn't disappear completely, but it softened, the chaotic swirl of thoughts quieting just enough for him to focus. The bond with Draco hummed faintly in the back of his mind, grounding him in a way he hadn't expected. Luna's voice echoed somewhere deep inside him: Magic will guide us. It always does.
When he opened his eyes again, the fog inside the crystal ball seemed clearer somehow, less chaotic. He squinted, leaning closer, and for a moment—just a moment—he thought he saw something. A flash of silver, a flicker of light, and then…
He saw Draco, standing there in the fog with his platinum blond hair spilling down his shoulders, his head tilted and his grey eyes staring at him, an endearingly sweet smile on his face, like he had been laughing. Harry's heart stuttered, his chest warming as he got lost in the fog, staring at Draco.
Harry blinked, his breath catching in his throat. The image of Draco lingered in the crystal ball, shimmering faintly as though it wasn't quite ready to fade. The warmth in his chest grew stronger, and for a moment, he didn't care about anything else—the arguments, the horcruxes, the prophecy. All of it melted away as he stared at the boy in the fog, the soft smile that seemed meant for him and only him. It was so vivid, so real, he felt like he could reach out and touch him.
"Harry?" Parvati's voice broke through, snapping him out of the trance. The image in the crystal ball vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind nothing but swirling mist. "Did you see something?"
He hesitated, his heart still pounding. "I… I don't know," He said finally, his voice quieter than he intended. "It was just… a blur."
Lavender leaned in, her curiosity evident. "A blur? Sometimes blurs mean the future isn't sure yet. Or maybe you were seeing something you don't fully understand yet."
Harry nodded absently, his mind still lingering on the image of Draco. What had that been? A vision of the future? A memory? Or something else entirely? He wasn't sure, but the warmth it left behind felt comforting, even if it didn't make any sense. He couldn't tell Lavender or Parvati—it was too personal, too confusing—but he couldn't stop thinking about it.
"Oh that's so cool!" Lavender squealed quietly, just so the three of them could hear. "My turn!"
Harry moved the crystal ball over to Lavender, watching as she took a moment to clear her mind before staring into the foggy glass.
"Oh no," Lavender frowned. "I'm gonna get a Poor on my Transfig essay. I've been working really hard on that."
Harry, who hadn't even started the essay McGonagall assigned yesterday, just winced. "Oh, that sucks."
"We can always work harder now," Pavarti replied, smiling encouragingly at her friend. "The future is never truly set in stone, Lav."
Lavender sighed dramatically, pulling the crystal ball closer as though willing it to change its prediction. "I know, but still. I thought I nailed the conclusion! Maybe McGonagall doesn't like my handwriting."
Parvati chuckled, patting Lavender's shoulder. "Your handwriting is fine. She's probably just trying to make you work harder so you ace your OWLs, that's all. We can study together tonight and make sure you're all set."
Lavender perked up slightly at that, her frown softening into a smile. "Thanks, Pav. You're the best."
Harry smiled faintly at their interaction, grateful for the brief distraction from his own swirling thoughts. The mention of studying reminded him of his idea on the train.
"Speaking of studying, I was thinking about starting a study group this year. I really want to get a good score on my OWLs. Would either of you be interested in joining?" Harry broached the subject, his eyebrows raising.
"Oh that sounds like fun! Who else would be joining?" Lavender asked curiously, excitement basically leaking from her. He kinda liked that Lavender very clearly wore her heart on her sleeve, she was so friendly and open.
"Neville said he'd be up to it, I'm not sure if Ron and Hermione would still be up for it but, I'm gonna ask a few others. I want it to not just be our year or our house, so I asked Ginny and a friend of ours in Ravenclaw named Luna and they both said yes. You can invite whoever you want," Harry explained, trying his best to seem casual.
"Whoever we want?" Pavarti perked up, her eyes shining. "I can invite my sister?"
"Why wouldn't you be able to?" Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowed.
"A lot of people don't like that I still talk to Padma, even though we're twins. Just because she's in a different house!" Pavarti huffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "It's ridiculous, but I'm so used to people not inviting us both to places now."
Harry blinked at her, taken aback by the revelation. He hadn't thought about how house divisions might affect siblings, especially twins. It seemed absurd to him—why should it matter what house someone was in?
"That's stupid," Harry said firmly, shaking his head. "Of course Padma can join. She's brilliant, isn't she? I'd love to have her in the group."
Parvati's face lit up with relief and gratitude. "Thanks, Harry. I think she'd really appreciate that. She's always saying how much she wants to spend more time with me, but, you know, house loyalties and all that nonsense."
"House loyalties are overrated," Harry said with a faint smile. "If this study group is going to work, we need to get past all that. The way I see it, we're all in this together, right? OWLs and end of the year exams don't care what house we're in."
"Exactly," Lavender said enthusiastically, nodding along. "This could actually be really fun! And with so many different people, we'll all bring something unique to the table."
Harry felt a small flicker of warmth at their excitement. It felt like he was doing something positive, something that could help not just himself but everyone involved. Maybe this study group could be more than just a way to prepare for OWLs—maybe it could bring people together in a way that Hogwarts hadn't managed to so far. That's what he was hoping at least, what he wanted to happen.
"Great," He said, leaning back slightly. "I'll start spreading the word and figure out a time and place. We'll probably need somewhere big enough for everyone, but out of the way so we're not disturbed."
Parvati's eyes lit up. "Oh, I know the perfect place! There's this unused classroom on the fourth floor—nobody ever goes there, and it's got plenty of space. Padma and I used it once for practicing charms, and it worked really well."
Harry nodded, filing that information away. "That could work. Thanks, Parvati."
As the class continued, Harry found himself feeling a little lighter, the warmth from his earlier conversation with Luna still lingering. Maybe things weren't perfect, and maybe they never would be, but for now, he had a plan. He had people willing to help, and he wasn't alone—not with Luna, not with Draco, and not with his friends, even if things were strained right now.
When the lesson ended, Lavender and Parvati lingered, chatting about who else they might invite to the study group. Harry was about to leave when Lavender turned to him, a curious glint in her eye.
"Hey Harry, want to sit with us at lunch today? We can talk more about this." Lavender asked, smiling brightly.
Harry, who had been planning on just slinking down in the kitchens again to avoid Hermione and Ron, thought for a moment before nodding instead. "Yeah, I'd like that."