Chapter 23: Luna Lovegood
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The night air hung still inside Hermione's room at Potter Manor, with the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting a pale glow on the bed where Harry and Hermione sat. It was the night before Hogwarts, the last summer night of freedom before another school year would begin. There was a strange sense of weight between them, both knowing that their experiment had crossed into dangerous territory. The Philosopher's Stone, now swimming in a red-glowing liquid, sat ominously in a Tupperware container on Hermione's desk, casting a faint eerie light on their faces as they both stared at it in quiet disbelief.
"I can't believe it," Harry whispered, his voice thick with amazement. "It actually worked. So this is the 'Elixir of Life'?"
The room felt smaller as Hermione stared at the liquid too, her heart racing. It was surreal, this ancient mystery now sitting in a mundane plastic container before them. Her lips pressed into a thin line as her mind whirred, thinking through all the possibilities, the risks. "I don't know," she murmured, biting her lip in thought. "How would we even test it?"
Harry shrugged nonchalantly, though his eyes gleamed with reckless curiosity. "Do you have your dagger with you?" he asked, too casually, too seriously.
Hermione's expression immediately darkened. "Are you an idiot?" she growled, slapping him hard on the head. "I'm not using that dagger on you!"
Harry winced, rubbing the spot where her hand had landed. Her hits were getting stronger, he noted with an inward grimace. "I'm not suggesting anything bad," he said, his voice still holding that boyish tone, though there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Just thinking... maybe a small cut? Something we can heal easily with Dittany after I drink the elixir. It would show us if it really works."
Hermione raised her eyebrow, crossing her arms. "And what if it doesn't work? What if it does nothing?" The challenge was clear in her voice, laced with irritation and concern.
"Then we use Dittany to heal it anyway," Harry shrugged again, as if the answer was simple, as if they weren't playing with something far more dangerous than they could understand. He met her eyes and gave a half-smile, one that usually melted her resolve. "Come on, Hermione, I'm serious. We can't test this on animals. If it works on them, it won't necessarily mean it works on us. Please, get your dagger."
For a moment, Hermione looked like she might refuse, her brow furrowing as her gaze flicked back to the red liquid. But when she looked at Harry, she was met with the full force of his infamous puppy-dog eyes. Those green eyes that always seemed to unravel her defenses, that deep gaze that seemed to burn with trust and something else... something that made her insides flutter.
"Get off me!" she huffed, pushing his face away with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. But as she reached beneath her pillow, she sighed, retrieving the dagger Draco had given her for her birthday last year. Its sharp edge gleamed under the dim light of the room, a tool now caught up in something far bigger than its original purpose.
Harry's eyes widened. "You keep it under your pillow?" he exclaimed, half in disbelief, half in amusement.
"I do," Hermione replied dryly, holding the dagger menacingly, the grip tight in her small hand. "So you better watch out if you ever try something funny while we're sharing the bed."
Harry gulped loudly, but a mischievous grin spread across his face as he leaned in closer, the tension between them thickening. "What 'funny things'?" he asked innocently, his voice low, his breath warm on her skin.
Hermione pointed the dagger at him, her voice cool but her cheeks growing warmer by the second. "Don't test me, Potter."
Harry's smirk deepened as he leaned in even further, his breath tantalizingly close. "You wouldn't hurt me, Granger," he murmured softly, teasingly, before suddenly planting a soft kiss on her cheek, lingering just long enough to make her breath catch in her throat.
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, and she forced herself to suppress the blush threatening to creep onto her face. He had this annoying way of getting under her skin, of teasing her just enough to make her head spin, while always keeping that boyish charm that infuriated and enchanted her at the same time.
"Okay, let's do this," Harry said, pulling back his sleeve. "Just one tiny cut, on the arm."
Hermione groaned inwardly, her hand trembling slightly as she held the dagger above Harry's exposed forearm. The weight of what she was about to do pressed down on her, making her chest tighten. She gripped the dagger too tightly, afraid of making a mistake, of hurting him more than she intended.
Minutes passed in silence, her hesitation growing until Harry gently stopped her, his hand resting softly on hers. "Hey, are you alright?" His voice was calm, soothing.
"I-I am," Hermione stammered, her nerves frayed. "I can do this, just stop pressuring me."
Harry smiled, letting go of her hand, and instead, he gently cupped her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. "I know you can," he whispered. "You're brilliant, you're strong, you're brave." His words were filled with genuine admiration, his voice steady. "Do you trust me?"
Hermione's breath caught again, her eyes meeting his, and in that moment, all the fear and doubt melted away under the intensity of his gaze. "I do," she whispered back, her voice barely audible.
"I trust you too," Harry said, his smile softening. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. You won't hurt me. This is just a test, okay? If it doesn't work, we'll figure something else out. I trust you."
The room seemed to close in around them as Harry took her hand again, guiding the dagger toward his arm, his touch light but firm. He kissed her forehead, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down her spine, then kissed her eyes, her nose, each touch gentle and slow, making her heart race. His lips hovered just an inch away from hers, the tension thick between them.
"Just one cut," he whispered, his voice soft and steady.
Hermione flinched, her body betraying her as her breath hitched. She barely had time to process what was happening before Harry leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a soft, lingering kiss. Her eyes widened, but before she could react, Harry swiftly guided the dagger across his forearm, creating a small cut. He winced slightly, the sting evident on his face, but his attention remained fixed on her.
Blood began to trickle from the two-inch cut, but Harry's focus was on the container of glowing red liquid. He stood up, retrieving a medium-sized potion bottle from his pocket. Carefully, he poured the liquid from the container into the bottle, swirling it before lifting it to his lips.
"This is our first test," Harry said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "A month's worth of extract from the Philosopher's Stone."
Hermione's mind whirled with too many thoughts to speak, but all she could do was nod as Harry brought the potion bottle to his mouth, downing it in one go.
xxxxx
Hermione couldn't believe her luck. Harry had just stolen her first kiss. Her mind whirled with a jumble of emotions, disbelief and excitement swirling in her chest. She should be elated—the boy she'd secretly liked had finally stopped his playful nonsense and made the first real move. Yet, as much as her heart raced, as much as her skin still tingled from the ghost of his lips on hers, Hermione quickly brushed it away, forcing herself to focus. There were more important things at hand—like the fact that Harry had just gulped down the supposed 'Elixir of Life.'
Her wide eyes stayed fixed on him, watching every subtle change, waiting for some kind of reaction. The air between them seemed charged, tense, as if they were on the brink of discovering something monumental. And for a moment, nothing happened. The room was still, their breath barely audible as they both stared down at the thin wound they'd created on Harry's arm. The gash, shallow but stark against his pale skin, remained open for a few agonizing seconds.
Then, in an instant, it closed. The blood, which had been pooling around the edges of the cut, halted. It no longer dripped but simply lingered on his arm, and Harry quickly wiped it away with his other hand. His eyes widened as he stared down at his now perfectly healed arm, an expression of disbelief settling across his features before breaking into a grin.
"It—it worked!" Hermione was the first to find her voice, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "It actually worked! We did it! We have the elixir!" Her heart pounded faster, the weight of what they had achieved crashing down on her all at once.
Harry let out a whoop of joy, mirroring her enthusiasm. "We did it!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up in sheer excitement. In her excitement, Hermione leaped forward, throwing her arms around him. The momentum nearly toppled them both, but neither cared. Their laughter filled the room, mixing with the adrenaline of their success. For that brief moment, nothing else mattered. They had the Elixir of Life in their hands.
The implications were staggering—beyond anything they could have imagined. For Harry, this was a monumental step in his plans. And for Hermione, it was the power she needed in an unfair world—a world that had never been kind to her.
But just as quickly, Harry pulled back from the embrace, his brow furrowing in sudden confusion. "Wait!" he gasped, blinking a few times. He reached up, took off his glasses, and blinked again before sliding them back on. His hand stilled, and his eyes darted around the room, narrowing slightly as if testing something. "Bloody hell," he breathed. "My sight... my sight cleared up! I can see without these glasses now!"
Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. Her mind was already racing, trying to catalog everything she needed to record. She hurried to her desk, nearly tripping over the small stack of books beside it. With swift, practiced movements, she grabbed a parchment and quill from the drawer, and immediately began scribbling furiously.
"Anything else?" she demanded, not even looking up as she wrote, her mind consumed by the need to document everything.
Harry, still wide-eyed and in awe of his new vision, shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I feel... I feel like I could run forever!" He began bouncing on the balls of his feet, testing his newfound energy. He glanced over at Hermione, his excitement evident. "You have to try it next!"
Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest. She didn't even give herself a second thought before grabbing the dagger from where it lay on the bed, her hands trembling slightly in anticipation. The sharp glint of the blade reflected her resolve. This was it—her chance to experience the same transformation.
But just as she raised the dagger to her arm, Harry's hand shot out, stopping her. "Wait!" he yelped, his voice strained. In his haste, he grabbed the dagger by its blade. "Hermione, no!"
"Harry!" Hermione's voice was full of alarm as she watched blood drip from his palm, trickling slowly down his fingers. "Why would you do that?!" Her heart raced, torn between her worry for him and her own desire to test the elixir. "You're bleeding!"
"Sorry!" Harry winced, shaking his hand as the blood smeared across his skin. "I forgot the potion was all gone. We only had that one vial, and I drank it all." He grimaced, holding his hand sheepishly. "I—I forgot. I'm really sorry."
Hermione froze, her eyes locked on his wounded hand. Of course! Why hadn't she thought of that? They only had one vial—their single chance. But her gaze fell back to Harry's hand, and her brows furrowed in confusion. Something wasn't right. She reached for his hand, wiping away the excess blood with her sleeve. Her eyes widened in shock.
"T—there's no wound," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She stared at his skin, which was now clean and unmarked. "Did you feel yourself get cut?"
Harry nodded, his brow creased in thought. "I did. I felt it—heck, it felt like it reached my bone for a minute."
"Don't be so dramatic," Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes despite the awe settling in her chest. "The bone isn't that shallow."
Harry chuckled, turning his hand over as if examining it anew. "Bloody hell," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "Not even a scar. You've got to take this potion as soon as possible. It'll protect you too."
Hermione nodded, biting her lip as she pondered their options. "It's a shame we need to wait a month." Her voice softened. "Should we keep it in your trunk or mine when we're at Hogwarts?"
Harry shook his head firmly. "No way," he said, his voice low with caution. "We can't bring it to Hogwarts. Dumbledore would snatch it up in no time." He frowned, thinking deeply. "We'll keep it here at Potter Manor. I'll ask Kreacher to bring it to us when the container refills in a month."
Hermione pursed her lips, deep in thought, but nodded her agreement. "Okay," she said quietly. "We'll do that."
Harry stretched, his limbs loose from all the excess energy flooding his system. He laughed, the weight of the night's events finally catching up with him. "Well, this was certainly fun," he said, rubbing his neck. "But we need to get some sleep, or we'll miss the train tomorrow."
Hermione laughed softly, nodding as she placed the quill back on her desk. "I suppose you're right," she said, her voice tinged with amusement. But as she glanced at Harry one last time, her heart fluttered once again, the ghost of that stolen kiss lingering between them.
xxxxx
The morning sun poured through the windows of Potter Manor, casting a soft, golden light across the room where Hermione stood, her expression tight with frustration. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The rich, dark wood of the manor's furnishings gleamed in the light, but it did nothing to soothe her growing irritation. Harry had just dropped a bombshell on her—on their first day back at Hogwarts.
"What do you mean you won't join us?" Hermione exclaimed, gripping Harry's arm, her fingers clutching tighter than intended. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, but she ignored the flurry of thoughts that stirred within her. This wasn't the time to be distracted.
Harry looked down at her with those intense, emerald eyes of his, which now seemed apologetic but firm. He sighed, his free hand raking through his unruly hair in a way that both annoyed and secretly delighted her. He always did that when he was trying to wriggle out of a situation. The corners of his mouth twitched up, as though he knew how annoyed she was but couldn't help finding it amusing.
"House business, Hermione," he said in that maddeningly calm voice. "That's all I can say, but I'll join you as soon as I can. We just need to settle this first."
Hermione's heart clenched at the thought of starting their second year at Hogwarts without him by her side. She'd been looking forward to it all summer, and now, in the final moments before they were supposed to leave, he was telling her he'd be late. It was so like him to spring things on her last minute. Typical Harry, always off on some secret adventure, never fully realizing how much it affected her. She tried to tamp down the unreasonable flare of jealousy that Sirius was taking him away from her once again.
Sirius Black, lounging nearby, shared a quick glance with Emma Granger, who stood beside her daughter. His face, usually mischievous, had a hint of something serious—something that made Hermione's stomach churn with suspicion. Whatever "house business" they were off to handle clearly wasn't ordinary. Sirius's grin, however, quickly returned, as if trying to ease the tension in the room. "Take the car," he said to Emma. "Hermione's trunk has a Featherlight Charm on it, so it won't be heavy. Hedwig's already on her way to Hogwarts, so she won't be an issue."
Emma, ever the composed one, nodded, though her lips were pressed into a thin line. Hermione could tell her mother wasn't pleased. Emma liked order, and Harry and Sirius were anything but orderly, especially on a day as important as this. Yet, the concern for Harry was clear in her eyes—concern that Hermione shared, though hers was laced with irritation. Why did everything have to be so complicated with Harry?
"Don't be late," Emma warned in a voice that Hermione recognized as her mother's version of stern but not unkind. "Hermione, dear, let's get moving."
But Hermione was hardly listening. She was too caught up in her growing annoyance and... something else she couldn't quite place. The way Harry looked at her when he explained himself, the softness in his voice, made her stomach flutter in ways she wasn't ready to admit. She huffed, tugging her trunk toward the door with more force than necessary.
"We won't," Sirius and Harry chorused in unison, though the cheeky grin on Harry's face made Hermione question how serious they were being.
In the blink of an eye, they were gone, the soft pop of disapparation leaving the room feeling strangely empty, despite the grand surroundings. Hermione stared at the spot where Harry had been standing just moments ago, feeling an unexpected pang of... loss? No, that was ridiculous. He'd meet them at the station anyways, after all.
For a second, she stomped her foot, a childish move that betrayed her usually composed nature. "Honestly! A business on the day school starts?!" she grumbled, her voice echoing faintly in the high-ceilinged room. The annoyance in her tone did little to cover the real reason for her outburst. She wanted Harry there with her, not off doing who-knows-what with Sirius.
Emma sighed softly, reaching out to touch her daughter's shoulder. "Let's just go, dear," she said in that calm, soothing way of hers. "You know how busy those two are."
Hermione turned to face her mother, biting back the retort that sat on her tongue. Of course she knew. Harry and Sirius were always off on some mysterious business. But why today, of all days? Her mind was still racing with a million questions she wanted to ask but knew she wouldn't get answers to. Not from Harry, at least.
Grumbling under her breath, Hermione grabbed her trunk and started toward the fireplace, her steps heavy with frustration. The familiar feeling of disappointment settled in her chest, but beneath it all, there was something else—something she wasn't quite ready to confront. The kiss Harry had stolen yesterday evening still lingered on her lips, the memory of it creeping back into her thoughts despite her best efforts to shove it aside.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly as they prepared to Floo to Grimmauld Place, the flickering flames casting long shadows across the room. As Hermione stood there, her trunk in hand, she couldn't shake the strange mixture of emotions bubbling beneath the surface—irritation, yes, but also a flutter of anticipation. She hated that Harry could get under her skin like this, make her feel so unbalanced, so unsure of herself.
xxxxx
The rhythmic clattering of the Hogwarts Express filled the air as Hermione, Draco, Ron, and Ginny moved through the train, searching for an empty compartment. The train was already bustling with students, and most of the compartments were full, especially with first-year students wide-eyed and excited about their journey to Hogwarts. The warm, late-summer sun streamed in through the windows, casting soft golden light onto the red-and-gold upholstery of the train seats.
Finally, Ginny spotted an open compartment at the far end of the carriage, but it wasn't entirely empty. A single occupant sat by the window, a girl with long, silvery-blonde hair, holding a magazine upside down. She seemed utterly lost in her own world, her large, pale-blue eyes scanning the pages as if reading something no one else could see.
"Hey, can we sit here? We still have another one coming in if you don't mind," Ron asked, a note of hesitation in his voice. He shot a glance at Hermione and Draco, as though wondering what sort of person would read a magazine in such a peculiar way.
The girl looked up from her upside-down magazine, her gaze dreamy and far-off, but she smiled warmly. "Hello, please feel free to sit. No one's here but me."
Her voice was soft and melodic, with a calmness that made the compartment feel immediately more peaceful. Ron and Draco exchanged a quick, bewildered look but shrugged, figuring there was no harm in sitting down. Draco raised a skeptical brow at the odd situation, while Ron, ever the easy-going one, gave a quick nod and began helping the girls with their trunks. Ginny and Hermione took the seats opposite the strange girl, leaving Ron and Draco no choice but to sit next to her.
Hermione studied the girl curiously, noting her eccentric appearance—her radish-shaped earrings and a necklace of what looked like corks dangling loosely around her neck. Ginny, however, had a more direct reaction. Her face lit up with recognition.
"Hello, my name's Ginny Weasley. You're a first-year too, right?" Ginny asked politely, though she was already certain she knew the answer.
The girl's lips curled into a gentle, knowing smile. "It's nice to see you again, Ginny. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm Luna Lovegood."
The name hung in the air for a second before Ron's eyes widened in surprise. "You're Luna! Of course, you are!" His voice was filled with disbelief, and he gave Ginny a sidelong glance, as if confirming he wasn't imagining it.
Draco and Hermione watched the exchange with a mix of curiosity and mild amusement. It seemed like the Weasleys knew this girl well, and whatever history they shared was interesting enough to catch Hermione's attention. She glanced sideways at Draco, noticing the puzzled frown on his face. Despite their history of friendship, there were still gaps in what Hermione knew about Ron's life, and seeing Draco's surprise reminded her that there were things even he didn't know.
"I didn't even recognize you. You used to have shorter hair," Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "How are... things?"
"Things are great," Luna replied simply, her voice still dreamy and detached, as though she were talking about something far more important than mundane life.
Ron nodded, clearly unsure how to respond, and turned to Draco with a cringe, his expression saying more than words ever could. Draco raised his eyebrows, smirking slightly, and nudged Hermione, silently urging her to introduce herself.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, her tone polite but curious. She couldn't help but feel intrigued by Luna, who seemed so different from anyone she had ever met.
"Draco Malfoy," Draco added, his voice cool but not unkind. There was a flicker of amusement in his gray eyes as if he found the whole situation amusing in its oddness.
For a while, the compartment fell into a comfortable silence, with everyone settling into their seats. Hermione found herself stealing glances at Luna every now and then, her mind racing with questions. There was something about her—a calmness, an ease with which she carried herself—that made Hermione both curious and a little envious. Despite her oddities, Luna seemed utterly at peace with who she was.
After what felt like a long half-hour, the familiar jolt of the train signaled the start of their journey. The scenery outside the window began to shift, the busy platform of King's Cross Station fading into the rolling hills of the countryside. The compartment warmed slightly as the train picked up speed, and Hermione couldn't help but let out a frustrated sigh.
"I can't believe it. Harry didn't make it!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with both disappointment and irritation. She had waited for him all morning, and now he was nowhere to be found.
Draco, lounging casually in his seat, smirked at her frustration. "Calm down, Granger. He can always use the Floo to get to Hogwarts directly," he said, his tone teasing but with an edge of reassurance.
Hermione shot him an annoyed look. "It's not the same thing!"
Ginny, always the voice of reason, chimed in thoughtfully. "I wonder what he's doing? House business tends to stop on the first of September to give families time to send their kids off to Hogwarts."
As if on cue, Luna glanced up from her upside-down magazine, her expression as serene as ever. "Maybe he's fixing the Witch Weekly issue."
Draco blinked, caught off-guard. "Witch Weekly issue?" he asked, his voice full of skepticism.
"Yes," Luna said with an air of calm certainty. "They made a huge announcement earlier today that Harry Potter now owns the magazine. It caused quite a stir."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, and she made a mental note to herself: subscribe to every possible wizarding magazine. If Harry was involved in something like that, she needed to stay up to date. She'd always prided herself on keeping up with the latest news in the wizarding world, but this bit of information had completely blindsided her.
Before anyone could delve further into the strange revelation, the door to their compartment slid open, and in walked Harry, panting heavily, his cheeks slightly flushed from what looked like a hurried sprint through the train. His hair was more disheveled than usual, sticking up in all directions, and his tie hung loosely around his neck as if he hadn't bothered to fix it properly. He stood in the doorway, catching his breath, his bright green eyes scanning the room.
"Merlin, I finally found you guys!" Harry said, breathless but grinning. His sudden appearance filled the compartment with a burst of energy, his presence immediately lifting the mood.
Hermione felt an undeniable warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of him. There he was—late, as usual, but somehow making everything better just by showing up.
xxxxx
Harry had barely made it onto the platform when the familiar whistle of the Hogwarts Express echoed through the station. His heart pounded as he weaved through the crowd, searching for any sign of his friends among the throng of students and parents. He could feel Sirius's watchful gaze from behind, undoubtedly receiving some sarcastic remark from Emma, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. His chest heaved from running, and sweat prickled at the back of his neck as he dodged last-minute arrivals and overstuffed luggage.
With barely a second to spare before the train started moving, Harry slipped onto the carriage, breathing heavily. His eyes scanned compartment after compartment, his frustration mounting as each seemed to be occupied by faces he didn't recognize. Where were they?
Then, just as he felt like he was about to lose hope, he spotted them through the glass of one of the compartments. Relief washed over him like a cool breeze. He quickly slid the door open and burst inside, grinning from ear to ear as he leaned against the doorframe to catch his breath.
"Merlin, I finally found you guys!" Harry panted, still grinning.
The atmosphere inside the compartment shifted immediately, a mixture of exasperation and amusement as the group turned to him. Hermione, her brow furrowed with the kind of disapproval only she could manage, hissed, "You're late!"
Harry raised his hands in a gesture of apology, still laughing as he stepped further into the compartment. "Sorry, sorry! Took a while—I'll explain once I catch my breath."
He turned to Ginny, offering her a quick smile. "Oh, hey, Gin."
Ginny, who had been sitting quietly next to Hermione flushed slightly at the attention. She tried to mask her blush with a casual wave, but the hint of pink on her cheeks betrayed her.
Harry's attention then shifted to Draco and Ron, ready to greet them properly, when his gaze landed on the unfamiliar face sitting next to Ron. His brow furrowed for a split second before he straightened up, suddenly intrigued. The girl had a dreamy expression, her large, silvery eyes fixed on him as if she were seeing right through him—and she was holding a magazine upside down.
"Oh, hello," Harry greeted, curiosity seeping into his tone as he studied her more closely. "And you are...?"
"Hello, Harry Potter," the girl replied serenely. Her voice was light, almost musical. "I'm Luna Lovegood."
"Lovegood?" Harry repeated, the name tickling a memory. His eyes narrowed slightly as he connected the dots. "Your father... he's the editor of the Quibbler, right?"
Luna's face brightened instantly. "Yes!" she said enthusiastically, her dreamy tone gaining a touch of excitement. "You read it?"
Harry nodded, impressed by her response. "I like the articles on Runes." He paused, thoughtfully scratching the back of his head. "I do have a few questions about some of the articles, but I'll save them for next time."
Luna didn't respond immediately, instead continuing to stare at him with that same wide-eyed gaze, as if studying his very soul. Harry met her gaze, unblinking, waiting for the inevitable glance up at his scar. But it never came. Luna's eyes remained locked on his, curious, but not in the way most people looked at him. There was no awe or hesitation in her gaze, just simple, genuine interest.
For a moment, time seemed to slow down in the compartment, as if it were just the two of them in the world. Harry couldn't help but grin. He liked her already.
"I like her," he said suddenly, the words slipping out with a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached over and placed a hand atop her head, ruffling her hair playfully. "You're mine now."
The reaction in the compartment was immediate. Draco and Ron exchanged tired looks, exhaling as if they had expected no less from him. Hermione's jaw dropped slightly, caught off guard by Harry's declaration. Ginny looked utterly bewildered, her wide eyes darting between Harry and Luna as if trying to understand what had just transpired.
Luna, on the other hand, blinked once, her expression hardly changing save for a small, satisfied smile curling at the corner of her lips. She simply nodded, as if Harry's proclamation was the most natural thing in the world.
"Okay," she agreed softly, her voice as calm as ever.
Harry, still grinning, finally dropped into the seat next to Hermione, who was still staring at him like he had grown a second head. He could practically feel her trying to dissect the situation, her mind undoubtedly whirring with questions she would unleash later. The thought amused him to no end.
The Hogwarts Express chugged along, the rhythmic clattering of the tracks filling the silence that had fallen over the compartment. Outside the window, the countryside began to blur by, golden fields and distant hills bathed in the afternoon light. Inside, the air seemed charged with the unspoken dynamic between them all.
Harry leaned back, casting a glance over the group. Ron and Draco were already engaged in their usual banter, half-heartedly elbowing each other as they muttered about something trivial. Ginny kept sneaking glances at Harry, her face still tinged with a faint blush, while Hermione's calculating gaze flickered between Harry and Luna, as if trying to solve a puzzle that didn't quite fit.
And then there was Luna, sitting across from him, her upside-down magazine back in her hands as though nothing had happened. She hummed quietly to herself, her dreamy demeanor unwavering, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what strange but brilliant thoughts were floating through her mind.
The playful intensity of the moment lingered, like the first spark of something yet to be defined. And as the train continued its journey toward Hogwarts, Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement—this year was going to be interesting. Very interesting.
Chapter 24: Tattoos
Chapter Text
Hermione Granger was definitely not jealous at the moment.
'That was ridiculous,' she told herself, repeating it in her mind like a mantra. Of course, Hermione knew all too well about Harry's peculiar habit of "claiming" people. She'd heard enough stories from both Ron and Draco over the past year. Draco, in particular, had been completely blindsided the first time he met Harry, with Sirius Black acting as their introduction. One sneer, a brief fistfight, and Harry's smirk later, Draco had found himself pinned by a possessive hand on his shoulder as Harry announced to both Sirius and Narcissa, "I like him, and he's mine."
It had been the same with Ron, though much simpler. All it took was one look from Harry, and just like that, Ron was claimed. No dramatic showdowns, no struggles—Harry had simply decided, and that was that.
Hermione had always known Harry was fiercely loyal, even possessive of those he held dear. She'd heard about him doing the same with Daphne, Astoria, and even Susan when they were younger, though back then, it had been a little more playful, like a child staking his claim on his favorite toys.
But Luna? That was new. Luna had barely even looked up from her Quibbler—which was still upside down—when Harry walked into the compartment, took one glance at her, and proclaimed her as "his." Just like that. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to claim someone he'd barely spoken to.
No, Hermione wasn't jealous. Not at all. But that didn't mean she wasn't tempted to strangle him just a little bit. Between being late, walking in with that confident grin, and now making Luna part of his ever-growing circle of "his people," Hermione was feeling distinctly agitated. And Harry hadn't even bothered to explain why he was late yet!
She forced herself to take a deep breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders, determined not to let her irritation show. No need to let everyone in the compartment know she was upset—especially Harry, who was now in the middle of some convoluted explanation about why he had been delayed.
"...Well, that's that," Harry was saying, leaning back casually in his seat as if he hadn't just caused her no end of frustration. "I forgot to tell Rita not to mention Sirius buying Witch Weekly for me, but, well, now that's out and about," he laughed, clearly amused by the whole thing. "She even sent me a camera to take some photos inside Hogwarts for the magazine."
"Take a bunch of photos of the Quidditch match!" Ron eagerly suggested from across the compartment, always keen to steer the conversation toward Quidditch.
Harry rolled his eyes, though there was a trace of a smile tugging at his lips. "You do realize I'm playing in the match, right? How am I supposed to take photos while I'm dodging Bludgers?"
Luna, who had been mostly silent up to this point, suddenly perked up, her dreamy voice floating through the air. "I can take photos," she said, her large, pale eyes fixed on Harry. "I have experience with cameras since Daddy takes blurry photos a lot."
Ron twitched, his face scrunching up as if he'd just swallowed something sour. Hermione raised an eyebrow at his reaction, making a mental note to ask him later what that was all about. But before she could dwell on it, Harry laughed, genuinely pleased.
"Really? Sure thing, Luna. I'll give you the camera later—go wild with it."
Hermione's fingers itched at her side. She couldn't help herself. She reached out and gave Harry a swift pinch on his arm, causing him to yelp in surprise.
"Ow!" he groaned, rubbing the sore spot as he turned to face her with wide, bewildered eyes. "What's the matter with you?"
Hermione crossed her arms, glaring at him. "That's not the whole story, and you know it. You honestly expect us to believe that's why you were late? Took you that long just because of Rita and her camera?"
Harry sighed, the humor draining from his expression as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, alright, fine. There's a bit more to it. It's not exactly good news, though..."
Ron and Draco immediately perked up, their expressions more serious now. Hermione leaned in slightly, curious despite her lingering annoyance.
"Well, apparently Sirius found out that the partnership between the DMLE and Hogwarts fell through... due to Proudfoot's incident last year."
Draco's eyebrows rose, and he leaned forward in his seat. "And that means?"
"Dumbledore's going to be hiring someone else for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year," Harry explained, his tone a little more serious now. "Apparently, he brought in some guy named Gilderoy Lockhart. He's supposed to be famous—an explorer or something. Wrote a bunch of books about his adventures."
"Oh, that's who it was!" Ginny piped up suddenly, her face lighting up with recognition. "When we went with Mum to buy our books, he was doing a signing at Flourish and Blotts!"
To everyone's surprise, Ginny's face took on a dreamy expression as she continued, "He was quite dreamy."
Ron gagged, visibly shuddering at her words. "Dreamy? You're too young to be saying men are dreamy!"
Ginny huffed, crossing her arms defiantly. "I can say whatever I want. Besides, Mum was the one who said he was dreamy first, not me."
Ron let out a loud, exaggerated groan, burying his face in his hands as the rest of the compartment burst into laughter. Even Hermione found herself chuckling, though her mind was still swirling with thoughts of Harry's nonchalant claiming of Luna.
The train rumbled on, carrying them toward another year at Hogwarts, and yet there was something in the air—a shift in the dynamic, perhaps, as they grew older. Harry's easy claims, Ginny's sudden interest in someone "dreamy," Luna's casual acceptance of being pulled into Harry's orbit—it all felt like a precursor to something more.
Hermione sat back, watching as Harry and Ron bickered over the upcoming Quidditch training, her mind half-focused on the present and half-wondering what else this year had in store for them. Whatever it was, she had a feeling it was going to be anything but boring.
xxxxx
The warm air inside the Great Hall buzzed with excitement as the Sorting Hat's familiar voice echoed through the chamber, each new student carefully placed into their houses for the year ahead. Harry watched with interest as a first-year girl approached the stool, her face barely visible under the wide-brimmed hat.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table, and Harry joined in with a grin, clapping along with his housemates as Luna Lovegood made her way over. She seemed unaffected by the loud applause, her wide, dreamy eyes scanning the room with a hint of curiosity before she slid gracefully onto the bench beside Harry.
"Welcome to the lion's den, Luna," Harry chuckled, amused by how casually she settled in despite the curious glances cast her way. Ron and Hermione, sitting across from them, shared a hesitant look. Harry didn't miss it. He knew what they were thinking—Luna, with her whimsical demeanor and constant far-off gaze, seemed more suited for Ravenclaw. But Harry didn't mind her being here at all. In fact, it felt oddly right.
Luna, as if sensing their thoughts, tilted her head to one side and asked, "Are you mad I'm not at Ravenclaw?"
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. "No?" he answered, surprised by how easily the words came out. "I'm happy wherever you go."
She held his gaze for a moment, her expression unreadable, before nodding in that peculiar, thoughtful way of hers. "Okay," she said, turning back to the Sorting. "I want my treat, please."
Harry paused, his brow furrowing. "T-Treat?"
"Yes, my sugar quill," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact, as if this was the most natural request in the world.
For a moment, Harry patted his robes, fishing through pockets in search of something sweet. He wasn't sure he even had a sugar quill on him—until he remembered the chocolate frog he had picked up earlier on the train. Pulling it out, he held it up like a peace offering. "I've only got this... Will that do?"
Luna turned her head to study the frog in his hand, then met his gaze with a calm smile. "That's fine, Harry," she said simply, as though it made no difference. With that, her attention drifted back to the Sorting Hat, completely unbothered.
Harry blinked, feeling somewhat bewildered, his fingers still hovering in mid-air with the chocolate frog. He glanced over at Hermione, expecting some sort of comment about the absurdity of the exchange. Instead, he was met with a piercing glare that sent a shiver down his spine.
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes were fixed on the chocolate frog. "You don't want it?" he asked, puzzled by her reaction.
"I don't," she hissed, her voice low and cold.
Harry recoiled slightly, confused by the sudden shift in her mood. Hermione's temper was as sharp as her mind, but this seemed... off. Before he could say anything else, Ron piped up from across the table, clearly having missed the tension.
"I'll take it, mate," Ron said, holding out his hand.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Harry tossed the frog to Ron, but his attention never left Hermione. Something was bothering her, but whatever it was, she wasn't in the mood to share. He leaned closer, his voice soft. "You okay?"
Hermione let out a short breath, clearly trying to keep her emotions in check. "I am," she said tersely, though her expression told a different story.
Harry wasn't buying it. "You sure?"
A moment passed, and then Hermione sighed, her frustration ebbing slightly. "No," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "But..." She shook her head and waved a hand toward the front of the hall. "Just focus on the Sorting, Harry."
Harry sat back, more confused than ever. What had he done wrong? It wasn't like he had intentionally upset her, but her behavior had been strange ever since Luna sat down. He cast a glance at Luna, who was completely oblivious to the tension between him and Hermione, still watching the Sorting as though nothing else in the world mattered.
He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. What the hell was going on today?
xxxxx
Hermione let out a long, weary sigh as she finally made it to the Gryffindor common room. The warmth of the fireplace, the flickering glow of its flames casting soft shadows against the walls, should have soothed her, but it didn't. Instead, a wave of memories from the last school year washed over her like a storm—the Philosopher's Stone, the relentless danger, the sleepless nights filled with anxiety and determination. The intensity of those memories clung to her, making her muscles ache with an old, familiar tension. She felt it creeping up her spine, threatening to overwhelm her, and all she wanted at that moment was to forget.
Her body ached for rest, for the comfort of the familiar. For Harry.
The thought bloomed unexpectedly in her mind, but she didn't shy away from it. Sneaking into Harry's bed had become a guilty comfort during moments like this, moments when the weight of everything was too much to bear. She longed for the warmth of his presence beside her, the way his steady breathing seemed to calm the storm inside her mind. There, in the quiet safety of his bed, tucked under the covers, she could let herself be vulnerable, and Harry would never judge. He'd just wrap his arms around her, and they would fall asleep together, the world outside their cocoon fading away.
Her feet itched to make the familiar journey up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, but just as she turned, she froze.
Harry wasn't heading towards the dorms. No, he was leaning in close to Luna Lovegood, whispering something to her. Something private, something secretive. Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Luna, as usual, looked completely unbothered by the proximity, her wide, dreamy eyes fixed on Harry as she listened to whatever he was saying, nodding and shaking her head in response.
A strange, uncomfortable heat settled in Hermione's chest. What were they talking about? Why was Harry so close to her? The rational part of Hermione's mind knew it was probably nothing—Harry and Luna were friends, and there was no reason to be suspicious of a conversation. But that didn't stop the ugly, twisting feeling that coiled in her gut, making her stomach churn with irritation.
Then, as if things couldn't get worse, Harry did something that made Hermione's heart skip a beat.
He reached out and placed his hand on Luna's shoulder. It wasn't an overly intimate gesture, but it was enough to make Hermione's mouth go dry. He gently guided Luna to one of the couches near the fireplace, sitting down beside her, their heads still close as they continued to talk. Whatever Harry had said had clearly caught Luna's interest, as she leaned slightly towards him, completely engaged.
A sharp huff escaped Hermione's lips, unbidden and frustrated. She clenched her fists at her sides, trying to shake off the uncomfortable, unfamiliar jealousy that bubbled up inside her. Why did it bother her so much? It wasn't like Harry belonged to her.
'No, Harry belongs to you,' a voice whispered in her mind.
She bit her lip, willing herself to stay calm, to brush it off, but the gnawing feeling refused to leave her alone. With a sharp, determined stomp, she turned her back on them, ignoring the way her heart pounded in her ears. Her footsteps were heavier than usual as she made her way towards the girls' dormitories, her body tense with annoyance.
She didn't look back at Harry or Luna. She couldn't. Not tonight.
Tonight, she will sleep alone. Even the thought of sneaking into Harry's bed and wrapping herself in his warmth felt wrong now, tainted by the strange mix of emotions coursing through her. Instead, she'd curl up in her own bed, bury herself under her blankets, and try to push the image of Harry and Luna out of her mind.
But as she climbed the stairs, a hollow feeling settled in her chest. She knew, deep down, it wouldn't be that easy to forget.
xxxxx
Harry took a moment to compose himself, his eyes flickering over to where Luna sat cross-legged on the couch, her gaze distant as she stared at the fire. The soft glow cast shadows on her face, making her look both ethereal and haunting. She was such a strange, fragile presence in the common room, and yet there was something grounding about her as well, like she didn't need to be loud or energetic to make you feel her presence.
Finally, Harry broke the silence, his voice gentle yet deliberate. "I'm sorry about what happened to your mother, Luna."
Luna tensed immediately, her serene expression faltering as surprise rippled across her face. Her wide, misty eyes snapped toward him, and for once, she didn't seem to have a ready response. "Y-You knew my Mum?" she asked, her usual dreamy tone gone, replaced with a quiver of uncertainty.
Harry nodded, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yes. She tutored me for two years."
The shock that crossed Luna's face was evident. Harry could see her mind working, trying to piece together how such a thing could have happened without her knowledge. Her mother had always been a bit of a mystery, disappearing for work, yet Luna never knew the specifics. She had often wondered what kept her mother away on those days, but now hearing this, it all made a bit more sense.
Harry must've noticed her confusion because he offered an explanation before she could ask more questions. "It's no wonder you didn't know. She had a contract. Given the whole Boy-Who-Lived situation, Sirius and I had to be careful about who came in and out of our home. For safety reasons, it was kept under wraps, for both my protection and hers."
Luna slowly nodded, still processing this newfound information, but her eyes remained fixed on him, waiting for more.
"I recognized you immediately when I saw you," Harry continued, a hint of warmth creeping into his voice. "Besides being subscribed to The Quibbler and reading some of your articles now and then, you're the spitting image of your Mum." A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head. "It was like looking at a little Pandora."
Luna's lips quivered into a small smile, but there was no mistaking the tears that were forming in her eyes, shimmering in the firelight. The usually composed and whimsical girl seemed to be on the verge of crumbling, yet she didn't speak. She just listened, letting Harry's words wash over her like a balm for wounds long left unattended.
"Your Mum… she was brilliant. Great at charms and spellwork. The foundation of my skills, the magic I'm good at now—well, that's partly thanks to her," Harry explained, his voice soft but tinged with fondness. "She even taught me some basic household charms, said it would help me when I'm a grown-up." He laughed lightly at the memory. "She used to brag about you all the time. How you were this brilliant young witch who could already understand runes, carving them into trees, doors—anything you could get your hands on. She was so proud of you, Luna."
He paused, his voice catching slightly in his throat, and for a moment, his face softened in that rare way it did when he talked about people he cared for deeply. "She hoped to introduce me to you. We had plans… but then," he swallowed, and the words seemed to struggle to leave his lips, "on the day of the incident, we were away. On a two-week trip to France. We didn't hear about it until after she was gone."
Harry's eyes dimmed with the weight of the memory. "Besides Pandora, we didn't have many people who knew her personally. By the time we returned, she was already buried. We tried to find you and your father, but… you'd moved, and we never got any replies from the letters we sent to The Quibbler."
The room seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on both of them. Luna's expression remained distant, her eyes glassy as if she were seeing another time, another place. Then, with a soft, almost fragile voice, she broke the silence. "It was a spellwork accident that took her life," she whispered, her voice cracking. "She loved creating new spells. One day, there was an explosion—an accident. I saw it happen. I saw the panic on her face, the way she tried to shield me… A simple wandless shield charm saved me, but it… it took her."
Harry hadn't known the full details of Pandora's death. Hearing it now, his heart ached in a way that surprised him. Pandora had been one of the few motherly figures in his life, and now he felt the sharp sting of loss not only for himself but for Luna as well. He felt the weight of her pain, the grief that she must've carried with her all this time.
"I'm so sorry, Luna," Harry murmured, his voice thick with emotion as a tear slipped from his eye, unnoticed by him. "I'm really, truly sorry."
Luna didn't respond immediately. Instead, she gave him a small, sad smile and, without hesitation, leaned her body into him. Harry, instinctively, wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug, offering what little comfort he could. He held her close, feeling the tremor of her quiet sobs, the way her slender frame shook against him. It wasn't often Luna allowed herself to be vulnerable, but in this moment, she let her walls down just enough to let herself feel.
"I promise," Harry whispered, his voice resolute despite the tears in his eyes, "you'll always be under the protection of the Potter and Black families. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, just say the word."
Luna didn't say anything, but her silent acceptance was enough. She buried her face into Harry's shoulder, allowing herself the rare moment of comfort, a rare moment of allowing someone else to see her pain.
As Harry held her, his heart ached, not just for the loss of Pandora but for Luna too, for everything she had endured. He would keep his promise—whatever she needed, he would always be there.
xxxxx
Draco leaned back against the plush cushions of the couch, his arms draped casually over the backrest as he glanced over at Ron. The Room of Requirement had taken the form of a cozy, dimly lit lounge, the fire crackling softly in the hearth casting flickers of warm light across the stone walls. Ron was slouched next to him, his legs sprawled out in front of him, looking as puzzled as Draco felt.
"Did Harry call for a meeting?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone was casual, but there was a slight edge of curiosity.
Ron shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "No? Wasn't it you? Harry's helping Woods with the broomstick maintenance for some of the reserve brooms." His eyes darted around the room, still trying to figure out why they were there.
Draco's brow furrowed as he sat up straighter. "That's weird. Hermione told me Harry called for a meeting."
Ron frowned, his confusion deepening. "Hermione told me it was you."
They both exchanged bewildered looks, the same question hanging in the air between them. Before they could dive any deeper into the mystery, the door creaked open, and Hermione strode into the room, her face set in a determined scowl. The sharp click of her shoes echoed through the room as she marched towards them, arms folded tightly over her chest.
"Great," she said, her tone sharp as a knife. "You're both here."
Draco and Ron exchanged quick, knowing glances, and both let out quiet sighs, bracing themselves. They could feel the tension creeping up their spines, the weight of whatever Hermione was about to say bearing down on them before she even opened her mouth.
Hermione took a deep breath, her cheeks flushing slightly, and in a voice that was louder than she probably intended, she declared, "I like Harry Potter."
The silence in the room was deafening. Draco raised an eyebrow, while Ron's lips twitched, fighting the urge to laugh. Hermione's blush deepened, but she held her ground, her eyes darting between the two boys.
"Like… like him," she continued, her voice softer now. "I think I love him."
Draco, ever the composed one, simply nodded, his face deadpan. "And I'm blonde."
"And I'm a redhead," Ron added with a straight face.
Hermione's face contorted in confusion. "What?"
Draco chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I thought we were stating obvious facts, Granger."
Hermione's scowl deepened, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Draco. "It's not that obvious!" she protested, her voice rising in frustration.
Ron shrugged, shaking his head. "Why did you call us here, Hermione? Trouble in paradise?"
Before he could react, Hermione kicked Ron in the shin, causing him to wince and lean forward in pain. "Ow! Bloody hell, Hermione!"
Hermione turned away, biting her lip nervously as she struggled to find the right words. Her gaze flickered to the floor, and after a moment, she finally mumbled, "Harry kissed me."
Draco's eyebrows shot up, a low whistle escaping his lips. "When?"
Hermione's face was flushed crimson now, and she could barely meet their eyes. "Night before Hogwarts," she admitted quietly.
"Huh," Ron muttered, crossing his arms. "We're way off with our bet, Draco. Consider it a draw?"
Draco smirked and shrugged, not bothering to hide his amusement.
"What bet?" Hermione snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
Ron, still nursing his bruised shin, grimaced. "We thought you two would've kissed already back in first year, to be honest. You really think we don't see you two openly flirting in front of our eyes? Kissing each other on the cheek like it's no big deal?"
Hermione's face burned with embarrassment. She hadn't realized that Ron and Draco had been paying such close attention. What had felt like a secret, a private game between her and Harry, suddenly didn't seem so private anymore.
Draco leaned back, his grin widening. "So, you like Harry, he kissed you, and now what? What's the problem?"
Hermione threw her hands up in frustration, pacing in front of them. "It's not that it was a bad kiss! It was my first kiss, it was Harry's first kiss, but… I don't know!" She stomped her foot, scowling. "It happened so fast, and Harry hasn't brought it up again! It's like it didn't even matter to him!"
Ron and Draco exchanged another glance, this time more serious. Ron pointed at Draco, shaking his head as if to pass the responsibility onto him. Draco sighed, knowing he had to be the one to break the news.
"Okay, Hermione, I'm going to say this now, just so it doesn't cause any future fights," Draco said, his tone softer, more careful. He leaned forward, locking eyes with her. "That wasn't Harry's first kiss."
Hermione gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "How would you know?!"
Draco ran a hand through his hair, clearly not thrilled about having to explain. "Because, Granger, Harry's first kiss was with the same woman that Ron and I had our first kiss with…"
Hermione blinked, her mind racing to comprehend what Draco had just said. "What—what are you talking about?!"
Draco let out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache coming on. "A French girl, a family friend of Harry's, a few years ago really. Nothing serious."
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "You're joking."
Draco shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Nope. She gave us all a cheeky kiss saying that since we're in France, that's how men should greet women. She thought it was funny."
Hermione's jaw dropped. She hadn't been expecting that.
"Relax, Hermione," Draco added, seeing the horror in her eyes. "It wasn't romantic or anything. We all shared a laugh after. We never even brought it up again."
Ron shuddered, clearly not wanting to revisit that weird memory. "Can we not talk about this anymore?"
Hermione buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. She had been worried about nothing, worked up over something that Harry clearly hadn't thought much of at all. And now this.
Draco glanced at her sympathetically, though his smirk hadn't completely faded. "Look, Granger, if you're upset about the kiss, talk to Harry about it. I'm sure he didn't mean to make you feel this way."
Hermione peeked through her fingers, glaring at him. "You think I don't know that?"
Draco raised his hands in surrender. "Just trying to help."
Hermione groaned again, sinking onto the coffee table and burying her face in her arms. Draco leaned back, silently mouthing the words "poor Harry" to Ron, who could only nod in agreement.
xxxxx
It was only the second week of the new school year, but Harry was already in a foul mood, one that seemed to linger like a shadow. The simmering frustration had been building from the moment he'd set foot back at Hogwarts, and today, it was dangerously close to boiling over.
The source of his irritation was, at first, something so trivial that Harry might have normally brushed it off. But not this year. Colin Creevey, a first-year Gryffindor, had taken an unusual fascination with him, to the point of being almost unbearable. It started with a few innocent questions here and there, but it quickly escalated into Colin tailing him like a shadow, camera constantly at the ready, always eager to snap another picture.
Harry's patience had been tested, again and again, but the last straw came that morning when, as he was minding his own business by the courtyard, Colin had ambushed him. The flash of the camera hit Harry square in the face before he could even react, leaving him blinking away the bright spots that swirled in his vision. In a split-second, before he even fully processed what he was doing, his hand had shot out, snatched the camera from Colin's hands, and with a fierce, frustrated growl, he hurled it against the stone wall. The camera shattered with a sickening crunch, the pieces scattering across the cobblestones like broken glass.
Harry barely registered Colin's horrified expression before McGonagall swooped in like a hawk, her lips pursed in that disapproving way she reserved for particularly troublesome students. Ten points from Gryffindor and two nights of detention followed swiftly, much to Harry's irritation. Two nights cleaning trophies with Filch in the dark recesses of the castle seemed an almost unbearable punishment, especially considering the cause of it all.
To top it all off, Gilderoy Lockhart, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, had proven to be every bit the disaster Harry had feared. His first class had been nothing short of a joke. Instead of learning anything remotely useful, they were subjected to a quiz about Lockhart's favorite color and his supposed heroic exploits, all of which felt entirely fabricated. And the pixies—those infernal creatures Lockhart had so casually unleashed upon the class—had nearly destroyed the room before Harry, Ron, and Hermione managed to subdue them.
The worst part was Lockhart's incessant need to involve Harry in his charades. At every opportunity, the pompous professor had tried to drag Harry into the spotlight, even going so far as to ask Colin to photograph them together, declaring it a "front-page-worthy shot" for Witch Weekly. The audacity of it all made Harry's blood boil, and his response had been curt. He'd told Lockhart to send any interview requests to his godfather, Head Auror Lord Sirius Black. The mere mention of Sirius had finally wiped the ridiculous grin off Lockhart's face, and he had swiftly retreated, leaving Harry with a rare sense of satisfaction.
Yet, none of this relieved the nagging annoyance that gnawed at him. The halls of Hogwarts, once a place of comfort, now seemed crowded with whispers and giggles—girls swooning over Lockhart's perfectly coiffed hair and dazzling smile. Even Hermione, of all people, had been momentarily starstruck by the man. Harry had caught her staring once, her cheeks flushed, and his frustration had deepened.
'Who cares how white his teeth are?' Harry thought bitterly. 'With one punch, I could make them bloody red.'
Just as his irritation hit its peak, a soft, airy voice broke through his thoughts.
"Good morning, Harry," Luna said, her eyes wide and curious as she approached the table, a dreamy smile playing on her lips.
Harry looked up, his gaze softening slightly as he saw her. Luna always had a way of disarming him, her serene presence calming the storm of frustration brewing inside him. She sat across from him, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, and began chatting with Ron, who was sitting beside her. They seemed deep in conversation, likely about runes, given Ron's fascination with them. The boy had gone from being suspicious of Luna's oddities to practically seeking her out for every question that popped into his head.
Harry tried to focus on their conversation as a way to distract himself. "Hey, Luna." He scanned the room. "Where's Hermione?"
Ron shrugged, his mouth full of mashed potatoes. "She went to Lockhart's office. Think she found something wrong in one of his books. She had that look, you know, like she was about to correct him."
Harry's lips quirked up in a smirk. Good, he thought. Hopefully, she'd tear that git's ridiculous ego down a peg. "Hopefully, it's bad enough to make him panic."
Ron grinned, then leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, listen. You know how we've been messing about with rune carving, right? Well, I had an idea—what if we carved them... on skin?"
Harry blinked, his earlier annoyance melting into genuine surprise. "On skin?"
Ron nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Not like, carving into skin, but tattooing. Think about it. A rune tattoo that could enhance spells or even offer protection. We could enchant them to do all sorts of things."
Harry stared at Ron, his brow furrowing. "That... actually doesn't sound half bad. But I've never heard of rune tattoos before."
Luna, who had been quietly observing the conversation, spoke up. "There were accounts of rune tattoos in ancient times. Back then, people didn't understand that the tattoos were more than decorative—they had magical properties. But as tattoos became frowned upon, the practice faded away."
Ron beamed. "See? We could bring it back! Imagine what we could do with these enchantments."
Harry tilted his head, thinking. Sirius had tattoos, though they were more rebellious markings than anything magical. Still, the idea intrigued him. "Sirius has a few tattoos, but nothing like runes. He had them done the Muggle way, as part of his whole 'screw the family' phase."
Ron leaned forward eagerly. "Well, maybe we could start a new trend. Magical tattoos. You in?"
"How did they do rune tattoos back then?" Harry asked Luna, intrigued now by the history of it all.
Luna's gaze drifted, her mind wandering through the annals of forgotten magical practices. "In the old days, they used bone powder mixed with a drop of liquid to create ink. The needle had to be made from brass, and the tattooing process was done by hand-poking the ink into the skin. It was a delicate procedure, much like brewing potions. The ingredients had to be perfectly balanced to avoid unintended effects."
Ron sighed dramatically, the excitement momentarily dimming. "So, no phoenix ash and random liquid then. Probably best we don't want to accidentally combust."
Luna laughed, the sound light and airy, a contrast to the more serious tone of their conversation. "No, definitely not. But I'd be happy to help with the research. It's all about synergy, just like potions. You need the right combination of materials for it to work safely."
Harry's mind raced as he weighed the possibilities. He wasn't overly concerned about getting a tattoo himself, but he knew Draco would be horrified at the thought of marring his perfect skin with permanent ink. And Hermione... well, she was a Muggle-born, and tattoos might raise more questions than they were worth. But then again, it was an interesting idea, and Luna's calm assurance made it seem less dangerous than Ron's wild enthusiasm suggested.
At the very least, the conversation had helped ease some of the tension that had been gnawing at Harry all morning. As the chatter between his friends continued, he found himself relaxing, his bad mood dissipating bit by bit.
xxxxx
Ron and Draco sat in the Room of Requirement, surrounded by books and parchment as the soft glow of enchanted candles flickered around them. The room had taken the shape of a cozy study today, its walls lined with towering bookshelves, a roaring fire crackling in the hearth. The large table in front of them was scattered with homework, quills, and ink bottles.
Ron glanced up from his parchment, watching Draco scribbling furiously as he worked on a particularly challenging bit of homework. Despite his focus, there was a gleam of amusement in Draco's eyes, as though he were enjoying this far too much. But Ron's mind wasn't on the homework, nor on the complex charms theory they had been assigned for the week. His thoughts kept drifting to something—or rather, someone—else.
"You know," Ron muttered, breaking the silence, his quill freezing mid-word. He shot a glance toward the door as if expecting Harry or Hermione to burst through at any moment. "Is it me, or do the two of them not even recognize that we're currently doing the Animagus ritual?"
Draco snorted, not bothering to look up from his work. He shook his head, his silver-blond hair falling into his eyes before he impatiently pushed it back. "Just keep it down. They're too busy being in a bad mood with stuff or with one another."
Ron raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair and dropping his quill with an exaggerated sigh. The firelight cast a warm glow over his face, highlighting his frustrated expression. "About that," he said, folding his arms. "Whatever is going on in Harry's head, anyway? He obviously likes her back. Should we just push them in a broom closet, lock it up, until they end up snogging properly?"
Draco's lips curved into a grin, his eyes lighting up with mischievous amusement. "That's disturbing, disgusting, but I like it," he said, glancing up at Ron for the first time. "But no. Let them off on their own. Harry's just, you know, keeping his head about the whole betrothal contracts, being a future partner of a future Lord and all that. Imagine the chaos that would break out if they found out Harry's going out with Hermione. It would cause a scandal."
Ron's expression shifted from frustration to mild concern as he considered Draco's words. The idea of Harry and Hermione being tangled up in something as old-fashioned and complicated as a betrothal contract wasn't something Ron wanted to dwell on, but Draco had a point. There were so many expectations on Harry, expectations Ron barely understood. "But Harry will pick Hermione in the end, right?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "He doesn't care about any of that, right?"
Draco shrugged, his gaze flicking back to his parchment, though the intensity in his expression didn't falter. "I don't know, Ron. It's a mess. It's their mess. This is probably why Sirius and the rest didn't try to include Harry's mother in the Marauders, because they didn't want this drama."
Ron chuckled, but it was a soft, hollow sound, almost drowned out by the crackling fire. He couldn't help but shake his head, even though he knew Draco was right. There was something unresolved between Harry and Hermione, something that had been simmering just beneath the surface ever since the start of the school year. They were constantly at each other's throats one minute, and then, in the next, there would be these strange moments where they looked at each other, almost like—
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in exasperation. "I still think we can do something about it."
Draco's quill froze mid-stroke. He lifted his head, arching a skeptical eyebrow at Ron, who looked entirely too eager. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
Ron leaned forward conspiratorially, his blue eyes glinting with determination. "Between you and me, I'm just getting tired of being stuck in between those two when they're openly glaring at each other or trying to flirt back again. It's hard enough for me to focus on class without those two going in and out with their feelings. And," he added, slumping back in his chair with a groan, "there isn't even any progress on the Marauder's Map!"
It was the truth. The first two weeks of term had been nothing short of chaotic, and Harry and Hermione's on-again, off-again tension hadn't made things any easier. Harry had been busy dodging Lockhart's ridiculous antics and avoiding the gaggle of first-years who seemed to trail after him like lost ducklings, while Hermione had been throwing herself into her studies with even more zeal than usual—if that was possible. But anyone with eyes could see that the real problem lay in their interactions with each other. Whenever Harry so much as glanced in Luna's direction, Hermione would clench her jaw and purse her lips, visibly trying to maintain her composure. And when Harry caught Hermione watching him, he'd immediately grow flustered, pretending to be occupied with whatever he was holding—be it a book, a quill, or his shoe.
Ron huffed in frustration, the memory of it all exhausting him even now. "Honestly, I think they're both driving themselves mad. If they just admitted it, maybe we could get some peace for once."
Draco, clearly amused by Ron's frustration, finally put down his quill and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He regarded Ron with a smirk, his eyes gleaming. "Okay," Draco drawled, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. "What do you have in mind?"