Chapter 164: The Weight of Attention
The Great Hall buzzed with the usual breakfast chaos, but Elian felt the eyes on him the moment he walked through the doors. They'd been there for days now—since Fudge's announcement, since the Daily Prophet's front page, since the entire wizarding world had decided that he and Harry were somehow the answer to their fears.
The Chosen One. The Fate-Changer. The Dark Lord's Bane.
Elian ignored all of it, loading his plate with food he probably wouldn't eat while Ron ranted beside him.
"Can you believe this?" Ron waved a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet. "Last week they were calling you both lunatics and now suddenly you're the only hope for the entire wizarding world? Makes me sick."
Hermione snatched the paper from his hands. "Ronald, you'll get food all over it."
"Maybe it deserves to have food all over it!"
Elian glanced at the front page before Hermione could hide it. His own face stared back at him—a grainy photo from somewhere, probably taken without his knowledge—alongside Harry's. The headline screamed:
THE CHOSEN ONE AND THE FATE-CHANGER: CAN THESE TWO BOYS SAVE US ALL?
"Ridiculous," Elian muttered, reaching for the pumpkin juice.
"That's what I'm saying!" Ron gestured emphatically with a piece of toast. "They ignored you both for months. Months! And now suddenly you're supposed to fix everything?"
Luna looked up from her copy of the Quibbler, which had a far more sensible headline about the mating habits of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. "People are afraid," she said calmly. "When people are afraid, they look for someone to blame or someone to save them. You two are just convenient."
"Convenient." Harry's voice was flat. He'd barely touched his food, and the shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept well. "That's one word for it."
Neville, sitting across from them, frowned. "At least things are better at school now. Umbridge is gone, Dumbledore's back, and Hagrid's teaching again." He paused. "Professor Trelawney's back too."
Ron groaned. "Don't remind me. Divination is still the most useless class on offer. The only good thing about it is Firenze."
"Ronald!" Hermione's tone was sharp. "Professor Trelawney made a real prophecy. The least you could do is show some respect."
The table went quiet.
Harry's grip on his fork tightened. Elian saw it—the flash of something in his eyes, quickly hidden. They hadn't told Ron and Hermione about the prophecy's contents. About what it actually meant for Harry. About the weight he carried every moment.
"Why'd you break it, anyway?" Neville asked, oblivious to the tension. "The prophecy ball, I mean. You did it on purpose, right? If it hadn't broken, we could have heard what it really said."
Elian set down his pumpkin juice. "If it hadn't broken, Voldemort would have heard it too. And he'd have used whatever it said against us."
"But now no one knows."
"No one important knows." Elian's eyes flickered to Harry, then away. "The Dark Lord is still guessing. That's an advantage."
Neville nodded slowly, accepting this. But Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly—she'd caught something in Elian's tone, in Harry's too-still posture. She didn't ask, not here, not now. But she filed it away.
Harry pushed back from the table suddenly. "I need to go. Hagrid's expecting me."
Ron blinked. "Now? Breakfast just started—"
"I promised." Harry was already moving toward the doors.
Elian watched him go, something unreadable in his expression.
"He's not handling this well," Luna observed quietly.
"Would you be?" Elian's voice was soft.
"No." Luna's silver eyes met his. "But he has us. That should count for something."
Elian nodded slowly. "It does. He just doesn't know it yet."
After breakfast, Elian found himself walking the corridors alone. Or not quite alone—Luna had fallen into step beside him without a word, the way she often did when she sensed he needed company without conversation.
They walked in comfortable silence, past classrooms empty of students, past windows that looked out on the grounds where others played and laughed and lived as though the world weren't on the brink of war.
"It's peaceful," Luna said finally. "For now."
"For now," Elian agreed.
They stopped at a window overlooking the lake. Students were swimming in the distance, their shouts faint and happy. On the Quidditch pitch, figures soared on brooms, practicing for matches that might never happen.
"Do you think they know?" Luna asked. "Really know, I mean. What's coming?"
"Some do. Most don't want to." Elian's reflection in the glass was calm, distant. "It's easier to pretend everything's normal."
Luna was quiet for a moment. Then: "You'll protect them, won't you? Even the ones who don't deserve it?"
Elian turned to look at her—really look. Luna Lovegood, with her radish earrings and her belief in creatures no one else could see and her absolute, unshakeable faith in him.
"I'll try," he said. "That's all I can promise."
"It's enough." She smiled, that dreamy, distant smile that somehow saw more than anyone gave her credit for. "It's always been enough."
They stood together in the sunlight, watching the world go on around them.
Then Luna spoke again, her voice softer. "The Dark Lord. He's different from the others, isn't he? The threats you've faced before."
"Yes."
"I'm worried." She said it simply, without shame. "Not that you can't win. I know you can. But I'm worried about what it might cost you."
Elian was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and touched her hair—a gentle gesture, almost tender.
"Trust me, Luna. The way you always have." He smiled, and for a moment, the weight he carried seemed to lift. "I can protect you. All of you. That's not a promise I'll break."
Luna's cheeks flushed slightly. She ducked her head, but she was smiling too.
"I know," she whispered. "I've always known."
They stayed there a while longer, two figures in a sunlit corridor, holding onto a moment of peace before the storm.
(End of Chapter)
✨If you're enjoying this story, consider supporting me on Patreon —
Patreon.com/TofuChan