"Parseltongue"
Thoughts
The year since turning nine had been one of careful balancing acts for Harry. Mrs. Figg remained none the wiser about his magical pursuits, and he had kept his powers hidden whenever she was near. Her frequent visits to "check on him" gave him the excuse to act as unremarkable as ever, though he knew her vigilance was far from friendly concern. Luckily, seeing him walking back to the Dursleys after school seemed enough for her these days.
The Dursleys, on the other hand, needed the occasional reminder. Vernon's temper hadn't entirely disappeared after the incident, but Harry had learned how to ward off his anger with a subtle hum of magic in the air, a quiet thrum that made the hairs on the back of Vernon's neck stand up. Petunia's sharp looks were often silenced by the smallest flicker of unexplained occurrences—like the toaster sparking to life on its own or the water running cold when she least expected it.
For the most part, Harry's strategy worked. He kept his head down, his secrets guarded, and his magic progressing in ways none of them could fathom.
One quiet evening, weeks after the Dursleys had returned from their holiday, Harry sat in his cupboard and stared at the parchment before him. His quill hovered hesitantly above the blank page.
He thought about Luna Lovegood. She was the only magical person his age he had met, and though their interaction had been brief, it had left a lasting impression.
I've never had a friend before, Harry thought, but maybe she won't mind if I write to her.
Summoning an owl had taken some time, but his intent had eventually brought a sleek, tawny bird to the tree in the back garden. With the owl perched nearby, Harry gathered his courage and began writing.
Dear Luna,
I hope this letter reaches you. I'm not sure how often you use owls, but I thought I'd try. It was nice meeting you in Diagon Alley, even if it was a bit strange (not that you're strange—though maybe we both are?). I was wondering if you'd like to write to me. I don't have many people to talk to... or anyone, really.
Sincerely,
Evan
Luna's reply came two days later, the owl looking pleased with itself as it landed on Harry's desk.
Dear Evan,
Thank you for writing to me. I wasn't expecting it, but I'm glad you did. Most people don't write letters anymore unless they're very old. Daddy says that owls like carrying letters because it makes them feel useful. Do you think that's true?
I hope you're okay. If you ever want to visit, you can come to our house. It's very strange, but I think you'd like it.
Your friend,
Luna
Their correspondence grew from there, Luna's whimsical observations and thoughtful questions filling Harry's otherwise lonely days. Over time, their letters became longer and more personal. He was still a child, regardless of his maturity and sometimes he just couldn't keep his secrets to himself.
Dear Luna,
You asked if I've been practicing magic. I have, though I have to keep it a secret. I've learned some basic charms and even how to set up protective wards. I work at a shop in Knockturn Alley on weekends—don't worry, it's not dangerous (mostly). The owners let me pick out books sometimes instead of pay, so I've been learning a lot. They also made me a portkey when they found out I get to work the muggle way. Have you ever taken one? I wish I didn't have to!
What's it like where you live? Do you have a favourite part of the house?
Your friend,
Harry
Dear Evan,
It must be exciting to work in a magical shop. I imagine it smells like dragon scales and old books. Have you seen any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the alley? They like dark places. Daddy says they can be found if you believe in them enough.
Our house is full of strange things. There's a room with a chandelier made of dirigible plums, and I like sitting under it because it makes everything feel brighter. You should come see it someday.
Love,
Luna
~
Alongside Lunas letters, Harry's weekends with Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard were some of the happiest moments of his year. Oddments and Obscurities was a treasure trove of the strange and forgotten. From enchanted mirrors to cursed lockets, every item had a story, and Harry revelled in uncovering them.
The Pritchard's were strict but fair. They expected hard work, but they also taught him valuable lessons about the magical world.
"Magic isn't just spells and potions," Mr. Pritchard said one day as he showed Harry how to identify a cursed artifact. "It's history, intent, and, most of all, understanding the balance between what is and what could be."
On another occasion, Mrs. Pritchard handed him a dusty tome with gilded edges. "This one's been sitting here for years," she said. "If you want it, consider it part of your pay. It's not every day someone so young has such an appetite for knowledge."
The book, Ancient Enchantments and Their Origins, became one of Harry's most prized possessions.
Despite his growing knowledge and skills, the year wasn't without its challenges. Learning magic in secret was exhausting, and the Dursleys' disdain for him remained a constant weight.
One evening, Dudley cornered him in the hallway.
"Still hiding, freak?" he sneered.
Harry raised his hand and let a tiny spark crackle between his fingers. Dudley's eyes widened, and he stumbled backward. "Stay away from me!" Dudley yelped, running off.
That should keep him quiet for a while, Harry thought, though he couldn't shake the lingering sadness that came with every reminder of his isolation.
Luna's letters became Harry's lifeline during the hardest days. Her whimsical nature and unwavering kindness gave him hope, even when things felt bleak.
Dear Luna,
Thank you for your last letter. You always know how to make me smile. I wish I could visit your house, but I think the Dursleys would lock me in the cupboard for a year if I asked.
Have you ever felt like you don't belong anywhere? Sometimes I feel like that, even though I know there's a world out there waiting for me.
Your friend,
Evan
Dear Harry,
I think we all belong somewhere, even if it takes a while to find it. Maybe you haven't found your place yet, but you will. I know it.
Daddy says the stars know where we belong. Maybe you should look at them sometime and ask them. They're very good listeners.
Love,
Luna
~
The patch of woods near Privet Drive was quiet, the kind of stillness that pressed against Harry's ears and made the world feel far away. The Dursleys were fast asleep, and Mrs. Figg's sharp eyes were locked behind her curtains. It was the perfect night for an escape.
Harry lay flat on his back on a soft patch of grass, his arms folded behind his head. The stars above sparkled like diamonds scattered across the black velvet of the sky. Flick was curled by his side, his scales glinting faintly in the moonlight, while the Old One rested coiled near his feet, her movements deliberate and slow, as if savouring the peace of the night.
Luna's words from her last letter echoed in his mind…the stars know where we belong. Maybe you should look at them sometime and ask them.
Taking a deep breath, Harry whispered, "Do you think she's right? That they know where we belong?"
The Old One's voice came first, low and ancient like the creak of old wood. "The stars have watched over this world longer than we have slithered through it. If there is wisdom in them, it is theirs to share or not."
Flick flicked his tongue and chimed in. "I don't know about wisdom, but they're nice to look at. Do you really think they could tell you where to go?"
Harry smiled faintly. "I don't know. But it doesn't hurt to ask, does it?"
He stared at the sky for a long moment, letting the cool breeze play over his face. Then, almost without thinking, he raised his hand and summoned a tiny, flickering spark of magic. The golden light danced on his palm, like a firefly caught in the curve of his fingers.
"Do you want to hear a story?" he asked, his voice soft and thoughtful.
"Alwaysss", Flick replied, curling closer to him.
Harry twirled the spark with his fingers, letting it stretch and shape itself into a glowing figure. A man with a bow appeared, aiming an arrow into the sky.
"This is Orion," Harry began. "He's said to be the son of Poseidon, god of the seas. He was a great hunter. Some say he was so proud of his skills that he boasted he could kill any animal on Earth. Gaia, Mother Earth, didn't like that and she sent forth a great scorpion to stop him."
The sparks shifted, becoming a scorpion that lunged at Orion.
"He fought bravely, but in the end, the scorpion won." Harry paused, his voice quieter now. "The gods put him in the stars, though. Maybe they didn't hate him after all. They also put the scorpion in the stars and whenever Scorpius appears, Orion hides away."
The Old One's tongue flickered. "Pride is dangerous, even for gods. But to honour an enemy in the stars... That speaks of respect."
Harry nodded, moving his fingers to create another scene. This time, the spark became a large bear with a smaller bear beside it.
"These are Ursa Major and Ursa Minor," he said. "They're supposed to be a mother and her son. The story goes that the mother was once a human woman. Zeus fell in love with her, but his wife got jealous and turned her into a bear."
The light shifted again, showing a hunter with a spear.
"Years later, her son grew up and became a hunter. He didn't know the bear was his mother, so he almost killed her."
Flick let out a hiss of disapproval. "Humans have strange stories."
Harry laughed softly. "You're not wrong. Anyway, the god who loved her saved her by putting her and later her cub in the stars. That way, no one could ever hurt them again."
The Old One's voice came again, quieter this time. "Pain and transformation. The stars are full of such stories."Harry stared at the sky, his magic fading as he let the spark dissolve into the night. "Do you think the stars ever feel lonely? They're so far apart, so... distant."
"Perhaps they do," the Old One replied. "Or perhaps they find comfort in their purpose, in watching over those below."
Harry's chest tightened at the thought. "Sometimes I feel like I don't belong anywhere. Like I'm just floating, waiting for something to happen. Do you think the stars know where I belong?"
Flick nudged his arm gently with his snout. "You belong with us right now. Isn't that enough?"
Harry smiled, his heart warming at his words. "Yeah, it is. Thanks, Flick."
He looked back at the stars, his voice barely above a whisper. "But if you do know where I belong... please, just give me a sign. I'll be waiting."
The three of them stayed there in silence, watching the stars until Harry's eyes grew heavy with sleep. For the first time in a long while, he felt a quiet sense of peace, as though the universe itself had leaned down to listen.
~
Harry's control over fire and water had grown steadily over the months, becoming second nature. In the evenings, while the Dursleys sat oblivious in the living room, Harry would practice in the quiet corners of the forest or in the hidden clearing he had claimed as his own.
He would call forth a flame and cradle it in his palm, feeling its warmth and being unburnt each time. With time, he taught it to dance across his fingers, twirling like a fiery ribbon. Flick often watched from a rock nearby, the old snake's tongue flicking in approval.
"Your flames listen to you now, little fire-tamer," Flick observed one evening as Harry extinguished a glowing orb of fire with a sharp flick of his wrist.
Harry grinned. "They do, don't they? It's like they're alive, like they trust me."
Water was trickier but no less satisfying. Harry found himself drawn to the small stream that wound its way through the forest. Kneeling by its edge, he practiced lifting large orbs of water, shaping them into animals and holding them aloft before letting them fall back into the stream with a soft splash.
Once, emboldened by his progress, Harry managed to freeze the surface of the stream for a moment, the icy pattern spreading like a spider's web. Flick hissed in awe, his eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight.
Harry's journey into the magic of earth began with curiosity and a sense of reverence. He had watched plants sway in the breeze, their quiet strength rooted in the soil, and wondered if he could coax them to grow.
In the clearing where he practiced, Harry knelt one afternoon, his hands pressed against the cool ground. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic, imagining the meadow blooming with vibrant wildflowers.
At first, nothing happened. The earth beneath his fingers remained stubbornly still, the meadow quiet and unchanging. Frustrated, Harry stood and brushed off his hands. "Guess I'm not ready for this yet," he muttered.
"Look back, little flame," Flick said, his voice tinged with an unusual softness.
Harry turned. His breath caught in his throat. The meadow was slowly transforming before his eyes. Shoots of green emerged from the soil, unfurling into delicate wildflowers of every colour. The sight was breathtaking.
Encouraged by his success, Harry began experimenting further. He bought a small pouch of seeds from the market in Diagon Alley, sneaking them into the forest in the dead of night. He planted them in a secluded spot near the stream, pouring his magic into the soil as he covered the seeds with earth.
At first, progress was slow. Harry would visit the spot daily, willing the seeds to sprout. When tiny green shoots finally emerged, he felt a rush of pride. Over the following weeks, he learned to channel his magic in a steady, nurturing flow, watching as his little garden grew.
By late spring, Harry's secluded garden was thriving. He had managed to grow an assortment of vegetables—small carrots, leafy greens, and even a few plump tomatoes.
"Why toil under the thumb of those Dursleys when you can feed yourself?" Flick remarked one evening as Harry plucked a handful of ripe cherry tomatoes.
Harry chuckled, popping one into his mouth. The sweet burst of flavour was more satisfying than anything he'd ever tasted from the Dursleys' kitchen. "This is the best thing I've ever done," he admitted, gazing at his garden with a mix of pride and awe.
The forest became Harry's sanctuary, a place where he could explore the deeper mysteries of his magic. He learned to sense the heartbeat of the earth beneath his bare feet, the pulse of life in the trees around him and hated putting shoes back on breaking that connection when it was time to leave.
One afternoon, he placed his hands against the trunk of an old oak, willing his magic to flow into the tree. He imagined its branches stretching higher, its roots delving deeper into the soil. When he opened his eyes, he thought he could see a faint glow around the tree, as if it were responding to his efforts.
"You are learning to listen to the earth, little flame," Flick said, coiled nearby.
Harry smiled, his heart swelling with a quiet pride.
After school, he spent hours tending to his plants, experimenting with his magic, and even practicing carving runes into small stones to protect his garden from curious animals.
With each passing day, Harry felt more connected to his magic and to the world around him. The quiet strength of the earth and the vibrant life of his garden reminded him that he was capable of creating something beautiful.
~
Harry hadn't thought about his glasses until Mrs. Figg's sharp eyes lingered on him one afternoon not long after he took the potion.
"Your glasses look a bit too clean these days," she said, squinting at him over her knitting.
Harry forced a grin and pushed the glasses up his nose, thankful for the charm he'd found in Practical Glamours for the Discerning Wizard. The glasses were no longer prescription—they were plain glass—but they served their purpose well enough to keep Mrs. Figg from prying further.
The glamour charm is brilliant, he thought. He'd carefully turned the old lenses into clear glass and added a subtle charm to make them appear slightly smudged at the edges, just like before. The hardest part had been enchanting them so they'd always sit slightly crooked on his face. No one would believe I suddenly got new glasses, he had reasoned.
Still, wearing the glasses felt strange now, he took them off when in the magical world but that was only the weekends. They reminded him of how much he'd struggled to see the world clearly for so many years. Maybe they're not really for seeing, he mused, adjusting them in the mirror. Maybe they're for hiding.
That evening, Harry wrote another letter to Luna.
Dear Luna,
Have you ever had to hide something important about yourself? I've been thinking about that a lot lately. It feels like I'm always hiding—my magic, what I'm learning, even my own face. I had to find a spell to make my glasses look like they used to because there's someone who would notice if they didn't.
Do you think hiding is bad? Sometimes it feels like the only thing keeping me safe.
Your friend,
Evan
Luna's reply arrived a day day later, tied with a ribbon that smelled faintly of lavender.
Dear Evan,
Hiding isn't bad, especially if it helps you stay safe. But I think you shouldn't have to hide forever. One day, you won't need the glasses or the spells. One day, you'll find people who love you just as you are.
Mummy says that secrets are like seeds. If you plant them too deep, they won't grow. But if you give them a little light, they can turn into the most beautiful things.
Love,
Luna
~
Harry's weekends at Oddments and Obscurities continued to be the highlight of his weeks. Mr. Pritchard had taken to calling him "the little scavenger" because of his knack for finding hidden treasures among the shop's cluttered shelves.
One Saturday, Harry stumbled across a dusty crate marked "To Be Discarded." Inside was a collection of enchanted glass objects—bottles, mirrors, and lenses—that no longer worked as intended.
"Why throw these away?" Harry asked as he held up a cracked lens that shimmered faintly in the light.
"Because they're broken," Mr. Pritchard said with a shrug. "Glass magic is tricky. Once it's fractured, it's hard to repair."
Harry turned the lens over in his hands. "What if it's not about repairing it? What if it's about finding a new way to use it?"
Mr. Pritchard raised an eyebrow, then smiled. "You've got a sharp mind, Evan. Take it, then. See what you can do with it."
Over the next week, Harry experimented with the lens, using it as a makeshift scrying glass. Though it didn't work perfectly, he managed to coax faint, blurry images to appear—glimpses of places he didn't recognise but couldn't stop staring at. He thought he saw a baby with blue hair, then it would suddenly shift into what looked like a raging sea. He didn't know what to make of it but wrote it in his journal anyway.
~
The Dursleys remained still oblivious to most of Harry's changes, though again, Vernon needed a reminder to keep his hands to himself.
One particularly tense evening, Vernon had stormed into the kitchen, furious about a letter he'd received at work. "What's this world coming to, eh? Can't even get a decent raise anymore!" he bellowed, slamming his fists on the table.
Harry froze, his heart pounding as Vernon's angry eyes settled on him. "What are you staring at, boy?"
"I—I wasn't staring," Harry said quickly, trying to back away.
Vernon's meaty hand shot out, grabbing Harry by the collar. But before he could lift him off the ground, the air around Harry pulsed with a faint hum of magic. Vernon's grip loosened, his face going pale as if an invisible force had pressed against him.
"Go to your room!" Vernon barked, releasing him abruptly.
Harry obeyed, but as he shut the cupboard door behind him, he felt a small surge of satisfaction. You're not in charge anymore, he thought.
~
Throughout the year, Harry had grown used to the busy rhythm of life. He was able to meet Luna in Diagon Alley every couple of weeks after work most times. It was an escape he looked forward to, a pocket of calm and light in his strange and often lonely life. Luna would always have something new to show him—a peculiar beetle she had found, a story about Wrackspurts, or a trinket her father had picked up during his travels.
One chilly November afternoon, Harry was standing by Flourish and Blotts when he saw Luna skipping toward him, her mismatched socks peeking out from beneath her winter cloak.
"You're here!" she said cheerfully, her wide eyes shining.
"Of course I'm here," Harry replied with a grin. "I wouldn't miss our day."
Luna's cheeks turned pink with the cold, or perhaps with happiness. "Daddy says you can come to our house today. Mama will take us back after lunch!"
Harry blinked, surprised. "Your house? Are you sure? I mean... I don't want to impose."
Luna tilted her head in her usual dreamy way. "You're not imposing, Evan. You're my friend."
That simple word hit Harry harder than he expected. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded. "Okay, then. I'd like that."
Pandora Lovegood was waiting for them outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, her long hair swept back into a loose braid. She greeted Harry warmly and guided them to the Floo Network point. Harry had never used the Floo before, and Pandora gave him a quick tutorial before they all stepped into the green flames.
They tumbled out into a whimsical home that smelled of baked bread and herbs. The walls were covered in paintings of creatures Harry couldn't identify, and shelves brimming with books tilted at precarious angles. A large dirigible plum plant hung upside down near the ceiling, its bright orange fruits adding pops of colour to the room.
Lunch was simple but hearty—vegetable stew with freshly baked bread. Harry felt content as he sat at the Lovegood table, listening to Luna and her father chatter about magical creatures and odd theories. Pandora occasionally chimed in, her laughter ringing like bells.
"This is nice," Harry said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
Pandora smiled at him. "You're welcome here anytime, Evan."
After lunch, Luna introduced Harry to several magical games. One involved enchanted gobstones that squirted glitter instead of the usual foul-smelling liquid. Another was a wizarding version of tag, where they used small, enchanted brooms to chase glowing orbs around the house.
Harry found himself laughing more than he had in years. Luna's laughter was infectious, and her delight at winning (and occasionally losing) made the games all the more fun.
"You're good at this," Luna said, beaming as Harry caught the final glowing orb.
Harry grinned. "Beginner's luck, probably."
"No," Luna said thoughtfully. "I think you're good at seeing things other people miss."
Later, Pandora led them down to her workshop. The room was cluttered with half-finished experiments, jars of strange substances, and intricate orbs that glowed faintly in the dim light. On one table, an old book lay open to a page about the Oracle of Delphi.
"This," Pandora said, gesturing to the workshop, "is where I do my research. Some of it's about magical creatures, but a lot of it is about divination and oracles."
"Like the Oracle of Delphi?" Harry asked, staring at the book.
Pandora nodded. "Exactly. Our family is descended from those who served at Delphi. It's said that some of their gifts passed down to us, though they show up differently in each generation."
Harry glanced at Luna, who was inspecting a glowing orb with fascination. "Does that mean Luna...?"
Pandora smiled. "Luna sees the world differently, doesn't she? Sometimes she notices things others can't. It's a gift, but it can be a lonely one."
Harry's chest tightened. He looked at Luna and said firmly, "She's not alone. Not anymore."
Pandora looked at him eyes softening and knowing.
"Thank you, Evan."
As the afternoon drew to a close, Harry hesitated. He thought about all the kindness the Lovegoods had shown him and about how much he trusted Luna.
"Luna," he said quietly as they sat by the fireplace, waiting for Pandora to take him back to Diagon Alley. "I need to tell you something."
Luna tilted her head, her silver hair catching the firelight. "What is it?"
"My name isn't Evan," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's Harry. Harry Potter."
Luna didn't look shocked. Instead, she smiled faintly, as if she'd already known.
"That's okay," she said. "You can be Evan and Harry. You didn't have to tell me, but I'm glad you did."
"Are you mad?" Harry asked nervously.
Luna shook her head. "Why would I be mad? We all have secrets."
Harry felt a wave of relief and smiled. "Thank you. I... I don't think I've ever had a friend like you before."
Luna reached out and took his hand, her grip warm and steady and her gaze knowing. "We'll be friends forever, Harry."
As Pandora led him back to Diagon Alley later that evening, Harry felt lighter than he had in a long time.
~
Life with Luna had become a steady rhythm of shared learning and exploration. They met as often as Harry could manage without raising suspicion, their bond deepening through experiences and the languages they were teaching each other each other.
Luna's soft, sing-song voice guided Harry through the complex twists of ancient Greek. They sat in the quiet corners of bookstores or the sunny tables at Florean Fortescue's, notebooks spread before them. Luna's explanations often came with whimsical stories and songs about the gods or ancient myths.
"Ancient Greek and other ancient languages are more than just words," she said one afternoon as she helped Harry conjugate a verb. "It's magic in itself. They left pieces of their power in the language."
Harry found himself enchanted by the way Luna spoke, her hands weaving shapes in the air as she described a myth or explained the roots of a word.
In turn, Harry shared his own learning. His French was rusty and his Latin hesitant, but Luna didn't seem to mind. They stumbled through conversations, laughing when they mispronounced words or accidentally said something nonsensical.
"Harry," Luna said one day in hesitant French, "tu es mon meilleur ami."
Harry blinked. "You're my best friend too," he replied in English, unable to find the words in French. Luna smiled as though his answer in any language was enough.
In early March, everything changed.
~
Harry hadn't seen Luna in two weeks, and her usual cheery letters had stopped coming. He wrote again and again, his worry growing with each unanswered letter. Finally, unable to bear the silence, he decided to use the Floo in the Leaky Cauldron to check on her.
He stumbled out of the fireplace into the Lovegood living room, the scene before him making his stomach sink. The house, usually so alive with colour and warmth, was eerily quiet. The air was heavy with sorrow, and the smell of stale alcohol lingered.
Xenophilius Lovegood lay slumped on the couch, an empty bottle clutched in his hand. His robes were dishevelled, his face pale and gaunt.
"Mr. Lovegood?" Harry called softly. There was no response.
He turned toward the door leading to Pandora's workshop, which hung slightly ajar. Steeling himself, Harry pushed it open.
Luna sat amid the wreckage, surrounded by shattered glass and the remnants of her mother's last experiment. Her pale hair was tangled, and her wide eyes stared blankly at the floor.
"Luna," Harry whispered, stepping cautiously into the room.
She didn't look up.
Harry crouched in front of her, his heart breaking at the sight of her tear-streaked face. "Luna, it's me. It's Harry."
Her gaze shifted to him slowly, as if dragging herself out of a deep fog. "She's gone," Luna said in a voice so quiet it was barely audible. "Mama's gone."
Harry's throat tightened. He wanted to say something comforting, something to take away her pain, but the words wouldn't come. The thought of kind, loving Pandora being gone felt unreal. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.
Luna's lip trembled. "I saw it happen. The explosion. She was trying to show me something important she said, and then... she wasn't there anymore."
Harry pulled her into a hug, his own tears threatening to fall. "I'm so sorry, Luna. I'm so, so sorry."
They sat like that for what felt like hours, the silence broken only by Luna's quiet sobs.
When Luna finally pulled back, her expression was distant, her eyes unfocused. "I see things more now," she murmured. "Since Mama died. It's like... like the world is whispering secrets to me."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
Luna hesitated, then pointed to the shards of a broken orb on the floor. "Mama used to say that we had pieces of the Oracle's gift. I think... I think losing her woke something up in me. I hear things, feel things, like echoes of what's to come."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. "Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes," Luna admitted. "But mostly it's just... strange."
Harry took her hand again. "We'll figure it out. Together. You're not alone in this, Luna. I promise."
Luna gave him a small, tremulous smile. "Thank you, Harry."
Over the next few hours, Harry did what he could to help. He cleared the shattered remains of Pandora's experiment while Luna sat quietly, occasionally murmuring fragments of Greek under her breath.
Before leaving, Harry found a blanket and draped it over Xenophilius, who hadn't stirred since Harry arrived. Then he returned to Luna, who was staring out the window at the darkening sky.
"Will you be okay?" Harry asked softly.
Luna nodded slowly. "I think so. But I'm glad you came."
Harry hesitated, then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. "You're my best friend, Luna. I'll always be here for you."
Luna smiled faintly, her eyes looked at him with unshed tears. "I know."
As Harry stepped back into the Floo and returned to the Leaky Cauldron, he felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. Luna had lost so much, but he vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to be there for her.
~
Luna hadn't been herself since Pandora's death. Though months had passed, the light that made Luna uniquely Luna seemed dimmed, like a candle struggling against a draft. Harry noticed it in the way her eyes often drifted to places unseen, the way her laughter had become quieter, more wistful.
Their letters had grown sparse after Pandora's accident, but Harry didn't push her. When she finally began writing again, her words were tinged with a fragile honesty:
I feel like the stars aren't singing to me anymore, Harry. It's as if they've gone quiet, waiting for me to understand something I don't yet know.
Luna's father had grown more withdrawn, burying himself in the depths of his study or disappearing for days at a time. He would emerge occasionally, dishevelled and muttering, before retreating again. Luna tried to keep their home in order, but Harry could see the strain in her.
"Do you think he'll ever come back to himself?" Luna asked one afternoon as they sat in her back garden, Luna playing with a centipede, looking forlorn and harry braiding the last of her hair into a plait and pinning it like a crown.
Harry glanced at her, unsure of how to answer. Luna looked small and far too fragile, her usual ethereal air replaced by something heavy.
"I think it might take time," Harry said carefully. "Grief… it doesn't just go away. But you're not alone, Luna. You have me."
She turned to him with a faint smile, her silver-blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears.
"Promise?"
"Always."
~
Over the months, Harry had introduced Luna to the hidden world of Knockturn Alley, where he worked part-time for the Pritchard's. He had given her a set of rune stones enchanted to create a veil of shadows, similar to the spell he often used.
"All you have to do is activate them like this," Harry had shown her, placing the stones in her hand and murmuring a word in Old Norse. The runes glowed faintly before dimming, and a soft shimmer surrounded her. "Now you're invisible to anyone who isn't looking for you specifically."
Luna's eyes had widened with fascination. "You're quite clever, Evan."
She began visiting him at the shop on weekends, slipping through Knockturn Alley unnoticed. The Pritchard's, while initially wary of Luna's dreamy demeanour, quickly warmed to her.
"She's a bit… odd, but in a good way," Mrs. Pritchard had confided to Harry one evening. "Respectful and polite, that one. Just make sure she doesn't wander off into trouble."
Luna often helped Harry organise shelves or clean, her humming filling the small shop. Between customers, they would practice their languages—Harry improving his Ancient Greek and Luna learning Latin and French.
"You're getting better," Harry said one afternoon as Luna flawlessly translated a line of Latin text.
"I've had a good teacher," she replied with a shy smile.
~
July 30th arrived with an unexpected sense of joy. Luna, ever thoughtful despite her own struggles, had decided to celebrate Harry's birthday early. She met him at Oddments and Obscurities with a small cake carefully wrapped in a box and a beaming smile.
"I couldn't let your special day go unnoticed," she said, placing the box on the shop counter. "It's vanilla, your favourite, isn't it?"
Harry blinked, touched by her thoughtfulness. "It is. How did you know?"
She shrugged with a mysterious grin. "I guessed."
Mr. Pritchard chuckled from the back of the shop. "We'll close early today. Go on, you two. Celebrate properly."
They found a quiet corner of Diagon Alley near a small park where the bustle of the crowds faded into the background. Luna pulled out the cake, and he lit the candles with a discreet flick of his finger, then Luna started singing "Happy Birthday" in her soft, lilting voice.
Harry felt his cheeks flush. He couldn't remember the last time someone had celebrated his birthday—if ever.
"Make a wish," Luna urged, her smile radiant.
He closed his eyes, the warmth of the candles brushing against his face. I wish for this feeling to last—a friend, happiness, and the chance to keep growing stronger.
He blew out the candles, and Luna clapped her hands.
As they packed up the remnants of the birthday cake, Luna turned to Harry, her gaze searching. "Do you ever feel like you're carrying something you can't share with anyone?"
Harry stilled, her words hitting closer to home than she could know. He hesitated, then nodded. "All the time."
She gave him a small, knowing smile. "You don't have to tell me everything, Evan. But I hope you know I'd understand. I can't share everything either, but I'll try my best."
He glanced at her, his chest tightening with the weight of his own secrets.
That evening, as they parted ways, Harry felt lighter than he had in years. Luna had given him something precious: a place to belong, even if only in her company.
"You're my best friend, you know," Luna said as they stood at the edge of the alley, her voice as soft as a whisper.
Harry smiled, his heart swelling with gratitude. "You're mine too."