Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. Please practice understanding of personal boundaries before and during reading.

Author's Note(s): This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.

Competition/Challenge Block:
House: Gryffindor
Claimed Pairing: Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)
Day 18: You can talk to your soulmate in your head.
Extra Prompt[s]: Overmorrow [word] (5 Bonus Points)
Word Count: 686

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Overmorrow Promises
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"This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness." – Dalai Lama
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They were like invisible friends.

Harry knew they weren't real. Voices in one's head generally weren't, after all. But it was comforting to know that someone was always there when he needed them. Just by existing (or not existing) they made his life better. It didn't matter if Dudley made sure that none of the other kids wanted to play with him. It didn't matter when the neighbors watched him suspiciously due to what Aunt Petunia said about him. It didn't matter when Uncle Vernon shouted threats at him.

Harry had the voices in his head to keep him company, and so everything was fine.

There was two of them—only the two. That was something at least, right? If he was crazy (and somedays he wasn't certain either way), then he was only a little crazy. And while the feminine voice had some very strange ideas about things, neither of the voices ever suggested that he hurt someone or destroy anything. In the book that Harry had read in the library while hiding from a round of Harry Hunting, that would mean that he needed to be hospitalized, which sounded a lot like being permanently locked in his cupboard. Or maybe just having the voices meant that—maybe the Dursleys knew about the voices and that's why he was locked away when he wasn't doing his chores.

Maybe the treatment he hated so much really was the kindness that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always claimed it was. Maybe he should try harder to be grateful? Even if it was hard to do so when his stomach felt so empty or his body ached.

Harry tried not to discuss the Dursleys with his voices, just in case. If they knew about the Dursleys, what was to keep them from hating him as well? Sure, they weren't real—Harry knew that; he really did—but what if they were? Maybe he shouldn't risk it? Or maybe he should and just deal with the fallout? Did it even matter if his non-existent friends thought he was worthless just like the Dursleys did?

Thankfully, neither of his voices seemed to hear anything that was not directed towards them, unless it was something that the other had directed at him. It meant that he could keep his secret for just a little longer, could put off until tomorrow the decision to tell them about how much he wished that he was anywhere that wasn't Privet Drive. Maybe he could even put it off to the day after tomorrow even—a small part of him warmed as he remembered how Luna (his feminine voice) had once spent an entire afternoon reading to him from what had to have been a dictionary.

'Overmorrow (noun): the day after tomorrow. Once popular in Old English, the term has now fallen into disuse, similar to the term 'fortnight'.'

Neville (his male voice) sometimes did something similar, after the first time Luna had read to him. Luna had a preference for dictionaries and encyclopedias, but Neville's preference was different. He read books on strategy or plants (for his nonfiction choices) or fantasy adventure books. Harry loved those stories. Every mention of magic, even if it was only fictional magic from a fake voice in his head, made Harry feel less like the freak that Aunt Petunia liked to call him whenever she deigned to call him anything other than boy. Harry wanted to offer back stories, to reciprocate the wonderful hours when he could just listen to his voices and bask in the idea of not alone they created with their words, but all he had was what they had already given him or stolen bits from when he was hiding from Harry Hunting.

He should tell them about the Dursleys—they wouldn't hate him, surely. They couldn't do anything though, because (and Harry did know this—he did) they were not real.

As always, he promised himself that he would do it…just not today. He'd do it overmorrow.

And when the day after tomorrow came, he made the promise again, and again, and again….

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An Ending
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