Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, which is probably a good thing in the long run.
A/N: Yep. I don't even know where this one came from. It was one of those odd little ideas that fiddles about in your brain until you write it down. So I wrote it down.
Enjoy!
"You know, Luna, I've been thinking."
"Oh?" Luna answered distractedly, her head stuck in the latest copy of the Quibbler, "A dangerous exercise, for sure."
"Yes. Yes it is." They were in Luna's living room, her father's house having been passed down to her after he had died in the war. It was still as eccentric as ever though, even without his influence. Though, Harry supposed, he had influenced his daughter enough that he lived on, in a way, through her. Maybe literally. It would explain a lot, that's for sure, and stranger things had happened.
Neither spoke for a few minutes, Luna happily curled up in an armchair reading her magazine, checking for errors before she sent out the evening copy, and Harry lying on his back in front of the fire, staring up at the daisy patterned wallpaper which covered the ceiling and thinking. Thinking very, very hard.
"I've been thinking a lot."
"Oh? You really should wear some kind of safety equipment then, Harry. You don't want to hurt yourself. You could end up maimed or dead."
"Luna... I'm the Master of Death. I can't get maimed, or die."
"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about that. Well, regardless, you should be careful. Set a good example, and all that." Harry chuckled, reminded yet again just how much he loved Luna. She kept him down to earth, kept him from getting carried away. And when you were more or less immortal and in control of not only an unbeatable wand, but had the power to disappear from sight any time you wanted, it was pretty hard not to get carried away. It was like giving a toddler a million pounds and telling them not to spend it all on sweets and toys. It was very hard to make it work.
"Don't you want to know what I've been thinking about?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Only if it isn't dangerous."
"Oh. Maybe not, then," Harry grinned.
"Hermione, I've been thinking," Harry said without preamble as he took a seat next to his best friend in the Ministry cafeteria.
"Oh?" she asked, looking up from her lasagne with a frown on her face, "What about? And what are you doing here? I thought you quit the Aurors?"
"Yeah, I did. Just thought I'd come to visit you. But what I've been thinking about is that I know why the wizarding society is so fucked."
"Harry! Language!" Hermione scolded, waving her fork at him. Harry rolled his eyes, unconsciously rubbing his collarbone where a tiny tattoo of the symbol of the hallows was inked into his skin. Or magicked into it. He wasn't really sure how it had worked. It was a nervous gesture, one he had picked up over the last few years, and one that annoyed almost everyone who knew him no end. Luna said it was because it reminded them of all that he, Harry, had sacrificed for them all during the war and therefore reminded them of the debt that they all owed him. Harry said that his friends weren't that deep, and it was more than likely just because it was irritating. Like how it always annoyed him that Ginny always had scabs on her knees from playing Quidditch. It was just one of those things.
"Sorry, Hermione," he apologised dutifully, "But don't you want to know why our world is so screwed up?" He was beginning to get slightly annoyed. This was the second time he had tried to tell somebody his amazing, mind-blowing, revolutionary idea, and it was proving remarkably harder than he had expected. Well, he had been expecting resistance from Luna- she resisted anything that smelt like logic, but not from Hermione. He had expected her to be enthused and interested, ready to research at the drop of a hat. And not quite so concerned with picking the lumps of tomato out of her lasagne.
"Yes, yes, of course," she answered breezily.
"It's because," Harry answered in annoyance, "Nobody ever bloody listens!" And with that, he stood up and stormed out of the cafeteria, though he wasn't quite quick enough to miss the call of "Language, Harry!" that followed him.
"Ron, have you got a minute? I've been thinking about something, and I tried talking to Luna and Hermione but, well, you know how Luna is, and Hermione was picking the lumps out of her lasagne, so I couldn't talk to her and really, I just want someone to hear me out, because it just seems too simple and I know I must be wrong, I know that this can't be the way to solve all of the problems we have, and yet it just seems so obvious, and it seems like it could work, you know?"
"Huh?" Ron grunted eloquently, through a mouthful of cake.
"It's just, you know how everything's basically gone to shit in the wizarding world since the war? And well, how it was basically gone to shit anyway, before the war happened and fucked it up some more?" Ron nodded slowly, a slightly glazed look in his eyes. "Well, I think I might have an idea, you know, as to how we can solve it. Make everything better. Stop all of this ridiculous shit happening. Are you following so far?" He asked this last because Ron still had that glazed look in his eyes, the look he got anytime Hermione said anything remotely intelligent. The look that meant he was looking at you in an effort to pretend he knew what the hell you were talking about. Harry now knew how Hermione felt all the time, though this wasn't exactly a hard concept to grasp.
"Yeah, yeah, I am, mate, but you see, I've really gotta go, sorry mate," Ron stood up, the last of his slice of cake in his hand and walked hurriedly out of the coffee shop.
"Does it not seem strange to anyone else that we keep love locked up in a room without a key?" Harry asked desperately, hoping that somebody around him would listen, as it was clear that his friends had no intention to do so. Unfortunately for Harry though, he was in a muggle coffee shop, so the only answer he got was some very strange looks.
"I've been thinking," Harry said, pacing up and down in front of the door. It wasn't just any door, of course, but the locked black door behind which, Harry hoped, laid the salvation of wizarding kind. "I've been thinking very, very hard, and I think the conclusion to which I've arrived is perfectly logical." More logical than talking to a door, at least, but it was the only one that would listen. Or at least, the only one that wouldn't interrupt/show a distinct, uncharacteristic lack of interest/ run away.
"Behind you, some centuries ago, some well-meaning, Dumbledore-esque witch or wizard locked away love. The love of the wizarding world. I honestly can't see why anybody would do that, but then I've never understood why people do a lot of things. But anyway. So the love of the wizarding world was locked away, behind you, and so for hundreds of years we have been surviving on the minimum amount of love that we are capable of.
And love is important in magic, right? Love is the most powerful kind of magic there is, so when a witch or wizard like myself or my mum or Dumbledore comes along, with a slightly higher than average propensity for love, we are hailed as something miraculous, something incredible. Because we have the power of love, right?
Well, what if every witch and wizard had the power of love? What if we all, instead of being able to love the minimum amount, could love the maximum amount? We'd never have monsters like Tom, that's for sure. We wouldn't have parents like the Malfoy's forcing their children to be murderers. We wouldn't have any of the ridiculous shit that litters our world.
This is all just a theory, you should know. It's a theory I've been thinking long and hard about for at least a week now. But what I think is that it really is this simple. What we need more of in the wizarding world is love. And what do we happen to have locked behind an unopenable door? A shitload of love. Seems easy really, seems logical. But we both know that most wizards aren't logical. And, I suppose, we both know that I'm probably the only wizard who will be able to do this."
Harry took a deep breath and stopped his pacing, standing directly in front of the locked door. He could hear the hammering noises of fists and spells trying to bash through the other doors that led off from the chamber, but he ignored them. It was to be expected, after all, if one decided to lock all the doors in the Department of Mysteries in the middle of a busy work day at the ministry. He drowned them out, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he raised the Elder wand, ready to change the course of the wizarding world for good. He hoped. Or, at the very least, make a big enough explosion that somebody would have to listen to him. That would be nice, too.
"Alohomora."