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. In particular, this piece has a major character death. Please exercise understanding of personal boundaries before and during reading.
Author's Note (Generic Note for the Houses Competition): All my works should be considered to be Not Epilogue Compliant and I treat everything that is not the HP books and the Hogwarts Library Collection as apocrypha (supplementary to canon but still outside of it) and treat it as such (including ignoring it unless it suits me). I also make a policy of not ignoring abusive and distasteful actions/decisions of characters and not handwaving the effects of trauma experienced by characters. If you feel that a character isn't acting like their "canon self" chances are good that it's because of one of these two things and they are merely displaying a more realistic response than they did in canon. Such changes are not considered AU elements, and therefore do not have the same requirements.
Author's Note (Things to Know): fae means "of or like the Fey or a fairy"; passerotto is an Italian endearment that roughly translates to "little sparrow"; wix is a nongendered term for "wizard or witch" and wixen is the group version of the same. The latter may also be used in any way that wizarding can; snakewood is among the strongest woods used for crafting things and holds the distinction of being one of the few types at that strength level that isn't actively endangered.
Author's Note(s): On a possibly unrelated topic, I have always found it interesting how JKR does not capitalize the names of most of her magical creatures, even if said "creatures" are sentient and capable of forming relationships with other humanoids. Like, I've had issues with how she handled a lot of the racism issues in her books, but I think that's perhaps the most innocuous seeming way she showcased her opinion because I've yet to see many other people pick up on it.
Dedication: to the Lady Justicia, who is blindfolded to ensure that all are the same before her and armed with the sword of Truth & Knowledge. May all remember that Your scales are tipped in favor of those to be judged, not in favor of those authorized to judge, and that Your sword smites those who use the authority entrusted to them to spit upon Your edict of impartiality.
Challenge/Competition Block:
Stacked with: Houses Competition (Term 3); Paranormal Phantasm; Lessons Learned; Not Commonwealth; Sky's the Limit; Terms of Service; By Any Other Name; Fem Power Challenge; Ethnic & Present; Gryffindor MC
House: Hufflepuff
Year: 6th
Category: Additional (1047-2532 words)
Prompt: Tragic Love (theme)
Representation: Magic; Learning of Death; Harry Potter; Triad; Saviors/Mothers; Zabinis; Claudia Zabini
Bonus Challenge(s): Creature Feature; One Man's Cow; Second Verse (Not a Lamp; Ladylike - Aggressive; Nontraditional; Found Family; Middle Name; Tomorrow's Shade; Unwanted Advice); Second Verse (Unicorn; Three's Company; Lock & Key; Zucchini Bread; Uncivil Obedience)
Word Count: 2491
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The Discovery
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"Sometimes your eyes are not the only place the tears fall from." – Faraaz Kazi
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Harry arrived home from his weekend away with Garrick Ollivander, and between the general busy-ness that was a conference and just missing the feeling of safety that came with the familiar wards of their flat, Harry hadn't slept much while away. By the end of it, he had been more than ready to curl up in bed next to the bondmate he knew would be home. He wanted both Blaise and Luna, but Blaise's mission wasn't due to be close to completion for at least another week. Being involved with an Unspeakable had its perks—like the sheer breadth and power of Blaise's hidden caches of supplies as a good example—but the long stretches of absence were definitely not one of them.
Luckily, he and Luna had each other to ease the ache of separation from Blaise. They may not have the same relationship with each other that they both shared with Blaise, but their own bond was still just as strong. There was a serenity that Harry felt while around Luna that was unique between them.
He wasn't expecting the door to their flat to be open. Luna wouldn't have done that on herself, obsessed with protecting their home as she was. Blaise wouldn't have either and for much the same reason. Luna and Harry were his most treasured possessions and Blaise's top obsession had always been maintaining their comfort with their home, including their ability to feel safe within it. Leaving the outermost door open left a sizable gap in Luna's formidable wards, in a way which windows did not.
Harry dropped his bag quietly upon the ground and drew his wand from the holster strapped to his thigh. Moving with the silence beaten into him during his childhood with his loving relatives, Harry approached the cracked door. His nose twitched at the combination of scents drifting through the opening. The thick scent of something like rust only barely covered the rich floral scent of Luna's favorite flower, though the scent of heather was stronger than Luna ever permitted it to be.
It took longer than it should have for him to recognize the rust-like scent, despite how it had once been as familiar to him as Luna's camellia perfume or Blaise's sandalwood and patchouli cologne.
Old blood.
Harry rushed forward, desperation overriding caution. He shoved the door open further. Light from the hallway spilled over Luna's crumpled form. The carpet beneath her was dark from her own blood and the normally bright colors she preferred to wear were muted with it as well. Harry choked back a sob as he rushed to her side, knowing it was too late to do anything but unable to stop himself. For so many years, Luna had been his comforter, even before Blaise had come into their lives. Harry gathered her limp body in his arms. This close another scent revealed itself: the distinctive scent of new decay.
A keening sound filled the air, as if someone was in too much pain to be silent.
Time slipped away from him as he lost himself in grief.
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Harry barely noted the movement going on around him and since he was tucked out of the way between Luna's reading chair and the floor lamp beside it, the small army of people around him was just as content to ignore him. Someone had called the DMLE—it was probably Mrs. Buckley from the floor below, since he could dimly remember the old woman finding him before all the chaos started as the DMLE arrived. A small part of him was thankful that he didn't see any Aurors among the officers invading his living room. It was bad enough that someone had killed Luna; it would be worse to learn that Dark magic—or at least what the Ministry considered to be Dark magic—had been used.
He shivered as memories of his experiences with Death Eaters using such magic pressed against him, showing him what his Luna could have experienced if her attacker had been someone of that ilk. His stomach twisted threateningly. What if the person who had attacked—had killed—Luna had done so out of revenge against Harry? What if this was his fault? Who was he joking? This was probably his fault—even if the attacker hadn't been trying to hurt Harry, he had still been the one who left Luna alone to be attacked in the first place. She would still be alive if Harry hadn't abandoned her—and for what? A stupid conference that happened multiple times a year and he could have easily put off attending to until Blaise had been home?
Harry felt his throat close at the memory of his other bondmate. Blaise was going to hate him, and justifiably so. He thunked his head on the wall behind him. Blaise was going to be furious. He was going to leave, which was exactly what Harry deserved for letting this happen. Harry bit his bottom lip viciously to fight back the prickling tears that wanted to escape him. Sniveling wouldn't help anything.
The feel of the magic in the area shifted suddenly, taking on a silken thickness that had meant comfort from the very first time he had felt it. Against his will (and buried in grief for Luna and remembered grief for Sirius), Harry's eyes drifted to the still open door. He was expecting to see Blaise, even though he knew that it was impossible. Instead he saw a woman whose beauty was just as sharp and dangerous as his fae-blooded bondmate and all of it emphasized by bright capri of her expensive robes.
He knew her, even before the knowledge of who she was seeped through the haze that separated him from the world around him. Claudia Zabini extruded the same powerful charisma that her son did and the same spot inside of Harry that bended so easily under Blaise's magic instead of opposing as it did all others softened, ready to yield if demanded. She paused in the doorway, her dark eyes sweeping the crowd in clear search for something or someone. Harry jolted when that gaze settled on him and he recognized the color of her eyes: the exact same shade of purple as Blaise's eyes.
He watched just long enough to see her indigo lips purse and twist into a frown before hiding his face against his curled knees. No matter how much he knew that he deserved it, Harry wasn't ready to see those eyes looking at him with anger and disappointment. He didn't think he would ever be ready for that, even if it had always been inevitable.
Harry always ended up making a mess of things, just like the Dursleys had always claimed.
"Harry, look at me, please?" The words were accompanied by a hand carding through the hair on the back of his head and the scent of jasmine mixed with violets and cypress. He swallowed down the urge to whine and reluctantly raised his head to obey. Claudia's eyes were glittering in a way that Harry didn't recognize, because Blaise's had never behaved like that. Her hands were cool as they cupped his cheeks. "There's my passerotto. Have these beasts offered any comfort at all?"
Harry tried to duck his head again, only to be stopped by Claudia's thumbs beneath his chin and refusing to budge. Her gaze drifted over his face and her frown deepened with whatever she was seeing there. She stroked his cheeks with just the fingertips of each hand before pulling abruptly away with a tutting sound. With the gracefulness of a hunting cat, she stood and turned towards the many wixen that were taking up space in the room, loitering under the guise of investigation. The trailing ends of her natural curls, which sprung out defiantly from the many scalp-tight braids that kept them away from her face and ears, trembled with the magic thickening around her.
"Who is in charge here?" Claudia asked, her tone a firm demand for immediate attention that easily dominated the din of the room. A bald man with a silvery-blond goatee stepped forward immediately. Squinting, Harry thought the man looked familiar, as if Harry had seen a close relative of him a few times. "I have a few questions that only you can answer, Mister…" She paused in silent question.
"Dawlish, ma'am," the wizard said. Harry blinked as remembered a similar man wearing red Auror robes as he trailed behind Fudge. Maybe they were brothers or cousins? "I'll be happy to answer any questions you have."
A slow smile blossomed on Dawlish's face, probably in answer to a twitch of Claudia's lips or something small like that. Harry knew from experience that people always reacted to even the smallest gesture or expression from both Zabinis, even if most of the time said reactions weren't the same tripping-over-themselves that veela like Fleur experienced. There was still quite a bit of a desire to please or at least listen to them—Blaise explained it as magic giving their words and actions more weight. Harry couldn't disagree with that description, even if said weight had never seemed to affect him the same way it seemed to affect everyone else—well, everyone except Luna, but then Luna was an except to a lot of things… or she had been. Harry curled into himself as another wave of grief chilled his insides.
"Mr. Dawlish, can you tell me how much longer you need to be in my son's home? I do understand the need to collect any possible evidence present," Claudia reassured when Dawlish looked like he was about to say something. "I trust that the DMLE will put all due effort to finding the culprit of this horrific crime. However, my sons have lost a bondmate and myself, a most beloved daughter. We would appreciate the privacy to begin mourning as soon as possible. I'm sure a fine gentleman such as yourself understands such a need, especially given the individuals involved in this particular case."
Harry felt the weight of many gazes focusing on him. He had never liked being the center of attention, but combined with the icy pain in his heart, the feeling was particularly heavy. He could just imagine what they must be thinking. It was probably either how pathetic he looked, curled into a ball and trying not to cry—or maybe they were thinking something along the lines of what had been published about him during his fifth year, when he had been accused of killing Cedric Diggory and making up a story about the Dark Lord. Did they think that he was the one who killed Luna? That he was the one who had left her broken and alone on their front room floor? Like he would do absolutely anything to have it been him lying there instead of her, his brilliant Luna who was always so gentle and kind?
He would do anything to be curling around her to take that nap he had been wishing for what seemed like years ago now. He wanted nothing more than to be laying with his head on her chest, right beneath her ribs, and to have her running her fingers through his hair with the soft scratches to his scalp that she would mix in occasionally. Luna had always been the best at teasing the tension out of him, practically tricking him into relaxation.
Did he remember to tell her how much he loved her before he had left for the conference?
Harry's attention drifted again as he tried to remember.
He didn't notice the crowd dissipating under Claudia's watchful gaze as she stood protectively in front of him.
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Harry stood beside one of the posts at the foot of the large bed he had shared with his bondmates. He trailed his fingers down the ivy carved in the snakewood, remembering Luna's approving smile when she had first spotted them on their first night in the bed and the darker tint of Blaise's cheeks as he admitted to commissioning it. Not much could make Blaise blush, not with how much control he had over his every expression. Luna had been the one to add the many blankets they slept with most nights, choosing the textures and weights as carefully as she did the arithmancy for her spell designs. She had wanted them all to be comfortable, even when the stress of their lives outside their home threatened to become unbearable.
He had never slept in their bed alone.
"We can still go to my home, passerotto," Claudia said from the doorway. "If you cannot rest here, it is not a failing. No one will blame you, and if they do, I will set them to rights."
"You don't need to, Lady Zabini," Harry replied, still staring at the bed. Had it always been so big?
"Oh, I see," Claudia said. Something in her tone made him snap his gaze from the bed to her face. Her face had the same blankness that Blaise's got when he was trying not to react to something. The sudden shift from her prior gentleness made Harry wary. "It's like that, is it?"
"I—I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said after swallowing a few times to remove the lump in his throat.
"You're blaming yourself," she stated, "and are pushing everyone away as punishment."
"I'm not—" He stopped speaking as her magic pressed against his. It wasn't painful or even threatening. He trembled under the silent warning for honesty. He closed his eyes and pressed his temple to the wooden bedpost. He still had to swallow a few times before he could continue. "Aren't I to blame? I wasn't here and now—I should have been here. I should have protected her."
"One day, when Death finally gets the gumption to take me," Claudia said, her voice heavy with threat, "I will see Albus Dumbledore again and on that day, I will make him pay for making you think that it is up to you and you alone to save everyone." Harry opened his eyes to stare at her in confusion. "You are not at fault, passerotto. There is nothing you could have done to prevent this and no one of note would place even one iota of blame at your feet. I will devour the heart of any who would dare."
"Blaise—"
"If my son is so foolish," Claudia interrupted smoothly, "then I will eat his heart, too."
The declaration, so simply spoken, broke something in Harry. His fingers glided over the ivy carvings as he slid to his knees, exhaustion and grief finally overwhelming him completely. He didn't notice when Claudia took him into her arms, rocking him against her as he cried for the woman that he loved and had lost.
His beloved.
His comforter.
His friend.
Luna.
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An Ending
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