Harry's bedroom clock ticks steadily as he stares up at the ceiling through the moonlight-grey night. His eyes ache and scratch from lack of sleep, and Andromeda's expecting him early in the morning to pick up Teddy, but he just can't. Like that old, sturdy magical clock, he's impervious to winding down.
The Ministry gala was the most fun he's had in a long time. A delicious meal, easy conversation with friends, and dancing for hours with Luna, all while knowing Teddy was safe and happy with his grandmother… Harry felt more carefree than he has since those stolen weeks with Ginny at the end of sixth year.
Luna's trilling laughter and warm embrace flash through his mind like a solar flare bursting through the night. His heart rate quickens, and he rolls over to smile into his pillow. Ever since they were kids, she's been unapologetically her. It's what he has always admired most about her, even back before they really got to know one another.
But then another memory pushes through. Him and Ginny, laying back against a tree near the Great Lake. Her arms are crossed, eyes fiery, and mouth lifted at the corners as she challenges him on something foolish he said.
If Ginny survived the war, he would have loved her all his life. So how can he build that life with someone else? Sirius once told him that the people who love them never truly die, instead living on in their hearts. Ginny still lives on in him, and her family, and Hermione and Luna. But if Harry chooses to move on, if he lets himself fall in love instead of that half-in, half-out dance he did with Caitlin, does that mean Ginny will be gone as well?
That's assuming he's even capable of loving like that again. If he isn't, that may be even worse.
He rubs his hands against his eyes, trying to clear his mind.
As wrong as it feels to open himself up to someone else, he isn't sure he has a choice when that person is Luna. She draws him in without even trying, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to fall into her orbit. He belongs there, a planet caught up by gravity, and it would hurt more to throw away their friendship than it would to lean into what he's feeling.
Ginny used to make Harry laugh and feel in ways Luna never could, but Luna makes him laugh and feel in ways Ginny never did, too. Unlike with Caitlin, he doesn't feel like he's swerving between trying to find a replacement Ginny and trying to pretend she never existed.
Maybe that's part of moving on: not shying away from change in an attempt to cling to the memories and the could-have-beens, yet not forgetting what he lost either. It carves out the space in between — letting his memories of Ginny be loving, and bittersweet, and unfinished, and ever-present, all while allowing himself to grow however he's supposed to, even if that takes him further away from the boy she loved.
She would want me to be happy, he thinks. For the first time, he believes it to his bones — and what's more, he believes it's possible.
Giving up on the prospect of sleep, Harry crawls out of bed, turns on the light, and hurries over to his desk. The parchment and quill are close at hand, and he quickly scrawls out what could be the most important letter he'll ever write. After a dozen false starts and winding sentences that never end, he rewrites it into something that makes his stomach twist with nerves but at least gets the point across.
Luna,
I hope this letter doesn't wake you, but I need to get something off my chest.
Tonight was one of the best nights of my life, and it wasn't because of the gala; it was because of you. I hope your enjoyment had something to do with me as well.
If it's alright with you, I would like it to be the last as-friends event we go to together. Perhaps our next not-a-date could actually be a date. If you're not interested, or if it's too soon after Rolf, I understand.
Either way, I'm sure Teddy would be thrilled if his favourite globe-hopping aunt could drop in sometime in the next few days. Hermione and I would be glad to see you too.
Harry
He sends it before he can chicken out, then spends the rest of the night second guessing himself. At some point, when the first hints of dawn seep in through the window, he finally passes out from sheer exhaustion.
Mere hours later, claws scratching against the glass stir him from his slumber, and his eyes crack open a sliver as he stumbles over to let the owl in and retrieve the letter.
In a simple but curling script, Luna's reply reads: I would love to go on a date with you, but I hope you're willing to negotiate on not having any more not-a-dates. The rule of three is important, you see, and we've only had two.
Of course it is.
This time, when he sinks back into bed, sleep comes as easily as a summer breeze.