~Sinking In~
They fell in love during Harry's seventh year. After his kiss with Cho. After his fling with Ginny. When Harry felt as if he was losing everyone and everything, Luna was there, and when Luna felt as if her presence no longer mattered in the grand scheme of things, Harry was there. They passed each other in the hallway—just saying 'hello' at first, and then lingering to talk longer. She told him things she'd never told anyone, and Harry told her things he'd only told Hermione and Ron. Once, he sneaked out in his father's cloak and they spent the night among Thestrals and overgrown wildflowers. In the morning he blushed to find himself huddled to her for warmth, but Luna was undisturbed and happily herself. That was his last time of peace at Hogwarts.
When he was out searching for the Hocrux Harry was thankful to have his best friends at his side like always, but at his lowest moments he found himself craving the presence of a certain, quirky witch. Her bright spirit, her witty comebacks, her love for magical creatures. She always smelled like lilacs and something else—a smell he associated only with her. She smelled like Luna. Harry started smelling her in the trees of a random forest and whenever he sat down to eat; on his clothes in the Ministry of Magic and in his dreams. He starting seeing (or wanting to see) her face in the clouds and imagined it was her hair tickling his skin instead of the wind. Hermione and Ron thought he was still pining after Ginny at first, but the one Harry wanted to see the most was Luna.
At Xenophilius Lovegood's house, after he told them that Luna had been taken it was as if all the air had been sucked out of Harry's lungs. His relief at seeing her unharmed in that dark basement was the only thing tethering him to reality while Hermione was tortured. She didn't even have to say anything. She held his hand and Ron told them that he loved Hermione and for the first time Harry thought he understood what that meant.
When Dobby died Luna was there. She closed his eyes and brushed the back of her hand against Harry's cheek.
"Oh, my heart," she said, and hugged him. Even though he couldn't see her sweet face through his tears he could feel her heat and knew that she was also sad. Sad because Dobby was dead and sad because Harry was heartbroken. His pain gave her pain and it was in that moment that Harry first wondered if maybe she cared for him as more than a friend. Because his pain was hers and her pain was his.
After the death of Voldemort and Harry no longer knew what to do with himself, Luna found him among the rubble of Hogwarts' once longstanding walls.
"There you are, Harry," she said. She smiled and it was a tired smile but still genuine. There was a streak of dirt on her brow and her hair was messier than he'd ever seen it. Her clothes were torn with blood splatter on several places. She was just as bruised and battered as he was and yet she could still think of a reason to smile, and that reason was him.
Harry started to cry. It wasn't as if he could help it. He knew he could let his guard down around Luna. He had been doing that since the very beginning.
She wrapped her arms around his waist. She was shorter than him and her face nestled perfectly into the hollow of his neck. She was shaking a little and he realized that she was crying, too. Together they wept for all that had been lost. The moon was high in the sky when they finally wiped the tears from their eyes and laughed a little over how wet their clothes were and how puffy their eyes felt.
She was the first one to say it, and to this day Harry wishes he had beat her to the punch.
"I love you, Harry Potter."
Not an answer. Not a question. Not even a statement. Luna said the words as fact and she may have been blushing but it wasn't from embarrassment or fear. She felt no shame in loving him, and she did not tell him because she was being brave (though she was the bravest Ravenclaw Harry knew) but because she was Luna, and she wanted him to know.
"I love you, Luna," he said. He held her in his arms and she sighed with contentment and exhaustion. And that was that. It wasn't flashy, it wasn't dramatic, but it was real.
It was love.
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