October 2005
"Xenophilius Lovegood's died," Ron announced, entering the small kitchen, his eyes running over the lines of a short missive. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione's head snap towards his direction to gauge for a reaction and though he couldn't deny the thoughts that began swarming around in his head, Harry focused on the mechanics of forcing his fork to his mouth. In that moment, Harry was unsure of how he felt – of how he should feel – and was unwilling to betray any emotion which would allow Hermione to begin analyzing his every move.
Ron moved further into the room, paused to press a kiss to his wife's cheek, and sat on the vacant chair to Harry's right. "Mum said he died in his sleep apparently. Peaceful. There won't be a funeral but apparently Luna's receiving visitors this weekend." Ron set the note on the table, offering it to either Hermione or Harry to read, and turned his attention to the spread of breakfast foods before him. Harry unwillingly met Hermione's eyes and the two stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak first. Hermione sighed, conceding.
"No one would be mad if… I mean to say, no one would blame you if-"
"If I didn't go?" Harry finished her thought for her.
"Yes, if you didn't go," Hermione said, standing. She bent towards the table to begin collecting the empty and dirty dishes but Ron snatched them out of her hands.
"No, you sit," he demanded and stuffed a last bit of toast into his mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I'm pregnant, Ron. I'm not sick or ill or unable to do the dishes," she protested but sat in her chair nonetheless. Ron turned and began clearing the table, allowing Hermione to turn her attention back to Harry. "You've come a long way, Harry. I'm just… I'm afraid that seeing her again or even being back near her house will undo all the progress you've made." Harry fought against the quick snare of anger that flared at Hermione's assumption that he would be easily undone and fall back into his old habits… but he pushed aside the anger and leveled his friend with a stare that he hoped convinced her of his sincerity.
"Hermione, I'd like to be there. It's the correct thing to do… not only for Luna but also to pay honor to Xenophilius' memory," Harry said and stood, pushing his chair back from the table. "He may have betrayed us but we all know that it was done thinking that Luna would be killed otherwise. And besides, for years before that, he was on our side. It's just… it's the right thing to do." Harry excused himself and walked towards his bedroom, across the house.
Fourteen months had passed since the day that Ron sought Harry out from his perch at the edge of Luna's property and though Harry felt every single day of Luna's absence from his life, he would be a liar if he said that he wasn't proud of the man he was today. Harry regarded his reflection and began to dress for the day, slipping his arms into a dress vest over his fitted business shirt and tie. An administrative day meant a day at the Ministry and no need for his typical Auror's garb. As Harry began to pull his tie into a knot, he turned from his mirror and glanced around his small room.
Shortly after his conversation with Ron all that time ago, he and Hermione had invited Harry to move into their home. Harry had begrudgingly agreed and finally accepted the reality of his situation – he desperately needed help. And so, he gave up his small apartment and moved in with his friends a broken drunkard with little to no money to his name. Harry still felt shame when he thought about how he had squandered his parent's inheritance so easily… and on what? Most of his money went towards supporting his party lifestyle and because he refused to work after the War, most of the money vanished. It was only by the grace of Kingsley Shacklebolt and the earnest promises of his friends that Harry had in fact turned a corner that he was granted an Auror's position, and only recently was Harry allowed away from a desk and to take part on the action in the field.
Harry's fingers slowed as they worked over the silk of his tie as his eyes landed on the folded letter on his small desk. "Miss Luna Lovegood" was scratched into the parchment by Harry's own hurried hand and Harry walked towards the letter. Tie forgotten, he picked up the sealed note and opened a side drawer, placing the letter delicately on top of a pile of others, all addressed to the same woman.
Soon after Harry moved in with Ron and Hermione, he had begun writing to Luna. At first, his intentions were to write to her and beg for her to come back to him, to forgive him, to take him back. Harry spent many nights desperately pouring his heart and soul into those early letters only to realize that he had no way of knowing how to reach her. Luna was so guarded in her whereabouts that Harry was forced to simply set the letters aside in hopes that one day he'd be able to give them to her.
But as time passed, Harry began using the letters as a catharsis and a way of self-therapy. Harry would write to Luna about everything – he'd write about his daily dealings at the Ministry or about what his friends were up to. More importantly, Harry would write to her when he felt the darkness creeping in again. He was always aware of it, as though it hung on just the edge of his periphery, and there were times when Harry wanted to give in and fall back into the abyss, swallowed whole by the despair and anger and anxiety. But at those very moments, he would lock himself into his small bedroom and pull a quill, ink, and parchment close and begin to pour himself out onto paper to her. And inexplicably, it worked every single time.
Harry frowned at the stacks of letters and pushed the drawer close. Who knew where Luna was right now and how she'd even be feeling. Harry had no idea the person she had become in all their months apart and could only find glimpses of her personality in The Quibbler. Luna was the consummate professional and betrayed no sign of her own personal life in her writings. As far as he knew, Luna had not been in contact with any of his friends or family and if she had, they were completely silent on that front. Harry wouldn't put any of them in the position to betray Luna's confidence and knew that he was not worthy of the knowledge if Luna did not want him to have it. If Luna ever wished for Harry to know how she had spent their time apart, she would be the one to tell him. No one else.
Harry paused briefly as he considered the idea that Luna may not even want him at her father's memorial service. The thought rendered a swift kick to his stomach and Harry felt momentarily gutted. Surely someone would have made it clear that he was unwelcome, right? Apparently Molly was either in contact with Luna herself or someone who was relaying the messages for her, and that sentiment would have been made known… right? And if he were perfectly honest with himself, why would Luna want to see Harry? Yes, time had passed and Harry had made serious strides to correct himself but Luna had no way of knowing that. For all Harry knew, Luna could very well think he was in a ditch outside of a bar somewhere, drowning in a pool of his own vomit and liquor.
No, someone would make it clear if he were unwelcome - either Molly or Ginny for sure. Though the two had finally made amends with each other, Ginny still held on to protectiveness when it came to Luna. Ginny's voice rang through his mind – "You put your hands on her and she was afraid of you, Potter," Ginny accused, pushing her forefinger square into Harry's chest. "If I ever see you touch her or anyone like that again, I will cut off your fingers and place a curse on you so that you would wish you were dead." Ginny had given Harry that promise and in the next breath thanked him for coming to her engagement party. Yes, if there was one person who would make certain that Harry knew he was unwelcome it was Ginerva Thomas.
From somewhere on the bottom level of the house, Harry heard Hermione calling his name. The two always travelled to work together using the Floo Network. Harry let out a breath and closed his door behind him.