A/N: Wow.
Six weeks ago I wanted to read a story I couldn't find, so I began writing. I'd have been surprised if you told me more than a half dozen others were remotely interested.
65,000 views, 500 follows, 360 favorites, and nearly 250 Kudos later, I'm stunned.
Thank you for the time you've spent imagining this world with me.
Thank you for the outstanding reviews.
I couldn't be more grateful.
The black silhouettes of an unbroken line of impossibly high houses towered over Harry to his right and left, stabbing a stormy sky. Between them stretched an unending alleyway of cracked and broken pavement, lined by splintered fences and punctuated with tall, rusted street lamps casting a yellow, tainted light.
Harry was running terrified, the echoes of tears just visible on his cheeks. He cried out, stumbling as he cast frightened glances behind him. The thick darkness drew nearer, an ominous fog of icy black enveloping the alleyway behind him.
He turned, frantically shaking a gate to his left. It was barred and locked. He trembled, shouting for help.
Finally, he faced the frigid darkness.
Torn, flowing black robes emerged from the icy fog. Harry raised his wand, stumbled over the incantation, collapsed to his knees. He screamed as Dementors fell upon him.
Harry Potter's limp body lay on the cracked pavement. His eyes were open, welling with tears. An eyeless face drew near, dominated by thin, dark lips and a wide, open mouth. Row upon row of teeth were just visible in the darkness.
Time slowed as the Dementor's lips touched Harry's. It lay its body upon him in a display of grotesque intimacy, passionlessly consuming his soul. After a moment, Harry was gone forever, his body an empty, lifeless shell.
Luna wept violently, her body curled tight into a fetal position, her sheets and blanket tossed haphazardly to the floor beneath her four-poster. In a moment of panicked movement she gasped for air and sat bolt upright, trembling, slowly regaining awareness of the bedroom around her.
"Harry!" She cried out, her voice breaking.
She leapt out of the bed, quickly clearing the distance to the round, crimson red door. She turned the knob and rushed out of the room.
Harry blinked awake slowly, some part of him vaguely sensing movement nearby. As he fumbled for his glasses in the darkness, he heard Luna's soft, trembling whisper.
"Harry?"
Her form came clearly into his vision in the cool light of the full moon. She was standing an arm's length from his bedside. Her eyes were swollen, dark pink and puffy. She was flushed, and her cheeks were wet with tears. She seemed a fraction of herself, broken and weak.
Harry pivoted to the bed and stood, clearing the distance between them immediately. "Luna? What happened?! Are you okay?"
She threw herself into him, barely containing her sobs as she dug her face into his neck. He held her tightly, whispering softly into her ear.
"I'm here." He kissed her forehead. "It's okay, Luna."
She pulled her body full into his, fighting for control. "You were gone, Harry." She shook her head violently. "I'd lost you."
He scratched her back comfortingly, pulled her closer. "I'm here. I'm so sorry, darling. It was just a dream, Luna. It was only a dream."
He held her like that, softly whispering comforting words, until her tears were spent. She clung to him desperately, every few moments driving her body further into his. In time, the room was perfectly still, and he could hear only her soft, measured breath.
"I can't lose you, Harry Potter." She whispered into his ears, refusing to let go.
He'd never felt so full. "I'll do everything I can to keep that from happening."
She kissed his cheek softly. Pulled away just far enough to look into his eyes with a longing expression. "Harry, can I…" She hesitated. "Can I stay with you, just for a little while?"
He nodded without a second's thought. "Of course."
He kissed her softly and led her, fingers laced, to his bed. As he lay flat on his four-poster, he turned to look at her.
She was wearing a loose heather cami and a short pair of charcoal jersey pajama shorts. The cut of the tank revealed the gentle contours of her chest; the shorts teased the soft slope of thighs. She was biting her lip with a soft, vulnerable expression. Her lips parted as he pulled her gently onto the bed.
She tucked herself into him, slowly shifting her body to curl into his. She laid her head on his shoulder, pressed her chest firmly to his side and wrapped her arm around his waist, tugging him closer. She lay her thigh across his hip, pulling her right knee to rest her leg between his.
She didn't sleep; she watched him with searching eyes and bated breath. Every few minutes, she pulled closer into him, as if assuring herself that he was, indeed, truly there. She curled into him further, shifting her weight to press her chest firmly into his side, pulling her knee further toward his waist. He felt the weight of her thigh against him, the pleasant pressure of her occasional movement radiating through his abdomen and thighs.
They lay like this for hours. With his left hand, Harry gently traced the contours of her side, following the subtle lift of her waist, dragging his fingers slowly down her thigh, back again to her side. They breathed together, slowly.
It must have been three or four in the morning when Luna stirred.
She shifted her weight, pulling her elbow beneath her in the silence and lifting her chest and shoulders from the mattress. Her face was inches away. She held herself there for a moment, her eyes inches from his, her nose nearly touching his own. And then she kissed him, softly pressing her lips against his. She pulled away for a moment, exhaled longingly, and then drew near again, kissing him in patient waves, her tongue dragging softly, carefully against his lips. As she kissed him, her body adopted a slow, intimate rhythm, pressing with gentle pressure against him again and again.
His body stirred, his heart racing. He returned her kiss, his tongue pressing softly against hers as she parted her lips. She shifted her weight again, and he felt her every movement, her breath against his cheek, her breasts against his chest, her bare legs against his own, the weight of her thigh pressing in waves against his center.
As tension built, suddenly it occurred to Harry that he'd fallen asleep that night in a pair of loose linen boxers.
Luna Lovegood bit her lip, watching Harry — impossibly alive — gently pull her toward his bed.
She tucked herself into him, laying her thigh across his hip and her arm around his waist. He was here, with her, and it was going to be okay. He was here, and she wasn't letting go. At intervals, when her nightmare would surge back to the forefront of her mind, she pulled him closer, curling further into his waist, pulling her knee closer to his hips.
They lay like this for hours.
It must have been three or four in the morning. She knew she needed to get back. She knew she needed sleep. Just a moment longer.
She shifted her weight, hovered her face above his, studying his lashes, his emerald green eyes, the shape of his lips, the movement of his body as he breathed. She wanted to kiss him desperately, and just then she forgot altogether why it might not be a great idea.
She pressed her lips softly into his, for a moment absolutely overwhelmed by the thrill of his presence, his nearness, his shape. She pulled away, exhaled softly.
More.
She pressed into him again, kissing him in unhurried waves, the tip of her tongue dragging softly over his perfect lips. She pressed her body against his, gently shifting, again and again, waves crashing against waves in thoughtless, perfect rhythm.
He returned her affections, his tongue pressed softly against hers, and she felt a warm, pleasant tension between her thighs. She pressed full into him, her right leg extending between his, her thigh pressing full into his center.
She felt a building tension on her thigh, a pronounced pressure focused just below his center. Suddenly it occurred to Luna that Harry had fallen asleep that night in a pair of loose linen boxers.
She shifted her weight away, softly pulling back as she bit her lip flirtatiously.
She sighed, a slow, longing moan. "Harry Potter, I think it's best if I go back to my bed now…"
He blushed, uncomfortably aware of the unfolding dilemma.
"Right. I'm, er… sorry about…"
She interrupted him. "Don't, my perfect Harry Potter. It took every ounce of self control to pull myself away."
He smiled. "Luna, I love every moment I spend with you."
She kissed him softly, pivoted to the bed's edge.
"I'd, um…" He stumbled. "I'd walk you back, Luna, but…"
She beamed, bit her lip again, winked flirtatiously. "Goodnight, Harry Potter."