Luna Lovegood's eyes were wide with wonder—wider than usual, that is. The castle of Hogwarts loomed in front of her, just as magnificent as her mother had described. She had been so young when her mother had passed, yet she remembered everything she'd been told about this place. Seeing it all now—the enchanting silhouette, each spire and turret reaching skyward as though casting spells on the moon itself—was almost more than she could bear. She was beside herself with glee.
The journey to Hogwarts had been quiet. She'd been too preoccupied to really talk to any of her new classmates. She loved her father dearly, but he wasn't the easiest companion, especially after her mother had gone. The air at her home was always tinged with sorrow, making her a silent child. Hogwarts, she hoped, would be better.
She entered the Great Hall and gasped at the ceiling enchanted to look like the night sky, and any nascent worries dissolved. All at once, she was just like any other first-year—awed, giggling, and a little nervous. Her mouth watered at the prospect of all the varied foods her mother had once promised would be at the feast. As she looked curiously around, her gaze met that of a darker-haired boy already seated at one of the long tables. He looked almost startled at the eye contact, as if he was used to being invisible, and quickly glanced away.
And then suddenly, everything went black except for him. He was gently glowing, engulfed in what seemed to be a silver-blue aura. Then the aura grew larger and rushed toward her, soon covering her as well. Her whole body tingled.
Before she knew it, everything was normal again. But she didn't feel normal. What she had just witnessed was what her mother had called "the embrace of destiny." Having the sight to witness it was a rare gift, although the occurrence was not so uncommon.
The embrace of destiny was a sign that one had met their soulmate.
The Sorting Hat ceremony had begun. Luna waited in line, curious about where she would be placed, but also impatient to meet the dark-haired boy. Soon, it was her turn. As the hat dropped to her head, a voice filled her mind.
"Ah, a Lovegood. As unique as your father. And as brilliant as your mother, of course. Ravenclaw, I presume?"
"Ravenclaw would be nice," Luna thought.
"Oh, but I see a little niggle…something on your mind…a young man perhaps?"
Luna was not the blushing kind, but her cheeks colored.
"Theodore Nott. A Slytherin, like every other Nott who has walked these halls. Yet not every snake is wary of eagles. So worry not and let it be... RAVENCLAW!"
The hall erupted into polite applause, and Luna floated over to the Ravenclaw table, her eyes shining with excitement. She stole a glance toward the Slytherin table, locking eyes with the boy—Theodore—for just a moment. He looked away again, but not before Luna saw a complex interplay of emotions cross his features.
Theo was anxious to leave. Draco Malfoy was busy obnoxiously interviewing the first years newly sorted into their house. The other second years mostly watched on, curious to see what the new hierarchy would be. Theo wouldn't have cared even on a normal day, but today he felt especially indifferent. Everything was kind of buzzing, and he felt a deep sense of disquiet. The meal finally done, he got up to leave. As he turned around, the object of his unease was sticking her hand out at him.
"Hello," she greeted softly, her voice gentle yet confident. "I'm Luna Lovegood. I'm your soulmate."
For a split second, it didn't seem strange. In fact, it seemed only natural that this is how she would introduce herself. But then he heard Pansy giggle at something undoubtedly boorish Crabbe did to one of the first years and he remembered the world he was actually in—the real world, where strange blondes didn't claim to be people's soulmates at first glance.
"Are you insane?" he heard himself ask. For good measure, he added, "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave me alone!"
Her eyes watered, and he pushed back the strange part of him that wanted to offer her comfort.
"It was nice to meet you, Theodore Nott," she said, smiling despite the tears threatening to fall. And then, she was gone.
He had a moment of panic that the other Slytherins had overheard their conversation. Mad as she might be, he didn't want her to be bullied. To his relief, most had already left, eager to go back to their dorms after a long summer away. The few stragglers were busy catching up or helping shepherd the first years.
It was only as he was starting to fall asleep that he wondered how she knew his name.
The years rolled by for Theo, mundane except for the occasional terrifying lecture about "The Dark Lord's Return" from his father. Luckily, the senior Nott considered his son a coward of little mettle and largely left him alone. So Theo stayed on the sidelines, where he was comfortable—observant but invisible. And from the sidelines, he couldn't help but notice Luna Lovegood.
Luna, not Loony, no matter what the others said.
There was something captivating about her. It wasn't the jewelry or the dreamy way she spoke; in fact, he barely registered her eccentricities. It was just her—something deeper about her—and often he found it difficult to tear his eyes away. It irked him, for reasons he couldn't articulate, that she was so often the target of ridicule. Her belongings would go missing; people would set cruel pranks to embarrass her. And each incident gnawed at him a little more.
She never seemed fazed by it. Always drifting through the halls with that unfaltering smile on her face, like she was in on a secret that nobody else was privy to. But Theo wasn't naive. He knew that the human spirit, no matter how resilient, had its limits.
So, he found himself doing something entirely out of character. Every now and then, cloaked by the darkness of the night and further protected by the best Disillusionment Charms he could cast, he would make his way to Ravenclaw Tower. Entry required only one's wits, so he'd whisper the answers to the knocker's riddles and infiltrate the common room with little trouble.
The Ravenclaw Common Room was a far cry from the cold, dungeon-like atmosphere he was used to. The airy, circular room was adorned with celestial motifs, full of midnight blues and silver accents. His heart warmed the first time he saw the space—bullying aside, it was clear that this was the perfect environment for Luna. Here, among the sofas and bookcases, he would find her missing shoes or vanished quills. With a flick of his wand, he'd restore her belongings to their rightful places.
During one of these nocturnal missions, he stumbled upon her diary, accidentally left out on one of the tables. The pages were filled not just with her day-to-day musings but also with intricate sketches of magical creatures—ones Theo had never heard of. He was about to close it when a particular entry caught his eye.
It was a sketch of mistletoe with strange creatures on it, annotated, "Although it hasn't been documented, it seems Nargles sometimes return what they take." He quickly shut the diary, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He had never considered the possibility that Luna knew her things were missing and being returned—he thought she'd just assume she'd misplaced the items, spacey as she was.
Another time, he found her Spectrespecs lying askew next to a shredded copy of The Quibbler. With a careful Reparo, the magazine was whole again, and he placed the Spectrespecs atop it. He couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment as he melted back into the shadows, but told himself these expeditions were merely a stimulating challenge he enjoyed and that was all.
Besides the Nargles entry, he saw little evidence that she suspected anything awry. He liked it that way; he didn't need her to know, so long as her life was made a bit easier. His teenaged mind allowed him to ignore the obvious question of why he would care to improve her situation.
Perhaps he would have made such an inquiry in due course, but as it turned out, bigger things were soon afoot.
"He Who Must Not Be Named returns," cried The Daily Prophet. His father had been arrested along with ten others; there had apparently been an ambush in the Ministry. He didn't bother to contact his father or try to appeal his sentence; he was only grateful that he'd been left out of all of it. Rumors were that Draco was not so lucky, that he was being punished for his father's failure.
His world was falling apart, and yet there was only one thing on his mind. She had been there that day in the Ministry, which meant she would be on the front lines of whatever horrors would surely follow.
The news of Luna's imprisonment at Malfoy Manor sent shivers down Theo's spine. He was confined to the castle walls, forced to witness the creeping takeover of Hogwarts by the Carrows and Snape. The atmosphere had become stifling, suffocating. Students disappeared or were pulled out by concerned parents, and those who remained wore expressions of quiet despair. Still, it was Luna he couldn't shake from his thoughts.
He found himself constantly fidgeting with the small, worn talisman his mother had given him years ago. It was a simple thing—just a piece of faded metal etched with runes for protection. He held it tightly between his fingers, rubbing the engraving as if trying to imbue his prayers into the very metal. His nightly ritual consisted of him sitting alone, the talisman cupped in his hands as he whispered words of safety, strength, and resilience, directing them toward Luna.
It never felt like enough. He knew he was helpless, shackled by his circumstances and his family's expectations. He could do nothing more than observe as students were led away for "special lessons" with the Carrows, returning broken and battered. If this was their fate, what horrors was Luna facing, imprisoned as she was?
Theo had never felt so trapped, confined not just by the walls of Hogwarts but by his own limitations. The talisman became a manifestation of his anxiety, his hope, his guilt. He compulsively read the Daily Prophet, ever fearful that Luna's name would appear among the casualties.
He refused to participate in the school's now sanctioned cruelties but the the Carrows and his Slytherin peers dismissed him as dim-witted rather than rebellious. His father's notorious reputation saved him from any repercussions or questioning.
His school work suffered, his friendships dwindled to nothing, but none of that mattered. Each whispered prayer to the talisman was a plea to the universe, a feeble attempt to counterbalance the darkness that had enveloped the world. It was all he could do, and yet it was agonizingly insufficient.
The war was over. There was much debate about what was to be done with the families of Death Eaters.
That was until Hermione Granger and Harry Potter testified on behalf of Draco. After that, it seemed in poor taste to punish the other Slytherin children who had been accused of much less. "Children," being the term favored by the Ministry to help absolve them all of any culpability. Theo certainly didn't feel like a child, not after all that had occurred.
The judicial aftermath of the war took over a year, during which they confiscated his mansion. He was almost sorry when they let him have it back. With his father dead, Theo was now completely alone and free to do as he pleased with his enormous fortune.
He mostly drank. Pansy and Blaise did too. Draco joined them on occasion but was on some kind of redemption mission and had accepted a lowly position in the Ministry, working for Hermione Granger of all people.
When he wasn't drinking, he was attending one of the many post-war events—some celebratory, others mournful, and yet others that tried to be both. Armed with Galleons, he donated generously at all of them to try to compensate for the sins of the Nott name.
Today was different, though. Today, he was standing in a room filled with art, each piece a window into Luna Lovegood's soul.
It was part of an ongoing series he'd helped fund at the art gallery. "Supporting new artists is a way to bring color into the bleakness of the post-war world," someone had pitched at yet another charity gala. He'd wordlessly made the donation they asked for. When he received the weekly invite and saw that this time it was Luna who was featured, his heart nearly stopped.
The gallery was adorned with various depictions of magical creatures—each rendered with a dreamy quality but sharp attention to detail. Mooncalves, Nifflers, and Bowtruckles adorned the walls. Yet, it was the Thestral painting that caught Theo's eye.
The canvas was dark, illuminated only by the ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from the Thestrals themselves. It wasn't just the artistry that captivated him; its essence moved him. The painting spoke of deep loss, but also acceptance and a strange sort of peace. These were creatures visible only to those who had seen death, and their portrayal seemed to honor that heavy qualification.
It was raw and hauntingly beautiful, much like Luna herself. He thought of the Thestrals at Hogwarts—how they were feared, misunderstood, yet peaceful—and how much they reminded him of Luna. Both were beautiful enigmas, veiled to all but a few. Both became visible to many after the events of the war.
"I'd like to buy this," he announced, turning his gaze from the painting to find Luna near the entrance, talking to a small group of admirers. It was the second thing he'd ever said to her after that fateful conversation on her first night at Hogwarts that changed the course of his life.
She detached herself from the crowd and approached him.
"I can't sell it to you," she said, her voice quiet but even.
"Is it already sold?" A twinge of disappointment seeped into Theo's tone.
"No, but I can't sell it to you," she repeated, her eyes unwavering.
Theo's heart sank. Of course, she wouldn't want to sell to him, the son of a Death Eater. He didn't blame her, especially not after what she'd endured at Malfoy Manor. Perhaps another would have lied or deflected, but Luna, being Luna, was honest. It was one of the things he loved about her.
A side effect of Theo's newfound alcoholism was that he no longer had the ability to lie to himself. He accepted that he was desperately, pathetically in love with Luna Lovegood, unfit though he was to even look her way.
"I understand," he replied and left as quickly as he could without causing a scene. He felt Luna's curious eyes bore into his back the whole way out.
Weeks had passed since the art exhibition, yet the memory of it, particularly his interaction with Luna, was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.
"I can't sell it to you," she'd said.
He swung between despair and a desperate need to prove her wrong, to show her he could be good.
This could have gone on for months, years even, had it not been for an offhand piece in The Daily Prophet. He'd retained his wartime habit of compulsively reading the paper. Someone had left a painting, a note saying "I'm Sorry," and a bag with 5,000 Galleons at Ollivander's shop. The painting was made by Luna—a touching portrait of Ollivander himself as she remembered him from their shared time in captivity. A bleak subject for anyone else, yet in Luna's hands, this too was an image of hope.
The paper reported Ollivander's bewilderment and gratitude for the gift, ending with the statement: "We have contacted Miss Lovegood for comment and although she confirms she did sell the painting in question last week, she will not reveal who she sold it to."
Theo didn't need her to. There was only one person with the resources and reason to take such an action.
He Floo'ed into Malfoy Manor.
"How did you do it?" he asked, not bothering with any greetings.
Draco was confused at first—likely Ollivander was one of many attempts at recompense he had made in recent weeks, and besides, he wasn't a newspaper consumer like Theo so he probably hadn't even encountered the story.
When he finally understood that Theo was asking not about the money but the painting, he shrugged. "Hermione told me that Lovegood was struggling. Her father died and their newspaper was worthless, so she was left with nothing. I owed her one after everything that happened at the Manor and wanted to try to make it up to Ollivander too, so I thought I'd commission a painting. She didn't accept the full sum of what I wanted to pay her, but she did take some of it at least."
Theo's head was pounding. Usually, he would have probed Draco's use of "Hermione's" first name, but there was no room for that thought. The only thing on his mind was that Luna had sold Draco that painting, which meant she had no opposition to transacting with the children of Death Eaters—heck, Draco had been a Death Eater himself! And if she was struggling as Granger claimed, every sale mattered - so why did she turn him down?
"Where is her studio?" he managed to ask.
"Whose? Lovegood's?" replied Draco. He wrote down a Floo address, frowning slightly. "Why, do you want to commission a painting too?"
"Something like that," said Theo. Wasting no time, he disappeared into the Floo, calling out the address he'd just been given. Draco was bemused but shrugged again—the war had done strange things to people, and if Theo wanted a painting so badly, he should have one.
"Why didn't you let me buy the painting?" Theo blurted out, his voice laden with tension. He found himself in a studio with no furniture but every manner of art supply. Finished pieces lay around the space. Luna was on the floor, painting.
Her eyes met his, their usual dreamy quality tinged with a somber depth as she pushed herself up to stand. He stared at her, desperate, and she finally responded, "I couldn't bear to let you have yet another piece of me, Theodore. Maybe Mother was wrong about soulmates, but it's too late. Once I gave you my heart, I've never quite been able to take it back. Mother also said the things we lose have a way of coming back to us, but perhaps she was wrong about that too."
The word 'soulmates' reverberated through Theo's mind like a haunting melody. He'd always thought she'd forgotten their first meeting. She'd never spoken to him again, never even glanced his way once. He'd know — he was always looking at her, seeking her out. He'd never dreamed that she'd paid him any mind. And yet, here she was saying…he could scarcely allow himself to process the implications.
Overwhelmed, he stammered, "Y..your mother... she wasn't wrong about any of it. I may not deserve your heart, but I love you. And your painting—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
He'd always been reserved—building walls around his emotions as naturally as he breathed. And yet, in that moment, Luna had effortlessly disassembled them, leaving him exposed. Her eyes searched his.
After a long pause, she laughed. It was a bitter laugh that Theo hated, that had no business coming from that beautiful soul.
"Loving me isn't the same as admiring my work, although I am flattered…" Luna began.
"I don't love you because of your work," Theo interrupted. "I love your work because it is you who made it, because it reminds me of you. I've loved you since the moment I met you, since you told me you were my soulmate. I don't know how you knew, but you were right. I was a stupid boy - I should have thanked Circe, Merlin, I should have taken your hand at least instead of sending you away…"
"My being stupid, however, does not mean that I have not loved you every day since. Loving you is the only thing I have done that is worth anything, and even that is worth precious little because I couldn't protect you, couldn't fight for you. But do not say I don't love you. I have only ever loved you. I will never love another.
"And I wish I could return your heart because I am not worthy of it, but know that in return you have not only my heart but anything of me that you desire. My devotion, my time, heck, every galleon to my name is yours as far as I'm concerned. Your wish is literally my command, I would do anything for you. How can I prove myself? A marriage proposal? I'd marry you tomorrow if you wanted, I'd marry you right now."
Theo's voice grew increasingly desperate as he went on, but Luna's smile only deepened. Her real smile, enigmatic but sincere, so unlike the bitterness from moments ago.
"You offer a lot, Theodore Nott, but maybe I can ask for one thing not on your list."
"Anything," he replied.
"Kiss me," she said.
He approached her tentatively, intending to merely drop a respectful peck upon her lips, but found himself drawn as though to a magnet. He kissed her like she was his salvation. He was electrified - in that moment he knew he would never drink again because there could never be such a high as this. When she deepened the kiss, he felt he was ready to die then and there, if not for the fact that he now had so much to live for.
Gasping, they broke apart. "You will marry me, won't you?" he asked.
Another woman may have demurred or given him a playful fob off, but this was Luna. So she simply said, "Not today, but soon."
Soon. Soon was good. And in the meanwhile, he would hold her hand, kiss her, tell her all the ways he'd loved her, buy her flowers, and learn about her mysteries and secrets.
And when she let him, he would marry her and try to give her the very best he could, a pittance though it was. Maybe they would have children or maybe they would travel the world looking for rare creatures or maybe she'd let him just look at her for the rest of his life.
It didn't really matter. He already had everything.