Luna lay with her head and shoulders propped comfortably against the far arm of the mid-century leather loveseat in Harry's room, her legs angled over his waist and thighs. Her body was softly molded to the contours of the cushions. She thoughtlessly wiggled her toes over the opposite arm as she read, humming softly.
God, she's beautiful. Harry had never felt so intimately comfortable.
They'd taken nearly forty-five minutes to choose a few volumes from the Potter Library, commenting enthusiastically about generations-old handwritten notes in the margins of spell indexes and magical theory texts.
Harry chose a tattered volume, worn from what must have been hundreds of years of reference, with a dark brown leather bound cover, entitled Potions for the Strengthenying & Protection of the Mynde. Luna chose a more recent volume, perhaps 150 years old. It appeared to be a magically annotated record of ancient poetry and fables entitled, Rumors of Faerie.
They settled in the reading nook, shifting to close the gap between them. Harry felt a settled peace when he could feel her against him. He'd always struggled to focus his attention on difficult texts, but restlessness vanished when he sensed her touch.
Despite some archaic spelling, the book Harry had chosen was fascinating. A comprehensive introduction explored the nature of potion craft and its relationship to the magical core of the witch or wizard engaged in it. Snape had never touched on the magical theory behind potions. Harry could recall only sharp demands related to execution, punctuated by snide, superior comments.
But the magical theory behind potion craft was brilliant. Harry was enchanted with the notion. When a wizard engaged in the preparation of ingredients, his magical core was actively, purposefully interacting with those ingredients, prompting them wordlessly to evoke their essence, commanding that essence to engage with the unique essences of corresponding and sometimes contradicting ingredients, in order to yield an interaction which mere spellcraft could never accomplish. Profoundly powerful potions were the product, not merely of correct execution, but rather the orchestrated chorus of execution, emotion, and intention.
The interactions of dark potions, for instance, were most powerful when the witch or wizard harbored hatred, were driven by wicked intentions. A good wizard might never properly execute a dark potion, for if his intentions are not malicious, if hatred doesn't consume him, a significant aspect of the potion is missing altogether.
Likewise, a dark wizard may never find success crafting a potion intended to heal, or to promote peace, or to combat the ill effects of dark witchcraft. Love is absent from his heart, and he intends only self-protection and self-promotion.
These rules, apparently, were especially relevant to potions purposed to protect and promote the mind. Harry hadn't, as it happened, ever considered the potential benefits of such potions. Yet Dumbledore's fears loomed on the horizon of his mind. He considered the potential of whatever "connection" was harbored with Tom, and how destructive that might be.
Harry's finger traced the markings and notes on the margins. This volume held the artifacts of the pursuits of at least a half dozen of his ancestors. As much to be a part of this trans-temporal community, as to explore a means whereby he might protect himself from the vague specter of Tom's nefarious influence, Harry decided just then to approach Potions with a renewed interest, and to attempt a recipe or two within this book. He quickly found two that held his interest.
Intelligentia Concentrata — a potion to hone the efforts of a mind, particularly when attempting to understand a difficult subject
Mens Protecta — a potion to bolster the efforts of a witch or wizard attempting to protect the mind from the infiltration of an enemy
He made a mental note to check his potions inventory for the necessary ingredients included in each recipe, and then he shifted his attention from the book before him to the wiggly toes and the melodic hums of Luna Lovegood.
Luna was enchanted with the volume before her. It was a collection of songs, poems, fables and myths, each relating to the realm of Fairie. It was annotated, with references to extant historical documents that verified or undermined the claims of each work, as well as identifying parallel documents that might influence interpretive efforts.
It was the first volume she'd encountered that seemed to substantiate the influence of lesser fairy communities. She reread a poem, pseudonymously ascribed to Merlin himself, but likely penned in the sixteenth century.
ryver, woode, stoane, and fyre,
accepted, the watchere standes,
ready to praunce to floute and lyre,
the greate fayrie ballroome daunce
As her eyes scanned the words a second time, as if an invisible quill were scratching script in the margins, annotations appeared magically beside each line
"ryver, woode, stoane, and fyre," The text refers to the four elemental races — the chief of the lesser fairies — by their elemental affinity.
"Accepted, the watcher stands." The term 'accepted' refers to the formal social custom, common among lesser fairy communities, to guage the heart of an observer, and in some circumstances 'accept' that witch or wizard into their loose community.
"Ready to prance to flute and lyre, the great fairy ballroom dance." Perhaps the boldest, and most speculative, assertion of the text, the suggestion is plain — those accepted by each of the four elemental fairy races may be granted admission to the realm of Fairie itself.
Luna read the notes, the text again, and then reread the notes. If it was true, she was halfway there.
Luna looked up from her book and noticed Harry's attention. She smiled playfully.
"Hello, Harry Potter."
Harry set his book down on the table to his right, smirked flirtatiously. "Hello, Luna Lovegood." He shifted closer to her, affectionately traced his fingers over the soft contours of her legs. "How's your book?"
"Marvelous. I'm afraid I'll need to spend many more days perusing the Potter Library." She feigned a frown, set her book aside. "You won't be rid of me anytime soon."
Harry laced his fingers between hers, lightly kissed the back of her hand. "You're always welcome."
Luna paused, deliberating. After a moment, her piercing gaze met his directly.
"Harry, what are we?"
His expression shifted slightly, recognizing the importance of the moment. "What are we?"
"Yes." She looked at him with vulnerable eyes, gently tracing his knuckles with her thumb. "You've told me, 'whatever this is, I don't want it to stop.' And I don't want it to stop either. But what is it?"
Harry looked away thoughtfully. "I don't know." He paused. "I mean, I've thought about it a lot. I've never felt this way about anyone."
Luna stirred, pulse quickening. "Have you ever dated anyone?"
Harry shook his head. "No. I mean, I've had crushes before. But next to this they seem silly. Like a vague interest, a distant physical attraction. But this? I've never felt so happy, never been so comfortable. I live for your letters, I can't wait to see you. And when you're here? You're intoxicating. I live for it."
Luna bit her lip, expression shifting slowly, longing. "I really like you, Harry. I'm afraid to tell you how much I like you, how I want to spend every possible moment with you. I don't want to push you away."
Harry leaned closer, affectionately kissed her hand, spoke softly. "I want that too, Luna. I don't want you to leave. You won't push me away. I'm here, Luna, and I won't leave."
At this Luna sat up, crossed leg, facing Harry, her knees against his thighs.
"What about school, Harry?" The fear had been haunting her, surged to the surface and slipped uncontrolled from her lips. "I know how people feel about me at Hogwarts…" She faltered, fought a defeated expression. "...and I understand if you'd need distance."
Harry turned, crossed his legs, turning to face Luna, and set his forehead against hers. "No, Luna." He kissed her forehead, leveled his gaze with compassionate eyes. "Oh, my Luna, I'm so sorry." He kissed her softly, pulled his face away. "No. If you'll be mine, I want you to be mine everywhere. You're beautiful and you're brilliant and you're kind and you're funny, and I don't want any distance, anywhere."
"You want me to be yours?" She looked up with vulnerable eyes, shifted closer.
"More than anything."
At this, they kissed — a soft, slow, passionate kiss of unanchored affection.
Luna pulled away, leaned her forehead back into Harry's. "I want that, too. My perfect Harry Potter."