"You want me to be yours?"

"More than anything."

"I want that, too. My perfect Harry Potter."

From that moment, Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood were free. Something about that conversation, the explicit expression of their commitment, unbridled their mutual affections. Meaningful glances, comforting touches, soft kisses, playful flirtations were the steady rhythm of their every moment together.

After lunch, Harry led Luna to the potions lab.

He brought the book, laid it open on the work table, and turned bashfully to Luna. "I know this may seem a little silly, but I found this book fascinating and I'm fairly certain I have the ingredients necessary for at least one of these potions. Would you like to help me?" He smirked nervously, feeling vulnerable. "It's just that I can't do magic here — No. 4 1/2 isn't warded like your place is. But I'd love to continue to build my knowledge and make some use of my time."

Luna was delighted. "I'd love to help! I truly enjoy potions, Harry — it's one of the few activities I still share with Daddy. I'm not as qualified as he is, of course, but I'm quite comfortable before a cauldron."

Harry was thrilled. "Thank you. I'm a bit embarrassed to be this excited. Does that make sense? I guess I'm just learning that it's okay to be excited about learning. Hermione always wore that hat, but Ron was adamantly opposed to such efforts. I sort of took a middle ground, never truly applying myself to any subject other than Defence Against the Dark Arts. But now that I'm here, surrounded by the wizarding world's best texts, a potions lab, and a brilliant witch, I can't help but imagine the possibilities."

Luna caught the compliment, blushed, then nodded with furrowed brow. "As far as I can tell, I like Ron. But I hate that you felt pressured to distance yourself from such brilliant opportunities as Hogwarts affords." Her melodic tone turned aethereal, as she scanned the shelf of ingredients. "Our world is bursting with magic, Harry Potter, truly beautiful magic. To pretend that any opportunity to search that world, to find and behold that magic, is anything less than a dramatic privilege seems like tragic foolishness."

At this, they began discussing which potion to attempt, finally landing on Intelligentia Concentrata. It was a relatively simple recipe; preparation was quick, and (assuming the best) the potion would be ready within three days. They also noted that consumption of the potion (if it worked) might strengthen their efforts to grapple with more difficult tasks.

Intelligentia Concentrata

A pocioun to honne the endevours of a mynde, particularlye when laboring to vnderstand a difficult subiecte

Ingredients

1 dram Griffin Clawe

2 Billywigge Stings

1 Newt's Eye, dryed

6 Lacewing Flies

5 tufts Knotgrass

Beginne with 2 gallons of standarde pociouns base (seuen partes highland springe water, one parte freshe rainwater). Bring to soft boyle. Add ground Gryffin's Claw, fifteien graines every 15 minutes. Waite until mixture glowes a soft emeralde greene. Adde both Billywigge Stinges after crushing with a dull, siluer knife. Lette simmer for 24 houres. Waite until mixture captures surroundyng lyght. Pierce the Dried Newte's Eye and adde with 4 Lacewing Flyes. After 2 houres, adde the remaining Lacewing Flyes, grounde. Waite 26 houres. Mixture should be whispering softly in an indiscernible language. Adde 5 tuftes of Knotgrasse, one every twenty minutes. Finished pocioun should issue a soft siluer haze, and smelle like freshlye clipped rosemarie.

They worked together beautifully, interrupting their diligent efforts occasionally with flirtatiously play and affectionate touch.

First, they readied ingredients. Harry stood behind Luna, reaching with his right arm around her for the box labeled "Griffin Claw." He paused mid-stretch, reaching his left arm around her and pulling her waist into his with an open palm just above her navel. Face pressed to her hair, he whispered, "You always smell like Lavender, Luna Lovegood. And that's my favorite scent." She flushed, placed her hand over his, pressing it further into her abdomen, stirring as she felt his body pressed against hers. She turned her head into his, their lips met, and they kissed, carefully and slowly. She nudged her nose into his, pulled away for a moment. "We should craft potions together more often," she whispered, smirking flirtatiously.

She set the cauldron to a soft boil as Harry ground the Griffin's Claw. After readying the Billywig Stings, she flirted for his attention. She peeked over his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist. He laughed as she squeezed him tightly, commented on his unfortunate singular focus. As her arms released the embrace, she let her fingers trail over his firm abdomen, one hand falling to just rest on the clasp of his jeans. She let the weight of her arm hang just a moment on his belt. She felt him tense, sensed a slow exhale.

After the Griffin's Claw was ground, they took turns adding fifteen grains (just less than a gram) every fifteen minutes. While they waited, they made plans.

They agreed that the best use of their summer should include exploring the Potter Library. A mastery of magical theory seemed within their reach, and the ability to brew potions simultaneously was an added perk to remaining at No. 4 1/2. But they also agreed that strengthening their spell work was an opportunity they shouldn't ignore, especially considering they'd made such excellent sparring partners. In the end, they agreed to spend every other day at Luna's home, for practical magic, unless a potions recipe called for their attention at Harry's place. Neither of them considered for an instant spending a moment apart.

They left the cauldron glowing a soft, emerald green.

As soon as they arrived in the dining room, hearty portions of Shepherds Pie, Yorkshire pudding, Fish & Chips, and Cornish Pasties appeared tabletop. They sat beside one another on the far bench facing the garden. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder on occasion, tracing the curve of his feet with her toes.

They spoke of potential. The potential of potions, the potential of fairies, the potential of summers used well. As they dreamed, a gravity seemed to pull them together at every interaction. They were fundamentally drawn to one another.

After another hour reading together, this time on the overstuffed crimson sofa in Harry's living room, the thin hours of several short evenings began to weigh heavily on Luna. She closed her book, pulled away from his loose embrace, stretched, and yawned widely.

"I don't want to leave, Harry Potter, but I'm afraid you may need you to walk me home."

They strolled slowly, hand-in-hand, to the far hedge of the nearby primary school. She turned into him at the last moment, pressing her body full into his, with her arms wrapped around his waist. He clung to her tightly.

"Thank you, Luna, for today. May I see you at your place tomorrow?"

She released the embrace, nodded, yawned sleepily, kissed him gently, and picked up a rusty tin can, punctured on one end, with a loose thread attached.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Luna?"

"Write to me tonight?"

"Of course."

"Home."

My dear Luna,

You've made me so ridiculously happy.

I've never felt this comfortable. When you sit next to me, all the distant fears that have haunted me for so many years dissipate altogether. Your warmth is an anchor to me, your touch is a shield around me. For the first time, I feel I can truly rest.

I feel so aware of you, Luna. The way you breathe, the way you wiggle your toes, the way you play with your hair, the way you hum to the song of swallows. Is it too soon to know your rhythms? To notice every contour, every gentle swell and sharp line of your body as you stretch?

I am taken by the shape of you. The soft swell of your lips, the delicate lines of your chin, the gentle slope of your neck. I study the soft contours of your chest, the curve of your hips, the swells and shapes suggested in the shifting of your skirt. I want to attend to every whisper, uncover every distant suggestion.

You are, my Luna, intoxicating. I want to drink deeply.

Yours, truly.
Harry

PS — The memory of your kiss, your body against mine… my body responds to you.

Harry's attempts to sleep were interrupted by the friendly croak of a raven, landing directly on Harry's chest with a playful tottle.

"Hello there, Asher!" Asher bobbed affectionately, lifted his right talon.

"Why, thank you, sir." Harry walked Asher to the perch beside his wide bedroom window, dished a handful of treats and a bowl of water, and tickled the underside of his beak in gratitude.

My Harry,

I am yours, altogether. With your words, with your glance, with your touch, with your kiss, you have claimed me forever. I am taken by you, in every sense.

I feel safe with you, in your strong arms. Pressing into you, feeling your body against mine, impresses a peace more profound that that which I thought I'd lost forever six years ago. Feeling the rise and fall of your chest, I feel as if I myself am breathing. I slide into the wax and wane of your rhythms, and they are mine.

Your body stirs me. My pulse quickens when your firm chest presses against my breasts, when your arms wrap around my hip, when your lips touch mine, when your tongue darts along my neck, when your fingers stray to my shoulders. I want to describe to you in intimate detail how my body responds when you press against me, when you whisper into my ear, when you kiss my neck.

I am, clearly, yours. Luna

PS — If only you could join me in my dreams tonight. Come quickly, Harry Potter.