My Harry,

I've made something for you.

When I was nine, after my mother died, my daddy decided to postpone my primary education for a year. In that time, he taught me everything he knew about memory magic. He wanted me to remember her, to preserve every memory I had of her. He taught me how to use a pensieve, and how to store my memories.

Neither of us could imagine a world without her. Yet in just a moment, memories were all we had. To keep her, to be with her, to reflect her light on the dark corners of our world. We weren't really, in the end, pursuing the magic of memory. We were pursuing her.

I took to the magic quickly, and over time I began to delve deeper into the theoretical magic of memory. We collected ancient volumes from ancient libraries. We courted the counsel of ghosts and goblins. In time, we knew more about memories than perhaps anyone alive.

I learned to preserve not only the sensory perception of a moment, but to preserve thought and to graft those thoughts seamlessly into the memories themselves, even to navigate the perspectives of those within the memory.

My father, too, pursued the magical possibility of memory. He explored the theory behind pensieves, ultimately discovering a means to mimic the experience of a pensieve in a lucid, dream-like state with a sleep potion he called Dilecta Somnia.

So I've been thinking about the tension you described today…

(My heart races even as I write this. I am, Harry Potter, utterly fascinated by you.)

… and it suddenly occurred to me that you might find my memories… helpful.

Yours,

Luna L.

PS — Come see me. Quickly, Harry.

Harry wore a flushed expression, his pulse relentless as he reflected on Luna's intimate attention. He'd learned that Luna's curiosity led her to explore all the closets and corners of human experience without a second thought of social boundaries. Her total absence of filters in many ways made their every interaction thrilling. He had her permission to speak about anything — how he felt, what he was experiencing, all of his fears and interests and ideas. And she had his. He didn't feel that comfortable with anyone. He felt intimately near to her; he found a connection with her that felt natural, unlike anything he'd experienced.

But he also felt naked before her. That vulnerability was new to him, too.

He folded her letter, stored it carefully in the small walnut box Hagrid had gifted him last year, and took a deep, meaningful breath. He stood, made his way to his wardrobe, grabbed a fresh pair of boxers and a black tee, and headed to the shower. After a quick wash, he took the vial in hand and laid in his four-poster.

The glass vial held a silver liquid, stirring like a dense fog.

Fighting a touch of apprehension, driven by a pulsing excitement, he reached for the vial, pulled the cork, and drank deeply.

Luna paced two steps above him, her fingers laced between his, leading him up the spiral staircase past nineteen ruby red, round doors. He watched her casual confidence, her playful pace. He traced the contours of her jeans with his wandering eyes, the gentle slope of her thighs and the tight swell of her rear, swaying slightly as she walked. He was entranced.

As they reached the final door, she turned with a flirtatious smile and kind, piercing eyes.

They entered a room of stunning beauty. Gold seams grafted into white walls, iridescent fields of color cast throughout the room by the setting sun.

Their fingers laced, she led him to the center of the leather sofa, sat him at the center, sat directly beside him, her thigh pressed against his, her shoulder leaning into his side.

A moment later, he heard her voice, whispering in his mind. "Kiss me, Harry."

Harry's pulse quickened.

"Harry…" she turned, looked up with vulnerable eyes, wrapped her arm around his waist, "...would you like to kiss me now?"

At this, time literally slowed to a crawl, and the perspective of the dream shifted. Suddenly it was as if he was standing just in front of them, watching himself slowly lean into her. Their lips met, and for a moment time stopped completely. He traced the shape of her as she leaned into him, her back tensed into a gentle slope, directing his attention to the shape of her chest. He could see specks of dust, still in the air, luminescent within fields of color.

Time resumed at half-speed as their lips met. He watched her open her lips, gently pressing herself further into him.

He heard her thoughts, piercing his mind. "More, Harry…"

He watched as his tongue just touched her lips. He heard her soft moan, watched her fists clench into his tee and the denim of his jeans.

Tension built in Harry's abdomen, radiating through his thighs.

She reached her hand to the crook of his neck, played with his hair. He could hear his breathing, her breathing, building in chorus with sharp intake.

She shifted her weight, sat on his lap, wrapped her thigh around his waist.

At this, the perspective shifted once again, and he was, just for a moment, viewing the world through her eyes, feeling the world through her body.

He felt her pulse, building, radiating pleasure throughout her body. He felt her face flush, her lips and her tongue play. A tingle shot up her spine as she felt Harry, hard beneath her thighs.

He heard her thoughts, piecing his mind. "Is he…?" A gasp. "You're perfect, Harry Potter."

The building tension came to a crest, all the pleasure in the world was at hand. He couldn't breathe.

The perspective shifted again, and he watched from beside them. Time reversed, then slowed again to a crawl, as he watched her shift her weight, sit on his lap, wrap her thigh around his waist.

She pressed her chest against his, pressed her lips full into his. And then he watched her eyes go wide in sudden realization. He heard her moan.

And he watched her slowly push her torso into his abdomen in waves. He watched their bodies move in intimate rhythm as she pressed against him again and again.

He heard her thoughts, piercing his mind. "Harry. More. Please, Harry. More."

Suddenly, days of building pressure released in an orchestration of ecstasy, wave upon wave of intense, unimaginable pleasure overtook him. All control left his body and his mind and everything within him tensed into an explosion of sudden, overwhelming release.