Harry had never felt better. He woke an hour before dawn with a broad smile, feeling rested and whole. After a quick shower, he threw on a white tee, a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of white trainers. He ran down the steps, grabbed a fresh croissant on the way out the door, and headed directly to the far hedge of the local primary school.
"Luna Lovegood."
Harry appeared at the foot of the ancient ash in the predawn darkness. Stuck by the natural calm of the scene, he stood a stone's throw from the Rook and took a deep, calming breath.
This was the first morning Luna hadn't met him at the ash, so he strolled up the hill to the Lovegood's round, emerald green door. He considered for a moment, gently knocked, and waited.
After a few minutes without an answer, Harry considered descending the slope to observe the river fairies until Luna woke. But just then the door opened slowly. Luna stood before him, with sleepy eyes and tossed hair, wearing a thin, jersey white spaghetti strap and a pair of short baby blue pajama shorts. A three quarter length cotton robe loosely draped over her shoulders.
"Harry?"
As soon as he saw Luna, he rushed to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, picked her up and spun her joyfully. She giggled, her cotton robe swinging about.
"Good morning, beautiful." He set her down on the inside of the threshold. He kissed her playfully. "You, Luna Lovegood, are absolutely brilliant."
He took a moment to look at her. She smiled bashfully, and in the cool breeze of the morning he noticed just then how little she was wearing. She bit her lip, enjoyed his unwavering attention for just a moment, and then wrapped the robe tightly around her waist.
She suppressed a yawn. "Harry Potter, you're earlier than usual." Smiling sleepily, she laced her fingers through his and walked him into the house. "Come sit with me?"
He followed her up the stairs, watched the cotton robe hint at her form, regretting its existence entirely.
She led him to her library, curled her legs beneath her at the center of the vast, overstuffed green couch. She pulled him next to her, turning to face him directly. Her robe loosened as she leaned toward him, and the contours of her chest were just visible. He pulled her hand to his lips, kissed her fingers.
"I should wake you more often." He laughed playfully, and she rolled her eyes with a flirtatious smirk.
"I'm here a bit early because I was planning to visit Sirius this morning. I wanted to see you first, and to ask if you would meet me at my place for lunch. Our potion will be ready this afternoon."
She laughed. "Correct, Harry Potter. Our potion will be ready. I'd love to join you for lunch."
He grinned. "Excellent. It's a date." He paused for a moment. "Oh, and Luna?"
She looked into his eyes.
"Thank you. Your memory was… incredible. You're incredible."
She blushed, bit her lip. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Harry Potter. It's one of my favorites."
They spent an hour together, reflecting on the magical theory of memory. Luna distantly, melodically speculated on the nature of memory, and on the application of memory for research and an ever deepening comprehension of the world around them. Harry imagined out loud how better prepared he might have been for the world he faced with the memories of his parents. He reflected on the potential of shared memories, how communities might come together in the shared experience of a memory revisited. She wondered aloud whether Harry might benefit from the memories of Dumbledore, whose vague suspicions might be resolved by group reflection on his past.
With quickened pulse, they spoke of revisiting their most intimate moments in dreams, reliving again and again the pleasure of those experiences. Luna agreed, at Harry's request, to teach him everything she knew. With vulnerable eyes, after a moment's hesitation, she asked whether he might be willing to share his memories with her. She hinted at intense experiences, and vaguely alluded to, perhaps, other things. They decided, just then, to explore the realm of their minds together.
As soon as Harry left, Luna decided to run a bath.
Pacing up the spiral stairs to the sixteenth ruby red door, she turned the copper knob and made her way to the clawfoot tub. As the water ran, Luna undressed slowly, reflecting on the morning. As her hand lightly brushed her body, she felt every touch acutely, her skin more sensitive than it had been since she could remember. She ran her fingers lightly from her neck, her clavicle, over her breasts, across her torso, between her thighs. Even the most benign touch felt fuller, a pleasure radiating from light tickles. She thought of Harry and bit her lip, grateful that he'd made such an impression.
She sat in the tub for an hour, the porthole window open before her, listening to the warble of the swallows. She wiggled her toes and hummed melodically, enjoying the dawn.
After she drained the water and wrapped herself in a towl, Luna headed back to her room and dressed. She decided on a scoop neck hunter green tee (Harry seemed to like scoop neck tees…) a pair of blue skinny jeans, and leather strap sandals.
Dropping by the kitchen to grab a quick bagel, she headed out the front door and strolled a few hundred meters beyond the willows on the far side of the brook, to a small stone outcropping surrounded by very old oaks.
She conjured her sketch book and a charcoal pencil, sat cross-legged a few yards from the stone, and sighed contentedly.
"What are men to rocks and mountains?" She whispered to herself, and began to sketch happily.
Harry, now back at his home, returned to the stack of letters on his desk. He found Sirius's note, unfolded it, and pulled the small bit of parchment that had been included.
He unrolled the scrap and read it, not out loud.
The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.
Nothing happened. Harry didn't expect anything to happen that he could see or hear, yet he imagined that somewhere, stone was scraping against pavement, and a house was unfolding from nowhere.
He quickly cleared the distance to his fireplace, deposited a small handful of floo powder, and clearly articulated, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."
After an uncomfortable spinning sensation, and the vague impression that he'd been shoved through a tight space, Harry landed upon a broad white marble mantle thinly dusted with black ash. The white mantle sharply contrasted the dark, dingy interior of a drawing room. The furniture was distinctly old, carefully preserved until some point long ago, and then neglected altogether what must have been decades ago. The flat surfaces were cluttered with what appeared to be odd assortments of dark heirlooms, and a large glass case sat against the far wall, featuring a stuffed house elf. Gas lamps lit the room poorly, flickering at shoulder height every few feet. A thick layer of dust covered everything.
The room and the hallway into which it opened were empty, but the house resonated with the distant bustle of movement. Harry dusted himself off, taking in the room with some apprehension, and then made his way into the house.
To his right, the hallway opened to a large entryway. An umbrella stand fashioned from a troll's leg stood near the entrance, and another, much older, house elf's head was mounted to the opposite wall. A large, dusty crystal chandelier hung just above him, at the center of which at least 30 candles were suspended magically, casting a dark glow on the room. The walls were black throughout.
To his left, the hallway terminated on a tall door. There was a curtain draped haphazardly over a portrait. An open staircase loomed above his head, stretching in sharp angles to the next three floors.
Harry took in his gloomy surroundings for a moment, and just before he decided to make his way up the stairs, Sirius Black turned the corner, descending the stairs with a look of tired gravity. As soon as his eyes lifted his expression lifted.
"Harry!" His pace doubled, and in a moment he'd wrapped his godson in a warm embrace.
Harry smiled broadly. "Hey Sirius." He couldn't help but feel tremendously happy. Sirius maintained a grasp on Harry's shoulders, pushed him away for a brief inspection.
"You know, you don't look quite as peckish as I would have guessed. I see the universal adoration of the house elf community has worked to your advantage." He smiled, embraced Harry briefly once more, and then looked down the distant hallway.
"Have you eaten this morning? Come, Harry, Molly's just finished preparing breakfast and I have many questions."
Harry followed his godfather down the hallway. Just before they passed the curtained portrait, he quietly turned to Harry and held his index finger over his lips. "I'll explain later," He whispered with feigned gravity.
As soon as the door opened Harry was enveloped in the rich, savory aromas of Molly Weasley's cooking. Freshly baked bread sat in heaps upon the table next to bowls of butter, eggs and bacon simmered on the stovetop. Molly turned a moment after they entered, and her face brightened with motherly affection.
"Harry, dear!" She rushed to him, wrapped her arms around him in a kind embrace, and squeezed him affectionately. "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon in the summer. What a joy! How are you, Harry?"
Harry smiled affectionately. "I'm well, Mrs. Weasely. The summer's been… well, brilliant, actually."
She smiled with kind eyes. "Oh, Harry, I'm so happy to hear it. Sit, please! You too, Sirius. Breakfast is ready and you're the first ones up."
Sirius and Harry sat at the far end of the long, dark, beaten table that stretched the full length of the kitchen. Molly threw down plates stacked full of healthy portions of eggs, bacon, and freshly sliced, buttered bread before them. After a moment to take in the spread before them, Sirius caught Harry's gaze.
He was again wearing a heavy expression. "The distance. Harry, I'm sorry. I've been a fool. And there's really no way to make up for it. I've been haunted—"
Harry interrupted him. "It's okay, Sirius. I understand. I forgive you, really."
He paused, looking down, and continued after a beat. "You know, it's odd to say it, but I'm grateful for the distance. Without it, I don't know where I'd be."
Sirius cocked his head a touch. "What do you mean?"
Harry finished chewing. "I mean, without the distance I wouldn't have reached out to Luna. If I hadn't reached out to Luna, Dumbledore would have never visited. If Dumbledore had never visited, I'd still be stuck at the Dursleys. I have a home because of that distance. And I have Luna, who's brilliant."
Sirius smiled with knowing eyes. "Ah. Luna."
Harry blushed, then powered through. "She's great, Sirius. I really can't wait for you to meet her. We've had a lot of time lately to get to know each other. She's spent time at my home, and I've spent time at hers."
He stopped, a flood of thoughts coming to him at once. "Sirius, you should see her home. It's warded, such that—"
Sirius nodded, interrupting him, not unkindly. "I've been there, actually. Xenophilius was a distant friend, and more than once as an auror I leaned on his counsel. An ancient family, theirs. Perhaps no more powerful wards in Britain. Protections rivaling Hogwarts, if I remember correctly."
He paused. A thought occurred to him. "Hang on, Harry. Have you been able to do magic?" He was brimming with excitement.
The words burst from Harry at a feverish pace. "Yeah! And I've found a brilliant volume in the Potter library, full of spells that—"
Sirius was leaning forward now, as much a boy as Harry. He jumped in. "Which book? Do you remember the title?"
Harry summoned his memory, his eyes darting to the left. "Ancient, Rare, and—"
Sirius leapt back, beaming. "Powerful Spells?! That's an excellent find, Harry. Your dad and I wouldn't be alive without that one. There's a brilliant impenetrable darkness—"
Harry nodded enthusiastically, interrupting. "Tenebrae Totales. Yeah, it's absolutely amazing."
"You've cast it, Harry!? That's outstanding. Took your dad and I weeks to get it right."
For Harry, just then, all was right in the world.
They continued like this for the duration of breakfast, stumbling over one another in shared excitement, pivoting from the subject of spells Harry and Luna had attempted, to the potion he was brewing.
"Very interesting. But I thought you weren't keen on potions, Harry." Sirius' gaze steadied on Harry, as if to capture every moment of a conversation that to his mind should have begun years ago.
"I'm not keen on Snape." At this, Sirius smirked. "And I let that stifle my interest in potions. I'm not going to do that anymore — be pushed around like that, I mean."
"Good on you, Harry. Well done."
Harry took a final bite, feeling full in more ways than one.
Just then, the tall door burst open, Harry heard what sounded like the outraged screams of a nasty old woman pouring in from the hallway, and Fred and George barreled into the kitchen, with Ron trailing sleepily behind.