Luna slept uninterrupted until ten the following morning — a dreamless sleep that felt as if it was over mere moments after she'd closed her eyes.
She didn't want to wake like this. She wanted to wake to a knock on the door. She wanted to wake to Hedwig's tap. She wanted to wake to news that it was all over, that everything was going to be okay.
She sat up and stretched. As the duvet fell, she realized she was naked and blushed. She wrapped herself in the loose towel beside her, shifted off the four-poster, and stopped by her wardrobe on the way to the bath.
Within an hour, she was sitting at the desk beside her window, dipping a quill into an inkwell.
Hermione,
It's best, I think, to be honest at the outset. I'm writing to you right now because if I don't do something with my mind and my hands I'm afraid I'll panic. Harry's on my mind. The trial is happening, or has happened. I haven't heard from him yet, and I'm afraid. So I hope you don't mind being my escape.
But I'm also writing to you because I think you're amazing, and I truly hope we'll be friends. I mean real friends, Hermione. So many witches are tied by the loose bonds of mutual affection for a wizard. That's okay, I suppose, as far as it goes. But it isn't enough for you and I. You're brilliant, loyal, fierce, and powerful. I don't just like you, I want to be like you. And that's more than enough reason to write.
I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday.
Have you ever seen what happens when a young witch or wizard is given an owl? These aren't trained animals, Hermione, nor are they magical creatures in the strict sense. Yet as soon as they are introduced to the magical community something changes. They understand our language. They learn us, and adapt to us, their personalities shift to account for ours. Did you know that no one knows why this is the case? Magizoologists can't account for it — the transition which unfolds, without charm or potion, when a snowy owl (or a common raven, or a tabby cat) meets a wizard and from that moment becomes something else entirely.
Or consider runes. Ancient letters — and nothing more, it would seem. Yet when scratched into the soil beneath us they summon the elemental power of earth. When carved into wood these angular shapes summon the pulsing, vibrant life of a forest. When impressed into metal they can summon the light of the stars.
Everything in our magical world is a wonderful, inaccessible mystery. The best we've done is to figure out how some of it works. Behind it all is hidden breathtaking beauty and purpose we've hardly begun to explore.
A carved twig, a phoenix feather. These are nothing in themselves. Yet when wed in a wand they have the power to stop time. A few latin words, uttered in tandem with a swish here and a flick there, can bend the fabric of reality itself. Why?
I suppose I mean to highlight that what we know about the magical world around us tends to obscure what we don't. Knowledge can be a lens, but more often it becomes a blindfold. For some — I'm afraid for most — a cursory knowledge of how is mistaken for the vast wisdom of why. There's so much we don't know — so many questions (of the most fundamental nature) that we haven't even asked. We've allowed our grasp of the single copper penny in our hand to replace our hunt for chests of gold just beyond our reach. And I think that's tragic.
That's why I believe. I believe there are creatures out there we haven't yet found and don't yet understand because I know there are answers out there we haven't yet found and don't yet understand. If magic is an untouched landscape we've just discovered, we are the mosquito-bitten colonists that decided to settle on the near coast. And I refuse to accept that unfortunate lack of imagination.
I want to believe. Do you?
I can't accept that we know all that we could possibly know.
I nurse a suspicion that you can't, either.
Yours,
Luna Lovegood
PS — Meet me at Harry's tomorrow?
Luna sent Asher away, grabbed a handful of almonds and a peach, and spent the afternoon hours observing the vibrant stone fairy community beyond the willows. The structures of the stone fairy village were fully visible now, and the shapes that had appeared as broad brushstrokes took on texture. Luna sketched the sudden shifts and cracks of their distinctive features. Their shapes vaguely resembled the naked forms of giants in miniature, all sharp angles and wind-beaten edges. When they spoke to one another, Luna heard the distant reverberations of ancient near-eastern gongs — even the slightest utterances shook her chest gently. On a number of occasions it seemed the fairies were laughing at her, and at this even the roots of the oak beneath her seemed to tremble.
Every few moments she thought of Harry, and fought the expectation that she might see him anytime soon. Disappointment, she'd found, was more acutely painful than the aching throb of longing. So she beat back the impulse to think of him, with more or less success.
A distant echo of knocking interrupted one of these moments, and Luna's eyes shot wide open. She jumped up, scattering her sketchpad and charcoal pencil haphazardly about, and ran full speed toward the Rook's front door.
Harry, patiently waiting before the round, green door with the shiny yellow brass knob at its center, turned on a hunch just a moment before Luna threw herself, full stride and a leap, into his arms. He was instantly leveled, her body striking his at an odd angle against the door, until the relentless momentum of her aerial form sent them tumbling. Her arms were wrapped full around his neck, and they rolled at least three revolutions down the soft slope before he lay, more than a little beaten, beneath her. Her thighs straddled his waist as she sat at an angle, hovering inches from his face. She was grinning broadly, and breathing hard.
"You're here." She whispered, and then she kissed him, pressing her lips full into his. Frantic energy drove kiss after kiss, and he'd never felt more loved.
"I want to know—" her lips pressed full against him, shifting here and there against his chin, his jaw, his cheek. "—everything." She slowed her affections, gently biting his lower lip in a final, lingering kiss.
At this, she sat up.
"Hi."
She was wearing a white, scoop neck tee and a pair of light washed distressed jeans. Her hair was up in a now quite messy bun. And she was grinning joyfully, her piercing silvery-grey eyes set upon him unflinchingly.
"Hi."
Harry wore the same black v-neck tee, the same pair of dark blue jeans, the same pair of charcoal grey trainers, and a toothy grin.
"Luna?"
"Yes, Harry Potter?"
"I'm sorta laying on a big rock."
"Oh!" She blushed. "Come here." She shot up, leaned forward, and took his hands in hers, pulling him to his feet. As soon as he'd dusted himself off, she kissed him lightly, laced her fingers between his and led him through the front door, up the stairs, through the tenth ruby red round door, to the vast, overstuffed green sofa in her library. Arriving at the center between two piles of pillows, she threw her weight full into him, falling upon him in precisely the same manner as just a moment before. "Is this better?"
He laughed. "Yes, it's perfect."
For a moment he watched her, hovering inches above his face. After breathing deeply, he pulled her nearer and they kissed softly, carefully, savoring every taste and touch for what felt like hours.
In time, she sat up and bit her lip. "I'm torn, Harry Potter, because I'm enjoying myself immeasurably but I'm also desperate to hear every detail that's unfolded in the last twenty four hours."
He smiled, sat up and faced her cross-legged, and told her everything.
She cried when he told her about Dudley, tears falling freely over wet cheeks as she watched him wrestle with his complex grief. She involuntarily shook her head when she learned that he was locked in a room for twenty hours without water or food, nearly forcing him downstairs for an impromptu meal until he reassured her that Mrs. Weasley had stuffed him to the brim. As he described the brilliance of Dumbledore, Tonks, and Kingsley, she smiled broadly and slowly nodded in grateful appreciation.
"None of it would have been possible without you, Luna." He'd halted the story, looking into her eyes with a still expression. "None of it. We'd be lost without you, and I couldn't be more grateful."
She flushed at this, averting her eyes. "It isn't me." She said, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn't do anything, really, to—"
"No." He interrupted her with a kind smile, lacing his fingers through hers. "You're brilliant, Luna. I wouldn't be here without you."
She wrapped her arms around him, smiled with grateful eyes, and pulled him close to her. She leaned her forehead against his, looking deep into his eyes. "Thank you, Harry Potter. I'm so glad you're here. I'd do anything to keep you safe."
At this, she pushed him over once more, smirking flirtatiously. "I'm feeling adequately aware of recent events." She climbed on top of him, wrapping her thighs around his waist and setting her open palm upon his chest. "Now… where were we?"
She leaned forward, her eyes set on his, but this time she stopped a hand's breadth from his chest. She bit her lip, lifted her chin, looked into his eyes meaningfully, and waited. Harry's confusion dissipated as soon as he shifted his gaze.
She was leaning over him in a loosely fitting scoop neck shirt, at just the right angle. She smiled knowingly as his pupils dilated. With parted lips and bated breath he searched the contours of her chest, following the gentle slopes to the teasing lace of her bra. He memorized the sharp lines of her clavicles, the shape and swells of her breasts, the textures barely visible beneath the thin lace.
"I like it when you look at me, Harry."
She didn't move, and for a moment he studied her shape. She shifted her palm to gently grip his chest, pressing and shifting at intervals. She explored his body as he gazed upon hers. In time, her left palm strayed to his abdomen, and as her fingers ran over the firm contours of his stomach she exhaled slowly, closed her eyes, and spoke in a whisper. "I need you to kiss me, Harry."
Harry leaned forward, pressing his lips full into hers. He dragged his tongue slowly over her bottom lip until she opened to him with a longing sigh. He pressed his tongue into hers, and she met him there. They shifted together, their lips and tongues pressing, exploring, tasting, discovering. His eyes opened, met her unflinching gaze, and they watched each other trade affections. She smiled, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. She laughed, and he pressed her body full into him, shifting his attention to the delicate line of her jaw, her adorable earlobe, the graceful slope of her neck. A sharp intake of breath, and suddenly he was gently biting, flitting his tongue against her incredibly soft skin, shifting his attention from just beneath her ear to the center of her neck.
She lifted her chin, cried out softly, and pressed his face further into her neck. She whispered into his ear. "Yes, please. More."
He held her near to him, his hands wrapped behind her arms, gently grasping her shoulders and pressing her near to him, shifting her here and there as he kissed. She was moving with him now, her center driving into his waist in an intimate rhythm. He shifted his hands to her waist, felt her abdomen tense in waves as she pressed her center into his. He followed the sharp line of her clavicle, kissing gently, flitting his tongue and dragging his teeth carefully against her soft flesh. With her right hand she ran her fingers through his hair, scratching and pulling gently as his attention overwhelmed her.
His hands, just a moment ago on her waist, had strayed along her side, and he was holding her firmly just beneath her arms, pressing her into him as he kissed her gently, moving her near in the same intimate waves that controlled their movement.
Between breaths, she whispered. "Touch me, darling. I want you to."
He nodded, his heart racing. The open palm of his right hand shifted from her side. He felt the texture of her lace bra against his fingers, the side of her breast against his thumb. She nodded, eyes closed, breathing hard. In a moment, his open palm was carefully set against her full, firm breast. He gently laid his fingers upon her, softly gripping the soft flesh beneath. He could feel her nipple against his palm, and was immediately overwhelmed by the beauty of her shape. For what felt like hours, he held her, kissing her neck, her chin, her lips. He held her perfect breasts and he rested in her perfect rhythm, and he knew that everything was going to be okay.