Harry woke well after sunrise to the whisper of pages turning. He blinked away the brightness, blindly groped for his glasses, and smiled sleepily as the morning breeze carried the scent of lavender to his bed.
"Good morning, handsome." Luna's gentle, melodic tone met him just before she came into focus, sitting in the far wingback, facing his four-poster, reading a very old, leather bound tome.
"Hi." Harry sat up, stretched, and pivoted to the edge of the bed. He met her gaze with a lazy grin.
"I hope you don't mind, Harry. I let myself in." She was wearing a heather grey v-neck tee, and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans. Her long, dirty blonde hair was done up in a messy bun, and her wide eyes were set unblinkingly on his bare chest.
Harry smiled bashfully.
"Of course." He stood, the blankets shifting from his torso. He was wearing a pair of loose cotton boxers, and nothing else.
Luna's lips parted, her features stilled, and she exhaled slowly.
She watched him clear the distance between them, her eyes fixed on his center. He was faintly swollen, and she caught the shape of him. Time slowed, and suddenly Luna couldn't recall what she was about to say.
Harry paused, looked down, and turned a deeper shade of crimson. He pivoted to grab a black tee and pair of blue jeans from his wardrobe. On the way to the shower, he paused on a whim in front of her chair. Her eyes strayed again from his bare chest to the suggestive hints of shape between his thighs. He leaned over slowly, his face a hand's breadth from hers, and spoke softly.
"I was just dreaming about you, actually."
She bit her lip, and suddenly she felt a warm, pleasant tension between her thighs.
He smiled, leaned forward and his lips met hers. She lifted her arm, her fingers finding the nape of his neck, pressing his lips full into hers. For the sustained moment they kissed longingly. Luna's tongue has just dragged gently against Harry's bottom lip when he pulled away in an apologetic rush.
As he passed, her eyes traced the shift that had occurred as his boxers pressed tightly against him.
She heard the shower turn on, and it suddenly occurred to her that, someday, in the pace and rhythms of life, she'd make a practice of joining him there.
By ten Hermione had arrived.
They sat in the living room for over an hour. Harry answered dozens of Hermione's questions. It was a welcome opportunity to reflect on the nature of the attack, the trial, and the aftermath— and Harry found himself drawing connections that hadn't yet occurred to him.
One of the most basic questions — so basic, in fact, that Harry had dismissed it altogether until Hermione pressed him — concerned Umbridge's motive. Why, she wondered aloud, would someone with such power risk it all to destroy a boy who, in reality, was merely a thorn in the administration's side?
Initially Harry's response parroted Dumbledore's. She was, it seemed, Fudge's hatchet man. If there was a problem, there seemed to be an established expectation that she'd take care of it.
Immediately Hermione's right eyebrow adopted an angle. "Harry, I'm not sure that's enough." She tapped her lip for a moment. "Execution by Dementor. It's unprecedented. Certainly there are hundreds of cleaner alternatives."
Harry's brow furrowed.
Luna nodded. "I agree. The soulless corpse of the 'boy-who-lived' cluttering an alleyway in Little Whinging doesn't scream political expediency."
Hermione's expression shifted, sifting through a rush of thoughts. "You know, it occurs to me that a Dementor attack, barring the execution order, would be a perfect opportunity to call Harry's sanity into question. Dementors aren't visible to muggles." She paused for a moment, toying with a stray lock of chestnut curls. "And they've been trusted for centuries. The Dementor community has honored the boundaries of the Ministry's contract without exception since the first Stonehenge Summit. Few reasonable witches and wizards would accept the notion that a pair of rogue Dementors would haphazardly roam a muggle suburb, for apparently no reason other than to prey on wandering youth. Harry's Patronus Charm would appear to be a renegade violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, an brazen act of defiance or a foolish display of boredom."
She huffed in appreciation. "It's brilliant, honestly. Few would suspect the Ministry's involvement, and given The Daily Prophet's concerted efforts to defame Harry and undermine confidence in his report of You-Know-Who's return, most would assume this is yet another embellished tale. And given the warnings Harry's received, not many would protest his expulsion."
Harry shook his head. "But they didn't stop there. We all heard Tonk's report. Fudge ordered my execution."
Luna shook her head. "No, he didn't. Umbridge ordered your execution."
Hermione's furrowed brow and rapid nod carried the thought's momentum. "We have, to this point, presupposed Fudge's involvement. It's a safe avenue; and I think we should acknowledge his broad influence over these events in a distant sense. Yet everything I've seen of Fudge, and everything I've read of his political career, indicates that he's a brilliant strategist. He isn't Dumbledore — he hasn't earned the unflinching respect of the Wizarding nation. His power is founded upon political machinations, the strength of earned alliances often across ideological lines. He is the most powerful man in Britain because he doesn't make stupid mistakes."
She paused, her distant gaze returning to Harry. "I can't believe he's behind the execution order. It doesn't make sense."
Harry nodded. "You think it's Voldemort."
She flinched at the name, but nodded. "Yes. I think it's Voldemort."
An expression of doubt cast over Harry's brow. "I don't know. I mean, he seems to want to kill me himself. That was the purpose of the graveyard duel. Maybe because of the curse, maybe because of the wards, maybe because he's a fucking nutter. But he wants me dead, and he refuses to allow anyone else to do it."
Luna's face shifted suddenly, and her wide eyes darted meaningfully to Hermione. "Dementor's don't kill."
Hermione mirrored Luna's expression, driven by the force of the thought. "You're right, Luna. Dementors steal souls. Harry's body would have remained, soulless."
For a moment, the room stilled.
Harry, uncomfortable at the notion of his soulless body lying in a suburban alleyway, broke the silence. "What would Voldemort want with my soulless body?"
Luna's eyes shifted to the floor.
Hermione shifted her gaze to Harry. "That is, perhaps, the most important question we've thought to ask." She inhaled deeply, her expression adopting gravity. "I don't know, Harry. But knowing the answer to that question feels terribly important."
A mood of sober reflection settled upon the room, until Harry noticed the time. "As much as I'd love to reflect further on Voldemort's unsettling interest in my soulless body, I've told Sirius that I would help him remove his dead mother from his home."
Hermione and Luna traded expression of grotesque horror.
A second later, Harry understood and laughed. "Sorry. It's not that. There's a portrait in his hallway. It's his mother — she was awful, and she's found a way to remain so beyond the grave. She shouts at people constantly, but Sirius hasn't yet found a way to remove her enchanted portrait from the wall. He has a hunch but he said he needed my help. I was hoping you lot would come, too."
Relieved, the pair agreed. Harry pulled a thin cut of yellowed parchment from his pocket.
"We can go by floo. First, you'll need to read this — not out loud."
They arrived to the furious ravings of elderly woman, punctuated by purist slurs of the most offensive order. Hermione flinched at more than one, and immediately Harry understood the mistake he'd made.
"Shit. Hermione. I'm sorry, I should have mentioned. If you'd like to hang back at my place, I—"
"No." She steeled herself. "Suddenly I'm deeply interested in her permanent retirement."
The drawing room into which they arrived was remarkably cleaner today, and Harry noticed immediately that all house elf remains had been banished permanently. The bare walls were freshly painted in warm tones, and against that backdrop the furnishings felt considerably more snug.
They turned the corner to a scene of chaotic frenzy.
A thin, golden cord was tied tightly to the ornate frame surrounding the portrait of a thin, icy pale woman with dark eyes. She was clad in black robes of an ancient style, and she was throwing her full weight against the far boundary of her portrait. Fred, George, and Ron stood five paces away, their backs facing the entryway, tugging with all their might against the taught cord. Sirius, standing three paces from the far side of the portrait, was shouting orders while executing a tricky bit of wandwork, a thin lace of fiery orange proceeding from the tip of his wand and tracing the edge of the frame meticulously. Whisps of smoke issued from the blackening wall surrounding the portrait.
As soon as Sirius noticed their approach, without shifting his focus, he shouted, "Harry! Good to see you! Would you and your friends mind tugging a bit on the end of that cord?"
They dove in, the cord magically extending to afford them room. That the cord was enchanted to enhance their strength became apparent immediately, as Harry's grip tightened and the force drawn against the stubborn frame surged. His biceps and forearms swelled well beyond their conditioned form. Despite all this, within minutes they were exhausted. Sirius' slow progress managed to shift the upper left corner of the frame mere inches from the wall.
Sirius broke his attention, his forehead beaded with sweat. "It's alright. Let's take a moment. I'm not sure this is working."
As soon as they released the cord, the portrait snapped back into place, and the damage done to the wall and the frame dissipated altogether.
"Damn."
Deflated, Sirius signaled all to the drawing room against the backdrop of his deceased mother's fury.
He followed them in, turned, and cast a silencing charm in the direction of the room's broad entrance.
As the enchantment anchored, his shoulders fell and he released a tense breath. In an effort to rally, he turned his eyes to his guests, forcing a smile.
"Right. Welcome to my home. Do forgive the, er, unfortunate commotion. I had hoped to remedy the cancer that is my dear mother's haunting rage this morning. I fear it's proving difficult…"
At this, Fred interrupted with a playful smile. "We nearly had it, but for Ron."
George nodded. "Somebody forgot to eat their Wheaties."
Fred adopted a curious expression. "Unless I'm mistaken, she rather likes you, brother."
George didn't miss a beat. "Indeed, Fred. Come to think of it, our dear Ronniekin's walls are tastelessly bare. I'm thinking relocation, rather than elimination."
Ron rolled his eyes, turning his attention to his best friends. "Hey guys. Couldn't be happier to see you, these two are driving me nuts."
Harry clapped Ron's shoulder, as Hermione submitted to an awkward side hug. An correspondingly awkward silence fell at this, and Ron looked away, blushing.
Sirius suddenly realized he hadn't yet introduced himself to Luna.
"Ms. Lovegood. Harry's told me so much about you in our short time together." He took her hand in his, the faintest bow shifting his features. He turned to Hermione. "Ms. Granger, it's always a pleasure."
She smiled broadly, thanking him for the prior invitation and regretting the delay.
A moment later, Sirius turned his attention to Harry, breaking all niceties to pull him into a tight embrace.
"So good to see you, Harry."
After a few more friendly greetings, they threw themselves on the sofas nearby.
Harry wiped his brow. "So that was exhausting."
Ron nodded. "No kidding. Sirius, couldn't you just, I dunno, magic it away?"
Sirius shook his head. "We've tried everything that I can think of. Remus and I explored the Black library for dark charms and rare enchantments that might undo whatever was done to that damned portrait. This was, I fear, the last of nearly a dozen attempts. It appears the frame is, in the most literal sense, permanently fixed to the wall."
Hermione cocked her head to the left, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Have you tried to banish the wall?"
Sirius halted. "The wall?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes. If you banish the wall, the frame will go with it, because the charm permanently fixes the portrait to the wall, not the home."
For a moment, Sirius said nothing. The attention of the room shifted from Hermione to Sirius, and they watched him consider.
"But wouldn't — I mean isn't the wall load-bearing, or in some other sense fundamentally a part of the magical structure of the home?"
"Probably, and yes. But the spell I'm thinking of accounts for this. I first read about it in Hogwarts: A History. In the late eighteenth century, after the social reformation of the broader Wizarding community, an effort was made to eradicate the castle of any art celebrating the forced labor of squibs, the slavery of muggles, and the abuse of magical creatures. One such depiction hung in the dungeons, fixed against the potions lab permanently by none other than Slytherin himself. After exhausting all options, the Headmaster engineered a spell to banish a wall from existence altogether, and another to permanently transfigure in its place a featureless duplicate. I've experimented with the cast and found it quite effective.
In a rare moment of unguarded wonder, his full attention set unwaveringly on Hermione, a stunned whisper escaped Fred's lips. "Brilliant."
At this, George's attention broke. He slowly turned toward his twin, and anyone who truly knew him would recognize the startled recognition behind his eyes.
Ron turned, his eyes shifting suspiciously from Fred to George, and then back again. When he turned his attention back to Hermione, she was blushing. Smiling bashfully, she tucked a stray chestnut curl behind her ear as her gaze lifted to meet Fred's.
Sirius, lost in thought, noticed nothing. "I think I've accounted for all of the wards protecting this home, and any broader family magic that might bear nefarious influence, and I can't think of a reason that won't work. You don't, I suppose, have a copy of the spell, Hermione?"
She had set her full attention on a bit of dust on the rug just beside her right foot, lost in reflective thought. The mention of her name broke the enchantment, and Hermione startled. "What? Oh. Yes. I mean no. No, I don't."
Sirius deflated.
"But Harry does."
Within twenty minutes Sirius was thumbing through a beaten text on rare charms, spells, and enchantments.
Meanwhile, their recent exertions drummed up a voracious appetite, and Harry, Luna, Hermione, and the Weasley boys issued a dramatic sigh of relief when Molly entered the drawing room.
"I suppose that makes sense of things." She said as she broke the silencing enchantment with a warm smile. "I've been calling for ten minutes. Lunch is ready."
She turned to Harry, pulling him into a warm embrace. "Hello again, Harry dear."
Releasing him after a moment, she turned to Luna. "Luna, how you've grown! It's been at least a few years since I've seen you with Ginny."
Luna smiled kindly. "Hello again, Mrs. Weasley. Yes, six actually."
She turned her attention to Hermione, tugging her into a friendly hug. "I was hoping to spend the summer with you Hermione. Dumbledore tells me you refused his invitation?"
Hermione nodded. "That's right, Mrs. Weasley. It isn't that I wouldn't have enjoyed my time here." She hesitated, considering what to say. "I was told that remaining at my home was dangerous, but in the end that seemed to me the most compelling reason to stay. My parents have no magical protection, and I couldn't leave them alone."
Molly's expression adopted gravity, and for a brief moment her eyes welled. "I understand, my dear, of course." At this, she sighed. "We adults speak everyday about the loss of lives and the loss of possessions in the wake of war. But we don't often mourn the loss of innocence. More's the pity."
The heaviness of recent events was cast over that moment, until Molly shook them out of distant reflections with another invitation to lunch.