Fingers laced, her arm trailing behind her, Luna led Harry up the Rook's spiral staircase at ten the next morning. She glanced back at him with a playful smile, her hips swaying with a confident glide. She was wearing a form-fitting pair of faded skinny jeans, and a loose heather grey tank, and her nearly waist length dirty blonde hair fell loose, stray locks dancing almost magically to a breeze that Harry couldn't feel. The soft curves of her thighs drew his attention to the tight swell of her rear, and Harry summoned not an insignificant measure of discipline to keep his eyes from straying.
Only their steps were audible; soft, rhythmic interruptions of an otherwise perfect stillness. The warm light radiating magically through the Rook, reflected gently off the shifting floral designs threaded within the walls like seams of ore, cast an impression of peace.
They were alone, and Harry breathed fuller at the thought.
The morning had been busy. Fred & George arrived at Harry's place just after dawn, wasting no time to resume work on the complex potion that had occupied their attention the evening before. Harry welcomed them fondly, enjoying a cup of tea while reflecting silently on the brilliance and diligence that so often went unnoticed against the backdrop of their mischievous play.
A knock on the door announced Hermione's arrival at eight sharp. She'd practically charged past him as soon as Harry opened the front door, muttering something like, "I've been up all night reading, and I've just thought of something important." Even still, as she passed the potions lab she paused.
"Good morning, boys."
They'd been immersed in their work, and though George half-reluctantly tore his attention away from the work after a brief delay, Fred shot up immediately and turned to face her full. He smiled bashfully, tucking his hands in his pockets and leaning on the desk behind him.
"Good morning, Hermione."
It was just then that Harry noticed something had shifted in Hermione's appearance. She was wearing a pleated skirt stopping short of knee length, and a white crossover tee. She'd pulled her chestnut curls into a messy bun, and he was nearly certain there was gloss on her lips. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her, outside of school, in anything other than a pair of functional jeans and a loosely fitting tee.
Hang on. Is she wearing fragrance?
Harry interrupted the moment, casting a knowing smirk in her direction. "Right. Would you like some tea, Hermione?"
Within a half hour, Harry heard Ron shuffling through the living room.
"Hey Ron!" Harry shouted from the table.
"Mhmm." Ron uttered, fighting a yawn.
Just then, Harry nearly fell off the bench as he noticed a notepad jutting out of Ron's back pocket.
"Hang on." Wide eyes struck him as his expression feigned the gravity of deepest concern. "Ron. Is that a notepad? Are you taking notes?" He feigned panic. "Are you okay?!"
Ron flushed, and then rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. Have a laugh, will you? Look, I'm beginning — I think, anyway — to understand that dueling book. But I need to sort out a bit of the more complex parts." Desperate to change the subject, he added, "...actually borrowed a muggle pen from dad. He says they transport better than quills."
"Good for you, Ron." Hermione nodded in approval.
He looked up, and for a moment something about his expression shifted. He raised an eyebrow, glanced over at the twins, and then back at Hermione. A beat later, he nodded. "Right. I suppose I'll get back to it."
As soon as Luna arrived, all the trappings of a full English breakfast appeared on the dining room table. They ate together happily over mugs of piping tea and coffee, and large glasses of orange juice. Just before ten, as the plates vanished from before them, Harry stood.
"Okay, guys. Luna and I are headed to her place this morning. You're of course welcome to stay as long as you like. I imagine I'll be back before dusk."
"Did you hear that, brother?" George nudged Fred. "Lots of, shall we say, 'research' to be done over at Luna's?"
Fred nodded, sending a highly exaggerated wink in Harry's direction. "Indeed, brother. Highly important 'research' — not the sort, mind you, to be interrupted."
Harry rolled his eyes in mock disapproval. "Real funny guys. Actually, it's—"
Luna interrupted. "—really quite nice to explore one another's bodies without fear of interruption. Don't you agree, Harry?"
Suddenly all conversation stopped. Harry turned a wild crimson; Hermione bit her lip, flushed full, averted her eyes, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear; Ron's mouth gaped and for a moment he stopped breathing altogether, and the twins exchanged meaningful smirks, fighting a surge of giggles.
A solid ten seconds later, she blushed. "Also, we practice magic."
As they approached the seventh perfectly round ruby red door, Luna traced the golden run with her fingertip, closing her eyes and whispering in a language Harry had never heard. A moment later, she turned the copper knob.
They stepped into a broad expanse. The featureless walls to their right and left stretched high above them, nearly thirty meters, and curved in to meet one another above and beyond them, as if they'd stepped inside an enormous globe, cut in half. Everything was a striking white.
At the center of the otherwise empty room was a pensieve, crafted ornately of silver and pearls. An arm's reach from this, hundreds of glass vials floated in midair, suspended in a column and rotating slowly.
As the door behind them closed, it disappeared altogether. The room was still.
It suddenly occurred to Harry that he could hear, with perfect clarity, the breath escaping Luna's lips, the shifting of her clothes, her heartbeat.
She turned to him, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply.
He watched her, slowly inhaling through her nose, slowly exhaling through her lips. In time, she opened her eyes and captured his gaze, speaking softly in a melodic tone.
"Memory, Harry Potter, is a function of attention. Every day your eyes pass over tens of thousands of objects, yet you'll only truly see perhaps a few hundred. Every day your ears capture the sound waves issued by tens of thousands of events. You'll hear them all, yet you'll only truly listen to a few hundred. We are constantly encountering light and sound and fragrance and texture, yet until our minds attend to these stimuli, and assign meaning to these stimuli, and associate these stimuli to a narrative thread, these experiences pass us by, less than forgotten."
She suddenly had an idea, and bit her lip flirtatiously. "Do you remember, Harry Potter, the tour I gave of my home? After breakfast on the day of your first visit?"
His eyes brightened, and he smiled. "Vividly."
She nodded, and she dropped her voice to a whisper. "Yeah? Hm…"
She threaded the fingers of both her hands through his, pressed herself against him softly, lifted her chin and whispered in his ear. "My bra, darling? What color was the lace?"
His pulse quickened, and he exhaled slowly. "It was black. You were stunning."
She kissed his cheek, stepped back, and smiled. "Good. And thank you. May I ask one more question?"
He nodded.
"What color is my father's desk?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but halted.
She nodded. "Notice what has happened. A few visible inches of thin lace have been grafted into your memory, and you've altogether lost all recollection of the massive desk looming just to my left. You need to understand why."
After a pause, she continued. "As soon as you entered that room, your senses were confronted with thousands of available inputs. Yet your mind only attended to a few. Attention, Harry Potter, is the stuff of memory."
At this, she laced her fingers through his hand, and led him to the pensieve at the center of the room.
"Undistracted attention, Harry. By it memories are made, and by it memories are collected."
He nodded, beginning to understand.
"The magic of memory is simple." She shifted her gaze to the pensieve. "Profoundly and painfully simple. Collecting memory is merely a matter of perfect, undistracted attention. This room, vast and featureless, was designed to foster such attention." She sat, cross legged on the floor, and pulled him beside her.
The column of floating glass vials gravitated toward her, and in a moment she had an empty vial before her.
"The spell is simple. With your wand tip pressed gently against your temple, whisper the incantation memorare." She shifted her distant gaze. "Yet that isn't the trick of it. You must rally your every mental faculty, summoning every detail of the memory you'd like to collect. The world around you must disappear in that moment, all of your attention must shift from this present moment to that distant scene. Every taste, every texture, every sensation, every smell, every thought and feeling. Live in that moment, recall it altogether. Extraordinary memory magic is within your reach, and the only obstacle is your undivided attention."
She smiled playfully. "Let me show you."
She closed her eyes, and for several minutes he watched her as she breathed slowly and intentionally. He noticed her pupils, beneath her eyelids, darting here and there. After a few minutes she smiled, as if in a dream. Just then, she drew the tip of her wand to her temple and whispered the incantation, "memorare."
A thin thread of silvery haze followed her wand away from her temple, hanging loosely from the tip until she shook it into the vial in her left hand.
As she looked up, she bit her lip and blushed. "Would you like to see?"
She woke slowly, blinking awake nearly an hour before dawn. A rush of memories flooded her mind, as she suddenly thought of Harry, of her first visit, of the stories and the laughter. Her pulse quickened as she reflected on his attention, his embrace, his fingers laced through hers. Time slowed as she remembered his description of the rusty tin can, and with wide eyes she dug her face back into her pillows and giggled with infectious joy.
Sitting up after a moment, Luna stretched her arms high in the air, yawning, the thin fabric of her silk nightgown teasing the shape and textures of her chest. She stood, greeted Asher warmly, and glanced out of the open window. She inhaled deeply, drawing in the fragrance of the lavender and rosemary bushes growing in the garden below.
A moment later, she skipped her way to the wash room and ran a warm bath in her ceramic, claw-footed tub.
The scene shifted.
She was singing soft melodies, her toes wiggling cutely above a dense cover of bubbles as she bathed.
The scene shifted again.
Her hair was up in a messy twist, and she was wearing her favorite pair of skinny jeans and a scoop neck black tee. He'd be here any moment, and she was trembling with excitement. She skipped down the spiral staircase, twisted around a potted orange tree, shot out of the emerald green door, and closed the distance to the ancient ash a stone's throw from her home.
A moment later, Harry Potter appeared in a loosely fitting black tee and a worn pair of denim.
God, he was perfect.
"Good morning, Harry Potter."
They pulled away from the pensieve together. As soon as Harry shifted his attention to Luna, she smiled bashfully.
"That was the morning of your first visit. You'll notice that I chose to collect aspects of that morning. I focused attention on scenes, and on the thoughts that flooded my mind within those scenes. I also — and this is important — excluded aspects of my memory. Perhaps the most difficult aspect of magically collecting memories is explicitly diverting your attention away from aspects of your memories that you'd prefer not to share."
She smiled flirtatiously. "In this case, there were thoughts I chose not to share. Also, you'll notice that the scene shifted from the moment I ran the bath, to the moment I was in the bath. Again, the scene shifted, and I was fully clothed." She blushed. "Of course I wasn't fully clothed until the instant I was immersed in the warm water, and I wasn't fully clothed until the instant I was descending the stairs. When reflecting on the memory, before whispering the incantation, I had to select which aspects to collect — it was a matter, Harry Potter, of setting my attention exclusively on some moments, and refusing to allow other moments to pass into my mind. The key is to pull your attention away from those moments you'd like to keep private, and to maintain your attention on those moments you'd like to share. It takes practice, and more than a measure of mental discipline."
She reached out her arm and pulled another glass vial from the column hovering nearby. With a kind, affectionate smile, she extended her hand. "Would you like to try? Start with something simple." She suddenly had a thought. "You know, Harry, the memory I shared may actually assist the efforts of your mind. Perhaps it's best to collect your memory of the same series of events, from your perspective, given your renewed awareness of mine."
Harry nodded, returning her kind smile. He took the glass vial, feeling a bit nervous. Only on a few occasions had his spellcraft required the efforts of his attention — and in each case he'd found himself straying unreliably.
After a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Luna watched him as he summoned the memory of the morning. For a while he breathed deeply, willing his mind to reflect slowly on the hope he felt that morning. He willed himself to summon the relief that had overtaken him when he woke from a dreamless sleep. Step by step he walked through every stage of his preparation, marking mentally those thoughts he'd love to share, and refusing to allow the more private scenes from overtaking his awareness. After cycling through the series of memories a dozen times, he held the tip of his wand to his temple and whispered, "memorare."
He felt, just then, a release. As if he were freed a weight or pressure that he hadn't been aware of. This feeling sustained and built for nearly a minute as he somehow felt the memory lift. Just as he felt the relief begin to peak, he heard Luna's sharp intake of breath and for the briefest moment he felt an overwhelming desire to be seen by her, to share himself fully, to be totally and comprehensive known.
Suddenly the stone handle of his wand warmed.
He shook off the notion, returned to the sequence he'd decided on, and suddenly in place of the release was a pleasant absence.
When he opened her eyes, Luna was watching him carefully, grinning with pride.
"Well done, Harry! It appears you've successfully collected a memory." She pulled his wand arm slowly toward the glass vial he was holding in his left hand, and helped him thread it within. "Gracious, Harry! At first blush, its color and density indicates you've managed to capture some of your thoughts as well." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm so proud of you."
He grinned, eager to develop this newfound magic and the limitless possibilities.
He laughed when his attention shifted to Luna.
She was brimming with excitement, leaning forward playfully. "Shall we take a look?"
Harry woke from a deep, dreamless sleep just before dawn. Blinking awake in the stillness, he smiled. It was his first full night's rest since the graveyard, and he felt absolutely amazing.
He sat up, pivoted to the edge of his bed, and stretched. His face warmed to a broad smile. His memory was flooded with vignettes of Luna. He reflected slowly on her compassion, on her conversation. He stilled as he recalled the shape of her, the suggestive contours of her dress. He warmed as he reflected on her embrace, on her fingers laced through his, on her final letter.
He stood, brimming with hope, and glanced out of his open window. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. This was going to be a good day.
The scene shifted.
He was wearing a beaten pair of jeans and his favorite tee. He grabbed his wand, left a pile of treats for Hedwig and set off. He was descending the stairs, passing the cupboard, opening the front door.
Just then something went wrong.
His movement ground to a halt, and after an unnatural shudder everything ran in reverse.
The scene shifted again, suddenly and jarringly.
Suddenly he was in a bathroom.
Harry stood naked, inspecting himself before the mirror. He was in decent shape, his features cut to definition by grueling stretches of training. He had hated the tournament, but desperate efforts to survive had their benefits. He glanced at his waist and thighs. Aroused when he woke, he was still faintly swollen. He thought about Luna, what she might think of him.
The scene shifted.
He stood before the far hedge of a primary school, stooping to grab a rusted tin can, punctured on one end with a string of loose thread attached. He took a breath, his pulse racing with excitement, and spoke.
"Luna Lovegood."
He felt an uncomfortable pull behind his navel. A moment later she stood before him, wearing skinny jeans and black scoop neck tee.
God, she was beautiful.
"Good morning, Harry Potter."
They emerged simultaneously from the pensieve, both blushing wildly.
"Oh my god." His eyes were wide, his face flushed, his lips parted. He wondered whether it was possible to die from embarrassment. "Oh my god."
He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't move, and for an impossible stretch he couldn't pull his eyes away from the floor. Finally, he risked a glance.
She was biting her lip, smirking flirtatiously, as a flush of pink overtook her features. After a moment, her lips softly pursed, longingly parted, and she slowly exhaled. Unashamed, her eyes carefully traced the shape of him, gravitating toward his waist, and the tip of her tongue began tracing her lip.
Without shifting her attention, she whispered in an intimate purr.
"I rather like that one."