He'd never even heard the word, but to his very roots he knew what she was saying was true.
"I'm a… I'm sorry, Hermione — I'm a what?"
Tears silently fell from Luna's eyes. She shifted, closed the gap between them, and shoved herself full into his side until he was forced to wrap his arm around her.
Hermione furrowed her brow, bit her lip, and fought for composure. "A Horcrux, Harry. I know. It sounds like a made-up word. But it isn't. It's horrible, really. A bit of ancient dark magic that's, in nearly every sense of the word, unspeakable."
Harry felt a gravity return to his shoulders that he hadn't missed. "Okay. So, um, what exactly is a Horcrux, and how is it that I am one?"
She began to speak, but Luna interrupted.
"Unspeakable violence." She shuddered, her typical distance lost to sorrow. "For many thousands of years, Harry Potter, wicked men have chased immortality at the expense of the innocent. Few artefacts of this malice remain, for good witches and wizards have given their lives to wipe such corruption from this plane."
Hermione watched her with parted lips, overwhelmed with compassion and bewildered fascination.
Luna slowly inhaled, and her distant, melodic tone fell into place. "Long ago it was discovered that the soul might be split —rent in two, you might say, like torn flesh — for this unnatural act forever scars. The cast alters fundamentally the creature who once bore the name of man." She shook her head. "Why would anyone do such a thing? The fragment of that accursed soul may be deposited — kept safe for that day when fate calls to account. Death cannot touch the man whose soul is elsewhere."
She closed her eyes, laced her fingers through Harry's, and tucked further into his shoulder.
Hermione nodded. "She's correct, Harry. The object in which the soul fragment is stored is called a 'Horcrux.' The witch or wizard who casts such vile magic is, to some extent, protected from the finality of death. Their physical body is destroyed, yet their soul remains — suspended, you might say, until possession or resurrection."
Harry flinched at this.
Hermione nodded. "There are ways — dark spells and violent witchcraft — to return an immaterial spirit to a physical vessel. You are, Harry, familiar with at least one of them."
Harry nodded, his expression cast with something between despair and resolve. "So when Voldemort murdered my parents — when he attempted to murder me — you're saying he left a piece of his soul behind?" He drew his right index finger to the scar on his forehead. "In here?"
Luna exhaled, shifted her body to face Harry directly, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.
Hermione nodded, her expression heavy with grief. "I'm almost certain, Harry. Voldemort must have created a number of soul fragments. He should have died that day, when his killing curse rebounded — but he didn't. That's one. First year, when he possessed the body of Professor Quirrel? You destroyed that body, yet he wasn't killed. That's two. When he channeled the diary of Tom Riddle, when he possessed and stole the life force of Ginny? You ended him, Harry, when you stabbed the diary with a basilisk fang. He should have been killed that day, Harry. But he wasn't. That's three."
Harry watched as Hermione's brilliance shone in fascination, while simultaneously her compassion anchored her to grief. She fought her instinct to chase the idea full speed, catching his eyes every few moments and feeling the sheer horror of it all.
"You see, Harry, I think he made so many of these that, somehow — inadvertently, I think — he made another on the day that you survived. I think that you have a piece of him in you, Harry. I think that's why you feel pain in your scar. I think that's why you have visions of his activities. I think that's why you dream about him, and your dreams are vivid and real. They are real, Harry, because you're seeing him through his very soul."
It seemed that she was finished, ready for the inevitable series of questions, when suddenly her eyes lit up and she spoke once more. "Oh! I nearly forgot. I suggested he'd done it inadvertently. This isn't speculation, Harry. I've read from a number of sources that He-Who-Must—"
Harry shot her a look.
Hermione stumbled. "Right, sorry." She steeled herself. "I've read that Voldemort is one of the most accomplished Legilimens in recent memory. Few have studied and mastered the art as he has. And yet, on more than a few occasions, his most vulnerable situations were readily available to you. You knew that he was preparing for a body. You knew that Peter Pettigrew was at his side. You knew he had a faithful servant whom he trusted to lure you to the graveyard. Can't you see, Harry? If he had any notion that you had this sort of access, you'd have been cut off altogether — or worse, he'd have taken advantage of your mind."
All enthusiasm for the thrill of insight left her just then. "I don't think he realised, then, what he'd done. Yet something has changed, Harry." She shifted her gaze from Harry to Luna, and back again. "He sent Dementors to leave your body soulless, Harry. He wanted a shell."
She swallowed, blinked rapidly, and suddenly the colour in her cheeks dissipated. "He knows now. Something's happened, and now he knows that you're connected to him, that a piece of him has been left behind."
The room stilled.
For some time, Harry just listened, nodding occasionally. He winced at least twice, considering the nature of the violence which had led to this moment, to this revelation. Finally, he spoke.
"Okay." He inhaled deeply, resolved. "Okay. So what's next? I mean, I guess it all makes sense. I knew, of course, that there was some connection. This feels a lot more — I wanted to say 'icky,' but I suppose intimate will do. Our purpose, though, remains the same. How do we kill it?" He looked up, flitting playful eyes from Hermione to Luna. "Ideally, without killing me."
Hermione brightened a touch at Harry's gallows humour. A moment later, she steadied. "I don't know, Harry. But I'll not stop until we find a way."
At this, Luna leaned into him, drawing his face toward her with gentle hands, until his eyes were less than a hand's breadth from her's. "I'll stop at nothing, my dear Harry Potter, until you're free of this vile hatred." She leaned away, pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his fingertips with a slow intimacy. "And then we'll kill him properly."
In that moment, as three dear friends sat in silence, stirring one another to hope, they were suddenly knit together with righteous purpose. Tom Riddle didn't stand a chance.
Within two hours, Hermione had departed, leaving Luna and Harry alone.
Time passed unaccounted. He lay on the overstuffed crimson couch, head and shoulders propped against the far arm. She lay in his arms, pressed against him, knee pulled up over his thighs, tugging closer every few minutes.
"Harry?"
"Yes, Luna?"
"Are you okay?"
A pause. "Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah. You know, I think I am okay. Odd, isn't it?"
"No, I don't think it's odd. I think it's brilliant."
He smiled.
"It's just that I think I knew, in some vague sense."
She nodded. "As if he never truly left you in that nursery."
"Exactly."
A moment passed.
"Luna?"
"Yes, darling?"
"It's almost like freedom." A pause. "Knowing, I mean." A slow intake of breath. "Naming it, understanding it. It's the beginning of the end."
"His end."
"Right." A pause. "Right. His end."
A long silence. She tugged him closer.
"Harry?"
"Yes, Luna?"
"Um. So. Um. Whenareyougonnaopenthosepresentsthey'rejustsittingtherewaitingtobeopenedandhowcanyounottearopenthatwrappingpaperlikerightnow?"
He laughed. "You want me to open my presents?"
She sat up, faced him squarely, and bobbed with excitement. "Uh-huh."
He was giggling now. "Luna, do you like presents?"
She nodded violently, trembling with excitement. "Uh-huh."
He laughed, kissed her forehead as he stood. She shifted to the opposite arm of the overstuffed sofa as he made his way back with a short pile of neatly wrapped presents.
She was bobbing again, biting her lip and clearly barely holding it in. "Yay! Happy Birthday, Harry Potter. Which will you open first?!"
He grinned broadly, sat cross-legged opposite her with the presents between them, and grabbed a golden rectangle from the centre of the pile. A ruby red envelope was tied to the top with ribbons. He pulled it free and a moment later was reading the card's contents.
"Harry,
Happy Birthday from the both of us. As our sole investor, we figured there was no better way to wish you well than to give you a first glimpse of our efforts. Inside you'll find select prototypes of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes launch collection. We chose the items you might find… useful in your adventures. Just, er, be careful. Haven't had an opportunity to test some of these yet.
Well wishes, and all that.
Fred and George and Fred"
Harry laughed, ripped open the golden wrapping paper, and found underneath a wooden box with golden hinges, a shiny purple clasp, and a magically enchanted label featuring a thin, ginger animatronic Weasley twin, in a golden brown suit, lifting a top hat and revealing, at intervals, a rabbit underneath.
Luna leaned forward, awestruck, as he opened the lid. Three items were displayed, each with a copper plate identifying their name and function:
Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder
Instant darkness upon impact, perfect for sneaking
Portable Swamp
Toss it. Soon enough, the entire area will be covered in muck
Wonder Witch Love Potion
Effective for nearly 24 hours, depending on the boy's weight, and the girl's looks
Luna laughed at the selection, reaching out and pocketing the love potion immediately. She smirked mischievously. "This may come in handy, should your interest ever… wane."
Harry laughed, pushed aside the sampler, and grabbed the nearest package. This one was wrapped in muggle newsprint. A Hallmark card, celebrating a wedding anniversary, was taped to the top. Harry read aloud the following:
"Harry,
Many happy returns! Molly and I couldn't be prouder. I do hope you'll keep this on the, as they say, 'down-low' — but I've found a few items I couldn't bear incinerating or submitting to our permanent "misuse of muggle artefacts" archives. Perhaps you'll find them useful, instead?
You're always welcome at the Burrow,
Arthur Weasley"
Harry grinned widely, overwhelmed with the sense of community and a fond affection for the Weasleys. He tore open the muggle newsprint to find a cardboard box, loosely folded. Within it were two items.
The first was a seventies era torch, bulky with a large handle and boxy frame, all crafted of unfinished stainless steel. Near the end of the handle was a large, translucent red plastic switch.
Harry picked up the torch, pointed it at the mantle, and flipped the switch.
He expected light. Instead, a portion of the mantle simply disappeared. In the shape of a circle — a diameter of around five feet — Harry saw not mantle, nor chimney, but the waist-high green hedge which surrounded his home.
He grinned. "Brilliant!"
Luna's wide eyes followed the beam of the torch as Harry passed it over every wall surrounding them. They saw clearly the outside of the home, the hallway, and the dining room in turn. Luna grinned. "What lovely magic!" She bit her lip. "May I try?"
He handed her the torch, and she smirked mischievously just before she turned its beam directly on Harry. She frowned when she saw, not his naked figure, but merely the features of the room beyond the sofa.
Harry laughed. "Easy there. We've had enough of that for today."
He snatched it back and she giggled. A moment later they returned their attention to the cardboard box. Harry picked up what he knew from experience was a Polaroid Camera — one of the older models from the early eighties. It was meticulously maintained. He'd handled a camera like this before, for a few hours at the Dursley's before they noticed it was missing. As he unfolded it, he noticed on the front, just beneath the lens, were embossed the words, "Polaroid XS70 | Land Camera Model 2."
He smiled playfully, picked it up, pointed it directly at Luna, and pressed the red button two inches from the lens. A pleasant mechanical whirring ensued, and after a moment a photo emerged from the slit lining the bottom of the camera. Luna was fascinated.
Harry grabbed the photo, held the corner in his hand, and shook it. Luna was entirely confused.
A moment later, a moving image of Luna materialised from the brown-grey. She was bobbing with excitement, quirking her head this way and that, watching Harry play with his new toys with fascination.
Harry felt a surge of affection for Arthur Weasley, and had nearly handed the photo to Luna to inspect when he heard Luna's voice from the tiny photo — as if distantly recorded and then broadcast through an old record player.
"If I'm being honest, I'm afraid. I love him, you see. I love him more than I think I'll ever love anyone. And I cannot bear the thought of him hurt, him haunted, him dying. So I'll do whatever I can to keep him safe. Nothing is more important to me."
Harry's eyes shot wide, and Luna flushed. Suddenly she threw herself upon him, wrestled the camera out of his hands, faced the lens in his direction, steadied, and pressed the red button.
After a pleasant mechanical whirring, a photo emerged from the slit lining the bottom of the camera. She grabbed it, shook it violently with a look of desperation washing over her features, and held it before her.
In the photo, Harry sat, smiling awkwardly, fidgeting here and there and clearly feeling altogether uncomfortable.
A moment later, he spoke — and they both heard his voice, as if distantly record and then broadcast through an old record player.
"Here's the thing. I know he'll be the end of me. I've suspected it all along. Yet I love her, desperately. Before we met, it would have felt like relief to be done. But just now I can't help but think that I'll leave her behind. I'm terrified and I'm lost. And the notion of it weighs on me so heavily."
Herry felt naked before her, and for a moment he looked away. When he dared to return his gaze to her, tears had fallen down her cheeks.
"I love you, Harry Potter. And I refuse to let you go."
He pushed aside the remaining gifts, cleared the distance between them, and wrapped his arms gently around her lean form.
"I love you, Luna Lovegood. And I'd truly love to stay."