"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."
She tugged herself into him, wrapping her arms under his and pulling her form tight into his chest. And they stayed there for a moment, breathing together.
Harry was taken with her, entirely, and he was blissfully happy. And as he held her near, he swore to himself that he'd do everything in his power to protect this. He'd push himself, challenge his magical knowledge, his strength. Because every ounce of his efforts were worth—
"Um, Harry?" Luna's voice interrupted his train of thought.
He inhaled deeply, drunk with the scent of lavender.
"Yes, darling?"
"Um, so…" He couldn't see her just then, but he was certain she was biting her lip. "What are you going to do about the rest of those presents?"
Sitting atop of the pile of remaining presents was an envelope. It was the bland colour of recycled parchment, upon which was written the word "Harry" scratched untidily and off-centre.
He broke the seal, pulled out a single sheet of parchment, roughly folded, upon which was written one sentence.
"I can't give you your gift, but I can show you. — Ron"
Harry's brow furrowed, entirely confused. He handed the parchment to Luna, whose eyebrow raised in an expression of bewildered speculation.
Harry grabbed the next gift on the pile.
It was a flatish rectangle, three inches tall, nearly eighteen inches long, around a foot wide. Meticulously wrapped in charcoal grey paper, with a pitch black ribbon, bowed at the centre with a black wax seal upon which was stamped, with flourish, the letters S and B.
Tucked into the ribbon was a note. Harry opened the folded parchment and read it aloud.
"Pup,
I find myself genuinely overwhelmed with the privilege of knowing you, of watching you grow up. You're a better man than I am already — a conviction I've heard Lupin whisper at least a dozen times, and I dare say James would join the chorus. I am convinced, against the backdrop of your courage, your hope, your strength and conviction, that my days are best spent in your service and support. To that end, you'll find underneath this note a hooded cloak typically passed to the Heir of the House of Black on their eighteenth birthday. You're getting it early, because of course no one has so clearly earned it or so desperately needed it.
A box not unlike this one arrived at the threshold of your grandfather's manor on the morning of my eighteenth birthday. No explanation was given aside from a clip of parchment upon which were written the words, "Careful. It's temperamental." I'll try to give a better explanation than my grandfather's.
The cloak within this box has been passed from grandfather to grandson for at least six hundred years. It is enchanted with lost arts and it has no equal. No spell will pierce its fabric. It is, indeed, a perfect shield. Yet its less discernible features are perhaps more valuable. I swear I'm not lying — on no less than nine occasions, this cloak stole me from Death's grasp. It has life, Harry. A personality of its own, a will of its own, and a prescient awareness of danger I cannot even begin to understand. Trust its movements, its suggestions, its insistence. You'll not regret it.
Yours forever,
Snuffles"
Harry read the note with a sense of wonder. He savoured the implications of family, threaded within every sentence. Suddenly the fact of Sirius' freedom met Harry anew, as he considered what it might be like to actually be a part of a family. Sirius was his godfather, yet he'd always kept a safe distance for fear of further complicating Harry's life. That distance was no longer necessary.
He pulled the black ribbon, carefully tugged here and there on the charcoal paper — willing himself to preserve the minutiae of this moment, this gift. A moment later, a box of thin birchwood, stained dark, sat between them. As he released the clasp which held it shut, a whisper of magic filled the room.
His first impression was that of profound, unnatural black. As he lifted the cloak, even its movements were hidden, as if the fabric swallowed what light it ought to have refracted. He stood immediately, wrapped the heavy garment around his shoulders, and frowned. It was at least eighteen inches too long. Yet as soon as he thought it, the cloak shifted. Suddenly it fit him perfectly, its gravity falling just so on his shoulders, so that he felt safer even in the wearing of it.
He looked to Luna. "What do you think?"
She was looking up in wonder, her wide eyes scanning the shape of him. "It's perfect, Harry Potter. Wonderful."
Harry shook the bizarre notion that the cloak preened at the comment, for such a thing must be impossible. Just then he noticed that the right hem of the garment seemed to subtly gravitate toward her, as if caught by a peculiar breeze.
Harry grinned. "Brilliant."
He sat down once more. Luna bit her lip and shifted her gaze meaningfully to the pile before them. Harry laughed, and soon picked up a small cylinder, wrapped in purple paper that had been, it seemed, soaked by rain at some point recently.
A small tag hung loosely from the package, upon which the following words were written.
"Harry. Best I could do in a pinch, but something tells me you won't mind. — Remus"
He read it aloud, and with furrowed brow unwrapped the paper.
It was a small glass vial, within which swirled a silvery thread, floating as if immersed in dark waters.
"A memory." Luna whispered, smiling. "We'll have to take it to the pensieve tomorrow morning."
Harry nodded, full of hope, and treasured all the day had meant.
The next package was wrapped nicely in crimson red paper, with a bright gold ribbon crossing at its centre. Upon it was a short note, in Hermione's precise script.
"Harry. I have ideas. — H"
Harry pulled off the ribbon, tore open the paper, and grinned broadly. Before him stood a hardcover book in pristine condition, entitled, Expansion Charms and the Art of Space.
As Harry unwrapped and admired each gift in turn, Luna's excitement built. He watched her with happy admiration, longing for the innocence she seemed to exude.
Suddenly, as Harry suspected he reached the end, a short stack of five small packages appeared, each wrapped in vibrant green leaves woven together in intricate patterns. The stack was bound with twill, which upon closer inspection was woven with what appeared to be the dried fibres of river grass.
Luna's full eyes watched him carefully, a playful energy overtaking her features.
"This one's from me." She said, and he adored her for the joy threaded through her words. "Asher helped me gather the leaves."
He carefully untied the twill. Two flat, rectangular packages sat beneath two thin, cylindrical packages. A very thin, rectangular package sat beneath it all.
Harry grabbed one of the thin cylindrical packages first. As he tugged a thin stem of the nearest leaf, the enchanted wrapping magically released, dozens of freshly fallen leaves settling on the sofa between them.
"Luna, this is lovely magic. You'll have to teach me the enchantment."
She smiled, bit her lip, and waited.
Harry was holding what appeared to be a charcoal pencil.
She nudged one of the two flat, rectangular packages his way. Again, as he tugged a stem, the leaves fell away. Within it was a leather bound sketchbook.
"The pencil and the sketchbook are enchanted." She paused, a touch of pink highlighting her cheeks. "Quite a unique set of enchantments, actually."
At this she reached for the other cylindrical and rectangular packages. A moment later, she was holding before her a twin set — a charcoal pencil and sketchbook just like those Harry held in his hands.
"This is a twin set. One for you, Harry Potter." She pulled the sketchbook to her chest. "And one for me."
He smirked playfully, without the faintest idea where she was going.
"The pencil is enchanted — charmed to channel your memories and to reflect them precisely on paper. It will guide your hand, Harry, enabling you to perfectly sketch any memory you summon. An artefact of memory magic that is, I think, unique to my studies."
At this, she flushed. A moment later, she bit her lip, gathered herself, and continued. "That isn't, however, the only way this pencil is charmed." She looked away bashfully. "Should you choose to reflect a memory of me, darling, I will… feel your attention."
Suddenly he began to understand.
"Summon any memory of me, Harry Potter, and channel that memory into a sketch with this pencil, and I'll feel every line. At first, the touch of pencil to parchment will feel as if your finger is tracing the lines of my figure. A gentle touch. The more attention you pay to the sketch, the more detail of the vision you embody in shades and lines and shadows…" She hesitated. "...the more pleasant the sensation I'll encounter."
His pulse had quickened, and he was suddenly struck with the intimacy of the gift.
She smiled playfully, fighting a crimson blush. "Mine is likewise enchanted."
A happy hunger struck his features. "Luna, it's perfect."
Her lips parted, and she exhaled in relief. "It's just that I've so enjoyed your attention. But in not so many days we'll be back in school, and we're sorted in different houses, and I can't imagine I'll see you but a few times a day, and rarely alone."
She paused, and her eyes were filled with apprehension. "I want to know that you're thinking of me, Harry Potter. I want to feel your affections, even when I can't be beside you."
At this, he rushed to her. He pulled her up from the sofa, lifted her off the floor. As she wrapped her legs around his waist, he pulled her near and whispered in her ears. "You have my attention, Luna Lovegood. It's yours forever."
She giggled, they kissed, and after a moment he set her gently down on the sofa.
"And the sketchbook? Is it enchanted?" He asked.
It took her full attention to contain a blush of fullest crimson. "Yes."
He laughed. "How?"
She bit her lip, summoned her courage. "Only you and I can see what we sketch in these books..."