The house shook with laughter for over an hour that evening, as the twins told stories over heaping piles of cornish pasties and icy cool mugs of butterbeer. Aside from that interruption, however, they each threw themselves into their labors uninterrupted until nearly ten.

Finishing a key phase of their potion, George pulled his attention reluctantly away from the theory text spread before them, and Fred simultaneously unpinned and pocketed the long stretch of parchment they'd referenced throughout the afternoon.

"I reckon dear mother will be furious if we stretch the evening any further. What do you say, Fred?"

Fred sighed, ran his fingers through his hair. "You're probably right, brother." He halted, hesitated briefly, and then turned his gaze to Hermione, catching her attention with a bashful smile. "See you tomorrow, Hermione?"

She blinked, summoned every ounce of composure, and met his gaze with but the faintest blush. "I'm not sure, actually. Perhaps?"

He nodded, and she was nearly certain she'd caught a hint of disappointment in his expression. She smiled, and her eyes held his gaze for a moment longer than either of them felt comfortable with, and not nearly as long as either of them wanted.

Just then, Ron turned the corner. "Guys, I'm spent. My brain hurts, and if I read another ruddy word I'm going to spontaneously combust."

By ten thirty, they bid their farewells and departed in turn. The Weasleys left by way of the floo network. Not long thereafter, Luna stood beneath the threshold of No. 4 1/2 Privet Drive, the fingers of her left hand laced between Harry's, her right hand waving farewell to an apprehensive Hermione, who was presently ignoring the suggestive comments of the shrunken head hanging from the Knight Bus' rear view mirror.

A stir of dust settled on the pavement before them, and suddenly they were perfectly alone.

Bright eyes and a playful smile overtook Luna's expression, as Harry whispered into her ear.

"Hi."

"Hello."

He pulled her closer with his right hand, pressing against her hip with his left hand, until she'd twisted and her lean form fell gently against the door frame.

He drew nearer. "Something's just occurred to me."

She bit her lip, threaded the index finger of her right hand through a nearby belt loop, and pulled his waist against hers. "Tell me, darling."

He leaned his forehead against hers, their eyes inches apart. "This home is invisible to nearly everyone in the universe."

She lifted her chin, her lips so close he could feel her slowly exhale. "I see."

He was nearer still, his lips a hair's breadth from her right ear. "Inaudible, as well."

She felt the teasing warmth of his whispers, and she trembled. "Is that so?"

He nodded, and briefly his lips wrapped around her earlobe. A sharp intake of breath pressed her chest into his as he dragged his lips from just below her ear to the soft slope of her shoulder, playfully biting at building intervals.

She closed her eyes, and the slightest whimper escaped her lips. After a moment, she whispered. "Interesting." A shiver ran up her spine as his tongue found her ear. "And if one were to find oneself pressed against a threshold, fighting desperately for composure against overwhelming pleasure?"

He paused, lifted his eyes and set his attention full upon her parted lips. "No need for composure."

And then he kissed her, pressing his lips gently, softly into hers, carefully tracing the swell of her bottom lip with the slow drag of his tongue, inhaling her longing sigh and gripping her hip passionately. She wrapped her right hand around his back, dug her nails into his shoulders, and pressed full against him. In time, their chests were moving in rhythm, their bodies shifting with building urgency. She pulled away, and her fingers dug into his chest as he gasped. His palm was searching, pressed full against her torso, against her hip, against her right thigh, suddenly wrapped around her, exploring the tight swell of her bottom.

Again she pressed into him, and she longed for more, and she felt him hard against her, and she longed for more. He pulled her near, and he longed for more, and he felt her every shift against his building tension, and he longed for more.

Suddenly they both hesitated. Harry caught her gaze, and for a moment they watched one another, capturing their breath.

Harry spoke first. "Luna Lovegood, you're incredible."

She blushed. "Yeah?"

He smiled. "Yeah. And I should really walk you home."

She sighed. "Yeah." Lifting her full eyes to his, she nodded. "I know."

They paced slowly, hand in hand, toward the rusty tin can, punctured on one end, threaded loosely with string. At intervals, she leaned her body into his and set her head fondly upon his shoulder. At intervals, he'd turn to her, summoning a question just to hear her thoughts.

In time, she held the tin can in her hands beside the far hedge of a local primary school.

"Harry Potter?"

He smiled. "Yes, Luna?"

"I never want this to end, ever."

He smiled. "Yeah." He traced the soft line of her jaw with his fingertips. "I think it, too, every day."

She pulled his hand softly, pressing into a soft embrace. "Will you write to me tonight?"

He leaned into her, kissed her forehead, and nodded.

She pulled away, looked at him with wide, longing eyes.

"Home."

Luna,

Every evening, typically around ten, my desire to keep you here — to hear your words and your whispers, to feel your embrace, to taste your lips on mine and to explore your every contour — nearly overpowers my desire to protect you, to protect what we've been given.

I hope you'll forgive me. Too often my will falters, overcome by your taste and touch. There's so much of you that I don't yet know, and I'm overwhelmed by a drive to discover. It isn't just that, though.

Your desire, darling, feels knit to mine. I find myself desperate for you to feel desperation. I long for you to long. I am taken with your interest, your building pleasure, your sighs and shivers.

These insatiable pursuits dance together, and I am, at least for a moment, overcome. I am lost in you.

I fight them, Luna, to keep what we have and to chase it to the end. I can hardly hope for such an end, yet I can hardly imagine a better end worth pursuing. I fight for that bright, shining end wherein our competing interests wed; wherein my chief hope to protect what we've been given, and my overwhelming desire to discover you completely, are finally allies.

Until that moment, as I pull away, I hope you'll see strength in my sunken shoulders. To walk you home is a battle won.

My head is swimming, Luna. There's so much to talk about.

For instance, I discovered today that I'm insanely wealthy. Goodness gracious. Eighty thousand galleons a day on the Potter Estate's investments. Honestly, I can't imagine it.

I knew, in an abstract sense, that the House of Potter was notable — ancient and influential, like the Black family. I didn't really consider how or why. I guess wealth was a big part of that influence.

I feel ridiculous, honestly, at the revelation of it all. It's embarrassing, to have so much when so many have so little. I want to do something with it, Luna. That much wealth can change things for people, right?

I had an idea. I don't want to overstep, but I was wondering whether The Quibbler could use an investor? I was largely kept from it all, but apparently this summer The Daily Prophet has been a tool in Fudge's hands. It wasn't a surprise, honestly. Politics and Agenda are unmistakably apparent in the articles. I can't help but suspect that such bias will work against us in the end.

The Quibbler, though, has been a beacon of light. Perhaps some of the content is (forgive me) a touch speculative. But the vision, the bright pursuit of truth, has been there all the time.

You said that your father is The Quibbler's chief correspondent. I wonder whether he could use support? A team of journalists? Editing staff and researchers? Do you think he'd be open to an investment of sorts? It feels ludicrous to say, but the Potter Estate could fund it on a few weeks of earnings.

Send me your thoughts?

One more thing. I'm enjoying the time we've had with friends, but I miss our days together. Maybe I could drop by the Rook tomorrow? You've yet to teach me the magic of memory…

Yours,
Harry

PS — Is something happening between Hermione and Fred? Am I crazy?