"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."
She bit her lip, summoned her courage. "Only you and I can see what we sketch in these books."
A distant spectre of mischief overcame Harry's features. He smirked playfully, leaned back upon the far arm of the overstuffed sofa, and opened the sketchbook.
"Shall I give it a go?" He asked, grinning broadly.
Suddenly Luna's features were flooded with apprehension.
"Let's see…" He tapped the charcoal pencil against his lower lip. "Ah. My first memory of Luna Lovegood. That should do." He furrowed his brow, summoning the memory. A moment later, he put pencil to parchment.
Suddenly Luna leapt from the couch, twisting, stumbling, and falling in a giggling fit. "HARRY!"
She writhed with violent force, and her infectious giggles lit up the room. "HARRY POTTER!"
He laughed, stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and bent forward in intense concentration.
She was gasping for air between fits of hysterical laughter, twisting and turning upon the large, gold rug in the centre of the room. "HARRY!" She screamed between giggles. "TICKLISH, HARRY." She was reaching for his legs, to no avail. "I CAN'T!"
He was bent over laughing, no longer able to focus his attention on the sketch before him.
She gasped for air, finally gathering herself and sitting up, flushed. Her dirty blonde hair was in a tangled mess and her heather grey tank twisted tight around her torso. She furrowed her brow in feigned disappointment, fighting a happy smile.
He unveiled his sketch, turning the sketchpad for Luna to see.
Two bare feet, toes clearly mid-wiggle, were propped upon the nearest row of the last car of the Hogwarts Express.
She huffed, stood, and fought a smile — her left hand on her hip while shoving a menacing right index finger six inches from Harry's nose. She narrowed her eyes and summoned a look of intimidation."You get what you pay for, Harry Potter. I'm an excellent artist."
They fell into a fit of laughter, after which she fell into place, burrowed beneath his arm on the overstuffed sofa. His attention was caught by the last gift, wrapped in woven leaves.
"Luna, there's one remaining."
"You're right, Harry. There is." She leaned further into him after handing him the remaining package. "Although I'm afraid I can't take credit for the magical ingenuity of this one."
He pulled a loose stem and the leaves cascaded to the floor beneath him. He found himself holding an envelope, sealed with red wax, upon which were impressed the letters "H" and "P" with flourish.
"It's a note." He said with a smile.
She nodded. "Yes. And more than a note."
She pivoted, turning to face him. A moment later, she began to speak in a distant, melodic tone. "My parents fell in love while at Hogwarts. Of course many young people court at our age, but their relationship was quite different. Quite a bit more intense. They loved each other, you see, and knew it almost immediately. For them, Harry Potter, a few hours between classes and after dinner wasn't nearly enough. They couldn't write because familiars like Hedwig and Asher aren't permitted on school grounds outside of approved delivery schedules. They were stuck, for they wanted to speak for hours into the night, every evening. Yet such a thing is impossible without risking suspension."
She smiled, pulled the envelope out of his hand, and held it up. "The solution was elegant in its simplicity. My mother discovered an enchantment, and with it she charmed two envelopes. One she kept, the other she gave to my father."
She held the envelope to him, tapping the seal with her finger. "The twin envelopes are connected, you see. You've noticed that I have written you a letter. Should you choose to craft a reply (say, merely for the sake of illustration, immediately after I leave your home) — You would place that letter into the same envelope from which you withdrew my correspondence. Close the flap and tap the seal with your wand, and the impression upon the seal will shift. Not only on yours, but on its twin — which is presently laid upon my pillow. The letter you write will be immediately delivered to me, when I break that seal. And so it goes. A limitless connection to one another, without the need for owls or ravens."
Harry's eyes were wide. "It's brilliant, Luna. It's perfect."
She bit her lip, smiling with a bashful expression. "Perhaps it's a bit forward, but I do love your letters, Harry. I'd be devastated if they were interrupted for the duration of the school year."
He pulled her near to him, wrapping his arm full around her waist. "You'll tire of me, I'm sure of it. You must promise to ignore my notes when you're feeling you've had enough."
She looked at him curiously, a hint of confusion cast over her features. "Enough? Harry, I'll never have enough. You musn't think it, ever. Whatever you're willing to give of yourself, darling, never hesitate."
He was arrested by the comment, and held her gaze. After a long pause, he nearly whispered. "Luna, are you ever afraid we'll lose this. I think about it all the time. I'm afraid I'll look up and suddenly find that you've lost all affection for me."
She looked away, and Harry just noticed her chin tremble. "I'm not afraid of that, Harry Potter. I'm afraid I'll lose you, but I'm not afraid I'll lose your affection."
He kissed her then, slowly and carefully. And for a long while they held one another, comforting one another under the shadow of distant fears.
Harry had just returned from walking Luna to the far hedge of the nearby primary school grounds. He'd nearly turned the corner and ascended the stairs toward his loft when he noticed an envelope sitting near the corner of the dining room table.
The flourish with which the words "Harry Potter" were written was unparalleled, and were it possible Harry would have suspected the parchment he pulled from the gold and crimson envelope were older than Hogwarts itself.
He opened the delicate parchment and read the following:
Harry,
Sixteen years. It feels, alas, like yesterday.
When I took quill in hand to ink your invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry four years ago, I was of course curious to see what would become of the boy who lived. Perhaps because of my distance, I'm afraid I couldn't have anticipated your strength, your maturity, or your unwavering courage. Whatever you've become, my dear boy, it is in spite of my influence. Your kindness overwhelms my failures, and I am, of course, humbled to celebrate your life in the presence of your dearest friends.
I have two purposes for this note, Harry.
First, I regret to inform you that, in the wake of your cousin's tragic end, your Aunt and Uncle have decided to abandon No. 4 Privet Drive. Due to the nature of recent events, the Ministry of Magic offered to compensate your extended family materially, and to facilitate whatever move they felt appropriate to distance themselves from dark memories.
Hence, the second purpose of this note. As you may have anticipated, a cascade of wards collapsed in the wake of their departure, and I've spent the better part of two days fabricating wards in their stead — the most powerful that I am capable of, although I fear perhaps not as powerful as those your ingenious mother crafted in your infancy. The effort was significant, and required consultation with a number of ancient texts, as well as some correspondence with Xenophilius Lovegood. He kindly offered access to the private records of the Lovegood estate, whose wards are unparalleled. You'll perhaps be pleased to discover that all traces are stifled in the presence of your home. As at Hogwarts, you may cast without consequence within the boundaries of your property.
No. 4 Privet Drive is now formally registered as an assets of the Potter Estate. It is yours to do with as you please, Harry, although despite the dark memories I hope you'll choose to retain it. I've discovered, in the wake of the many failures of my prolonged life, that the hope of redemption eclipses the minor comforts of regret.
Yours, to the end.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
PS — The presence of the Dursleys limited to some degree my ability to magically expand the physical space of No. 4 1/2 Privet Drive. I've offset these limitations in the course of my recent efforts. I sincerely hope you'll build upon my efforts. You are henceforth limited only by your imagination.
PPS — In our recent correspondence, I've recommended a text to Miss Granger. Perhaps she might be of assistance?