A|N — A quick note, for diligent readers.
In this story, Hogwarts letters are sent to witches and wizards at the age of thirteen, rather than eleven. Thus, Harry is entered into the Tri-Wizard tournament at sixteen, whereas his fellows are nearly twenty.
Two reasons I've made this decision.
First, I can hardly imagine a universe wherein eleven-year-olds are handed a stick that can kill with a quick wave and the utterance of six syllables.
Second, the subject matter of this story in particular is quite adult. Harry's more mature, his decisions are better informed, and his interests are more complex. His relationship with Luna advances in the ways not unfamiliar to those of seventeen.
In nearly every other arena, the story's context follows the original works of Jo Rowling.
P.S. — This is a pretty dramatic rewrite of a story I've been writing for over a year, previously published under the title, "Yours, Luna Lovegood." I found myself reconsidering some pretty significant plot shifts, and was awarded an exceptional opportunity to rectify when my account was compromised. Here are the results.
It was the sight of bare toes that arrested his attention.
Harry Potter paced amidst the stacks of Hogwarts Library, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the bindings of tattered volumes. The rich fragrance of weathered pages, aged leather, and ancient mahogany shelving might have been a comfort on any other day, yet just now the towers of magical knowledge loomed threateningly, an embodiment of his own monstrous ignorance that would, almost certainly, get him killed in the coming months. Despite it all, these dusty stacks numbered among the few corners of the castle rarely inhabited, and Harry desperately craved solitude.
It had been a fortnight since the Goblet of Fire had spit out his name in the Great Hall; two weeks since an awkward silence fell, followed quickly by hushed whispers of ruthless speculation. Worse still, it had been two weeks since his best mate had even nodded in his direction.
Social ostracism was something he'd grown used to, of course, but it had sharper edges now that he'd known something of friendship, community, even family.
There were buttons, now. Harry couldn't help but notice how many of his peers wore them. "Potter Stinks," they read, a colorful dance of yellow and black letters. If the dread of near-certain demise hadn't already cast him into a mood, the buttons might have thrown him over the edge.
As it stood, he felt utterly hopeless and palpably alone.
Of course he wasn't alone; there was Hermione, who never doubted him a moment. Yet half her time was spent desperately attempting to mend bridges, and the other half in a feverish pursuit of anything that might keep Harry alive through the winter. She'd hurried off a few hours before, muttering something about a prior engagement, and that's how Harry had found himself here, fighting despair, feigning interest in a neglected volume of one of Newt Scamander's lesser known volumes.
So it was that, as the crisp breeze of a Scottish autumn whispered against the Library's stained-glass windows, just in the periphery of his vision, the wiggle of pale toes caught his eye.
She was laying upside down on a broad and beaten leather wingback, her back flat against the seat, her heels just resting on the right wing, and her long, silvery-blonde hair hanging comically, just touching the hardwood beneath. She held a newspaper close to her face, slowly twisting it this way and that.
A field of flowers, gently swaying against a soft breeze, was magically embroidered at the hem of her white skirt, which had bunched at her knees. Her toes danced absentmindedly as she read.
In a word, she was fascinating.
She was also beautiful.
Harry's every inclination toward solitude were forgotten immediately.
"...um. Hi. I'm, uh... I'm Harry."
"Harry Potter. Hi Harry. My name is Luna Lovegood. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
She said all this without looking up from her paper, and something about that made Harry happy.
He looked around with a bit of a puzzled expression. "Forgive me. But where are your shoes?"
"Ah. My housemates like jokes. And it seems I'm the butt of a lot of them. They're gone, for now. I don't know where, but that's okay. There was a time when nobody had shoes, Harry Potter, and the facilities at Hogwarts are quite well maintained. I'm particularly fond of the Library flooring. Have you ever explored campus barefoot?"
He stumbled at this, amused and more than a little thrown off guard. "I haven't, actually. Um, perhaps soon?"
This would have been the right moment to end the conversation. But Harry was drawn to her, and he felt, in a vague sort of way, that the tension he'd been carrying these few weeks might resolve, right here and now, if he sat beside this girl and asked questions.
"I'm sorry, but do you mind if I sit down?"
She looked up from her paper, inquisitive.
"If you'd like this seat, I don't mind moving."
"No, it's not that. I just... we've never met, and I've seen you around school and I thought if you weren't busy maybe we could be friends."
He trailed off a bit, whatever semblance of confidence failing him in the end.
There was a long pause. She smiled.
"I'd like that. I've never had a friend. Not a person-friend, anyway."
At once Harry felt a profound sense of connection with Luna Lovegood. Because, until recently, he hadn't had a friend either. And because, indeed quite recently, he had found himself the butt of many jokes.
She put away her paper and shifted her weight deftly to sit upright. Crossing her legs and sitting on her bare feet, she turned to face him. She didn't speak, she waited.
And at this point, Harry missed a beat, because he'd never met anyone with such piercing silver eyes.
They spoke for over two hours, and it was the most fun Harry had had in a long time. Luna's world was much bigger than Harry's — and much more magical, though he hadn't thought that was possible. As they traded stories about studies and magical creatures and coursework and professors, she'd interrupt the conversation to speculate on the nature of Wrackspurts, or the unacknowledged threat of Nargles, or the nefarious influence of Moon Frogs.
She spoke with a distance, almost ethereal tone, and everything she said was uttered in humble, fascinated confidence. Her smile was unadulterated by vanity, her sincerity apparent in every word.
As they gathered their belongings a few minutes prior to curfew, she handed him the copy of The Quibbler she'd been reading upside down.
"Thank you." He smiled, genuinely. "It was a pleasure, Luna, really. Perhaps we'll speak again soon?" And he meant it. His heaviness had dissipated altogether.
"Of course." She smiled with kind eyes. "Goodbye, Harry Potter."
Luna lay upon her favourite chair in her favourite wing of the Hogwarts library, just beneath the stacks of volumes concerning magical creatures, bathed by the light of stained glass. Her feet were propped vertically against the aged leather, and she wiggled her toes absentmindedly.
Immersed in an article on the magical aura of ancient standing stones, the content of which twisted in sharp lines to emulate the shape of Stonehenge, Luna hadn't noticed the young man casually browsing nearby.
"um... Hi. I'm, uh, I'm Harry."
Luna knew immediately that she'd just been approached by the most famous young wizard in Britain. She also knew she was blushing. So she didn't move a muscle.
Luna didn't know Harry in one sense. They'd never met. But she'd watched him, distantly for a few years. Closely since his name emerged unexpectedly from the Goblet of Fire.
He was kind. She didn't expect that. She'd seen him briefly with Hagrid, with Neville, with Ginny. He seemed to genuinely love people.
The sort of fame that Harry was born with ruined people. Harry ran from that attention; he seemed to take every opportunity to redirect praise.
And he was a hero. Thrice now, as far as she knew. In the face of darkness he proved himself daring and compassionate and clever and powerful. In a word, he was fascinating.
And he was beautiful.
Any other moment like this, Luna would have operated on the notion that she was about to encounter the business end of a cruel joke.
But Harry had just wanted to talk. He wanted to get to know her. He wanted to wander in conversation, touching casually on classes, interests, hopes.
He wanted to be her friend, and she adored him for it.
Hence, just after his departure, she hid a blush beneath the broad purple scarf she'd loosely thrown over her shoulders.
Luna skipped briskly up the spiral staircase spanning the height of Ravenclaw Tower. A quickened pulse and persistent tingle in her nose and fingertips faded into her awareness, and she briefly wondered whether the Wrackspurt ward she'd cast this afternoon was perhaps as effective as usual.
A large, bronze knocker cast in the shape of an eagle, spoke as she approached.
"Two sisters. One gives birth to the other, and she, in turn, gives birth to the first."
Luna furrowed her brow, bit her lip, and then smiled in clever enthusiasm.
"Day and Night."
The arched door with no handle opened at this, and she rushed past her housemates without a glance, threw herself in her four-poster, pulled the curtains, and retrieved a leather bound sketch pad from her pack, determined to reflect on every moment.