FIC: Like Invisible Strings
Title: Like Invisible Strings
Characters: Harry/Luna, some canon-level Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 5052
Rating: PG
Warnings: None!
Summary: The next night, unpacking his trunk, he discovers that he's forgotten his spare set of quills, his last bag of Chocolate Frogs, and his Transfiguration book. Wrapped in a pair of his old socks, though, is the mirror, which Harry had snatched down from the window the moment he'd seen Dumbledore arrive. A Harry&Luna take on Book 6, in which Luna gives Harry a gift, Harry spends quite a lot of time determinedly not thinking about one thing or another, and Hermione despairs of his common sense.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, nor does anything or anyone you recognize from it. A few of the lines of dialogue in this fic are taken directly from Half-Blood Prince, and those also (perhaps even especially!) do not belong to me. The title of this fic, incidentally, also does not belong to me, and was taken from a song on The Muppets (♥) called "I'm Going To Go Back There Someday."
Notes: Trying to tidy up my internet presence as the new year rings in, so here's something I wrote for interhouse_fest.
Dear Harry,
I hope you're doing as well as you can. I imagine you're having a difficult time with the death of your godfather. He seems to have had quite an extraordinary life, and I'm sure he left some good stories behind for you. I wish I'd gotten to meet him properly, but I'm pleased that I got to meet him at all. Do tell me if you're tired of talking about him, but I've gotten the impression that the Muggles you live with aren't particularly useful for talking to about this sort of thing, and I could be if you like.
Daddy was just telling me this morning that there's been an unusual migration of Wupsys to your part of the country, which was what reminded me that I'd been meaning to write to you anyway. I'm sure you've learnt all about them by now, if you didn't know already, but perhaps you haven't figured out how to keep them out of the house yet and they can be terrible pests. Daddy and I have done some very interesting experimentation over the years, and we've found that the best thing to do is leave brightly colored items-jewelry or flowers seem to work best-hanging from your window frame, because Wupsys are fascinated by that sort of thing at least as much as they're fascinated by human dreams, so they'll tend to leave you alone if there's something to distract them. I've enclosed a few things that might help.
Between the abnormal migratory patterns of the Wupsys this year and You-Know-Who's Voldemort's return we've been very busy. The Quibbler's readership has improved rather drastically ever since your interview last year, and Daddy's very grateful to you. Between you and me, he's always been a bit disappointed when he wasn't taken all that seriously, and you've really helped to change that.
It'd be lovely to hear from you, and to have a visit from Hedwig of course, but you needn't write back if you can't think of anything to say.
See you in September,
Luna
Harry reaches into the envelope and finds his fingers wrapping around something soft and velvety, not-quite-round. When he pulls it out the cloth wrapping unfolds and he's faced with a small mirror hanging by a piece of chain. The blue and gold stripes on the frame look hand-painted, and the entire thing seems to have a distinctly Luna-ish quality about it, though he'd be hard pressed to say exactly what it is. There's a wire hook at one end and before he's really thought much about it he's crossing the room and attaching it to his window screen.
Safe from Wupsys, he thinks, and there's something warm in it. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that he isn't going to write back.
+ + + + +
"Hello, Harry," Luna says a month later, and Harry does his best to ignore the niggling guilt in the pit of his stomach.
"Luna, hi, how are you?"
"Very well, thank you," Luna says.
"Quibbler still going strong, then?" Harry asks, glancing at the magazine she's holding.
"Oh yes, circulation's well up," Luna says happily.
"Right, you said," Harry says and then immediately regrets it.
"Oh, in the letter!" Luna says cheerfully. "Yes, I suppose I did. I'm glad you got it."
"I did, yeah," Harry says and fumbles for what to say next. He can still see her looping script in his mind's eye, offering him someone to talk to, and somehow it isn't making this conversation any easier.
"Good," Luna says easily, and then Neville's talking again, asking if they want to go and find seats.
+ + + + +
The next night, unpacking his trunk, he discovers that he's forgotten his spare set of quills, his last bag of Chocolate Frogs, and his Transfiguration book. Wrapped in a pair of his old socks, though, is the mirror, which Harry had snatched down from the window the moment he'd seen Dumbledore arrive.
"Typical," he mutters, wondering if he can persuade Hermione to let him borrow her copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration for tomorrow's essay. "Got my priorities straight, haven't I?"
He sets the mirror down on his bedside table, throws the socks back into his trunk, and gets to work scribbling down everything he knows about Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, which doesn't turn out to be much.
+ + + + +
Harry leaves his first lesson with Dumbledore jumbled, caught between Merope Gaunt's drawn face and the essay about Switching Spells he still hasn't quite got right and the Quidditch tryouts he's supposed to be holding a week from now. Maybe that's why he doesn't notice Luna until he's practically run her over.
"Hello, Harry," she says, as he shuffles backward so they aren't toe-to-toe. "You're out late."
"Uh, yeah, extra lessons, with Dumbledore," he says before he remembers he isn't supposed to tell anyone else.
"Ooh, how interesting," she says. "I won't ask about what, you don't look like you want to say any more."
"No, well. Thanks," he says and then, flailing for the next thing, "you're out late as well."
"A bit of extra time in the library," she says. "I can't seem to get the hang of the Draught of Peace, and I thought I'd see if there was anything helpful there. Professor Slughorn keeps talking about how it's O.W.L. Standard-"
"Yeah, I remember that," Harry says because he does. Vividly. "Snape was a real git about it, for weeks."
"Yes," Luna says serenely, "'git' is probably a good word for Professor Snape in general. You know, I was quite excited about Potions back in first year. My mum was very fond of brewing them, experimenting with them you know. She used to talk about how it was the realest sort of magic she knew, the kind you could put together and take apart with your own hands. I thought it was going to be brilliant, getting to do that for myself."
"I never thought about it that way," Harry says. Luna's eyes are lit up and he thinks, incongruously, that he'd like to keep them that way.
"That's because Professor Snape isn't a very good teacher," Luna says, shrugging. Harry snorts out a surprised laugh.
"Definitely not," he says. "And I don't know about Slughorn, either."
"He seems very good at Potions," Luna says thoughtfully, "but I don't think it's because of the magic in them, exactly. More like the people around them."
"Yeah, I think you might be right about that," Harry says, thinking about the portraits on Slughorn's mantle, his Daily Prophet tips and hampers of sweets and free Quidditch tickets. Which-damn, it must be getting late. "I should definitely be heading back. I've got loads of homework, and I've got to get ready for next weekend."
"Oh yes, you're holding tryouts for the Gryffindor team aren't you?" Luna asks. "Mandy Brocklehurst's been talking about going."
"Isn't she in Ravenclaw?" Harry asks, bemused.
"Yes," Luna says blithely, "but she fancies you, so I imagine she's taking the opportunity to spend a bit of time with you."
"Er," Harry says, because it really seems like the best answer available to him. "Right. That's-right."
"She's always wanting to talk about you," Luna says, unfazed, "about the Department of Mysteries last year, that sort of thing. It's rather intrusive of her, but I suppose she's just curious."
"You don't actually tell her-never mind, 'course you don't," Harry says. Luna smiles, a bright, easy smile, and says, "No."
"Right," Harry says. "Thanks."
+ + + + +
Mandy Brocklehurst does turn up at tryouts, along with three other Ravenclaws, seven Hufflepuffs, twelve first-years of all descriptions, and one girl who giggles so hard the minute Harry starts speaking that he can't tell if she actually doesn't know what a Quaffle's for, or just can't manage to demonstrate. All in all he's glad when it's over and he's got a team, or something like it, and, he thinks wryly, it'll give him something to tell Luna next time he sees her: Mandy Brocklehurst can't dodge a Bludger to save her life.
+ + + + +
"You know who'd like this book," Harry says one night after Hermione's dirty looks had chased him upstairs with his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, "Luna."
"Y'think so?" Ron asks, looking up from his parchment. "Doesn't have much on Nargles or Wrackspurts, does it? Or was the Half-Blood Prince slinging that stuff about as well?"
"It doesn't have to mention have Nargles for her to be interested," Harry says, sounding defensive to his own ears. "She really likes Potions, this is her sort of thing. Experimenting with stuff, improving it. I ought to show it to her."
"Sure mate," Ron says, shrugging. "But help me with this first, I just need an extra inch on Befuddlement Draughts and I can go to bed."
Harry scrambles for a bookmark and finds that the first thing that comes to hand is the mirror on its bit of chain, glinting in the light from his bedside lamp. He slips it between the pages and digs his essay out of his bag.
"I just spewed out some stuff about possible modifications for the last three paragraphs," he says, handing it over. "The book talked about using dried belladonna instead of Doxy eggs."
"You're a bloody life-saver," Ron says, "you and that book, no matter what Hermione says."
+ + + + +
He flicks through the book at breakfast the next morning, ignoring Hermione's occasional disapproving glances in favor of marking the pages with the heaviest scribbling in the margins.
"Going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Ginny asks as he folds the corner of a page with two entire cramped paragraphs on the overuse of eye of newt in traditional potion-making.
"I suppose so, yeah," Harry says, thumbing through the index in search of the entry on Class C Non-Tradeable Substances.
"Taking anyone?" Ginny asks, sounding oddly conspiratorial. Harry looks up, baffled, to find that she's crooking an eyebrow at him.
"No," he says. "Er. Why would I be?"
"Well," Ginny says, rolling her eyes, "aside from the fact that half the girls in the school fancy you to one degree or another? No reason at all, how silly of me to bring it up. You haven't thought about asking anyone?"
"Not really," Harry says, wondering if it would be too transparent to slip away to the Ravenclaw table now and show Luna the list of possible substations for Venemous Tentacula seeds instead of seeing this conversation through.
"You might want to think about it," Ginny says. "I mean, it wouldn't need to be a stranger, obviously. There are plenty of girls you already know-girls who were in the DA, that sort of thing-who might be interested, if you bothered to ask them."
Harry has a sudden, sinking suspicion that Ginny isn't speaking in general terms.
"You're not-I mean, this isn't-" he says, his stomach churning. He darts a quick look toward Ron just to ensure they aren't being overheard.
"Oh, no," Ginny says, blushing and then looking quite annoyed at the fact. "No, I got past my 'fresh pickled toad' phase early on, thanks very much. I'm going with Dean. Dean Thomas. Not-no."
"Right, I'm not sure you needed to be quite so adamant about that," Harry says, relieved, and Ginny laughs.
"Not to suggest that it wouldn't be a thrill, going out with the Chosen One," she says, wiggling her fingers.
"Oh shut up," Harry says, grinning, and turns back to his book. That would be the good thing, he supposes, about asking Ginny-she's never called him 'the Chosen One' and meant it.
+ + + + +
Between Slughorn, Mundungus, and Ron and Hermione's increasingly transparent bickering, the Hogsmeade trip seems to be a sign that Harry shouldn't bother going ever again, with a date or without one, and he's more than a little pleased to be heading back to the castle. He leans into the wind and tries not to eavesdrop too obviously on Katie and Leann's conversation, until suddenly Katie's rising into the air, her eyes closed and her face slack, and that can't be right, Harry thinks, which is when she starts to scream.
+ + + + +
Harry knows Professor McGonagall means for them to go back to the Common Room when she dismisses them, but he waves Ron and Hermione off toward the tower and wanders back toward the Hospital Wing instead, his hands jammed into his pockets. The castle is flooded with rumors, nervous whispers rustling through the corridors about which Death Eater had put which curse on Katie, and how it was all because of her great uncle, who was a Cursebreaker for Gringotts, or her mum's cousin, who'd sworn his allegiance to Dumbledore at the beginning of the first war.
"It just goes to show you, You-Know-Who's got a bloody long memory for these things," Harry hears someone mutter as he rounds a corner. "That'll teach people to watch what they say, maybe, and who they say it to. People around here don't know how to keep their heads down, it's just plain reckless."
Harry bites back everything that he suddenly wants to say about how Katie had kept her head as far down as she'd damn well pleased and not any further and glances up just in time to see Luna, her hair in a long plait down her back and her feet bare beneath her school robes.
"I was studying when I heard," she says, "and I came straight away. But Madam Pomfrey says no one gets to see her."
"Well that's-" Harry says, but Luna shakes her head.
"That'll mean you, too," she says. "She's being quite serious about it. I think she's frightened."
"I'm," Harry says and then stops, because he can't decide if he's frightened or furious.
"Mm," Luna says thoughtfully and, without preamble, sinks to the stone floor, her back propped up against the wall. Harry slides down to join her without really thinking about it. "Katie was very nice to me last year you know, when we were all in the DA. She always wanted to know how I'd made my jewelry, and she wasn't only pretending to be interested, which was lovely."
Harry wonders if Luna's going to ask what happened, next, and finds he doesn't want her to. She deserves to know, though, he reminds himself, taking in her pale, worried profile. She deserves to know.
"She was cursed," Harry says dully. "She touched a necklace someone had given her in the Three Broomsticks and she just flew up into the air and started screaming. It was-it was pretty horrible."
"It's strange," Luna says, frowning. "I thought, after last year, that this sort of stuff wouldn't be so surprising any longer. We saw some pretty awful things, after all. I know you've seen worse, but those brains were quite bad. And there was the veil, of course, that was a different sort of frightening. But it's still just as awful, something like this happening. It feels very new."
"Yeah," Harry says, remembering the way Katie had drifted up into the air, so eerily calm. "It doesn't get any better."
"You wouldn't really want it to, would you?" Luna asks. "Though I suppose it might be nice at times like these. Do you think she'll be alright?"
"Madam Pomfrey said she'd be transferred to St. Mungo's," Harry says, feeling something cold drop into the pit of his stomach. He hasn't really had time to think about that until now.
"So they don't know," Luna says quietly. She slips her hand into Harry's and squeezes it, just once. She's let it go again before he can return the brief, comforting pressure, but he can still feel the warmth from her fingers, settling into his pulse. "I'm glad you were there, because I'm glad someone was there. She must've needed help. But I'm not glad you were there."
Harry tries to work up the energy to be insulted and utterly fails. It could be because he's suddenly exhausted, the long day that's been coiled up in his bones springing free, but it's more likely because what Luna's said isn't insulting, not really. Not at all.
"Thanks," he says, and catches her smile out of the corner of his eye.
"You should get to bed," she says gently, offering him a hand up. She doesn't say, you must be exhausted or you need your rest, she just pulls him to his feet and beams at him once he's upright, as if it's something to be proud of. "Sleep well, Harry."
"You too," he says.
+ + + + +
He forgets all about his plans for Advanced Potion-Making until he, Ron, and Hermione are leaving Slughorn's class the next week, vats of Oblivious Unction left behind them.
"Did you ever show Luna your book?" Ron asks as they climb the stairs.
"You were going to show Luna your book?" Hermione asks, her hair still clouded around her head from the steam. "Which one?"
"The Half-Blood Prince's, Hermione, which one do you think?" Ron asks, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, Harry's got loads of really interesting books, 'The Standard Book of Spells Grade 6,' that's especially riveting. I got through a full three pages last night before I fell into a coma-"
"Just because you don't see the value in a bit of reading, Ron," Hermione begins and Harry hastily cuts her off.
"I was going to show her 'Advanced Potion-Making,' yeah," he says.
"Why?" Hermione asks.
"Well not because of the original text, there's nothing exactly interesting there," Harry says cautiously.
"No, I know that," Hermione says with a sigh, "I didn't mean why that book, I meant why Luna?"
"Oh, I don't know," Harry says, shrugging. "We were talking about potions and it just-it just seems like the kind of stuff she'd like, making new stuff out of the same old stuff."
"Oh," Hermione says, looking rather pleased. "Well. That's really thoughtful Harry, you should show her."
"So now the book's alright, is it, there's nothing sinister about it anymore?" Ron asks, indignant.
"The pair of you are hopeless," Hermione huffs, storming up the last few stairs. She turns around at the top and glares down at them both. "I've just got to encourage the slightest sign of-of common sense in either of you, Ronald, that's what this is. Encouragement."
"I really don't know what she's on about sometimes," Ron says.
"I sort of think that might have been the point," Harry says, trying not to think about it too hard.
+ + + + +
It's not common sense, not like that, he tells himself the next day when he spots Luna on the grounds with Ginny and Neville, all three of them taking advantage of what's left of the afternoon sun. It's just-common sense.
"Hi Harry," Neville calls, spotting him, and Harry raises his hand in greeting, coming to a stop next to what he can now see is their study session.
"Sorry, bad time?" He asks, glancing down at the pages of notes Ginny's flipping through on non-verbal spells.
"Oh you're alright," she says, flapping a hand at him. "I'm sick and tired of this stuff anyway-I can define non-verbal spells, how about 'a spell which is non-verbal?' That's not exactly the stuff of thirteen-inch essays."
"There is a certain amount of magical theory involved, but I'm afraid I can't think of much to say that hasn't already been said," Luna says, and of course that's her criterion for writing an essay, Harry thinks helplessly. What else would it be?
"Reword, rehash, regurgitate," Ginny says bracingly. "Watch words of any good student, obviously. How many different ways do you think I can come up with to say 'it's actually really important to concentrate while you're casting spells, who knew?'"
"There's got to be six or seven," Harry says, still hovering rather awkwardly. "I'm sure I came up with at least that many."
"Sorry, why did you wander over in the first place?" Ginny asks, sprawling forward in the grass with her ink pot balanced precariously on the back of her hand. "Come to help us ramble through this waste of parchment?"
"I had something to talk to Luna about actually," Harry says without thinking about how it sounds and then, since he's said it already, carries on not thinking about it rather determinedly.
"Oh! Well, we'll just go and-come on Neville, we'll be late," Ginny says, leaping to her feet. Harry raises his eyebrows rather frantically at her in an attempt to communicate his entirely mundane and not-at-all-private intentions for the entire conversation, but she's already tugging a bemused Neville upright and heading off purposefully in the direction of the castle, saying something about urgent appointments.
"Well," Luna says cheerfully, "that was rather transparent, don't you think?"
Harry snorts out a surprised laugh and drops to the ground beside her.
"A bit, yeah. Never mind though, I had something I wanted to show you," he says, letting the Prince's book fall open on the grass between them.
"Oh! My mirror," Luna says, looking pleased. Harry startles, glancing down at the chain nestled between the pages.
"Oh, yeah, sorry," he says, feeling the back of his neck heat. "Here, I'll just-"
He bundles it into his pocket and points to the notations in the margin on the exponentially decreasing potency of dried Mandrake root over the passage of time, mostly because it's something to point to.
Luna doesn't say anything else, just bends over the book, her hair falling forward so that he can't quite see her face. Which is fine, he reminds himself, because it's not as if he needs to know immediately what she thinks.
He waits, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the mirror in his pocket. He's gotten used to it glinting up out of his book, the dungeons' damp stone ceilings reflected back at him as he squints at the Prince's instructions. It makes the whole room seem just that little bit more possible, somehow, which he knows doesn't make all that much sense.
"Ooh, this is fascinating," Luna breathes, pushing her hair behind one ear and glancing over at him. "Really Harry, some of this is remarkably innovative. This isn't your handwriting."
It isn't a question, but Harry nods his confirmation anyway.
"Someone called the Half-Blood Prince," he says, showing her the inscription.
"And who's that?" She asks. Harry shrugs.
"No idea. But whoever he is he's got loads of ideas about this stuff."
"Yes," Luna says. "But I wonder who he is."
"Does it really matter?" Harry asks, probably a little too fiercely. He wouldn't have thought Luna would care who someone was, as long as they had something interesting to say.
"I always want to know who writes the things I read," Luna says easily. "Otherwise I don't know how to read them. That's why I love The Quibbler so much-Daddy writes exactly what he means, always."
"It's just someone's ideas about Potions, that's all," Harry says, twisting a handful of grass between his fingers. Luna smiles at him and turns back to the book.
"Someone's very interesting ideas," she says. "Thank you for thinking of me, Harry, it was nice of you."
"You're welcome," Harry says and doesn't know what comes next, doesn't know how to say that it isn't just the book that makes him think of Luna, it's the blue and silver of Ravenclaw robes when he passes them in the corridor, the watery strain of sunlight that edges clouds on rainy mornings, the curling script on bottles of Pepperup Potion; it's the mirror that's still sitting in his pocket, warm where it's pressed against his fingers.
"Oh look, Sleeping Draughts," Luna says, running her finger down the Prince's cramped line of notes, and Harry leans forward to read over her shoulder, the mirror's chain biting into his palm.
+ + + + +
Slipping the mirror into his pocket becomes part of his morning routine, the last thing he does before he shoves a hand over his hair and heads down to breakfast. It's there when Harry walks back from his second lesson with Dumbledore, trying to chase whispers of Tom Riddle out of the corners of his mind; it's there when he changes into his Quidditch robes to play Slytherin, though he leaves it in his locker during the match for fear it will break; and it's there in the library when Hermione asks him in a harried whisper who he's taking to Slughorn's Christmas party.
"Don't know really," Harry says, skimming absentmindedly through Confronting the Faceless in an effort to work up a decent paragraph on Inferi.
"Well you ought to ask someone," Hermione says. "Romilda Vane's getting more and more starry-eyed by the day, she really will do something drastic soon."
"Something more drastic then trying to slip me a Love Potion?" Harry asks doubtfully.
"Yes," Hermione says. "I don't know what, but yes."
She hasn't sicced a flock of conjured canaries on me yet, Harry doesn't say.
"Yeah, well, I think I can manage to evade her for a little longer, but thanks for the reminder," he says instead. The mirror is suddenly weighty in his pocket.
"Honestly," Hermione says with a sigh, "would it be so hard to just ask, Harry?"
"I wouldn't want to rush my decision and end up with a McLaggen," Harry says, and she hits him over the head with her quill, rolling her eyes.
+ + + + +
"D'you think you could help me with something?" Harry finally asks later that night.
"Really Harry, I've got loads to do," Hermione says, her nose buried in a book. Harry rather suspects she's glaring a hole in Flesh-Eating Trees of the World mostly to avoid catching sight of Ron by mistake, but he wants her help so he keeps his mouth shut.
"It probably won't take you long," Harry says. Hermione snorts, still not looking at him. "What? I'm just guessing, based on previous experience-you're kind of a genius Hermione, don't know if anyone's mentioned it."
"Goodness, you must really need a favor," Hermione says, but she's smiling now. Harry tightens his fingers around the mirror and pulls it out of his pocket, feeling a little like he's exposing some vulnerable part of himself to the open air, dangerous and foolish.
"I just don't want it to be able to break," he blurts out. Hermione finally glances up, looking surprised, and takes in the mirror in his hand. Something in her face changes and Harry winces internally because she's going to do that thing where she knows.
"Oh, Harry," is all she says, fond and exasperated, and then, "I suppose I could have a look at it."
"Don't say it like that," he says, halfway to defensive, and she laughs, shaking her head as she turns the mirror over in her hands.
"Like what?" She asks.
"Like that," he mutters, but without any real conviction in it.
+ + + + +
"Hello Harry," Luna says in the near-deserted Entrance Hall a week later, smiling at him from beneath what at first glance looks like some kind of green veil. When he gets a little closer he can see that it's made up of ferns, mostly, some of them curling a little at the tips, with the occasional feather stuck in amongst them.
"It's to ward off Aquavirius Maggots," she explains, which is how he realizes he must be staring. "We're working with Fanged Geraniums in Herbology today and the maggots like to feed on the roots, so I thought I'd better take a few precautions."
Of course you did, Harry thinks and finds himself beaming at her, at the sheer Luna of her, her blue eyes peering out from behind the ferns and her smile growing to match his own even though she clearly has no idea why he's so suddenly and entirely happy.
"Go to Slughorn's Christmas party with me?" He blurts out, gripping the mirror in his pocket so hard he's glad of Hermione's Shatterproof Charm.
"I'd love to," she says.
"Not as friends," Harry rushes on before he can really think about what he's saying, more than a little horrified at his own inexplicable bravery. "I mean, we are friends, obviously, but-I'd like you to come to the party as my date, if that's-if you wouldn't mind."
He cna't help feeling the beginning of the sentence was significantly more promising than its eventual end, but Luna's still smiling up at him and she carefully reaches up and presses a hand over the thud of his heartbeat.
"I'm going to kiss you now," she says, unfazed, "if that's alright?"
"I-yeah," he says, and thankfully doesn't have a chance to elaborate because then her lips are on his, warm and still smiling for an instant before their mouths are pressing together in earnest. She's on her tiptoes, he realizes dazedly after a moment, and reaches down to wrap an arm around her waist.
"My mirror," she says when they break apart, just a little breathless, and he realizes that the hand splayed against her lower back is the one that's still holding it.
"I've sort of been carrying it around," he manages after a moment.
"Oh," Luna says. He doesn't think he's ever seen her blush before.
"Right," Harry says. "Well."
"I'm glad," she says, and then, "It's a nice thought, you having it with you. It isn't going to take you by surprise if I kiss you again is it?"
"No," Harry says, biting back a smile, and pushes a stray fern aside so he can return the favor before she gets a chance.
Characters: Harry/Luna, some canon-level Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 5052
Rating: PG
Warnings: None!
Summary: The next night, unpacking his trunk, he discovers that he's forgotten his spare set of quills, his last bag of Chocolate Frogs, and his Transfiguration book. Wrapped in a pair of his old socks, though, is the mirror, which Harry had snatched down from the window the moment he'd seen Dumbledore arrive. A Harry&Luna take on Book 6, in which Luna gives Harry a gift, Harry spends quite a lot of time determinedly not thinking about one thing or another, and Hermione despairs of his common sense.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, nor does anything or anyone you recognize from it. A few of the lines of dialogue in this fic are taken directly from Half-Blood Prince, and those also (perhaps even especially!) do not belong to me. The title of this fic, incidentally, also does not belong to me, and was taken from a song on The Muppets (♥) called "I'm Going To Go Back There Someday."
Notes: Trying to tidy up my internet presence as the new year rings in, so here's something I wrote for interhouse_fest.
Dear Harry,
I hope you're doing as well as you can. I imagine you're having a difficult time with the death of your godfather. He seems to have had quite an extraordinary life, and I'm sure he left some good stories behind for you. I wish I'd gotten to meet him properly, but I'm pleased that I got to meet him at all. Do tell me if you're tired of talking about him, but I've gotten the impression that the Muggles you live with aren't particularly useful for talking to about this sort of thing, and I could be if you like.
Daddy was just telling me this morning that there's been an unusual migration of Wupsys to your part of the country, which was what reminded me that I'd been meaning to write to you anyway. I'm sure you've learnt all about them by now, if you didn't know already, but perhaps you haven't figured out how to keep them out of the house yet and they can be terrible pests. Daddy and I have done some very interesting experimentation over the years, and we've found that the best thing to do is leave brightly colored items-jewelry or flowers seem to work best-hanging from your window frame, because Wupsys are fascinated by that sort of thing at least as much as they're fascinated by human dreams, so they'll tend to leave you alone if there's something to distract them. I've enclosed a few things that might help.
Between the abnormal migratory patterns of the Wupsys this year and You-Know-Who's Voldemort's return we've been very busy. The Quibbler's readership has improved rather drastically ever since your interview last year, and Daddy's very grateful to you. Between you and me, he's always been a bit disappointed when he wasn't taken all that seriously, and you've really helped to change that.
It'd be lovely to hear from you, and to have a visit from Hedwig of course, but you needn't write back if you can't think of anything to say.
See you in September,
Luna
Harry reaches into the envelope and finds his fingers wrapping around something soft and velvety, not-quite-round. When he pulls it out the cloth wrapping unfolds and he's faced with a small mirror hanging by a piece of chain. The blue and gold stripes on the frame look hand-painted, and the entire thing seems to have a distinctly Luna-ish quality about it, though he'd be hard pressed to say exactly what it is. There's a wire hook at one end and before he's really thought much about it he's crossing the room and attaching it to his window screen.
Safe from Wupsys, he thinks, and there's something warm in it. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that he isn't going to write back.
+ + + + +
"Hello, Harry," Luna says a month later, and Harry does his best to ignore the niggling guilt in the pit of his stomach.
"Luna, hi, how are you?"
"Very well, thank you," Luna says.
"Quibbler still going strong, then?" Harry asks, glancing at the magazine she's holding.
"Oh yes, circulation's well up," Luna says happily.
"Right, you said," Harry says and then immediately regrets it.
"Oh, in the letter!" Luna says cheerfully. "Yes, I suppose I did. I'm glad you got it."
"I did, yeah," Harry says and fumbles for what to say next. He can still see her looping script in his mind's eye, offering him someone to talk to, and somehow it isn't making this conversation any easier.
"Good," Luna says easily, and then Neville's talking again, asking if they want to go and find seats.
+ + + + +
The next night, unpacking his trunk, he discovers that he's forgotten his spare set of quills, his last bag of Chocolate Frogs, and his Transfiguration book. Wrapped in a pair of his old socks, though, is the mirror, which Harry had snatched down from the window the moment he'd seen Dumbledore arrive.
"Typical," he mutters, wondering if he can persuade Hermione to let him borrow her copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration for tomorrow's essay. "Got my priorities straight, haven't I?"
He sets the mirror down on his bedside table, throws the socks back into his trunk, and gets to work scribbling down everything he knows about Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, which doesn't turn out to be much.
+ + + + +
Harry leaves his first lesson with Dumbledore jumbled, caught between Merope Gaunt's drawn face and the essay about Switching Spells he still hasn't quite got right and the Quidditch tryouts he's supposed to be holding a week from now. Maybe that's why he doesn't notice Luna until he's practically run her over.
"Hello, Harry," she says, as he shuffles backward so they aren't toe-to-toe. "You're out late."
"Uh, yeah, extra lessons, with Dumbledore," he says before he remembers he isn't supposed to tell anyone else.
"Ooh, how interesting," she says. "I won't ask about what, you don't look like you want to say any more."
"No, well. Thanks," he says and then, flailing for the next thing, "you're out late as well."
"A bit of extra time in the library," she says. "I can't seem to get the hang of the Draught of Peace, and I thought I'd see if there was anything helpful there. Professor Slughorn keeps talking about how it's O.W.L. Standard-"
"Yeah, I remember that," Harry says because he does. Vividly. "Snape was a real git about it, for weeks."
"Yes," Luna says serenely, "'git' is probably a good word for Professor Snape in general. You know, I was quite excited about Potions back in first year. My mum was very fond of brewing them, experimenting with them you know. She used to talk about how it was the realest sort of magic she knew, the kind you could put together and take apart with your own hands. I thought it was going to be brilliant, getting to do that for myself."
"I never thought about it that way," Harry says. Luna's eyes are lit up and he thinks, incongruously, that he'd like to keep them that way.
"That's because Professor Snape isn't a very good teacher," Luna says, shrugging. Harry snorts out a surprised laugh.
"Definitely not," he says. "And I don't know about Slughorn, either."
"He seems very good at Potions," Luna says thoughtfully, "but I don't think it's because of the magic in them, exactly. More like the people around them."
"Yeah, I think you might be right about that," Harry says, thinking about the portraits on Slughorn's mantle, his Daily Prophet tips and hampers of sweets and free Quidditch tickets. Which-damn, it must be getting late. "I should definitely be heading back. I've got loads of homework, and I've got to get ready for next weekend."
"Oh yes, you're holding tryouts for the Gryffindor team aren't you?" Luna asks. "Mandy Brocklehurst's been talking about going."
"Isn't she in Ravenclaw?" Harry asks, bemused.
"Yes," Luna says blithely, "but she fancies you, so I imagine she's taking the opportunity to spend a bit of time with you."
"Er," Harry says, because it really seems like the best answer available to him. "Right. That's-right."
"She's always wanting to talk about you," Luna says, unfazed, "about the Department of Mysteries last year, that sort of thing. It's rather intrusive of her, but I suppose she's just curious."
"You don't actually tell her-never mind, 'course you don't," Harry says. Luna smiles, a bright, easy smile, and says, "No."
"Right," Harry says. "Thanks."
+ + + + +
Mandy Brocklehurst does turn up at tryouts, along with three other Ravenclaws, seven Hufflepuffs, twelve first-years of all descriptions, and one girl who giggles so hard the minute Harry starts speaking that he can't tell if she actually doesn't know what a Quaffle's for, or just can't manage to demonstrate. All in all he's glad when it's over and he's got a team, or something like it, and, he thinks wryly, it'll give him something to tell Luna next time he sees her: Mandy Brocklehurst can't dodge a Bludger to save her life.
+ + + + +
"You know who'd like this book," Harry says one night after Hermione's dirty looks had chased him upstairs with his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, "Luna."
"Y'think so?" Ron asks, looking up from his parchment. "Doesn't have much on Nargles or Wrackspurts, does it? Or was the Half-Blood Prince slinging that stuff about as well?"
"It doesn't have to mention have Nargles for her to be interested," Harry says, sounding defensive to his own ears. "She really likes Potions, this is her sort of thing. Experimenting with stuff, improving it. I ought to show it to her."
"Sure mate," Ron says, shrugging. "But help me with this first, I just need an extra inch on Befuddlement Draughts and I can go to bed."
Harry scrambles for a bookmark and finds that the first thing that comes to hand is the mirror on its bit of chain, glinting in the light from his bedside lamp. He slips it between the pages and digs his essay out of his bag.
"I just spewed out some stuff about possible modifications for the last three paragraphs," he says, handing it over. "The book talked about using dried belladonna instead of Doxy eggs."
"You're a bloody life-saver," Ron says, "you and that book, no matter what Hermione says."
+ + + + +
He flicks through the book at breakfast the next morning, ignoring Hermione's occasional disapproving glances in favor of marking the pages with the heaviest scribbling in the margins.
"Going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Ginny asks as he folds the corner of a page with two entire cramped paragraphs on the overuse of eye of newt in traditional potion-making.
"I suppose so, yeah," Harry says, thumbing through the index in search of the entry on Class C Non-Tradeable Substances.
"Taking anyone?" Ginny asks, sounding oddly conspiratorial. Harry looks up, baffled, to find that she's crooking an eyebrow at him.
"No," he says. "Er. Why would I be?"
"Well," Ginny says, rolling her eyes, "aside from the fact that half the girls in the school fancy you to one degree or another? No reason at all, how silly of me to bring it up. You haven't thought about asking anyone?"
"Not really," Harry says, wondering if it would be too transparent to slip away to the Ravenclaw table now and show Luna the list of possible substations for Venemous Tentacula seeds instead of seeing this conversation through.
"You might want to think about it," Ginny says. "I mean, it wouldn't need to be a stranger, obviously. There are plenty of girls you already know-girls who were in the DA, that sort of thing-who might be interested, if you bothered to ask them."
Harry has a sudden, sinking suspicion that Ginny isn't speaking in general terms.
"You're not-I mean, this isn't-" he says, his stomach churning. He darts a quick look toward Ron just to ensure they aren't being overheard.
"Oh, no," Ginny says, blushing and then looking quite annoyed at the fact. "No, I got past my 'fresh pickled toad' phase early on, thanks very much. I'm going with Dean. Dean Thomas. Not-no."
"Right, I'm not sure you needed to be quite so adamant about that," Harry says, relieved, and Ginny laughs.
"Not to suggest that it wouldn't be a thrill, going out with the Chosen One," she says, wiggling her fingers.
"Oh shut up," Harry says, grinning, and turns back to his book. That would be the good thing, he supposes, about asking Ginny-she's never called him 'the Chosen One' and meant it.
+ + + + +
Between Slughorn, Mundungus, and Ron and Hermione's increasingly transparent bickering, the Hogsmeade trip seems to be a sign that Harry shouldn't bother going ever again, with a date or without one, and he's more than a little pleased to be heading back to the castle. He leans into the wind and tries not to eavesdrop too obviously on Katie and Leann's conversation, until suddenly Katie's rising into the air, her eyes closed and her face slack, and that can't be right, Harry thinks, which is when she starts to scream.
+ + + + +
Harry knows Professor McGonagall means for them to go back to the Common Room when she dismisses them, but he waves Ron and Hermione off toward the tower and wanders back toward the Hospital Wing instead, his hands jammed into his pockets. The castle is flooded with rumors, nervous whispers rustling through the corridors about which Death Eater had put which curse on Katie, and how it was all because of her great uncle, who was a Cursebreaker for Gringotts, or her mum's cousin, who'd sworn his allegiance to Dumbledore at the beginning of the first war.
"It just goes to show you, You-Know-Who's got a bloody long memory for these things," Harry hears someone mutter as he rounds a corner. "That'll teach people to watch what they say, maybe, and who they say it to. People around here don't know how to keep their heads down, it's just plain reckless."
Harry bites back everything that he suddenly wants to say about how Katie had kept her head as far down as she'd damn well pleased and not any further and glances up just in time to see Luna, her hair in a long plait down her back and her feet bare beneath her school robes.
"I was studying when I heard," she says, "and I came straight away. But Madam Pomfrey says no one gets to see her."
"Well that's-" Harry says, but Luna shakes her head.
"That'll mean you, too," she says. "She's being quite serious about it. I think she's frightened."
"I'm," Harry says and then stops, because he can't decide if he's frightened or furious.
"Mm," Luna says thoughtfully and, without preamble, sinks to the stone floor, her back propped up against the wall. Harry slides down to join her without really thinking about it. "Katie was very nice to me last year you know, when we were all in the DA. She always wanted to know how I'd made my jewelry, and she wasn't only pretending to be interested, which was lovely."
Harry wonders if Luna's going to ask what happened, next, and finds he doesn't want her to. She deserves to know, though, he reminds himself, taking in her pale, worried profile. She deserves to know.
"She was cursed," Harry says dully. "She touched a necklace someone had given her in the Three Broomsticks and she just flew up into the air and started screaming. It was-it was pretty horrible."
"It's strange," Luna says, frowning. "I thought, after last year, that this sort of stuff wouldn't be so surprising any longer. We saw some pretty awful things, after all. I know you've seen worse, but those brains were quite bad. And there was the veil, of course, that was a different sort of frightening. But it's still just as awful, something like this happening. It feels very new."
"Yeah," Harry says, remembering the way Katie had drifted up into the air, so eerily calm. "It doesn't get any better."
"You wouldn't really want it to, would you?" Luna asks. "Though I suppose it might be nice at times like these. Do you think she'll be alright?"
"Madam Pomfrey said she'd be transferred to St. Mungo's," Harry says, feeling something cold drop into the pit of his stomach. He hasn't really had time to think about that until now.
"So they don't know," Luna says quietly. She slips her hand into Harry's and squeezes it, just once. She's let it go again before he can return the brief, comforting pressure, but he can still feel the warmth from her fingers, settling into his pulse. "I'm glad you were there, because I'm glad someone was there. She must've needed help. But I'm not glad you were there."
Harry tries to work up the energy to be insulted and utterly fails. It could be because he's suddenly exhausted, the long day that's been coiled up in his bones springing free, but it's more likely because what Luna's said isn't insulting, not really. Not at all.
"Thanks," he says, and catches her smile out of the corner of his eye.
"You should get to bed," she says gently, offering him a hand up. She doesn't say, you must be exhausted or you need your rest, she just pulls him to his feet and beams at him once he's upright, as if it's something to be proud of. "Sleep well, Harry."
"You too," he says.
+ + + + +
He forgets all about his plans for Advanced Potion-Making until he, Ron, and Hermione are leaving Slughorn's class the next week, vats of Oblivious Unction left behind them.
"Did you ever show Luna your book?" Ron asks as they climb the stairs.
"You were going to show Luna your book?" Hermione asks, her hair still clouded around her head from the steam. "Which one?"
"The Half-Blood Prince's, Hermione, which one do you think?" Ron asks, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, Harry's got loads of really interesting books, 'The Standard Book of Spells Grade 6,' that's especially riveting. I got through a full three pages last night before I fell into a coma-"
"Just because you don't see the value in a bit of reading, Ron," Hermione begins and Harry hastily cuts her off.
"I was going to show her 'Advanced Potion-Making,' yeah," he says.
"Why?" Hermione asks.
"Well not because of the original text, there's nothing exactly interesting there," Harry says cautiously.
"No, I know that," Hermione says with a sigh, "I didn't mean why that book, I meant why Luna?"
"Oh, I don't know," Harry says, shrugging. "We were talking about potions and it just-it just seems like the kind of stuff she'd like, making new stuff out of the same old stuff."
"Oh," Hermione says, looking rather pleased. "Well. That's really thoughtful Harry, you should show her."
"So now the book's alright, is it, there's nothing sinister about it anymore?" Ron asks, indignant.
"The pair of you are hopeless," Hermione huffs, storming up the last few stairs. She turns around at the top and glares down at them both. "I've just got to encourage the slightest sign of-of common sense in either of you, Ronald, that's what this is. Encouragement."
"I really don't know what she's on about sometimes," Ron says.
"I sort of think that might have been the point," Harry says, trying not to think about it too hard.
+ + + + +
It's not common sense, not like that, he tells himself the next day when he spots Luna on the grounds with Ginny and Neville, all three of them taking advantage of what's left of the afternoon sun. It's just-common sense.
"Hi Harry," Neville calls, spotting him, and Harry raises his hand in greeting, coming to a stop next to what he can now see is their study session.
"Sorry, bad time?" He asks, glancing down at the pages of notes Ginny's flipping through on non-verbal spells.
"Oh you're alright," she says, flapping a hand at him. "I'm sick and tired of this stuff anyway-I can define non-verbal spells, how about 'a spell which is non-verbal?' That's not exactly the stuff of thirteen-inch essays."
"There is a certain amount of magical theory involved, but I'm afraid I can't think of much to say that hasn't already been said," Luna says, and of course that's her criterion for writing an essay, Harry thinks helplessly. What else would it be?
"Reword, rehash, regurgitate," Ginny says bracingly. "Watch words of any good student, obviously. How many different ways do you think I can come up with to say 'it's actually really important to concentrate while you're casting spells, who knew?'"
"There's got to be six or seven," Harry says, still hovering rather awkwardly. "I'm sure I came up with at least that many."
"Sorry, why did you wander over in the first place?" Ginny asks, sprawling forward in the grass with her ink pot balanced precariously on the back of her hand. "Come to help us ramble through this waste of parchment?"
"I had something to talk to Luna about actually," Harry says without thinking about how it sounds and then, since he's said it already, carries on not thinking about it rather determinedly.
"Oh! Well, we'll just go and-come on Neville, we'll be late," Ginny says, leaping to her feet. Harry raises his eyebrows rather frantically at her in an attempt to communicate his entirely mundane and not-at-all-private intentions for the entire conversation, but she's already tugging a bemused Neville upright and heading off purposefully in the direction of the castle, saying something about urgent appointments.
"Well," Luna says cheerfully, "that was rather transparent, don't you think?"
Harry snorts out a surprised laugh and drops to the ground beside her.
"A bit, yeah. Never mind though, I had something I wanted to show you," he says, letting the Prince's book fall open on the grass between them.
"Oh! My mirror," Luna says, looking pleased. Harry startles, glancing down at the chain nestled between the pages.
"Oh, yeah, sorry," he says, feeling the back of his neck heat. "Here, I'll just-"
He bundles it into his pocket and points to the notations in the margin on the exponentially decreasing potency of dried Mandrake root over the passage of time, mostly because it's something to point to.
Luna doesn't say anything else, just bends over the book, her hair falling forward so that he can't quite see her face. Which is fine, he reminds himself, because it's not as if he needs to know immediately what she thinks.
He waits, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the mirror in his pocket. He's gotten used to it glinting up out of his book, the dungeons' damp stone ceilings reflected back at him as he squints at the Prince's instructions. It makes the whole room seem just that little bit more possible, somehow, which he knows doesn't make all that much sense.
"Ooh, this is fascinating," Luna breathes, pushing her hair behind one ear and glancing over at him. "Really Harry, some of this is remarkably innovative. This isn't your handwriting."
It isn't a question, but Harry nods his confirmation anyway.
"Someone called the Half-Blood Prince," he says, showing her the inscription.
"And who's that?" She asks. Harry shrugs.
"No idea. But whoever he is he's got loads of ideas about this stuff."
"Yes," Luna says. "But I wonder who he is."
"Does it really matter?" Harry asks, probably a little too fiercely. He wouldn't have thought Luna would care who someone was, as long as they had something interesting to say.
"I always want to know who writes the things I read," Luna says easily. "Otherwise I don't know how to read them. That's why I love The Quibbler so much-Daddy writes exactly what he means, always."
"It's just someone's ideas about Potions, that's all," Harry says, twisting a handful of grass between his fingers. Luna smiles at him and turns back to the book.
"Someone's very interesting ideas," she says. "Thank you for thinking of me, Harry, it was nice of you."
"You're welcome," Harry says and doesn't know what comes next, doesn't know how to say that it isn't just the book that makes him think of Luna, it's the blue and silver of Ravenclaw robes when he passes them in the corridor, the watery strain of sunlight that edges clouds on rainy mornings, the curling script on bottles of Pepperup Potion; it's the mirror that's still sitting in his pocket, warm where it's pressed against his fingers.
"Oh look, Sleeping Draughts," Luna says, running her finger down the Prince's cramped line of notes, and Harry leans forward to read over her shoulder, the mirror's chain biting into his palm.
+ + + + +
Slipping the mirror into his pocket becomes part of his morning routine, the last thing he does before he shoves a hand over his hair and heads down to breakfast. It's there when Harry walks back from his second lesson with Dumbledore, trying to chase whispers of Tom Riddle out of the corners of his mind; it's there when he changes into his Quidditch robes to play Slytherin, though he leaves it in his locker during the match for fear it will break; and it's there in the library when Hermione asks him in a harried whisper who he's taking to Slughorn's Christmas party.
"Don't know really," Harry says, skimming absentmindedly through Confronting the Faceless in an effort to work up a decent paragraph on Inferi.
"Well you ought to ask someone," Hermione says. "Romilda Vane's getting more and more starry-eyed by the day, she really will do something drastic soon."
"Something more drastic then trying to slip me a Love Potion?" Harry asks doubtfully.
"Yes," Hermione says. "I don't know what, but yes."
She hasn't sicced a flock of conjured canaries on me yet, Harry doesn't say.
"Yeah, well, I think I can manage to evade her for a little longer, but thanks for the reminder," he says instead. The mirror is suddenly weighty in his pocket.
"Honestly," Hermione says with a sigh, "would it be so hard to just ask, Harry?"
"I wouldn't want to rush my decision and end up with a McLaggen," Harry says, and she hits him over the head with her quill, rolling her eyes.
+ + + + +
"D'you think you could help me with something?" Harry finally asks later that night.
"Really Harry, I've got loads to do," Hermione says, her nose buried in a book. Harry rather suspects she's glaring a hole in Flesh-Eating Trees of the World mostly to avoid catching sight of Ron by mistake, but he wants her help so he keeps his mouth shut.
"It probably won't take you long," Harry says. Hermione snorts, still not looking at him. "What? I'm just guessing, based on previous experience-you're kind of a genius Hermione, don't know if anyone's mentioned it."
"Goodness, you must really need a favor," Hermione says, but she's smiling now. Harry tightens his fingers around the mirror and pulls it out of his pocket, feeling a little like he's exposing some vulnerable part of himself to the open air, dangerous and foolish.
"I just don't want it to be able to break," he blurts out. Hermione finally glances up, looking surprised, and takes in the mirror in his hand. Something in her face changes and Harry winces internally because she's going to do that thing where she knows.
"Oh, Harry," is all she says, fond and exasperated, and then, "I suppose I could have a look at it."
"Don't say it like that," he says, halfway to defensive, and she laughs, shaking her head as she turns the mirror over in her hands.
"Like what?" She asks.
"Like that," he mutters, but without any real conviction in it.
+ + + + +
"Hello Harry," Luna says in the near-deserted Entrance Hall a week later, smiling at him from beneath what at first glance looks like some kind of green veil. When he gets a little closer he can see that it's made up of ferns, mostly, some of them curling a little at the tips, with the occasional feather stuck in amongst them.
"It's to ward off Aquavirius Maggots," she explains, which is how he realizes he must be staring. "We're working with Fanged Geraniums in Herbology today and the maggots like to feed on the roots, so I thought I'd better take a few precautions."
Of course you did, Harry thinks and finds himself beaming at her, at the sheer Luna of her, her blue eyes peering out from behind the ferns and her smile growing to match his own even though she clearly has no idea why he's so suddenly and entirely happy.
"Go to Slughorn's Christmas party with me?" He blurts out, gripping the mirror in his pocket so hard he's glad of Hermione's Shatterproof Charm.
"I'd love to," she says.
"Not as friends," Harry rushes on before he can really think about what he's saying, more than a little horrified at his own inexplicable bravery. "I mean, we are friends, obviously, but-I'd like you to come to the party as my date, if that's-if you wouldn't mind."
He cna't help feeling the beginning of the sentence was significantly more promising than its eventual end, but Luna's still smiling up at him and she carefully reaches up and presses a hand over the thud of his heartbeat.
"I'm going to kiss you now," she says, unfazed, "if that's alright?"
"I-yeah," he says, and thankfully doesn't have a chance to elaborate because then her lips are on his, warm and still smiling for an instant before their mouths are pressing together in earnest. She's on her tiptoes, he realizes dazedly after a moment, and reaches down to wrap an arm around her waist.
"My mirror," she says when they break apart, just a little breathless, and he realizes that the hand splayed against her lower back is the one that's still holding it.
"I've sort of been carrying it around," he manages after a moment.
"Oh," Luna says. He doesn't think he's ever seen her blush before.
"Right," Harry says. "Well."
"I'm glad," she says, and then, "It's a nice thought, you having it with you. It isn't going to take you by surprise if I kiss you again is it?"
"No," Harry says, biting back a smile, and pushes a stray fern aside so he can return the favor before she gets a chance.