Chapter Text
Harry Potter woke with the odd, cloudy sense that he couldn’t quite pin down where he was. The walls weren’t Hogwarts stone, nor the creaking panels of the Burrow, nor the tidy and dark, practical order of Grimmauld Place. No, the walls here were covered in paintings of fluttering dirigible plums and dancing Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and the rising scent of cinnamon and nettle crackers confirmed it: he was in Luna Lovegood’s house.
He glanced around. The patchwork quilt tucked up to his chin was suspiciously snug, as if Mrs. Lovegood herself had made sure he wouldn’t catch cold. Beside him on the beanbag-cushioned floor, Luna stirred, her golden hair a wild halo against the sunlight peeking through the curtains.
Before Harry could properly wonder what had happened last night—there must have been Firewhisky involved after the butterbeer, that was clear—a voice like a crisp wind called up the ladder: “Luna! Harry! Time to rise; breakfast’s getting chilly, and the nargles have stolen my toast again!” It was Xenophilius Lovegood, in all his eccentric glory.
Luna sat up, blinking sleepily. “Morning, Harry! Where’s your other sock?” she asked, in that dreamy tone that always left Harry halfway between amusement and bafflement.
He shrugged a little sheepishly. “I...might have lost it in the garden.” He sat up, ignoring the throb behind his eyes, and Luna offered him a cup of something smoky and herbal. “You always look a bit wonky after Firewhisky,” she said serenely.
Downstairs, Xenophilius welcomed them both with an odd sense of ceremony. It was, they realized, a year since the Battle of Hogwarts—and while everyone else had returned to finish their seventh year, Harry had gone his own way. Harry never could shake the feeling that the war had pushed him years ahead of everyone else in more ways than one.
Over breakfast, Luna grinned at him over a bowl of porridge: “We should go to Diagon Alley today—get ready for our big trip. Cinnamon star maps for you, pocket specters for me.”
Harry agreed. They washed, dressed, and set off through the noon-bright countryside, apparating straight into Diagon Alley’s familiar swirl. The street was busier than it had been a year ago—less tension, more laughter.
They poked through Flourish and Blotts, where Luna tempted him with a book about magical Icelandic whales, then down Knockturn Alley (“just to see if the Horned Gibberdolls have come back”), and finally into Quality Quidditch Supplies for some last-minute gear. At the counter, a hand landed on Harry’s shoulder.
“Potter. Lovegood.” It was Kingsley himself, looming like a friendly mountain in a purple cloak. “Heard a strange rumor you two were plotting to disappear.”
Harry laughed uncertainly, but Kingsley’s look was warm. “That wasn’t a joke, actually. The Ministry wants you, Harry. Don’t care about N.E.W.T.s. You’ve done things our Aurors haven’t even dreamed of. Full time, if you’re ready. You too, Luna—the Department of Mysteries would kill for your mind. Well. Not literally, I hope.”
Luna looked at Harry as if he were a crossword clue. Harry shook his head with a grateful smile. “Not this time, Kingsley. We—well, we’re taking a year. We need it. But...”
“The offer’s good as long as I’m minister. Don’t lose my owl, Harry.”
Luna squeezed Kingsley’s large hand. “Thank you, Minister. We’ll send a postcard.”
Afterwards, Harry felt lighter. He and Luna wandered through the rest of their shopping, laughing and half-serious about which magical beasts they might meet on their travels—perhaps a reformed Kappa in Sri Lanka, Luna guessed.
~
*Back at the Lovegood’s house*
When Luna’s father called them for dinner downstairs, Harry knew it was time to head out. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, then? Here?” Luna nodded, her silvery eyes bright. “We’ll pack snacks.” She kissed his cheek, and Harry, blushing, apparated home.
~
That night, something settled inside him—a sort of peace Harry had only felt in odd moments since the war. He found parchment and scribbled a letter to Ron and Hermione, asking them to meet him, “urgent but not dangerous, promise.”
They met in the Leaky Cauldron’s back parlor. Ron looked even taller than Harry remembered, wearing the new Auror robes like he’d been born to them. Hermione glanced between them, nervous.
Harry didn’t drone on. He got straight to it: “I’m not getting back together with Ginny. I’m leaving. Traveling. With Luna.”
Hermione’s mouth opened and closed. “But Harry, that’s—that’s—what about—?”
Ron shifted in his seat, breaking his silence. “Mate, all I want is for you not to disappear off the edge of the planet without telling us. I’m sorry about Ginny, but... you’re still my best friend. Do what you need. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Hermione, cheeks flushed, wanted to argue. Harry could see her sorting through reasons, logic, and timelines. But Ron gave her that quiet, stubborn look he’d learned from his mother. “He’s got to do this bit without us, Hermione.”
~
The next day, a golden Sunday, the Burrow filled with the usual chaos—Weasley kids, floating gravy boats, and the peal of Molly’s voice cutting through the din. Midway through herding gnomes from the kitchen, Molly pulled Ginny aside near the garden.“
Bring Dean next time, dear. I hate being the only one who knows you’re dating.”Molly, not exactly soft-spoken, didn’t realize Ron and Hermione had arrived and caught every word. Hermione frowned; Ron arched a brow.
“We know about Dean, Mum,” Ron said, not unkindly. “It’s been clear for months, really.”
Hermione, her voice grown sharp, couldn’t help herself. “Did Harry know?” Molly shook her head, looking persnickety. “No, but—”
“He does now,” Ginny said quietly, arms folded, not quite meeting Hermione’s eyes.
It burst out of Hermione—anxiety, old wounds, and protectiveness. “After all those years of pining for Harry, you—” She stopped, shaking her head. “Harry’s leaving, Ginny. He’s—he’s going away with Luna.”
Ginny flinched as if stung. “So he’s giving up, then?” Her voice was sneering, but beneath it—was it hurt? Jealousy? Old love, unhealed?
She stormed outside, leaving Molly wringing her hands. The family dinner that night was quieter, full of the silence left behind by all the things they didn’t say.
~
Up in his own place, Harry felt the weight of all of it—friendship, love, loss, and hope. But the thought of Luna, their maps and laughter, and wild plans felt brighter than anything he’d carried since the war.
For the first time in a long time, the road ahead didn’t scare him. It felt like coming home to himself at last.
And somewhere outside, under a sky crowded with strange, shining stars, Luna was already waiting.