Archive of Our Own ^beta

It doesn't work out with Ginny. For a while they make a decent go at it, they really do, but in the end there is too much between them - the loss of her brother, the fall of the dark lord, Harry's new responsibilities. The split is amicable and he's sure Mrs. Weasley is disappointed that he's not properly marrying into the family, but Ginny promises she'll 'talk to mum about it'. He knows that with some time, he and Ginny will be good friends again; they both just need some distance.

At a loss of what to do next, he finds himself Apparating to a familiar house. When Ron realizes why Harry's come to the house, he makes his excuses to go out and leaves Hermione to deal with him. Harry can't blame him; after all, his loyalties are going to be divided over this break up. Hermione is more pragmatic. She always liked Ginny, but confesses to Harry that she'd worried that the post-Voldemort Wizarding World might be too much of a challenge for them. 'You'll find the right person,' she tells him with certainty as she refills his tea cup and he believes her. Hermione is usually right.

Time passes. For a while he dates a fellow Auror, a girl who'd been in Ravenclaw house a year behind him, Hermione and Ron. She's got pretty brown eyes, she's smart as a whip, and has a wicked sense of humour but within a few dates Harry is already sure this isn't going to be long term.

He's right.

He hears through the grapevine that Ginny has taken up with Neville, who is teaching at Hogwarts. The news doesn't trouble him; Neville is a good bloke and Harry knows that he'll treat Ginny well.

He sometimes forgets how quickly information passes among his Wizarding friends. Within days of him finding out about Ginny and Neville, he gets an unexpected letter through the owl post. He opens it with curiousity and finds himself already smiling at the familiar handwriting. It contains an invitation to visit. For some reason turning the invitation down isn't even an option. He quickly grabs a quill and some parchment and pens a reply. He borrows an owl from the Auror office – he still hasn't had the heart to replace Hedwig, he wonders if he ever will – and he watches it fly off with a new lightness in his chest.

Getting the time off is easy. He constantly works long hours, always submits his paperwork on time – Hermione and McGonagall would be proud - and then there is his reputation. He could probably ask his superiors to get him a dragon and they'd make it happen, though of course he wouldn't ask - he has no idea what he'd do with a dragon. He packs a small duffel and after confirming the information, Apparates to his destination.

She's waiting on the doorstep of the little flat she's living in. It's got a small garden and he can't help but grin when he sees the familiar dirigible plums and what looks like Gurdyroot, maybe? There'll be no Gulping Plimpies in the garden of Luna Lovegood.

"Hello Harry," Luna says, her smile wide and her pleasure to see him evident. "It's good to see you." She opens her arms and he gives her a tight hug before she ushers him inside.

Her flat is decorated in a less haphazard way than the home she'd shared with her father – though there are some familiar sights: copies of the Quibbler, a hat that is blindingly magenta with green feathers and what he thinks might actually be a pair of eyes looking at him from between the feathers – he doesn't care to examine it all that closely — a pair of huge yellow sunglasses and on the far wall, a portrait of a woman who must be Luna's mother.

She takes him on a tour. He's impressed that she has painted incredible scenes on the walls of each room – dragons, unicorns, thestrals. She really does have skill with paint. He pauses just in front of one and stops, his breath catching in his throat. It is a mural like the others, but rather than containing fantastic magical creatures, this one features some very familiar faces: Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny... and his own face of course. He remembers now, the mural she had in her old house and finds he's got an unexpected lump in his throat that she was willing to recreate it.

This mural is even better than the previous one. The detail she's put into it is astounding. She's duplicated Ron's freckles, Hermione's smile, the exact placement of his scar and she's even matched the colour of his eyes.

"I had quite a bit of trouble finding a good green," she says, almost as though she's reading his thoughts. "I tried several colour variations before deciding to mix my own. Eyes are very important you know."

He does know. Right now he's caught by her grey ones and he can't quite bring himself to look away.

"It's beautiful," he says. Then realizing how that sound he hurries on, "the painting I mean."

Luna smiles. "Thank you, Harry," she says before linking his arm with hers and leading him to the next room.

That evening finds them settled in squashy chairs in her tiny library, drinking butterbeer and reminiscing about some of their school adventures.

"You know," Luna says conversationally, "despite all the death and scary bits, that really was the best time of my life."

He understands that feeling. He truly does. "Mine too."

"I've made friends since we finished at Hogwarts." She sounds so proud of herself that Harry feels almost ill, remembering how few friends she had before. "And it's wonderful, but I really miss you and the others. You were the first to try and understand me and you don't laugh at me when I say something silly."

"You're not silly!" The denial comes out a little louder than he'd intended, surprising them both. "You know things about the world that other people don't. You see things that others are too blind or just too thick to see. If people don't want to listen to you or don't believe you, that's on them. They're the ones who're wrong, not you.”

She looks at him curiously. "Thank you, Harry. That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

He decides, then and there, that it will be one of many nice things she hears from him.

She tries to make him take her bed – she only has the one – but he insists he'll take the couch. When she tries to change his mind, he reminds her that before going to Hogwarts he was made to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs and she acquiesces. He sleeps better that night than he has in weeks.

He wakes in the morning to a quiet whistling and realizes it is a clockwork bird, made of what appears to be gold filigree. The sound it makes is strangely pretty, not shrill at all like one might expect from such a contraption. He hears Luna moving about and follows the sound to the kitchen, where she's humming quietly, conducting her wand from stove to table, preparing breakfast. Her hair twirls out around her as she dances to her own little song. When she sees him, she stops abruptly.

"No, no – don't stop on my account, please!" he says immediately. "I know you love to dance."

She looks at him, and he guesses she's looking to see if he's only humouring her. Whatever she sees in his expression makes her smile. "All right then," she says softly, and she's off again.

Merlin, she's beautiful. The thought catches him by surprise as she uses her wand to direct a slice of toast to his plate.

He spends the day helping her weed her garden, marveling that despite the fact that he's never been able to keep a plant alive on his own – not even a cactus and that takes skill – that he's actually enjoying this. By mid afternoon they're both covered in dirt. Luna has a smear of it on her cheek and a look of utter contentment on her face. She's just finished explaining the proper care of honking daffodils when his stomach growls unexpectedly. He blushes in embarrassment and she laughs in delight.

"Here," she says, plucking a nearby floating fruit. "Have a dirigible plum."

He accepts the fruit with some hesitation – is it safe to eat something that was floating on its own a moment ago? She looks at him expectantly and he takes a tentative bite.

"Wow," he says eyebrows shooting up. “This is really good.”

She smiles and picks one for herself.

They each finish a plum and when she offers him a second, he accepts. There's juice running down his fingers and he doesn't care.

When she bites into her second plum, she looks at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

"What?" he asks.

"It's really nice having you here, Harry." She says softly.

Before he stops to think about it, he leans over and kisses her. Though he's surprised by his actions, she certainly doesn't appear to be. When he pulls away slightly, wondering if he'd best apologize, she's grinning. When she pulls him back toward her for another kiss, he forgets all about apologizing.

She tastes like plums.

He sleeps on the couch again that night, and spends the time until he falls asleep thinking of how soft her lips are and how her eyes seemed to sparkle when she looked at him. In the morning, he's up as soon as he hears her emerge from her bedroom. When she sees him, she's the one to give him a kiss and it takes them some time to actually make it to the kitchen for breakfast. Neither of them seems to care.

During the day, she makes notes for her job as a Magizoologist and Harry reads outside, though he comes back to her desk every so often to steal a kiss.

He stays with her another three days, before he grudgingly admits he does have to go back to work. He's been so relaxed in her little flat, and Luna is great at making him laugh and he's loath to leave that behind. He packs his things with a feeling of regret and he doesn't bother to keep it from showing on his face. She takes his hand and pulls him down to sit with her on the couch.

"I'm going to miss you," he says.

"That just means we'll have to see each other again soon." She phrases it as a question.

"Yes!" he says immediately. "Very soon. How about tomorrow? You can come stay with me."

She laughs. "I can't come tomorrow, Harry. I'm sorry. I have to get this paper finished."

He sighs, trying not to sulk. He doesn't sulk.

"But," she continues, "I've got the weekend free, if you'd like me to visit then?"

He doesn't bother with words, just leans her back on the sofa and snogs her soundly.

When he gets back to his own flat, it is far too quiet. Far too empty. There's no humming here, no Luna dancing in the kitchen and no clockwork birds. However, there is a dead cactus and the sight of it makes him scowl. It ends up in the rubbish bin and he tries not to think about honking daffodils.

As he's unpacking he notices an odd lump in one of the pockets on his robe. He reaches inside and pulls out a small folded up piece of paper. 'Until Saturday' is all it says. The other item is a dirigible plum and he stares at it for a moment before he starts laughing. Luna must have slipped the note and the fruit into his pocket before he left. He bites into the plum immediately and, just like that, his bad mood is gone.

He hums to himself and he finishes putting his things away. He can wait two days. And who knows, maybe she'll be able to teach him how keep his next cactus alive.