Yours, Luna Lovegood

First Night

Harry strolled back to Number 4 Privet Drive, unhurried, reflecting on every moment of the last four hours. He carefully replayed every conversation, etching onto his memory in fine detail every second he'd spent with Luna.

She was perfect.

He smiled, reflecting on her light, melodic voice. Her words were piercing and profound and playful. He laughed, remembering her occasionally bizarre speculations about the world, about the influence of invisible forces, about wrackspurts and nargles and moon frogs and fairies. She was lovely, and she was so so kind.

His features stilled as he reflected on her shape, her piercing eyes, her full, enchanting lips. In his mind's eye, he could see the gentle slope of her neck as she spoke. He traced the graceful path of her clavicles, her delicate shoulders. He dwelt on the barely visible lift of her chest as she breathed, the movement of her fingers as she toyed with a loose strand of hair. He followed the shape of her dress, the fabric's tension around her breasts, the lines and shapes and what they might reveal. His pulse quickened. He considered her hips, the way her dress played with her form in the evening breeze. He remembered the soft curve of her thighs and the way she wiggled her toes when she was nervous.

In a word, he was absolutely taken by her. And he was blissfully happy.

Harry opened the door and made his way to the kitchen. He threw together a sandwich with some stale bread and a jar of peanut butter that the Durley's had left on the counter, next to a post-it note that read "Food." He made short work of the sandwich, quickly drank two glasses of water, and took the stairs two at a time.

Asher bobbed twice and gave a playful croak. He said hello, tickled his chin. Pulling pen, ink, and parchment from his trunk, he set to writing.

***

Dear Luna,

This summer began as one of my darkest. I was alone, and I felt alone, and I couldn't see far beyond that sense of isolation. And it has turned out so wonderfully.

Thank you for your visit. I feel more than a little embarrassed at the state of my room. I hope you don't think less of me. I can't recall ever liking it here, ever feeling comfortable in this place. But then you arrived. You've cast a charm on this stuffy room, Luna, and the memory of you has made it one of my favorite places.

I'm so sorry to have kept you up so late. Recalling that Hedwig must have woken you around 6 this morning has made me blush. When you mentioned the time, I felt awful. Yet I lose myself in our conversations, and that is something I cannot regret. I'll try to do better tomorrow.

Thank you for the invitation to visit tomorrow morning. I've nursed a distant fear that this — whatever this is — was an enchanting dream from which I'd wake with a tragic sense of loss. That it may be, for you as it is for me, the beginning of something beautiful, has taught my heart to hope.

I feel silly now. You'll have to excuse me, I haven't slept in a while, and I haven't slept well in ages.

Thank you for today. I'll treasure it forever.

Yours,

Harry Potter

PS - You looked absolutely beautiful in that dress.

***

Around ten minutes after Harry had sealed his letter, tied it gently just above Asher's left talon, and sent him off with thanks, Hedwig arrived with a note from Luna.

Hedwig nipped Harry's ear affectionately as he gently stroked her feathers. After a treat and a bit of water, he untied the letter and threw himself upon his bed.

***

Dear Harry,

I've spent the last hour remembering every detail of this day. Thank you for sharing your burdens. Thank you for patiently bearing my unexpected visit. Thank you for making me laugh and for holding my hand. You've made me so happy.

I've replayed our last moments a thousand times. I'm realizing now that I didn't give you any choice about visiting tomorrow. I suppose I should relieve you of that obligation, but I want to see you again so badly that I altogether refuse.

When I consider that we were merely acquaintances just weeks ago, I'm terrified that we've been enchanted by some cruel and clever spellwork. And if that's what's happened, if this is all just a beautiful dream, I want you to know that I'd charm myself to sleep a thousand times to relive this day once more.

As I lay here writing these words, I suppose you're in your room, with quill and parchment, writing to me with Asher on your shoulder. And I can hardly imagine anything more perfect. Hardly. As for the few exceptions, my imagination will be busy with these 'til morning.

Yours,

Luna L.

PS - The river fairies are spectacular at dawn. Come to me quickly?