We Open at the Close (Drarry)

Weed of Sorrows

"I'm telling you that there's nothing to worry about."

Luna didn't look convinced. "Well, whatever it is that you're hiding, it's worrying you enough to make you behave like you're possessed by a disgruntled heliopath."

"Luna, will you just drop it?" Harry snapped. "Just stop with all of the silly talk of wrackspurts and heliopaths and...and gulping plimpies! I'm really not in the mood for it." Hurt streaked across Luna's face and Harry immediately regretted what he'd said. "I'm sorry Luna, I didn't mean that."

"You did," she said quietly. "Draco is worried about you, but you won't talk to him. So he came to talk to me. Now I'm talking to you. Wouldn't it be easier just to speak to Draco instead?"

Harry sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "What's the point in worrying him about something that might be nothing at all?"

"I remember at school how frustrated you were when everyone kept things of importance hidden from you because they believed it was for your own good. You were inclined to disagree with that approach, weren't you?"

"Of course, it was better that I knew the truth," said Harry. "If I had known the truth, Sirius might not have died. A lot of terrible things might not have happened."

"I quite agree with you. People should have trusted you to handle the truth of the matter more than they did. Transparency and openness," she said in an uncharacteristic sharpness to her tone. "It's something that you oft expect from others but fail to give in kind. You know how it feels to have the people you love be dishonest with you, so you really ought to know better."

Luna strode to the fireplace and called "Lovegood House" before the flames engulfed her and she disappeared. Luna's words struck him like a physical blow. Luna could never be accused of little more than brutal honesty, it was something that Harry had always admired about her. It was unpleasant to be on the receiving end of it, but she always knew what to say when it was needed the most. Harry found Draco where he'd left him, sitting at the kitchen table staring into his mug.

"Has Luna gone home?" he asked.

Harry sank into the seat next to Draco. He noticed how tired Harry looked— more tired than usual —his face pinched with stress and worry. Draco sighed and put his head in his hands.

"Please Harry, just tell me what's going on," he pleaded. "Are you seeing someone else?"

"What? No!" said Harry indignantly.

"Well, then what is it? Are you sick? Are you dying? Is it the apprenticeship? Are you going to keep making me ask questions until I make the right guess?"

"No to all of the above," said Harry glumly. He sighed and finally admitted, "Look, there's been some concern about the person who took those photographs of us."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, whoever took them doesn't work for the Prophet," he explained. "They confirmed that the pictures came from a freelance journalist by the name of Emus Totilea. At least that's what they called themselves."

"Well, that sounds fake," muttered Draco.

"We thought the same thing. Whoever the mystery photographer is, they have a poor sense of humour— Hermione figured out that Emus Totilea is actually a Latin anagram, Mea est ultio ."

"Vengeance will be mine," said Draco quietly.

Harry nodded. "Hermione's concerned that the person isn't a freelance photographer at all, but a stalker or...something worse."

"Someone out to hurt you," said Draco.

Harry bowed his head. "Yeah. I went to the Ministry about it a few days ago, not thinking much of it, but they seemed as concerned about it as Hermione was. So I've been going in and helping the Aurors with their investigation, trying to compile a list of possible suspects."