Chapter 1
The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, save for the crackling of the fire that danced in the hearth like a restless spirit. The air smelled faintly of pine from the Christmas decorations scattered around—wreaths hung on the walls, fairy lights twinkling merrily—but Harry Potter felt none of their cheer. He sat slumped in one of the squashy armchairs closest to the flames. His mood matched the gloomy December weather outside: gray, cold, and lonely.
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Hogwarts at Christmas was meant to be cozy, filled with laughter and warmth, even if there weren’t many students left over the holidays. But now? Now it just felt hollow. Ron and Hermione were off somewhere doing… whatever it was couples did when they thought no one was watching.
Harry shuddered involuntarily at the thought. Ginny, too, had abandoned him—not that he could blame her entirely. As soon as he’d awkwardly told her she was “like a little sister” to him, she’d practically sprinted out of the common room. And then, within days, she’d started dating some bloke from Hufflepuff.
Harry scowled into the fire. Hormones. That’s what it all came down to. Stupid hormones making people act like lovesick idiots. Thrusting tongues into each other’s mouths—it sounded disgusting when he put it that way. Why would anyone want to do that? What was so great about it anyway?
A loud creak echoed through the room as the portrait hole swung open. For a brief moment, Harry’s heart leapt, hoping it might be someone coming to keep him company. Instead, it was only Neville, bundled up in his winter cloak, carrying a potted plant that looked suspiciously like mistletoe.
“Oh, hey, Harry,” Neville said brightly, spotting him by the fire. “Didn’t think anyone else was still here.”
“Yeah, well…” Harry muttered, trailing off. He didn’t feel like explaining how everyone else seemed to have forgotten he existed. Neville wouldn’t understand. No one did.
Harry’s scowl deepened as Neville disappeared up the stairs to the dormitory, leaving him alone once again. He stared into the flames, replaying that first—and only—kiss in his mind. Cho Chang had been crying, her tears mingling with the awkwardness of the moment. It wasn’t romantic or magical like he’d imagined kisses were supposed to be. Just wet and uncomfortable. And now, every time he thought about it.
He groaned aloud, slouching further into the chair. Why did everyone make such a big deal out of something so… gross? Ron and Hermione couldn’t go five minutes without sneaking off together, giggling like loons behind closed doors. Even Ginny, who used to trail after him like a shadow, had moved on faster than a Snitch at a Quidditch match. All because he’d said she was “like a little sister.” Maybe he should’ve lied. Maybe then she wouldn’t have run off to snog some Hufflepuff git.
Harry’s lip curled into a sneer as the two first years scrambled away from him, their eyes wide with fear. He knew he should’ve felt guilty for scaring them—after all, they were just kids—but honestly, he couldn’t muster the energy to care. Let them whisper. Let them gawk and spread their stupid rumors.
He’d heard it all before “He’s lying about You-Know-Who,” or worse, “He’s working with him.” The absurdity of it made his blood boil, but what could he do? Convincing people otherwise was—pointless and infuriating.
The snort escaped him unbidden at the memory of that fourth-year girl’s ridiculous theory. A stripper club near Liverpool? Really? Voldemort strutting around in thigh-high boots and fishnets? The mental image was so absurd that, despite himself, Harry felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward. For a brief moment, the tension in his chest eased, replaced by something almost resembling amusement. Almost.
His mind kept circling back to Ron and Hermione. How could they abandon him like this? Sure, they were finally together, and sure, they deserved happiness after everything they’d been through—but did they have to be so bloody obvious about it? Every glance, every whispered conversation, every time they disappeared hand-in-hand down some corridor—it was nauseating. Didn’t they realize he needed them? That he was drowning in loneliness while they floated off in their own little bubble?
As he turned a corner, another group of younger students came into view. They froze mid-conversation when they spotted him, their faces pale and eyes darting nervously between him and each other. One boy audibly gulped.
“There he is,” someone whispered, barely loud enough for Harry to hear. “The one who says You-Know-Who’s back…”
The morning light filtered weakly through the high arched windows of Hogwarts, casting long golden streaks across the stone floors. The corridors were quieter now compared to the chaos of the previous evening, but Harry could still hear the faint echoes of laughter and whispered conversations drifting from behind closed doors or around corners. He had left the Gryffindor common room early—too restless to sit still any longer—and wandered aimlessly.
As he turned a corner near the Charms classroom, Harry froze mid-step. A pair of Hufflepuff students—a boy and a girl who looked no older than second-years—were leaning against the wall, their faces dangerously close as they giggled and exchanged sloppy kisses. His stomach churned at the sight, a mix of irritation and something sharper twisting uncomfortably inside him.
“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes skyward. “Do they even know how ridiculous they look?”
Their quiet murmurs carried down the hallway, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter that grated on Harry’s nerves like nails scraping against a chalkboard.
It was everywhere. Everywhere he went, someone was holding hands, whispering sweet nothings, or—Merlin forbid—practicing for some sort of kissing championship.
The fading sunlight casting long shadows across the corridors. The air felt heavier now, colder, as if the stones themselves were holding their breath against the encroaching night. Harry trudged along, his footsteps echoing dully against the walls of corridors. His mood had shifted from irritable to something far more hollow—a gnawing emptiness that no amount of mischief or avoidance could fill.
A soft creak startled him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw the Fat Lady returning to her portrait, humming tunelessly under her breath. She stopped mid-hum when she noticed him sitting there, her painted eyebrows rising in surprise.
“Mr. Potter!” she exclaimed, clutching her shawl dramatically. “What on earth are you doing on the floor like that?”
Harry shrugged, pushing himself to his feet. “Nothing,” he muttered, brushing off imaginary dirt from his robes. “Just waiting.”
"Where's your little mates, you know, Ron and Hermione?"
"Snogging like there's no tomorrow," Harry replied rudely. "Now open up!"
The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow at his tone, her painted lips pursing in a way that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Mrs. Weasley. “No need to be rude, young man,” she chided, folding her arms across her chest. Her shawl slipped slightly, and she adjusted it with a huff. “I’m only trying to help.”
Harry rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Yeah, sure,”
The Fat Lady sighed dramatically, “Oh, Harry, dear, you’re being far too hard on yourself. Just because your friends have found happiness doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten you "
“Whatever,” he muttered sullenly. “Can we just skip the advice column and get inside already?”
She swung the portrait open. “Fine, Mr. Grumpy Gills. Go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when you realize I’m right.”
Harry ignored her, stepping through the opening with a muttered “Thanks” that lacked any real gratitude. The Gryffindor common room greeted him warmly, bathed in the golden glow of the firelight.
Harry’s jaw clenched involuntarily at the memory of Cho and her new boyfriend pressed against that shadowy alcove, their laughter soft but unmistakable. He’d frozen in place for a moment, his stomach lurching as though he’d been hit by a Bludger. The sight of them—her hand tangled in his hair, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist—had burned itself into his mind like an unwanted brand.
It wasn’t even jealousy that made it so unbearable. It was humiliation. Humiliation that he’d ever thought there might be something between him and Cho, something real. Their kiss under the mistletoe last year had been awkward enough, but this… this felt like a cosmic joke, one where everyone else got the punchline except him.
Harry shifted uncomfortably on the couch, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Love wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. In the stories Aunt Petunia used to watch on late-night television, everything always worked out perfectly: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy wins girl back after some grand romantic gesture. But life wasn’t like that. Life was messy and painful and full of moments that left you feeling raw and exposed.
And then there was the other problem—the bigger problem. How could anyone expect him to focus on relationships or crushes or whatever when Voldemort was out there, plotting who-knows-what? When prophecy loomed over his head like a storm cloud, threatening to break open at any moment? He didn’t have the luxury of pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.
There was a knock at the common room entrance, and Harry could hear the Fat Lady spluttering on the other side.
Hoping it was Neville forgetting the password
Harry blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all the people he’d expected to see standing outside the portrait hole, Luna Lovegood was not one of them. She stood there in her usual dreamy haze, though right now she seemed oddly animated—her wide, protuberant eyes fixed intently on the Fat Lady as she waved a hand dismissively.
“I assure you,” Luna said in her soft, airy voice, “I am perfectly capable of finding my way into the Gryffindor common room without your assistance. It’s simply a matter of believing that I belong here.”
The Fat Lady looked affronted, her painted cheeks flushed pink. “Young lady, I don’t care how believable you think it is—only Gryffindors are allowed entry! And unless you’ve suddenly sprouted a lion crest somewhere, I suggest you scurry back to Ravenclaw tower before I call Professor McGonagall!”
Luna tilted her head thoughtfully, unfazed by the Fat Lady’s growing irritation. “Oh, I’m quite certain Harry won’t mind if I stay for a bit. He looks lonely.” Her gaze shifted then, finally landing on Harry, who was still standing frozen in the doorway. She gave him a small, serene smile, as though his presence confirmed everything she’d just said.
For a moment, Harry didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed. On one hand, Luna wasn’t exactly the company he’d been hoping for.
Harry stepped out of the common room, pulling the portrait hole closed behind him. The Fat Lady shot him a pointed look, as if to say “You’re letting her in?!” but he ignored it, focusing instead on Luna, who stood there as though she’d been waiting for him all along. Her celery earrings swayed gently with each tilt of her head, and her oversized bobble hat wobbled precariously atop her silvery-blonde hair.
“Luna?” Harry asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What on earth are you doing at this end of the castle?”
“Hello, Harry Potter,” Luna replied, her voice dreamy yet oddly matter-of-fact. She blinked those enormous eyes at him, unbothered by his bewilderment. “I was wondering if you’d like to go down to the lake with me. The Winged Kokopelli will be growing there soon.”
Harry stared at her, his mouth opening slightly before snapping shut again. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh, groan, or politely decline and retreat back into the common room. What even was a Winged Kokopelli? Some kind of magical creature? A plant? A figment of Luna’s perpetually imaginative mind?
“Uh…” he began hesitantly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “The lake? Now? It’s freezing outside.”
“Oh, I know,” Luna said brightly, as though he’d just confirmed her plans rather than questioned them. “But that’s when they thrive best. "
Harry glanced over his shoulder at the warmth spilling from the crack beneath the Fat Lady’s portrait. Inside, the fire still crackled invitingly, and the couch awaited him, soft and familiar. But something about Luna’s calm certainty made him hesitate. Maybe it was the way she seemed utterly unfazed by the absurdity of her own suggestion—or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t once mentioned snogging, hormones, or anything remotely romantic since arriving.
Besides, sitting alone in the common room brooding hadn’t exactly cheered him up so far.
He sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Alright, fine. Let’s go see these… uh, Winged Kokopellis "