Missed Chance

Five years had passed since the war, but for Harry Potter, time felt less like healing and more like a slow erosion. The scars of battle might have faded from his skin, but they lingered deep within him—etched into his soul like shadows that refused to lift. He was a successful Auror now, respected and admired, yet every victory left him emptier than before

Harry Potter was good at his job—too good, perhaps. As Head Auror, he hunted Dark wizards with a relentless precision that bordered on obsession. The Prophet called him "The Shadow of the Ministry," a man who moved through the world like a blade, sharp and silent.

But success was a hollow thing.

His flat in London was spotless, impersonal—no photos on the walls, no trinkets on the shelves. His breakup with Ginny had been messy, bitter, and public—a spectacle played out in the pages of The Daily Prophet. Molly Weasley’s disapproving glares at family gatherings were sharp enough to cut glass, so he stopped attending altogether.

Ron and Hermione tried to include him in their lives, inviting him over for dinners or holidays, but seeing their happiness only reminded him of what he lacked. Their laughter echoed too loudly in his ears, their love too bright against the backdrop of his own solitude. Ron and Hermione were happy. Blissfully, infuriatingly happy. They had a home, a routine, a married life that didn’t revolve around near-death experiences. Harry was happy for them. Truly. But every dinner invitation felt like salt in a wound he couldn’t name.

And then there was Ginny.

Their breakup had been explosive—screaming matches, hexes thrown in anger, Ginny’s voice like a lash: "You’ll never love anyone as much as you love your own misery!"

The Weasleys, once his refuge, had become a minefield. Molly’s disappointment was a tangible thing, her hugs now stiff and perfunctory. Arthur tried, but even his kindness was laced with unspoken questions.

He buried himself in work instead, chasing danger as if it could fill the void inside him.

One chilly autumn afternoon, Harry found himself wandering Diagon Alley after completing an assignment. The streets were alive with color—the golden hues of falling leaves mingling with the vibrant displays in shop windows. The air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts and pumpkin spice, a comforting aroma that did little to ease the weight on his shoulders. As he turned a corner near Flourish and Blotts, he collided with someone carrying a stack of books.

“Oh!” came a soft, familiar voice as the books tumbled to the ground.

Harry froze, recognizing her instantly despite the years apart. Luna Lovegood stood before him, her blonde hair tied back in a loose braid, her eyes still holding that dreamy glimmer. She wore a long coat adorned with embroidered moons and stars, paired with mismatched boots that somehow suited her perfectly. In her hands, she held a book titled Magical Creatures of the Mediterranean.

“Luna,” he breathed, unsure whether relief or guilt surged stronger within him. “I… I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She smiled gently, bending down to gather her fallen books. “Hello, Harry. It’s nice to bump into you again—literally this time.”

Her tone was light, almost playful, but there was something beneath it—a quiet sadness that mirrored his own. He helped her pick up the last of her books, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. The contact sent a jolt through him, unexpected and raw.

“I’m sorry about running into you,” he said awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s alright,” Luna replied, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. “You look tired, Harry. Are you sleeping well?”

Her question caught him off guard, its simplicity cutting deeper than any accusation ever could. “I… uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, avoiding her gaze. “Just busy with work.”

She nodded slowly, though her expression suggested she didn’t believe him. “Well, take care of yourself, Harry. You deserve peace.”

An awkward silence settled between them. The chatter of the street, the smell of fresh ink and parchment from the bookstore, the weight of everything unsaid—it all pressed in, suffocating.

"I should—" Harry gestured vaguely down the street. "Auror business. You know how it is."

Luna nodded, her smile never wavering. "Of course. It was nice seeing you, Harry."

And just like that, he was walking away, his chest tightening with regret. He wanted to go back to her, to apologize for all the unanswered letters, for letting her slip away without a word. But the moment passed, and he let it slip through his fingers once again.

The second time, it was raining.

Harry was leaving a late-night shift, his cloak damp, his boots splashing through puddles as he turned a corner—and nearly collided with someone.

"Oh!"

Luna steadied herself against his arm, her fingers warm even through his sleeve. She was wearing a cloak embroidered with tiny, glowing creatures that shifted patterns as they moved. "Harry. We really must stop meeting like this."

Harry’s heart hammered. "Luna—I—"

"Would you like to get coffee?" she asked, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "There’s a place just around the corner that serves the most wonderful chocolate cauldrons "

The café was small, cozy, smelling of roasted beans and vanilla. They took a corner table, Luna stirring her drink with a spoon that changed colors depending on the angle of the light.

He hesitated, unsure whether to leave or stay. But then she gestured to the chair across from her, and something in her calm demeanor made him sit down.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk to me,” he admitted, fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. “Not after everything.”

Luna tilted her head, studying him with those wide, knowing eyes. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my friend, Harry. Friends don’t stop being friends just because life gets complicated.”

Her words struck a chord deep within him, unraveling years of guilt and self-doubt. “I should’ve written back,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Your letters… they meant a lot to me. I just… I didn’t know how to respond. Everything felt so overwhelming.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Harry,” she said kindly, stirring her tea absentmindedly. “But I wish you’d let people help you when you needed it. You’ve always carried so much alone.”

He swallowed hard, staring at the swirls of steam rising from her cup. “It’s not easy, letting people in. After everything that’s happened… I feel like I don’t know how to be happy anymore.”

Luna reached across the table, placing her hand lightly over his. Her touch was warm, grounding, like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Happiness isn’t something you find, Harry. It’s something you choose—even on the hardest days. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

For the first time in years, Harry felt a flicker of hope stir within him. Maybe happiness wasn’t lost forever. Maybe, just maybe, it was waiting somewhere close by, hidden in the quiet moments shared between old friends.

Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, scattering leaves across the cobblestone streets. Inside, the café buzzed softly with life, the scent of coffee mingling with the warmth of connection. For the first time in a long while, Harry allowed himself to breathe deeply, savoring the fragile beauty of the present.

And for the first time, he didn’t run away.

The days began to blur together in the best possible way. Harry found himself seeking out Luna more often, drawn to her presence like a moth to a gentle flame. There was something about her that made the world feel softer, quieter—less suffocating. When he was with her, the weight of his past didn’t press so heavily on his chest.

The rain had stopped, but the air still carried the damp, earthy scent of wet pavement as Harry and Luna walked side by side through the dimly lit streets of London. Streetlights flickered like lazy fireflies, casting long shadows that stretched and merged as they passed.

Harry couldn’t remember the last time silence had felt so comfortable.

With Ginny, there had always been something simmering beneath the surface—expectations, frustrations, the constant need to perform. But with Luna, the quiet wasn’t oppressive. It was peaceful. Like coming up for air after years of drowning.

“Harry,” she began hesitantly, “can I ask you something?”

He glanced at her, noting the faint crease between her brows. “Of course.”

“What happened… with Ginny?” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as though she feared stepping into fragile territory.

"You and Ginny really broke up for good?" Luna asked one evening, her voice light but curious as they sat in a small, muggle café. The smell of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries wrapped around them like a blanket.

Harry stirred his tea absently, watching the steam curl into the air. "Yeah. For good."

Luna tilted her head, her radish earrings swaying slightly. "But you seemed so in love."

A dry laugh escaped him. "We were good at seeming."

He hadn’t meant to say it—hadn’t even realized he felt it until the words were out. But it was true. With Ginny, it had been passion, intensity, fire. But fire burned out. And what was left was just... ash

Harry sighed, leaning back against the chair. For years, he’d avoided talking about it, burying the memories deep where they couldn’t hurt him anymore—or so he thought. But with Luna, things felt different. She wasn’t asking out of curiosity or judgment; she genuinely wanted to understand.

“We weren’t right for each other,” he said finally, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Everyone thought we were perfect together—you included—but it wasn’t real. Not really. We tried to force something that had already changed.”

Luna nodded slowly. “I always thought you two seemed... happy. You looked like you belonged together.”

“That’s what I told myself too,” Harry admitted “But happiness built on expectations isn’t happiness at all. It’s just… pretending.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of distant traffic “I’m sorry if it shocks you,” Harry added quietly. “I think even Ginny and I were shocked when it ended.”

“It doesn’t shock me,” Luna replied after a pause, her tone thoughtful. “Not really. People change, Harry. Sometimes love can’t keep up.”

Her words resonated deeply within him, stirring emotions he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. He looked at her then, really looked at her, and saw the quiet strength in her eyes—the same strength that had carried her through losing her father, through loneliness, through everything life had thrown at her.

“You’re remarkable, you know that?” he said softly, surprising even himself with the honesty in his voice.

Luna smiled faintly, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly. “No, I’m not. I’m just… me.”

“And that’s enough,” he murmured, almost to himself.