Missed Chance

Another night, they met at a restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of London. Over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, they talked about everything and nothing.

“My work has been exciting lately,” Luna said, her eyes lighting up as she described her latest expedition. “We’ve discovered evidence of creatures living in volcanic caves in Iceland. Their scales reflect heat instead of light—it’s extraordinary!”

Harry grinned, leaning forward in his chair. “You’ll have to show me pictures sometime. Or maybe take me along on one of your adventures.”

To his surprise, Luna didn’t dismiss the idea. Instead, she tilted her head thoughtfully. “Would you really want to come? It’s not exactly glamorous. Lots of mud and strange smells.”

“I’d love it,” he replied honestly. “Anything to get away from paperwork for a while.”

They both laughed, the sound blending seamlessly with the hum of conversation around them. For the first time in years, Harry felt alive—not just surviving, but truly living. And it was because of her.

Harry hadn’t expected to invite her to his flat.

But one evening, after a long day of chasing down leads that went nowhere, he found himself hesitating outside the café where they’d agreed to meet.

"Do you want to come over?" he asked abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I could... show you a muggle movie. If you want."

Luna’s eyes lit up like he’d just offered her a crate of dirigible plums. "Really? I’ve never seen one!"

His flat had never felt so exposed before. He found himself noticing things he usually ignored—the bare walls, the half-empty bottles, the way the place felt more like a temporary stop than a home.

Luna, of course, didn’t seem to mind. She wandered around, examining his sparse belongings with genuine interest, pausing at a framed photo of the original Order—his parents, Sirius, Remus. Her fingers brushed the glass lightly.

"You look like him," she said softly.

Harry’s chest tightened. No one had ever said that before.

The movie was a disaster.

Luna asked questions through the entire thing—"Why are they shouting? Is that how muggles show affection?"—but Harry didn’t mind. He found himself laughing more than he had in years, her confusion oddly endearing.

Afterward, they sat on his couch, the remnants of takeout containers scattered across the coffee table. Luna told him about her work—tracking rare magical creatures, documenting their habits, advocating for their protection. Her voice was animated, her hands weaving through the air as she described a colony of mooncalves she’d discovered in the Andes.

Harry listened, really listened, and realized with a start that Luna wasn’t just whimsical. She was brilliant.

They fell into a rhythm after that.

Coffee after his shifts. Weekends spent wandering the city, Luna pointing out oddities Harry had never noticed—the way certain shadows moved when no one was looking, the faint magic humming beneath London’s streets.

He told her things he’d never told anyone else—about the guilt that kept him up at night, about the way he sometimes missed the war because at least then he’d known who he was.

Luna never judged. Never told him to get over it. She just... listened.

Harry stood in the middle of his flat, surrounded by dust motes swirling lazily in the sunlight streaming through the windows. He had decided to clean—a rare impulse for him—but as he sorted through old boxes, something caught his eye: a bundle of letters tied neatly with a faded ribbon. His breath hitched when he recognized Luna’s delicate handwriting on the envelopes.

He sank onto the couch, clutching the stack of letters tightly. One by one, he read them again—the words she had written years ago, filled with kindness, hope, and understanding. She’d checked on him after the war, shared bits of her travels, reminded him that he wasn’t alone. And what had he done? Ignored her. Left her hanging without a single reply.

Guilt crashed over him like a tidal wave, heavy and suffocating. How could he have been so blind? So selfish? Luna had cared about him deeply, enough to reach out even when she was grieving her own loss. Yet here he was now, realizing how much she meant to him—how much she always had—and it was too late to undo the damage.

But maybe not entirely too late. Harry closed his eyes, letting the weight of his feelings settle into clarity. He couldn’t change the past, but he could make sure he didn’t waste another moment denying what was staring him right in the face.

Later that week, Harry found himself at Ron and Hermione’s modest home for Sunday dinner. The smell of roasted chicken and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and clinking cutlery. It was cozy and familiar, yet there was an undercurrent of tension he hadn’t noticed before.

“You’ve been avoiding us,” Hermione accused lightly as they sat down at the table, her tone teasing but laced with curiosity. “You haven’t come to Sunday dinners in weeks.”

Harry shrugged, trying to play it cool as he helped himself to mashed potatoes. “I’ve just been busy with work. You know how it is.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Busy doing what exactly?”

“Hanging out with Luna,” he replied casually, unaware of how much those four words would shift the atmosphere in the room.

Ron nearly choked on his pumpkin juice, coughing violently before managing to sputter, “Wait, what?”

Hermione, however, looked triumphant. A smug smile spread across her face as she leaned back in her chair. “See? I told you!”

“Told me what?” Harry asked, frowning in confusion.

“That you fancy Luna!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice tinged with excitement. “I’ve been saying it for ages, haven’t I, Ron?”

Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh no, please don’t start this again…”

Harry blinked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “Whoa, hang on—I never said I fancied her!”

“Oh, come off it,” Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re smiling every time you say her name. And look at how happy you are lately! Admit it—you’ve got feelings for her.”

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but the words stuck in his throat. Denying it felt… wrong. Because deep down, he knew she was right. Spending time with Luna made everything brighter, easier. She understood him in ways no one else ever had. And yes, he did have feelings for her—feelings that were growing stronger with each passing day.

“I…” he started hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. Maybe I do… like her. More than like her, actually.”

Ron stared at him, wide-eyed, while Hermione practically beamed with satisfaction. “Finally!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting for you to admit it?”

“Admit what? That my best mate has gone completely mental?” Ron muttered, shaking his head. But there was a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “Bloody hell, Harry. Out of all the people you could’ve fallen for…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry shot back, narrowing his eyes.

“It means Luna’s amazing,” Hermione interjected firmly, giving Ron a pointed look. “She’s kind, intelligent, supportive—everything you need. Honestly, Harry, if anyone deserves happiness after everything they’ve been through, it’s the two of you.”

Her words struck a chord within him, resonating with the truth he’d been avoiding for far too long. Hermione was right. Luna deserved someone who appreciated her—not someone who took her for granted or ignored her letters. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to be that person.

After dinner, Harry walked home slowly, his mind racing with thoughts of Luna. He replayed their recent moments together—the way she laughed at his jokes, the way her hand brushed against his when they reached for the same book, the way her presence seemed to fill the empty spaces inside him.

⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─

Harry’s flat was warm and inviting, the faint scent of butterbeer lingering in the air from their impromptu lunch. The three friends sat sprawled on mismatched furniture, plates of leftover food scattered across the coffee table. Outside, the wind whistled softly against the windowpanes, carrying with it the crisp chill of an approaching autumn storm. Inside, however, laughter filled the room as they reminisced about old times.

“Remember that time Ron tried to hex Malfoy during Quidditch practice and ended up turning himself into a canary?” Hermione said, giggling uncontrollably as she reached for another slice of pumpkin tart.

“I still maintain it wasn’t entirely my fault!” Ron protested, his face reddening under Harry’s amused gaze. “That spell looked simple enough!”

“It did until you started squawking like a bird,” Harry teased, earning another round of laughter from Hermione.

For a moment, the weight of adulthood—the war, the losses, the responsibilities—felt far away. They were just three teenagers again, sitting by the fire in Gryffindor Tower, sharing stories late into the night.

But Hermione, ever the pragmatist, soon steered the conversation back to more pressing matters. She leaned forward, fixing Harry with a pointed look. “Speaking of relationships… when are you going to ask Luna out?”

Harry nearly choked on his drink, coughing violently as he set the glass down. “What? Why does everyone keep bringing this up?”

“Because we care about you,” Hermione replied firmly, her tone softening slightly. “And because it’s obvious how much happier you’ve been since you started spending time with her. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

Ron nodded reluctantly, though he couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes. “She’s good for you, mate. Better than Ginny ever was.”

The mention of Ginny cast a brief shadow over the room, but Harry didn’t flinch. He’d come to terms with the fact that their relationship had been doomed long before its messy end. Still, he hesitated, unsure whether he should voice the thoughts swirling in his mind.

“What if she’s not single?” he asked quietly, avoiding their gazes. “I mean, I don’t even know if she feels the same way about me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please. Have you seen how much time she spends with you? If she weren’t interested, trust me, she wouldn’t be hanging around all the time.”

“She doesn’t seem like someone who’d waste her time,” Ron added thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “Luna’s too practical for that.”

Harry frowned, considering their words. It was true—he and Luna had grown closer over the past few weeks, sharing moments that felt effortless and genuine. But admitting his feelings still felt terrifying. What if he ruined what they already had?

“Even if she is single…” Harry began cautiously, glancing at Ron. “Do you think it’d be okay? I mean, given everything with Ginny…”

Ron sighed, running a hand through his ginger hair. “Look, Harry, Ginny is my sister , and I love her, yeah, but let’s be honest—she hasn’t exactly made things easy for anyone. You two were never meant to last, and deep down, I think she knows it too. Besides, you’re my best mate. Your happiness matters to me more than some grudge.”

Hermione nodded emphatically, seizing the opportunity to drive her point home. “Exactly. Ginny was always… intense. Too intense for you, honestly. Even back in school, she was obsessed with being ‘Harry Potter’s girlfriend’ instead of just being herself. That kind of pressure isn’t healthy—for either of you.”

Harry stared at them, surprised by the bluntness of their assessment. He’d known Ginny’s intensity could sometimes border on possessive, but hearing it articulated so clearly made him realize how stifling it had been. With Luna, there was none of that. No expectations, no demands—just acceptance.

“So…” Ron ventured awkwardly, breaking the silence. “Are you saying you actually want to ask Luna out?”

Harry hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah… I am. Or at least, I’m thinking about it. I just don’t want to mess things up between us.”

“You won’t,” Hermione assured him, her voice gentle but firm. “If anything, you’ll regret it if you don’t try. Life’s too short, Harry. Especially after everything you’ve been through.”