Missed Chance

The Auror office was quiet at night, the hum of activity replaced by the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional creak of Harry’s chair as he leaned back to stretch. The desk lamp cast a warm golden glow over stacks of reports and half-filled forms, but Harry’s mind wasn’t on his work. Instead, it wandered to places he rarely let himself explore—the ache of loneliness that had settled deep within him like an old wound.

He stared blankly at the papers in front of him, though the words blurred together into meaningless shapes. His quill hovered above the page, unmoving. Around him, the air smelled faintly of ink and dust, mingling with the distant scent of coffee from the break room. But none of it brought comfort. Not tonight.

Earlier that day, Ron and Hermione had visited again, their easy banter filling his flat with laughter. Watching them interact—the way Ron teased Hermione about leaving her books everywhere, the way she rolled her eyes but rested her head on his shoulder anyway—had stirred something in Harry. It wasn’t envy, exactly; more like longing.

They looked so content together, so settled. Even in their quirks and arguments, they fit. They were a team, partners not just in marriage but in life. And as Harry watched them, he realized how much he craved that kind of connection. Not just dating. Not fleeting moments of companionship. Something deeper. Something permanent.

But thinking about permanence only reminded him of everything—and everyone—he’d lost. His parents, taken before he could even remember them. Sirius, who had been both mentor and father figure, gone too soon. Dumbledore, Snape, Dobby—all people who had shaped his world in ways they would never fully understand. Even his aunt Petunia, whose death last year had left him unexpectedly hollow. She hadn’t been kind to him, but she was still family. Still part of the fragile web that connected him to his past.

Now, there was no one left. Molly Weasley refused to speak to him after his breakup with Ginny, cutting him off from the Burrow and the closest thing he’d ever known to a home. He couldn’t blame her—not entirely—but it didn’t make the emptiness any less suffocating.

Alone in his flat each night, Harry found himself reflecting on what he truly wanted. For years, he’d told himself he didn’t need anyone. That being independent was safer, easier. But now, staring at the walls of his apartment, he felt the weight of isolation pressing down on him. He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

And then there was Luna. Sweet, whimsical Luna, who saw magic in the mundane and light in the darkest corners. She made him laugh when he thought he’d forgotten how. She listened without judgment, understood without explanation. Every moment spent with her felt like coming home—even if he hadn’t realized it until now.

As he sat in the dimly lit office, his thoughts drifted to her constantly. Her smile, her laugh, the way her hair caught the sunlight. He imagined waking up beside her every morning, sharing meals, building a life together. A family. Children who might inherit her curiosity and his resilience. A future where he wasn’t alone.

The idea startled him at first. Marriage? Wasn’t it too soon? Too drastic? But the more he thought about it, the clearer it became. He didn’t just want to date Luna. He wanted to marry her. To create something lasting, something real. Something that would fill the void inside him once and for all.

As he sat in the dimly lit office, his thoughts drifted to her constantly. Her smile, her laugh, the way her hair caught the sunlight. He imagined waking up beside her every morning, sharing meals, building a life together. A family. Children who might inherit her curiosity and his resilience. A future where he wasn’t alone.

Harry’s hands trembled as he slid the small velvet box into his pocket, the weight of it both thrilling and terrifying. He had spent hours in a quiet jeweler’s shop in Diagon Alley, poring over rings until he found the perfect one—a delicate band adorned with tiny stars and crescent moons etched into the silver. It was whimsical yet elegant, just like Luna. The moment he saw it, he knew it belonged to her.

Standing in front of the mirror in his flat, he adjusted his collar for the tenth time, trying to ignore the way his heart hammered against his ribs. His reflection stared back at him, wide-eyed and pale, looking more uncertain than he cared to admit. What if she said no? What if this was too much, too soon?

He shook his head firmly, pushing the doubts aside. This wasn’t about fear—it was about hope.

That evening, Harry invited Ron and Hermione over to tell them his decision. They sat around the kitchen table, cups of tea steaming between them, while rain pattered softly against the windows. The air smelled faintly of chamomile and damp earth, grounding him even as his nerves threatened to unravel.

“I’ve been thinking…” Harry began hesitantly, twisting the edge of a napkin in his hands. “About Luna.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Yeah, we gathered that much. You’ve barely talked about anything else lately.”

“It’s serious,” Hermione added, her tone teasing but warm. “So spill it—what’s going on?”

Harry took a deep breath, bracing himself for their reaction. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

For a moment, there was silence. Ron blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Hermione gasped, her teacup clattering onto its saucer.

“Wait—marry her?” Ron finally managed, his voice rising in disbelief. “We thought you were just planning to date her!”

Harry shrugged, though his cheeks flushed under their scrutiny. “It feels right. I don’t want to waste any more time, you know? After everything… I just—I want a family. Someone who understands me. Someone like Luna.”

Hermione’s expression softened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh, Harry…”

Ron said. "Blimey, mate. We thought you'd ask her to dinner first, not—" he waved a hand, "—lifelong commitment."

"I don't want to wait," Harry said quietly. The words came out rougher than he intended, edged with something desperate. "I'm tired of... being alone."

The admission hung between them, raw and

He looked away, focusing on the crackling fire in the hearth.

"It's not just that," he muttered. "It's Luna. She's—" How could he explain it? The way she made the silence in his flat feel less suffocating? The way she saw him, all of him, and didn't flinch?

"She's Luna," Ron finished for him, uncharacteristically perceptive. "We get it."

Hermione squeezed his hand. "Are you sure, though? Marriage is—"

"I've never been more sure of anything," Harry interrupted, his voice firm.

Ron exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Well. If anyone could put up with you forever, it's Loony—Luna," he corrected hastily at Hermione's glare.

Harry didn't smile.

"I bought a ring," he said instead, pulling the box from his pocket. It was simple—a thin silver band set with a tiny, glowing moonstone. "Thought it suited her."

Hermione's eyes shimmered. "Oh, Harry. It's perfect."

Ron whistled. "Ginny's going to lose her mind."

"Ron," Hermione hissed.

Harry's grip tightened around the box. He hadn't considered Ginny's reaction—hadn't considered anything beyond the bone-deep certainty that he needed this. Needed her.

"I wrote her a letter," he said, changing the subject. "Asking her to meet me tomorrow. For lunch."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Ron cleared his throat. "Well. If she says no, you can always move in with us. Hermione's been on about converting the attic—"

"Ron!"

Harry finally cracked a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Because the truth was, he couldn't fathom her saying no.

That night, back in his too-quiet flat, Harry practiced in front of the mirror.

"Luna, I—" He grimaced. Too stiff.

"Will you—" No. Too abrupt.

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Merlin, I'm crap at this."

The ring box sat on his bedside table, moonlight glinting off its surface.

Harry stared at it, his chest tight.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

One way or another.

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

The little café by the river was one of Luna's favorites—Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting prismatic reflections across the wooden table where Harry sat, his fingers drumming restlessly against his knee.

He'd arrived twenty minutes early. His palms hadn't stopped sweating since.

When Luna walked in, her dress was a swirl of clashing purples and greens, her radish earrings swinging as she moved. She smiled when she saw him, but the moment their eyes met, her head tilted slightly—that familiar, unnervingly perceptive look.

"You're nervous," she said softly, sliding into the seat across from him.

Harry's throat tightened. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to me," Luna replied, her fingers tracing the edge of her napkin. "You're tapping your foot. And you haven't touched your tea."

Harry glanced down. Sure enough, his untouched tea had gone cold, the leaves at the bottom forming shapes he couldn’t decipher.

A waiter passed by, refilling Luna's cup with something that smelled faintly of peppermint and something else entirely unidentifiable. The steam curled between them like a veil.

“I…” he began, his voice trembling despite his effort to steady it. “I need to tell you something, Luna. Something important.”

Her expression shifted slightly, curiosity mingling with concern. “Alright.”

Harry swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table for support. He could feel the weight of the ring in his pocket, its presence both comforting and suffocating. This was it—the moment he’d been dreading and longing for all at once.

“Luna,” he started again, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion. “I… I like you. More than like you. I’ve realized recently that I can’t imagine my life without you. You make me happier than anyone else ever has, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you—if you’ll have me.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, clumsy and raw, but honest. He held his breath, waiting for her reaction, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

For a split second, Luna froze, her face going pale. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed—a soft, shaky sound that caught Harry off guard. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes as she smiled sadly.

“You know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve loved you for so long.”

Harry blinked, stunned. “What?”

She nodded, her lower lip quivering slightly. “Always. Since school. You were my only friend, Harry. My best friend. And yes, I loved you then too.”

His mind reeled, struggling to process what she was saying. “But… why didn’t you tell me?”

Luna sighed, her fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth. “Because you were happy with other people. First Cho, then Ginny. I didn’t want to ruin things for you. Even if I had told you… I wasn’t sure you’d see me the same way. I thought maybe you’d start avoiding me, and I couldn’t risk losing you completely. You meant too much to me.”

Her words hit him like a tidal wave, guilt and regret crashing over him. She had loved him all this time—quietly, patiently—and he had been oblivious. No wonder she had reached out to him after the war, sending those heartfelt letters. No wonder she had always been there, even when he pushed others away.

She looked down at her hands, tracing the edge of the tablecloth as if it might anchor her to the moment.

“You took me to Slughorn’s party,” she said quietly, her tone tinged with nostalgia. “Do you remember that night?”

Harry flinched inwardly, the memory crashing over him like icy water. Of course he remembered—it had been one of his lowest moments, not because of the party itself, but because of how he’d treated her. He’d asked her out of obligation, or maybe even pity, and then abandoned her when things got uncomfortable.

“I do,” he admitted, his voice hoarse with guilt. “And I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Luna shook her head gently, her lips curving into a sad smile. “Don’t apologize, Harry. It was my first date—no one had ever invited me before. Just being there meant so much to me.”

“But I left you alone,” Harry pressed, his fists clenching under the table. The shame burned deep within him, sharp and relentless. “I let those people mock you, and I didn’t stay to defend you. I was… I was terrible to you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Luna replied softly, her gaze meeting his. There was no accusation in her eyes, only understanding—and that somehow made it worse. “You were embarrassed too. Everyone laughed at my dress, and you got mocked just for being with me. I know how hard it must have been for you.”

Her kindness cut deeper than any rebuke could have. How could she still see the good in him after everything? How could she forgive him so easily when he couldn’t forgive himself?

“I should’ve stayed,” Harry insisted, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion. “I should’ve told them all to sod off. You deserved better than that, Luna. Better than me.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his once again. Her touch was warm, grounding, pulling him back from the spiral of self-loathing threatening to consume him.

“You stayed long enough to ask me,” she said simply, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her eyes. “That’s what mattered to me. You chose me, even if it was just for a little while. No one else ever had before.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy and aching, filled with unspoken truths that neither dared to voice.

As he sat there, memories flooded back—moments when she had been his constant, unwavering presence, even when he hadn’t deserved it. Her loyalty wasn’t loud or demanding; it was quiet, steadfast, and utterly selfless. She had stood by him through every fight, every danger, offering comfort in ways only she knew how.

After Cho, after Ginny, after everything—he had leaned on her without realizing it. And what had he done for her? Practically nothing. He remembered the way she had searched for her missing clothes in Hogwarts, the way she had smiled despite the teasing, the way she had offered him friendship when he had no one else. But when had he ever truly been there for her?

Her father’s death… The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. When Xenophilius Lovegood had died, Luna had been utterly alone in the world. No family, no home, nothing but the weight of loss pressing down on her fragile shoulders. And where had Harry been? Buried in his own grief, too consumed by his own pain to notice hers. To offer her the comfort she so desperately needed.

Instead, he had ghosted her. Ignored her letters. Left her stranded at Slughorn’s party, humiliated and abandoned. Even worse, he had let her believe that she wasn’t enough—that her quirks, her kindness, her very essence weren’t worthy of his time or attention.

And yet here she was, still smiling at him with those wide, knowing eyes. Still forgiving him without hesitation. Still loving him with a purity that made his chest ache.

“I’ve failed you,” Harry whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of realization. “So many times.”

Luna tilted her head slightly, studying him with an expression that was both tender and heartbreaking. “You haven’t failed me, Harry.”

“Yes, I have,” he insisted, his grip tightening around her hand. “When your dad died… I didn’t even ask if you were okay. I didn’t sit with you during lunch at Hogwarts, or check on you when you seemed sad. I didn’t write back to your letters, Luna. I left you alone when you needed me most.”

Her lips parted as though she wanted to argue, but instead, she looked away, her gaze drifting toward the river. For a moment, the mask of serenity slipped, revealing the faintest flicker of pain beneath. It was gone almost instantly, replaced by her usual calm demeanor, but Harry saw it—and it tore at his heart.

“You were dealing with so much yourself,” she said finally, her voice soft but strained. “I understood that, Harry. You didn’t owe me anything.”

“That’s not true!” he shot back, his voice rising slightly before he forced himself to lower it. “You gave me everything—your friendship, your support, your kindness—and I repaid you with… neglect. With silence. With excuses.”

The air between them grew heavier, charged with emotions too raw to contain. Harry’s hands trembled as he reached for the velvet box once more, his desperation spilling over like an open wound. He couldn’t lose her—not now, not after finally seeing the depth of her loyalty and love. Not when she had given him so much without ever asking for anything in return.

“I’ve been selfish,” he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of self-loathing. “All these years, I only thought about myself—my problems, my burdens, my happiness. I dated Ginny, chased after Cho, wallowed in my own pain… but you? You were suffering alone too, weren’t you?”

Luna didn’t respond immediately, her gaze dropping to the table as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. Her fingers traced absent patterns on the edge of her napkin, a nervous habit that betrayed the calm mask she wore.

“I wanted to support you, Luna,” Harry continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. “But I failed. Over and over again, I failed you. When your dad died, when people mocked you, when you needed someone most—I wasn’t there. And yet here you are, still loving me, still forgiving me.”

His voice broke, tears streaming freely down his cheeks now. “I don’t deserve you. But please… give me a chance. Let me spend the rest of my life making it right. Making us right.”

With shaking hands, he opened the velvet box, revealing the delicate silver ring etched with stars and moons. It gleamed softly in the dim light of the café, a symbol of hope—and perhaps redemption—that felt almost too fragile to hold.

“Please, Luna,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of conversation and the rustle of leaves outside. “Say you’ll have me. Say you’ll let me prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

For a long moment, silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating. The world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them, sitting across from each other in this quiet corner of the riverside café. Harry held his breath, waiting for her response, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

She shook her head slowly, the movement almost imperceptible—but unmistakable.

“Oh, Harry…” she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. “You’re asking for something I don’t know if I can give.”

The world tilted on its axis, the ground beneath Harry’s feet suddenly unsteady. He stared at Luna, her words hanging in the air like shards of glass—sharp, cutting, impossible to ignore.

“I’m marrying Rolf,” she repeated softly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing in her eyes.

“Rolf?” Harry echoed, his mind scrambling to make sense of the name. “Who is Rolf?”

Luna's hands fluttered to her necklace of butterbeer corks, her touch light but her voice steady. "Rolf Scamander. Newt's grandson. We've been... working together on a project about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Sweden."

A beat. Then—

"He asked me last week."

Harry felt like he'd been hit with a Blasting Curse straight to the chest. "You're... engaged?"

Luna nodded, her eyes shimmering. "He's kind. And he... sees me."

Harry blinked, trying to process what she was saying. It felt surreal, like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. “But you just said you love me. That you’ve always loved me. How can you marry someone else?”

Her gaze dropped to the table, her expression pained but resolute. “Yes, Harry. I still love you. Maybe I always will. But loving someone isn’t enough sometimes.”

His heart clenched painfully at her admission, each word landing like a blow. “Then why are you doing this? Why him?”

“Because…” she hesitated, she struggled to find the right words. “Because you’re too late, Harry. You had years to notice me—to truly see me—and now Rolf has stepped into my life. He sees me, Harry. Not because I’m quirky or useful or convenient, but because he wants to. Because he values me.”

She paused, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “I don’t know if I’ll ever love him the way I love you. But I think… I think I could be happy with him. And sometimes, happiness is enough.”

Harry’s desperation reached a fever pitch as he grabbed the velvet box, his hands trembling violently. Without thinking, without pausing to consider the consequences, he slid the delicate silver ring onto Luna’s finger. The stars and moons etched into its surface caught the fading light of twilight, shimmering faintly against her skin.

“Luna,” he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. “If you still love me—and if you can’t love him—how will you ever be happy? How can you keep him happy when your heart belongs to someone else?”

Her breath hitched, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at the ring on her finger. For a moment, it seemed like she might crumble, like the walls she had built around herself might collapse under the weight of their shared pain. But then she shook her head, her resolve hardening despite the storm raging within her.

“Harry, please stop,” she whispered, her voice strained but firm. “I can’t betray Rolf like this. He’s innocent in all of this—he loves me, Harry. He trusts me. I can’t hurt him.”

“But what about us?” Harry demanded, his voice rising with desperation. “What about me? If you’re scared of how he’ll react, I’ll talk to him. I’ll explain everything. I’ll make him understand!”

Luna’s eyes widened, torn between guilt and indecision. She looked at him, really looked at him, seeing the raw anguish etched across his face. It was clear that he would do anything—say anything—to keep her from walking away. But even as part of her wanted to believe him, another part knew it wasn’t fair—to Rolf, to herself, or to Harry.

“No,” she said finally, her voice soft but resolute. “This isn’t right, Harry. You’re asking me to choose between two people who don’t deserve to be hurt. And no matter what happens, someone will lose.”

She gently slid the ring off her finger, holding it for a moment before placing it back into his palm. Her touch lingered briefly, warm and fleeting, before she pulled away.

“It’s too late, Harry,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of the riverside café. “Too much has happened. Too many choices have been made.”

“What’s going to happen to us?” he asked hoarsely, his voice cracking under the weight of despair. “To… to you and me?”

Luna hesitated, her lower lip quivering slightly. She reached out to place a gentle hand on his arm, her touch both comforting and heartbreaking.

“We’ll still be friends, Harry,” she said softly, forcing a small, bittersweet smile. “Always.”

The words landed like a final blow, sealing the fate they couldn’t escape. Friends. Always. But never more than that—not anymore. Not after this.