Missed Chance

That night, Harry found himself standing on the doorstep of Ron and Hermione’s house, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep them from trembling. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves and woodsmoke from nearby chimneys. He knocked hesitantly, unsure if he even wanted to share what had happened—but he knew they’d find out eventually.

Hermione opened the door almost instantly, her face lighting up with excitement. “Harry! We’ve been waiting for you! So? Did Luna like the ring?”

Her enthusiasm faltered as she took in his expression—his pale face, red-rimmed eyes, and slumped shoulders. Her smile faded quickly, replaced by concern.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly, stepping aside to let him in.

Ron appeared in the doorway leading to the living room, a mug of butterbeer in hand. “What’s going on?”

Harry exhaled shakily, sinking onto the couch as Hermione sat beside him, gripping his arm gently. “She said yes,” he muttered, his voice hollow.

Hermione beamed, misunderstanding at first. “Oh, Harry! That’s wonderful!”

“No,” Harry interrupted, shaking his head. “She said yes—to Rolf. She’s marrying him.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a heavy fog. Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. Ron froze mid-sip, lowering his mug slowly as realization dawned.

“Oh, Harry…” Hermione whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t cry this time—not here, not now—but he leaned into her embrace, letting her warmth anchor him momentarily. “I was too late,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “She loves me, Hermione. She still does. But it wasn’t enough.”

Hermione pulled back just enough to look at him, her gaze filled with sympathy. “Are you going to be alright?”

Harry nodded stiffly, though the motion felt mechanical, devoid of conviction. “Yeah,” he lied. “I’ll be fine.”

But “fine” was a fragile thing—a thin veneer masking the storm raging beneath the surface. And Harry knew it would take more than platitudes or forced optimism to weather what lay ahead.

Twomonth later, an owl tapped insistently against the window of Harry’s Auror office. He glanced up from his paperwork, startled by the interruption. The bird perched patiently on the sill, a neatly folded letter tied to its leg. With a sense of dread pooling in his stomach, Harry untied the note and unfolded it.

Inside was an invitation written in elegant script:

You’re cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of
Luna Lovegood and Rolf Scamander

The date and location followed, along with a short personal message scrawled at the bottom in Luna’s unmistakable handwriting:

Harry,
I hope you’ll come. It wouldn’t feel right without you there.
Yours always,
Luna

His chest tightened painfully as he read the words over and over again. At first, he convinced himself he wouldn’t go. How could he? Watching her pledge her future to someone else—to Rolf—would tear him apart. But as the days passed, doubt crept in. What kind of man would he be if he stayed away? Luna had asked him to come, and despite everything, he owed her that much.

On the evening of the party, Harry stood outside the venue—a quaint garden pavilion decorated with twinkling fairy lights and garlands of flowers. The air smelled sweetly of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass, mingling with the distant hum of laughter and music. Guests milled about, chatting animatedly as waiters circulated with trays of champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres.

Hermione and Ron arrived shortly after him, their presence offering some semblance of comfort. Neville Longbottom waved from across the lawn, accompanied by Hannah Abbott, while Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan stood near the bar, reminiscing about old times. Even Cho Chang made an appearance, exchanging polite greetings with acquaintances before disappearing into the crowd.

And then there was Rolf—tall, impeccably dressed, with an easy charm that seemed to put everyone at ease. His family mingled nearby, clearly proud of the match he had made. They were warm, welcoming, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within Harry.

Guests milled about in clusters, chatting animatedly as they sipped champagne and nibbled on delicate hors d'oeuvres.

Old friends from Hogwarts gathered near the front rows—Neville and Hannah holding hands, Seamus and Dean laughing over shared memories, Cho Chang exchanging polite greetings with Parvati Patil. Even Professor McGonagall made an appearance, her lips curving into a rare smile as she watched the ceremony unfold.

“I never thought Luna would get married,” someone whispered behind Harry, their voice tinged with surprise. “She always seemed… well, you know. Different.”

“She is different,” another replied, their tone defensive yet fond. “But Rolf’s a good man. He’ll take care of her.”

Harry clenched his jaw tightly, forcing himself not to turn around and snap at them. Instead, he focused on the makeshift aisle where Luna would soon appear, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He didn’t want to hear what others thought of her—or worse, pity him for being left behind. All he wanted was to see her one last time before she walked away forever.

And then she came.

Luna glided down the aisle, her simple wedding gown flowing gracefully around her like moonlight spilling over water. She had designed it herself, of course—a whimsical mix of mismatched fabrics adorned with tiny embroidered stars and moons. Her hair was loosely braided. To anyone else, she might have looked unconventional. To Harry, she looked breathtaking.

Their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them. She offered him a sad smile—one filled with understanding and apology—and he forced himself to return it, though his chest ached with every ounce of effort.

He sat through the entire ceremony, stiff-backed and composed, playing the role of a supportive friend as best he could. When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, the crowd erupted into applause, cheering loudly as Luna and Rolf kissed. Harry clapped along mechanically, his hands moving without feeling, his mind numb.

Their eyes met briefly, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. For a moment, it was just the two of them, surrounded by silence despite the noise around them. Then she smiled—a small, bittersweet smile—and turned her attention back to Rolf, who placed a tender hand on her waist.

Harry clenched his fists tightly, fighting the urge to march over and demand one last chance.

“You okay, mate?” Ron asked quietly, joining him with Hermione by his side.

Harry forced a grim smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just… taking it all in.”

Hermione squeezed his arm reassuringly, her gaze flicking toward Luna and Rolf. “She cares about you, Harry. You know that, right? This doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything,” Harry replied softly, his voice barely audible over the soft strains of music drifting through the air. “She’s moving on. Starting a new life. And I’m…”

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Because the truth was, he didn’t know who he was anymore. Without Luna, without the possibility of a future with her, he felt adrift—like a ship lost at sea, searching for a shore that no longer existed.

When the music began for the first dance, Hermione tugged gently on Ron’s sleeve, nodding toward the dance floor. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ron hesitated, glancing at Harry uncertainly. “Are you sure, mate? We can stay if you need us.”

Harry shook his head, managing a strained but genuine smile. “No, I’m fine. Go ahead. Enjoy yourselves.”

As they joined the other couples swirling across the dance floor, Harry remained seated, watching silently as Luna danced with Rolf. They moved together effortlessly, her laughter ringing out like wind chimes in the breeze. She looked so happy—so radiant—and yet each smile she gave Rolf felt like another knife twisting deeper into Harry’s heart.

He couldn’t bear it anymore. Standing abruptly, he slipped away from the crowd, retreating to the refreshment table tucked discreetly beneath a canopy of ivy. The bartender greeted him with a polite nod, offering a tray of drinks. Harry grabbed a glass of firewhisky, downing it in one gulp before signaling for another.

Someone nearby chuckled softly, their voice cutting through his thoughts. “Always knew Lovegood would end up with someone interesting.”

Harry turned sharply, recognizing Seamus Finnigan leaning casually against the bar beside him. His former classmate grinned lopsidedly, holding up his own drink in a mock salute.

“Rolf seems alright, though,” Seamus continued, shrugging nonchalantly. “Better than most blokes she could’ve ended up with.”

Harry stared at him, his grip tightening around the glass. “Yeah,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Better than me.”

Seamus raised an eyebrow, studying him curiously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Harry replied quickly, shaking his head. “Just… glad she found someone who makes her happy.”

Before Seamus could press further, Harry turned away, walking aimlessly toward the edge of the garden.

Harry leaned against a sturdy oak, his fingers gripping the edge of his glass tightly as he tried to steady his breathing. He felt like an outsider looking in—watching Luna’s happiness unfold without him.

And then, soft footsteps approached behind him. A gentle tap on his shoulder startled him, and he turned quickly, almost spilling his drink.

“Luna,” he breathed, his voice catching slightly at the sight of her. She stood there,Her expression was tender, tinged with concern.

“I didn’t see you sitting with the others,” she said softly, tilting her head slightly. “I thought maybe you’d left.”

Harry shook his head, forcing a small smile despite the ache in his chest. “No, I promised I’d stay. And I keep my promises.”

Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile, her wide eyes searching his face as though trying to memorize it. “Thank you for coming, Harry. It means more to me than you know.”

“You look lovely,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “That dress—you made it yourself, didn’t you?”

She blinked, surprised but pleased. “How did you know?”

He shrugged lightly, attempting to mask the pain in his tone with casualness. “You made your own dress for Slughorn’s party too. Remember?”

Luna nodded slowly, her gaze dropping briefly before meeting his again. There was a flicker of nostalgia in her eyes, a shared memory lingering between them. “I remember,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of celebration.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Luna broke the silence, her voice trembling slightly.

“I’m glad you’re here, Harry,” she admitted, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “Even if… even if things didn’t work out the way we might have hoped, having you here today—it feels right. Like closure.”

Harry swallowed hard, blinking back tears that threatened to spill over. “All I want is for you to be happy, Luna. If Rolf makes you happy, then…” His voice cracked, and he paused, taking a shaky breath. “Then I’ll learn to live with that.”

Her eyes glistened with tears now, and she reached out hesitantly, placing a hand gently on his arm. “You’ve always been so brave, Harry. Even when it hurts, you still put others first. That’s why I…” She trailed off, shaking her head as if reconsidering what she was about to say.

Before she could finish, another presence interrupted them. Rolf appeared, his tall frame casting a shadow over the pair. He smiled warmly, extending a hand toward Harry.

“Mr. Potter!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “I can’t believe the famous Harry Potter is here. Luna talks about you every day, you know.”

Harry managed a strained smile, shaking Rolf’s hand firmly. “Does she? All good things, I hope.”

Rolf chuckled, glancing fondly at Luna. “Only good things. She says you’re one of the kindest, most loyal people she’s ever met.”

Luna blushed faintly, her cheeks flushing pink as she glanced between the two men. “Rolf…”

“It’s true,” Rolf insisted, his grin widening. “Though I must admit, I wasn’t sure how to compete with someone like you.”

Harry froze, caught off guard by the comment. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he forced another awkward smile, his grip tightening around his glass.

“You don’t have to compete,” Luna interjected quietly, her voice firm yet gentle. “Harry will always be special to me. But so are you, Rolf. In different ways.”

Rolf nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. He wrapped an arm affectionately around her waist, pulling her closer. “Well, I won’t keep you both any longer. Just wanted to thank you personally, Harry—for being such an important part of Luna’s life. And for making sure she had someone who cared when I wasn’t around yet.”

Harry’s throat tightened, and he struggled to find the right words. “But I’m glad she has you now.”

Luna’s eyes softened, brimming with gratitude and sorrow all at once. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely above the rustle of leaves. “For everything.”

As Rolf led her back toward the festivities, Harry watched them go, his heart breaking silently. He raised his glass to his lips, draining the last drops of firewhisky in one bitter gulp. The liquid burned its way down his throat, but it did nothing to dull the ache inside.

Harry whispered softly to the wind:

“Be happy, Luna. Always.”

The apartment was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Harry sat slumped on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He hadn’t said a word since they left the party, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

Hermione perched beside him, her brow furrowed with concern, while Ron leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression uneasy. For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of traffic outside, muffled by the thick curtains drawn shut.

And then it happened.

A strangled sob escaped Harry’s lips, breaking the silence like glass shattering. His body shook as tears spilled down his cheeks, unchecked and raw. It wasn’t just sadness—it was grief, guilt, regret, all pouring out at once, overwhelming him in waves he couldn’t control.

Hermione didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, pulling him close as she began to cry too. Her tears soaked into his shirt, mingling with his own, while her voice trembled as she whispered soothing words he barely heard.

“Oh, Harry… I’m so sorry…”

Ron moved from the doorway, sitting on the other side of his best friend. He placed a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder, his touch grounding despite the weight of the moment. “It’s alright, mate,” he murmured gruffly, though his voice cracked slightly. “Let it out.”

Harry leaned into Hermione’s embrace, his breath hitching as years of pent-up emotion finally surfaced. He hadn’t cried like this—not for Ginny, not after their breakup, not even when he thought about all the people he’d lost over the years. But Luna? Luna was different. Losing her felt like losing a part of himself—a part he hadn’t realized mattered until it was gone.

“She’s happy,” he choked out between sobs, his voice thick with anguish. “She deserves to be happy. But… why does it hurt so much?”

Hermione tightened her hold on him, her own tears streaming freely. “Because you love her, Harry. More than you ever let yourself admit.”

Ron nodded grimly, his jaw clenched as if fighting back his own emotions. “You’ve never cried like this before—not even for Ginny. This… this is something else entirely.”

Harry pulled away slightly, wiping his face with trembling hands. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks damp, but there was a clarity in his gaze now—a painful understanding dawning within him.

“It’s my fault,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice laced with self-loathing. “I had years—years—to see her, to notice her. And instead, I was too busy chasing Cho, dating Ginny, wallowing in my own pain. I took her for granted, Ron. I ignored her letters, left her stranded at Slughorn’s party, didn’t even check on her when her dad died. How could I expect her to wait for me after all that?”

“You can’t blame yourself for everything,” Hermione insisted gently, though her voice wavered. “We all make mistakes, Harry. You weren’t ready then. None of us were perfect.”

“But I should have been!” Harry snapped, his tone sharp with frustration before softening again. “She deserved better. She deserves better. Rolf—he sees her, Hermione. He values her in ways I never did. Maybe… maybe this is what I deserve. To lose her.”

“No one deserves this kind of pain, Harry,” Ron interjected firmly, his blue eyes dark with sympathy. “Not you, not Luna. But sometimes, life doesn’t give us second chances. All we can do is hope she’s happy—and try to find some peace ourselves.”

“I pushed her away,” he admitted quietly, his voice trembling. “Every time she reached out, every time she tried to comfort me or support me—I either ignored her or took her for granted. And now… now she’s found someone who makes her feel loved. Someone who won’t mess it up like I would have.”

His words hung heavy in the air, punctuated by the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. The realization was bitter, cutting deeper than any blade ever could. He had waited too long, loved too late, and now he was paying the price.

Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, her tears still falling silently. “You’ll get through this, Harry. We’re here for you. Always.”

Ron nodded solemnly, squeezing his shoulder once more. “Yeah, mate. We’ll help you pick up the pieces. Even if it takes time.”

Time. That was the cruelest part of all. Time wouldn’t erase the ache in his chest, wouldn’t bring Luna back to him. But maybe, just maybe, it would dull the edges of his pain enough to let him breathe again.

The realization settled over him like a shroud.

He had lost her.

Not to war. Not to death.

But to his own blindness.

Now, faced with the wreckage of his own neglect, Harry must confront the cruelest truth of all:

Some loves are lost not to fate, but to our own blindness.