The Burrow was warm, alive with the crackling of the fireplace and the rich scent of Molly’s cooking. Harry sat in the worn armchair, fingers tapping against his knee, listening to the familiar sounds—Ron’s laughter, Hermione’s lecturing tone, Ginny’s sharp voice cutting through the air like a knife.
Not all Potter men were attracted to redheaded women.
The thought had been circling in his head for weeks now, ever since he’d realized the truth himself. His father had married Lily—fiery, brilliant Lily with her emerald eyes and flaming hair. His grandfather had chosen a redheaded pureblood, continuing what seemed like a family tradition. Everyone expected Harry to do the same
Especially Ginny.
She sat across from him now, perched on the arm of the sofa beside Ron, her copper hair catching the firelight. There was a smugness in her smile, a possessiveness in the way she watched him. As if she already had him claimed.
Even she thought she was going to marry the hero.
Ron’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Honestly, mate, it’s like you’re not even listening. What’s got you so distracted?”
Harry exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thinking.”
Luna was everything that all other girls were not.
He could picture Luna so clearly—her long, silvery-blonde hair, always slightly windswept, as if she’d just stepped out of some enchanted daydream. It caught the light in a way that made it look almost ethereal, and more than once, Harry had found himself distracted mid-conversation, imagining what it would feel like to run his fingers through it.
And then there was her scent—something floral and earthy, like fresh rain and parchment, faint but intoxicating whenever she leaned close to whisper some bizarre yet fascinating theory in his ear.
The Burrow’s kitchen was stifling. The scent of Molly’s overcooked stew clung to the air, thick and heavy, matching the suffocating tension pressing down on Harry’s chest. He gripped the edge of the wooden table, knuckles whitening, as three pairs of eyes bore into him—accusing, demanding, betrayed.
Ginny had asked him weeks ago if they could "start back up." Like picking up a discarded Quaffle, Harry had thought bitterly. He’d said no—gently, firmly—and since then, he’d been living in a warzone.
Molly kept shooting him wounded looks, as if he’d personally insulted her life’s work by not marrying her daughter. Arthur, though quieter, had that disappointed frown. And Ron? Ron had barely spoken to him without it turning into an argument.
Now, trapped in the kitchen with Ginny’s furious glare, Ron’s reddening ears, and Hermione’s relentless interrogation, Harry wondered if the Dursleys’ house might’ve been less miserable.
At least there, no one pretended to love me before turning on me.
"I can't believe that you would—" Ron started, voice cracking with outrage.
Hermione cut in, her tone sharper than usual. "I don't understand, Harry. You and Ginny were—"
Harry exhaled. "Yeah. Just realizing something."
“About?” Ginny prompted, tilting her head. There was an edge to her voice, like she already suspected she wouldn’t like the answer.
Harry met her gaze. “About how not every Potter falls for redheads.”
Silence.
Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. Ron choked on his pumpkin juice. Ginny’s face, then twisted into something sharper.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, voice dangerously light.
Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It means exactly what it sounds like. Just because my dad and grandfather married redheads doesn’t mean I have to.”
Ron snorted. “Who else would you go for, then? Loony Lovegood?”
Harry’s jaw tightened at the nickname, but he didn’t rise to it. Instead, he shrugged. “Maybe.”
Ginny’s face darkened. “You’re joking.”
“No,” Harry said simply. “I’m not.”
Ron scoffed, snapping Harry back to reality. “You can’t be serious, mate. Loony Lovegood?”
Harry’s fingers twitched at the nickname. “Her name is Luna.”
Hermione shot Ron a warning look, but he barreled on. “She believes in Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks! You’d actually rather—?”
“Yes,” Harry said flatly.
Because that was the thing—Luna’s eyes. Those wide, dreamy blue eyes that seemed to see right through him, like she knew secrets even he hadn’t figured out yet. She spoke of creatures no one else believed in with such conviction, such passion, that Harry couldn’t help but listen. And when she turned that gaze on him, he felt seen in a way Ginny—or anyone else—had never made him feel.
Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. “Harry, I’m not saying you shouldn’t… feel what you feel. But Ginny’s going to be insufferable now.”
“She was already insufferable,” Harry muttered.
Ron’s ears turned red. “Oi! That’s my sister!”
“And my ex,” Harry shot back. “Who acts like she owns me.”
Harry could feel the weight of Hermione’s stare—confused, calculating, like she was trying to solve a puzzle she hadn’t even known existed until now.
Still, even Hermione couldn’t see this coming.
Of course she couldn’t. She, like everyone else, had assumed Harry would end up with Ginny. Why wouldn’t she? They’d dated. They’d kissed—passionately, frequently, in broom cupboards, by the lake, even once rather recklessly in the Astronomy Tower. Ginny had bragged about it to her friends, laughing as she told them how they’d "made love between study sessions" in the Room of Requirement like it was some grand conquest.
And Harry had let her. Because that’s what everyone expected.
But if Hermione had really paid attention, she might have noticed the way Harry’s chest tightened whenever Luna wandered too close to the Forbidden Forest. How his fingers twitched toward his wand at the slightest hint of someone mocking her. How he’d once nearly jinxed Zacharias Smith into next week for calling her "Loony" one too many times.
"Why her?" Ginny hissed, nails digging into her palms.
"—that my sister wasn’t good enough?!" Ron finished, slamming his hands on the table.
Harry exhaled through his nose. The words were the same as last time. The looks were the same. The expectations—always the damn expectations.
"Not this again," Harry muttered, pushing back from the table.
"Oh, no," Ginny snapped, stepping into his path. "You don’t get to walk away."
The air between them crackled. Harry could smell the floral shampoo she used—something sickly sweet, cloying. It reminded him of all the times she’d pressed into him, claiming him like a trophy.
"I already told you," Harry said, voice low. "It’s not about Ginny being good enough. It’s about me not wanting it."
Ron made a sound like a wounded hippogriff. "But—Loony? Seriously, mate?"
Harry’s temper flared. "Her name is Luna."
Hermione’s brows knit together. "Harry, I’m not trying to—I just want to understand. You and Ginny were happy, weren’t you?"
Were they?
Harry remembered the kisses, the laughter—but also the possessiveness, the way Ginny’s smile turned sharp when other girls looked at him. The way she’d assumed they’d end up together, like it was some prewritten fate.
"I was comfortable," Harry admitted. "Not the same thing."
Ginny’s face twisted. "Comfortable? That’s what you call—"
"Yes," Harry cut in. "And I’m done pretending otherwise."
Merlin, he should have seen this coming.
He had hoped—stupidly—that his friends would give him space. Time. But no. The moment Ginny had sniffed out his feelings for Luna, it had turned into an inquisition.
"Look, can you all please just shut up for a moment and let me get a word in?" Harry snapped, voice sharp with frustration.
Hermione gasped, scandalized. "Harry!"
He exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry, Hermione. But if you want me to explain, then at least let me speak."
Ron crossed his arms, jaw tight. Ginny’s eyes burned with wounded pride, her fingers digging into the arms of her chair.
Harry took a deep breath.
"...I love Luna."
Silence.
Then—
"Why?" Ginny whispered, voice trembling with something between fury and desperation.
Harry met her gaze, unflinching.
"I love her," he said slowly, "because I love how her eyes sparkle when she talks about Nargles or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks or whatever creature she’s convinced is infesting the castle this week."
Ron made a disbelieving noise. "You’re joking."
Harry ignored him.
"I love that she believes in things—even when no one else does. I love that she doesn’t care what people think of her. I love that she sees me—not the Boy Who Lived, not some hero—just me."
Hermione’s expression softened slightly. "Harry, that’s..." She paused, taking in his defensive posture, the stubborn set of his jaw. "...really sweet."
Ginny let out a bitter laugh. "Sweet? He’s throwing away everything we had for—for Loony Lovegood!"
Harry’s temper flared. "Don’t call her that."
Ron threw his hands up. "Oh, come off it, mate! You’re really choosing her over my sister? After everything?"
"Yes," Harry said flatly.
Ginny’s face twisted. "You’ll regret this."
Harry stood, done with the conversation, done with the guilt, done with the expectations.
"No," he said, voice quiet but firm. "I won’t."
The air in the Burrow's living room hung thick with tension, the kind that pressed against Harry's lungs like a weight. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across Ron's conflicted face and Hermione's pursed lips. Ginny stood rigid by the window, her back turned, but Harry could see the white-knuckled grip she had on the curtain, the way her shoulders trembled with barely contained fury.
This was it. The moment everything would either shatter or settle.
Ron scratched the back of his neck, shooting a nervous glance at Hermione, who was glaring at him with a silent warning. "But, mate—" he started, hesitant. "Are you sure about this? I mean, if people at school find out? You with... her? You know Malfoy and his lot will have a field day."
Harry didn’t flinch. He had expected this—the doubt, the concern wrapped in thinly veiled judgment. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t care.
"I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life."
His voice was firm, unwavering, and it left no room for argument. Ron blinked, taken aback by the finality in Harry’s tone. Hermione’s expression softened slightly, though her brow remained furrowed in thought.
A heavy silence stretched between them before Ron finally exhaled, shoulders slumping in reluctant acceptance. "Well... if you're happy with Luna, then I guess it’s alright."
Harry nodded, though the gratitude in his voice was edged with dryness. "Thanks, Ron."
It should have ended there.
But Ginny whirled around, her face a mask of fury, her copper hair lashing like flames. "Traitor!" she spat at Ron, her voice trembling with venom. Then her burning gaze flicked to Hermione. "And you! You’re just letting this happen? After everything?"
Hermione stiffened, but before she could respond, Ginny rounded on Harry, her chest heaving.
"And you," she hissed, her voice dropping into something low and vicious. "You used me. We made love—in the Room of Requirement, in the bloody broom cupboards—and now that you’ve had your fill, you’re just throwing me away for that—that mad girl?"
The words struck Harry like a physical blow. His stomach twisted, his hands clenching at his sides. "That’s not what happened," he ground out, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Then what happened, Harry?" Ginny sneered, stepping closer, her eyes glistening with unshed tears—though whether they were from hurt or rage, Harry couldn’t tell. "Because from where I’m standing, you loved me until Loony Lovegood fluttered her stupid eyelashes at you!"
Ron flinched at the name. "Ginny—"
"NO!" she shrieked, whirling on him. "You don’t get to defend him! You’re supposed to be my brother!"
Harry could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, the heat of anger and hurt warring inside him. "I did care about you, Ginny," he said, forcing his voice steady. "But we weren’t right for each other. And Luna—"
"Luna what?" Ginny snarled. "She’s better than me? Is that it?"
"She sees me," Harry shot back, his voice rising. "Not the Boy Who Lived, not the Chosen One—just me! And yeah, maybe that does make her better—not because she’s more, but because she doesn’t expect me to be something I’m not!"
Harry took a steadying breath, the wooden floorboards creaking under his weight as he shifted. His throat was tight, but he needed to make Ginny understand.
"Ginny," he began, his voice softer now, "what we had... it wasn't always good. Yes, there were happy times, but don't you remember the fights? The way you'd hex any girl who looked at me? How you'd get furious if I spent time with anyone else?"
Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously, her hands balling into fists at her sides. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window made her hair look like molten copper, but there was nothing warm about her expression.
"So what?" she spat. "That's what couples do! I loved you, Harry! And now you're throwing it all away for Loony Lovegood?"
Harry flinched at the name but held his ground. "It's not about throwing anything away. We ended. Months ago. Can't you just... be happy that I've found someone who makes me happy?"
A bitter laugh escaped Ginny's lips, harsh and unnatural. "Happy for you? After you've humiliated me? After you've made me the laughingstock of Hogwarts?"
Ron shifted uncomfortably, his freckles standing out starkly against his suddenly pale face. "Ginny..."
She whirled on him, eyes blazing. "And you! How can you just accept this? He's choosing Loony over your own sister!"
The muscles in Ron's jaw worked as he struggled for words. Harry could see the conflict warring in his best friend's eyes - loyalty to family versus loyalty to him.
Finally, Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What am I supposed to do, Gin? Harry likes Loony. I mean... Luna," he corrected quickly at Harry's warning look. "I don't get it, but... it's his choice."
Ginny looked as though Ron had struck her. Her lips trembled for a moment before twisting into a sneer. "Unbelievable. My own brother-"
"I think you need to move on," Ron interrupted, uncharacteristically firm. "It's over. Has been for ages."
The words hung in the air like a curse. Ginny's face went through a series of terrifying transformations - shock, rage, betrayal, before finally settling on something cold and calculating.
Hermione, who had been uncharacteristically quiet through the whole exchange, finally spoke up. "Ginny, no one's trying to hurt you. But Harry has the right to-"
"Stay out of this, Mudblood," Ginny hissed.
The word landed like a Bludger to the chest. Ron actually staggered back a step. Harry's vision went momentarily red at the edges. Even Ginny seemed to realize she'd gone too far, her hand flying to her mouth in shock at what she'd just said.
The silence that followed was more terrible than any shouting. The very air in the Burrow seemed to freeze, the usual comforting sounds of the household - the crackling fire, the ghoul in the attic - all fading into nothingness.
Ron found his voice first, low and dangerous in a way he'd never heard himself speak before. "Go to your room"
Ginny's eyes widened. "Ron, I didn't-"
"Get. Out." Each word was a hammer blow. "Before I do something we'll all regret "
For a moment, it looked like Ginny might argue. Then, with a sound halfway between a sob and a scream, she turned and fled up the stairs, her bedroom door slamming so hard the entire house shook.
The three remaining friends stood in stunned silence, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on them. The scent of burnt sugar from Molly's forgotten baking suddenly filled the air, a sickly sweet counterpoint to the bitterness of the moment.
Ron was the first to break the silence, his voice hoarse. "She didn't mean that. About Hermione. She's just... hurt."
●・○・●・○・●●・○・●・○・●
The evening air was cool against Harry's skin as he sat on the worn wooden steps of the Burrow's back porch, the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant murmur of the orchard's trees filling the quiet night. The stars above glittered like scattered diamonds, their pale light casting silver shadows across the familiar faces of his two best friends.
Ron sat hunched beside Hermione, his freckled face unusually solemn in the moonlight. Hermione's fingers were laced tightly in his, her normally bushy hair tamed by the evening breeze. The tension from earlier still lingered, but it was softer now—like a fading bruise rather than an open wound.
Harry exhaled, watching his breath curl into the night air. The image of Ginny's furious face, the venom in her voice when she'd spat that unforgivable word at Hermione, still burned in his mind. He had never seen her like that before—so raw, so vicious. It was as if the girl he'd once kissed by the firelight had been replaced by a stranger.
"I'm sorry," Ron muttered suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was rough with guilt. "For Ginny. For... all of it."
Hermione squeezed his hand gently. "It's not your fault, Ron."
"Yeah, but she's my sister," Ron grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And what she said to you... Merlin, I wanted to hex her myself."
Harry smirked faintly. "I was about two seconds away from it."
Ron snorted, shaking his head. "Would've paid good money to see that."
A small, reluctant laugh escaped Hermione. "Honestly, I think the shock on her face when she realized what she'd said was punishment enough."
Harry leaned back on his hands, tilting his head up to the sky. The stars seemed brighter tonight, clearer. Like the universe itself was exhaling in relief now that the storm had passed.
"She'll calm down," Harry said after a moment. "Eventually."
"Dunno about that," Ron muttered. "She's always been stubborn. Takes after Mum when she gets like this."
Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "She’ll have to accept it, though. Harry’s allowed to be happy with whoever he wants."
Ron shot her a wry look. "Since when did you become the voice of reason in all this?"
Hermione smirked. "Since one of you decided to date Luna Lovegood and the other one decided to be shockingly mature about it."
A comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that only came after years of friendship—of battles fought and secrets shared. The kind that didn’t need words.
Then Ron let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Wow..." he muttered, grinning. "I guess not all Potters like redheads after all."
Harry burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the quiet night. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, shaking his head. "Guess not."
Hermione smirked, giving Ron's hand an affectionate squeeze. "Well, I for one think it's rather refreshing. Breaks up the monotony of Weasley-red relationships."
Ron pretended to look offended. "Oi! What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing," Hermione said innocently, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Just that it's nice to see Harry breaking free of... expectations."
Harry nodded, his gaze drifting back up to the stars. "That's exactly it. With Luna, there are no expectations. No assumptions about who I'm supposed to be or who I'm supposed to love. She just... accepts me."
Ron was quiet for a moment, then sighed dramatically. "Merlin's beard, when did you get so poetic, Potter? Next you'll be writing sonnets about her eyelashes or some rubbish."
Harry threw a pebble at him. "Shut it, Weasley."
Ron stretched, yawning. "Well, if you're going to be all soppy about it, at least tell me one thing."
"What's that?" Harry asked.
Ron's grin turned wicked. "Does this mean I get to call her 'Loony' now, or will you actually hex me for it?"
Harry's response was immediate. "I'll hex you into next week."
Ron held up his hands in surrender, laughing. "Message received! Luna it is."
And as their laughter faded into the night, Harry realized something else, too. That even in this, even in choosing a path no one had expected for him, his friends were still by his side.