Chapter 2
The corridor was alive with the faint hum of distant chatter and the occasional clatter of footsteps echoing off the stone walls. He watched Ginny from afar. She was standing near a group of Gryffindor girls, laughing at something Dean had said. Her fiery hair caught the flickering torchlight, making her look almost ethereal—almost.
Harry sighed inwardly, shaking his head. He’d been observing her more closely over the past week, mostly because he couldn’t stop thinking about Luna. It wasn’t that Ginny was doing anything wrong per se—it was just… well, she seemed different lately. Not in a good way either. And the more he noticed, the less appealing she became
Take the Slughorn party, for instance. Ginny had spent hours getting ready with her friends, giggling and primping like it was some grand event. But where was Luna during all of that? Why hadn’t Ginny thought to invite her along? Sure, Luna wasn’t exactly “party material” by most people’s standards, but she deserved better than being left out—or worse, mocked behind her back.
Harry frowned slightly, recalling how one of the girls in Ginny’s group had snickered about Luna earlier today, calling her “Loony” without a second thought. Ginny hadn’t said a word to defend her. Instead, she’d laughed along awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to rock the boat. That stung more than Harry expected.
“Ginny used to be braver than this,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his glasses. “Or maybe I’m just seeing things.”
He glanced toward the Ravenclaw common room again, half-expecting to see Luna wandering by with her usual dreamy expression. No such luck. Just the sound of Peeves cackling somewhere down the hall, followed by the unmistakable crash of a dropped cauldron.
Ginny must have felt his gaze on her because she turned suddenly, her eyes locking onto his. A small smile tugged at her lips, and Harry could practically hear her internal monologue: Oh, he’s jealous. He wants me back.
If only she knew.
Harry quickly looked away, pretending to examine a tapestry hanging nearby. The last thing he needed was for Ginny to misinterpret his thoughts. Truth be told, he felt relieved that she was dating Dean. Relieved—and maybe a little guilty for feeling relieved. After their breakup, he’d worried that seeing her with someone else would hurt. But instead, it gave him clarity. Clarity that maybe they weren’t meant to be together after all.
For starters, Ginny had started nitpicking everything Dean did. Every little flaw, every minor mistake—it was like she was searching for reasons to dislike him. And while Harry appreciated her fiery temper in theory, watching her tear into Dean made him cringe. Wasn’t love supposed to make you kinder, not crueler?
Then there was the way she treated Luna—or rather, didn’t treat her. How could someone so brave in battle turn a blind eye to bullying? Luna had always been there for Harry, through thick and thin, without expecting anything in return.
Harry let out a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What is wrong with me?” he whispered to himself. “Why am I comparing everyone to Luna Lovegood?”
But deep down, he already knew the answer. Luna was dependable, loyal, and unapologetically herself. She didn’t play games or manipulate situations to get what she wanted. She simply existed, radiating kindness and acceptance like a warm summer breeze. And honestly? That was refreshing.
Harry stood near a tapestry of trolls , his arms crossed as he watched Ginny from a distance. She was deep in conversation with Dean again, her face set in that familiar determined expression—the one she got whenever she wanted something or was about to unleash chaos.
And suddenly, it hit him like a Bludger to the gut: She looks just like Fred and George when they're plotting mischief.
Harry blinked, startled by the realization. It wasn’t exactly flattering. Sure, the twins were brilliant pranksters, but their antics often bordered on mayhem—and sometimes outright destruction. Seeing that same gleam in Ginny’s eyes made him uneasy. He’d always admired her fiery spirit, but now… well, let’s just say there was a fine line between spirited and unhinged.
His thoughts drifted back to the infamous Bat Bogey Hex. Oh, how proud she’d been of that little spell! The way she’d strutted around after using it on Zacharias Smith during their fifth year—it was impressive, sure, but also kind of terrifying. Luna would never resort to something so cruel. No, Luna handled insults and teasing with quiet grace, brushing them off like dust on her sleeve. Even when people stole her shoes or hid her clothes, she didn’t retaliate. Instead, she simply picked up whatever scraps she could find and carried on, humming softly under her breath.
Ginny, on the other hand? Well, if someone so much as looked at her sideways, she’d probably hex them into next week. That temper of hers reminded Harry more of a toddler throwing a tantrum than anything else. Luna’s calm serenity seemed almost saint-like in comparison.
Harry sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. Then there was the lying. Oh, Ginny was good at it—too good, really. She lied to her mother all the time. Harry had seen her do it firsthand during visits to the Burrow. Molly Weasley might not have noticed, but Harry certainly did. And while he understood why she did it (Molly could be overwhelming, after all), it still bothered him.
How could you trust someone who wasn’t entirely truthful? Trust was important to Harry—not just because of his past, but because of everything he faced daily. Voldemort, Death Eaters, Horcruxes… life was complicated enough without adding lies to the mix. Luna, however, was painfully honest. Sometimes too honest, blurting out things most people would keep to themselves. Like the time she told him his glasses made his eyes look “squashed.” Or when she casually mentioned that his scar resembled a lightning bolt-shaped wrinkle
But even those awkward moments felt refreshing compared to Ginny’s calculated half-truths. Luna wore her heart on her sleeve, unafraid to show who she truly was. Ginny, meanwhile, seemed more interested in playing games—whether it was trying to make him jealous or finding fault in Dean for no reason.
──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!
The library was quiet, save for the soft scratching of Luna’s quill against parchment and the occasional rustle of pages turning. Harry sat across from her, pretending to read a book about magical creatures he’d randomly plucked off the shelf. But his mind wasn’t on Blast-Ended Skrewts—it was firmly stuck on Ginny Weasley.
“Dumbledore’s Army,” Harry muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “What a mess that turned out to be.”
Luna glanced up briefly, her silvery-gray eyes curious but not intrusive. “Are you talking about the DA again? It was a lovely idea, though I suppose naming it after Professor Dumbledore did attract unwanted attention.”
Harry snorted softly, leaning back in his chair. Leave it to Luna to put a positive spin on something so disastrous. The truth was, the name had been a disaster—and it was all Ginny’s fault. Well, mostly hers, anyway. Cho had suggested “Defence Association,” which was perfectly reasonable. But no, Ginny had to chime in with “Dumbledore’s Army,” practically begging Umbridge to shut them down.
At the time, Harry hadn’t thought much of it. He’d been too busy trying to keep everyone motivated and avoiding detention (though that ship sailed pretty quickly). But now, looking back, he realized how much Ginny loved being in the spotlight. She thrived on attention, whether it was good or bad. And lately, she seemed determined to make sure he noticed her—especially since she started dating Dean.
Dean. Poor, unsuspecting Dean. Harry felt a pang of guilt for the guy. Ginny was using him as some kind of twisted revenge plot, snogging him in corridors and giggling loudly whenever Harry happened to walk by. Did she really think he cared that much? Sure, they’d dated briefly last year, but that ship had sailed long ago. If anything, seeing her with Dean made Harry feel… relieved.
Relieved—and maybe a little irritated. Because the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how similar Ginny was to her brothers. Not Ron, of course. Ron was annoying in his own special way, but at least he didn’t hold grudges forever or belittle people he didn’t like. No, Ginny reminded Harry far too much of Fred and George when they were feeling particularly mischievous—or worse, Percy when he was being an insufferable prat.
Take the whole “Dumbledore’s Army” fiasco, for example. Ginny had blurted out the name without thinking, clearly eager to impress everyone in the room. Then, when things went south and Umbridge came sniffing around, she acted like it was someone else’s fault. Classic Weasley move: blame others while basking in the glory.
And don’t even get him started on the yelling. Oh, Merlin, the yelling. Ginny could scream louder than Mrs. Black’s portrait on a bad day. He’d witnessed it firsthand during Quidditch practice last week when she accused Dean of hogging the Quaffle. Never mind that Dean hadn’t touched the damn thing in ten minutes—it was easier to lash out than admit she might have been wrong.
Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. “Why does everything have to be such a drama with her?”
Luna paused mid-sentence, glancing up again. “Is something troubling you, Harry?”
“No,” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking.”
She nodded knowingly, returning to her notes. Harry appreciated how Luna never pressed him for details. Unlike Hermione, who would pester him until he spilled everything, or Ron, who would assume he was brooding over Voldemort again, Luna simply let him be. It was refreshing—and oddly comforting.
His thoughts drifted back to the Weasleys. They were a great family, no doubt about it. But they weren’t perfect. Far from it. Take Fred and George, for instance. As brilliant as their pranks were, they often crossed the line into cruelty, especially when it came to teasing Ron. And Percy?. The guy practically disowned his own family because he couldn’t handle being wrong.
Then there was Ginny. She shared their worst traits: the need for admiration, the quick temper, the stubborn refusal to apologize. Harry had seen it play out countless times, both at Hogwarts and at the Burrow. When she didn’t get her way, she threw tantrums. When she disliked someone, she froze them out completely. And heaven forbid you criticize her—she’d hold a grudge for weeks.
Luna, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. She didn’t seek attention or validation. She didn’t lash out when people teased her about her radish earrings or bare feet. Instead, she smiled dreamily, humming softly under her breath as if nothing bothered her. And maybe it didn’t.
Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Only I would trade a fiery redhead for a girl who believes in Wrackspurts.”
“What was that?” Luna asked, tilting her head curiously.
“Nothing,” Harry said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just… rambling.”