Chapter 3
Harry leaned back in his chair, absently flipping through the book he wasn’t really reading. His thoughts, however, were anything but peaceful.
Ginny. Again.
It wasn’t intentional—well, not entirely—but somehow, she kept creeping into his mind like an unwelcome houseguest. This time, though, it wasn’t her Bat Bogey Hexes or temper tantrums that occupied him. No, this revelation was far more disturbing.
“She looks like my mum,” Harry muttered under his breath, freezing mid-thought.
The words hung there for a moment, heavy and unsettling. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the image from his brain. Ginny laughing with Dean, her fiery hair catching the light… and suddenly, it morphed into Lily Potter smiling at James across the Gryffindor common room. Same red hair. Same freckles. Same… everything.
Harry shuddered violently, nearly knocking over the stack of books on the table. “Oh, Merlin. That’s horrifying.”
Luna looked up from her notes, her silvery-gray eyes wide with concern. “Are you feeling alright, Harry? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” Harry said quickly, forcing a smile that probably came off as more of a grimace. “Just… thinking about something unpleasant.”
“Would you like me to distract you?” Luna asked innocently. “I could tell you about the time I saw a Crumple-Horned Snorkack near the lake. It was quite fascinating.”
“Thanks, Luna,” Harry replied, chuckling despite himself. “But I think I’ll pass for now.”
She nodded understandingly, returning to her work. Meanwhile, Harry buried his face in his hands, trying—and failing—to unsee the mental image of Ginny looking eerily similar to his mother. It was bad enough that Mrs. Weasley constantly pushed him to be with Ginny, practically suffocating him with hints and sideways glances whenever Hermione so much as sat next to him. Now this?
He glanced at Luna again, noting how calm and serene she looked as she scribbled away. Her blonde hair caught the light softly, framing her face in a way that was both ethereal and comforting. And those eyes—those beautiful, silvery-gray eyes with just a hint of blue—they were nothing like Ginny’s. In fact, Harry realized with a jolt, he didn’t even know what color Ginny’s eyes were. Brown? Green? Did it matter? Not really.
What did matter was that Ginny had been obsessed with him since her first year. Obsessed. Like some kind of fan girl who’d memorized every detail about the Boy Who Lived before she even met him. Sure, she’d grown out of the worst of it—mostly—but the lingering effects were still there. Every snogging session with Dean felt like a performance meant for his benefit, every argument with Ron seemed calculated to draw his attention. It was exhausting.
And then there was Mrs. Weasley. Sweet, well-meaning Mrs. Weasley, who treated Harry like another son but couldn’t resist meddling in his love life. She adored Hermione, sure, but only when she wasn’t “too close” to Harry. The moment they shared a laugh or worked together on homework, Molly’s eyebrows would knit together in disapproval, and Harry would feel like he’d done something wrong.
“Honestly,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “If she thinks I’m going to end up with Ginny just because she wants me to, she’s got another thing coming.”
Not that Ginny was a bad person. She wasn’t. But she wasn’t right for him either—not anymore. Their brief relationship last year had been nice, sure, but it lacked… depth. There was no real connection, no effortless understanding. With Luna, things were different. Talking to her was easy, natural. She didn’t expect him to be perfect or heroic; she accepted him as he was, quirks and all.
After a week of careful observation (and maybe some accidental stalking), Harry had come to a startling conclusion. He didn’t like Ginny—not in the way he thought he did, anyway. Sure, she was fiery and bold, but those traits suddenly seemed less appealing when paired with tantrums, lies, and an unhealthy obsession with making him jealous. And Dean? Poor bloke was just collateral damage in Ginny’s twisted game of revenge. Harry felt bad for him, really, but at the same time, he hoped Ginny stayed with Dean. It would mean fewer awkward encounters, and hopefully, Mrs. Weasley would finally stop pushing him toward her.
But most importantly, it meant Harry could focus on someone else entirely.
Luna.
Just thinking her name made his stomach do a little flip, like a Snitch darting unpredictably through the air. She was… well, she was Luna. Quirky, kind, endlessly fascinating. The more he watched her, the more he realized how much he admired her. Her patience when people teased her, her calm acceptance of life’s , her ability to make him laugh even when he felt like the weight of the world was crushing him. And those eyes—those silvery-gray eyes with just a hint of blue—they saw right through him, straight to the heart of who he truly was.
As he approached, Luna looked up from her book, her wide silver-gray eyes meeting his. For a moment, Harry forgot how to breathe.
“Hello, Harry,” she said in her soft, lilting voice. “Did you need something? Or are you here to tell me Nargles have invaded your socks again?”
Harry blinked. “Uh… no. No Nargles today. I just… uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat creep up his cheeks. “I heard some students have been hiding your things again. Your clothes, I mean. And I thought maybe… you know… I could help you find them?”
Luna tilted her head, studying him with that unnervingly calm expression of hers. “That’s very kind of you, Harry. Most people wouldn’t bother.”
“Well, they’re idiots,” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. His face flushed even darker. “I mean—not you! You’re not an idiot. Obviously. You’re… uh…”
“Unique?” Luna supplied helpfully, her lips quirking into a small smile.
“Yes! Exactly. Unique.” Harry nodded vigorously, grateful she’d saved him from digging himself deeper into this verbal hole. “So, um, do you want help or not?”
Luna closed her book and stood, brushing crumbs off her robes. “All right. Let’s go.”
As they left the Great Hall together, Harry couldn’t help but notice the way her hair caught the sunlight streaming through the high windows.
“You’re quiet,” Luna observed as they climbed the marble staircase. “Are you worried about Wrackspurts? They can get into your ears and make you feel all muddled.”
“No, I’m fine,” Harry said quickly, though privately he wondered if Wrackspurts might actually explain why his brain felt so scrambled around her. “Just… thinking.”
“About missing socks?” Luna asked innocently.
Harry chuckled despite himself. “Something like that.”
They wandered through the castle corridors, searching empty classrooms and hidden alcoves for Luna’s misplaced belongings. Every now and then, Luna would hum softly or comment on some invisible creature floating nearby, and Harry found himself grinning like an idiot. This wasn’t awkward at all. Nope. Totally normal.
Eventually, they stumbled upon a pile of Luna’s clothes tucked away in a dusty broom cupboard on the fourth floor. Someone had clearly stuffed them in there hastily, leaving a trail of mismatched socks and brightly colored scarves spilling out onto the floor.
“Ah, here we are,” Luna said cheerfully, crouching down to gather her things. “Thank you, Harry. I knew they’d turn up eventually.”
“No problem,” Harry replied, kneeling beside her to help. As he handed her a particularly garish orange scarf, their fingers brushed briefly, sending a jolt of electricity shooting up his arm. He froze, staring at her hand like it had just performed magic
Luna noticed his hesitation and gave him a curious look. “Are you all right, Harry?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly, shaking his head to clear it. “Just… uh… static electricity. Happens all the time.”
She smiled knowingly, as if she didn’t believe him for a second but decided not to press the matter. “Well, thank you again. You’re a good friend.”
Friend. The word echoed in Harry’s mind, and for some reason, it made his chest ache a little. Was that all he was to her? Just a friend?
But then Luna reached out and patted his shoulder, her touch light and warm. “You should come visit me sometime. Daddy’s been working on a new article about Blibbering Humdingers, and I think you’d enjoy it.”
Harry grinned despite himself. “Sure, Luna. I’d like that.”
As they parted ways a few minutes later, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that his life had just taken a strange and wonderful turn. Maybe love—or whatever this fluttery, confusing thing was—didn’t have to follow the script everyone else wanted for him.