Chapter 42
“How are you today, Luna?” Greta asked, her voice as gentle as ever.
Luna was once again seated in the mental healer’s office. She had a feeling this would be her last session before the babies were born. Despite having some fears about their arrival, what occupied her thoughts today was something deeper—something that also connected to her children.
“I’m…” Luna hesitated, searching for the right word. “Reflective. I think that’s it.”
Greta waited, giving Luna space to continue.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what love is. Whether I’ve ever truly understood it or if I’ve just been creating a romanticized idea of what it should be.”
“And what have you concluded?” The healer leaned forward slightly, her interest evident.
“That maybe I’ve never understood real love. Not how to give it, and not how to receive it.”
“Why do you think that?”
Luna looked up at the ceiling as if the words were trapped there, waiting to be spoken. She had spent a long time pondering this.
“Because the love I feel for James and Albus is so overwhelming, so intense, that it makes me realize I didn’t know this kind of feeling before. I think about my father, you know? He loved me, I know he did. But at the same time, he left me. He chose to leave, and I always thought it was my fault. Maybe I wasn’t enough to make him stay. Maybe if I were more important, he wouldn’t have gone.”
Greta jotted something down in her notebook before speaking in a soft, careful tone.
“Luna, have you ever considered that your father’s decisions weren’t about you?”
Luna’s eyes slowly lowered to meet the healer’s.
“Maybe. But it’s hard not to think that if he loved me more, he would have acted differently,” she said hesitantly.
“His love for you is real, Luna. But the choices he made were based on his own limitations, not on your worth as his daughter. This happens often: we confuse other people’s actions as a reflection of our value when, in reality, they reflect who they are, not who we are.”
Luna was silent for a moment, letting Greta’s words sink in.
“I think I understand that in my head—that he must have been hurting, lost, or ashamed—but my heart still believes I was the problem.”
“It’s common for the heart to take longer to catch up. But you’re here, reflecting and trying. That’s already a huge step.”
Luna took a deep breath, her gaze momentarily distant.
“I’ve been thinking about Harry too. He was my only friend for a long time. Maybe that’s why I got everything so mixed up. He showed me kindness when no one else did. He saw something in me when I couldn’t see anything in myself.”
“Do you think love might have grown from that?”
Luna shrugged, a small, sad smile playing on her lips.
“Maybe. Or maybe I just clung to him because he felt safe. Because I needed someone to make me feel visible.”
Greta studied her carefully, choosing her words with care.
“And now, after everything that’s happened, do you still feel that way?”
Luna hesitated, organizing her thoughts.
“I’m not sure.” Her confusion was clear.
“Maybe it’s time to ask yourself if that love was something you needed or something you truly want.”
Luna fell silent for a long moment.
“Now, I think I want something different. I want to be truly loved and to fall in love. I want someone to see me, but I also want to learn to see myself.”
“That’s very important, Luna. True love starts with recognizing your own worth, regardless of how others treat you.”
Luna nodded slowly, as though each word was settling into place.
“But it’s so hard. I still miss him, even though I know he doesn’t feel the same way about me.”
“And that’s natural. He was—and is—an important part of your life. Feelings don’t disappear overnight. But you’re making choices that show you won’t accept less than you deserve. That’s a significant step forward.”
Luna appeared calmer, though a trace of unease lingered in her eyes.
“Do you think I’ll ever be loved, Greta? Truly loved? Do I deserve that?”
The healer smiled warmly and firmly.
“I don’t think so, Luna. I’m certain. What you went through at Hogwarts, what happened at Malfoy Manor, even your father’s and Harry’s choices—none of that defines who you are. You are worthy of love simply because of who you are.”
Luna blinked rapidly, tears beginning to well in her eyes.
“I think it’s hard to believe that after everything.”
“It is. But that’s why we’re here—to help you remember that your worth doesn’t depend on what others do or don’t do. And Luna, you might not see it now, but I do. You’ve already grown so much since we started. I can see that you’re beginning to understand this.”
Luna took a deep breath, feeling a small spark of something new within her chest. Perhaps it was hope, or maybe just the beginning of it.
“Thank you, Greta. I think today I’ve realized something I never saw before.”
“And what’s that?”
Luna smiled softly, her hand brushing her radish earrings.
“That being rejected by someone doesn’t mean I’m unworthy.”
Greta smiled back, satisfied.
“Exactly, Luna. And remembering that will be the foundation for everything you build from here on. No one can take your self-love away from you.”
For the first time in a long while, Luna felt a kind of peace settle inside her. Beginning to understand her worth and to see herself with kindness was progress. She would give her all to love herself, to prioritize her needs, and to become a woman her children would be proud of.
She had many feelings about Harry, but she resolved to limit herself to being his friend and the mother of his children. He needed to follow his path, and she needed to follow hers. Whether their paths would cross again in the end, she couldn’t know.
Harry was sitting on the couch in the living room of Grimmauld Place, a book about baby sleep resting on his lap. He tried to focus on reading, but his mind kept drifting back to the earlier session with the mental curator that day.
Earlier that day, Harry had entered Heitor Grimsby's office with hesitant steps, though less tense than during his first visit. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was seeking, but something from their previous conversation had stuck with him, more than he cared to admit.
“Welcome back, Harry,” said Grimsby in the same warm tone as before. He gestured toward the armchair and waited patiently as Harry settled in. “How have you been feeling since our last conversation?”
“Confused,” Harry admitted, a faint, humorless smile crossing his lips. “But I think that’s a good thing, in a way.”
“Confusion is often the first step toward clarity. Would you like to share what’s been on your mind?”
Harry took a deep breath, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. His thoughts swirled, and he tried to put them into order.
“You asked me last time what I want to do, instead of what I think I should do. And... it stuck with me.”
Grimsby waited, sensing Harry was gathering his thoughts.
“And I realized... I don’t know what I want. I’m not sure I ever have.” His voice carried a fragility he couldn’t quite hide.
“When was the last time you felt certain about something you wanted?”
The question caught him off guard. Harry frowned, searching for an answer.
“Maybe… when I decided I had to defeat Voldemort? But even that wasn’t about wanting—it was about necessity,” he reflected belatedly.
Grimsby nodded, his expression calm.
“That’s understandable. A large part of your life has been defined by duties and responsibilities. But that leads me to another question: Have you ever felt loved for who you are, rather than for what you represent?”
Harry fell silent, the weight of the question crashing over him like a wave.
“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice low. “I mean, I know my friends love me. Hermione, Ron… even the Weasleys treated me like family. But sometimes, I feel like it’s more because of what I did, what I meant in the war.” Harry felt like a traitor saying that about his friends, who had always stood by him, but he couldn’t deny how he felt.
“And before that? During your childhood?”
Harry laughed bitterly.
“There was no love in my childhood. The Dursleys treated me like a burden. I was the boy who slept in the cupboard under the stairs.”
Grimsby leaned forward slightly.
“Growing up without love can make you question your worth as a person. And it can make it difficult to recognize genuine love when it does appear.”
Harry looked at him, something close to vulnerability in his eyes.
“Do you think that’s it? That I don’t know what love is?”
“I think love is a subjective experience, but part of what makes it hard to define for you might be the lack of a clear model. If you’ve never received unconditional love, it can be challenging to understand that you deserve it, without needing to earn it.”
Harry sat quietly, processing those words.
“I love my children, but that’s such a new feeling it even scares me. I think I’m afraid,” he admitted finally.
“Afraid of what?”
“Of not being enough for my children and Luna. Of not being what she needs.”
“And what do you think they need—especially Luna?”
Harry hesitated.
“Someone strong, who takes care of them and the house, who protects them.” He sighed, feeling like he would never be that person. “Someone without doubts.”
“You realize that’s more of an ideal than something attainable?” the curator asked gently.
“What do you mean?” Harry frowned.
“Harry, no one can always be strong, always care for everyone, or always be confident about their feelings. Humans like us sometimes feel weak and need someone else to be strong for us, sometimes need care and protection instead of giving it, and sometimes question their own paths.”
Harry listened carefully, feeling a knot in his heart loosen slightly, alleviating his sense of inadequacy.
“So what might they need, then?” he asked softly, almost as if to himself. But Grimsby heard him.
“That’s a question you might want to let them answer. You can’t decide for Luna what she needs, but if you’re willing to ask, then you’ll know.”
Harry let the words sink in.
“That... that seems so obvious. Why didn’t I think of it before?” He sounded incredulous.
“Because you’ve been following patterns your whole life. People expected you to know, but never told you what. You weren’t allowed to ask, and even if you did, you wouldn’t have received answers.”
Harry thought of how Dumbledore had treated him for seven years and realized it was true.
He ran a hand over his face.
“Even so, I feel so confused about what I feel for her. When I see her, my heart races; when I’m near her, I feel a peace I don’t feel anywhere else. I miss her every moment of the day, but I still don’t know if that’s just friendship mixed with responsibility or something more.” He sounded completely frustrated now.
Grimsby was silent for a moment, observing Harry.
“I don’t know Luna. Can you tell me what you think of her?”
Harry looked at him, not quite understanding the shift in topic. Then he thought of Luna and what he felt about her.
“She’s… incredible. Strong, kind, brave. She carries this aura of peace and gentleness, but she’s also curious, creative, and talented. She’s incredibly perceptive and sensitive, understands me better than anyone else since we met at Hogwarts, and she’s always been absolutely loyal to me and her friends. And she’s so beautiful—her eyes make people feel seen.” He paused to catch his breath after speaking in a rush. Then his expression grew sadder. “She deserves someone who loves her without doubts, who’s there for her completely.”
“Do you believe you’re incapable of being that person?”
Harry looked at Grimsby, confusion etched across his face.
“I don’t know. I think… I’ve never really known what it means to love someone like that.”
The curator leaned back in his chair, letting the silence linger before speaking again.
“Perhaps, Harry, love isn’t something you need to fully understand right away. Maybe it’s something you build, moment by moment, choice by choice.”
“Choice?” Harry looked even more puzzled. He had always seen love as an act of sacrifice, something overwhelming.
“Yes. Love isn’t just a feeling; it’s also commitment, care, and presence. But before you decide what it means to love Luna—or anyone else—you might first need to understand if you believe you deserve to be loved.”
Harry clenched his hands, feeling the weight of those words.
“I… I don’t know if I believe that. Even though, rationally, I know everyone deserves love, I just… don’t think I do. Love has always been something I’ve heard about—like my mother’s love that saved me—but throughout my life, I’ve never really felt it.”
Grimsby offered a small, nonjudgmental smile.
“Having this conversation is already a good start. We’ll work on that together.”
Harry held on to those words and felt a faint glimmer of hope.
“Before you leave, Harry, I want to say something: based on what you’ve told me about Luna, she’s truly special.”
“She is…” He smiled faintly, proud of her.
“You’ve said so much about her, but none of it was about her being pregnant or about her being the mother of your children. Everything you said was purely about her.”
Harry stared at the curator, mouth slightly open. He was right. Harry’s heart sped up.
“Maybe, just maybe, that means something,” Grimsby concluded with a knowing look.
Harry left the session feeling exposed, but there was something in the air—a small spark of hope. He didn’t have all the answers, but for the first time, he felt like he was beginning to ask the right questions.
He had truly spoken highly of Luna, and none of those praises had been about her pregnancy. It was obvious, but it shocked him because it forced him to confront the fact that everything he admired about her was separate from any sense of obligation he felt toward her.
What did that mean?
He went home deep in thought, which was why he had been sitting on the couch for over an hour with his book, without having read a single page.
Harry was still thinking about Luna when, suddenly, a silvery, rippling light passed through the window. Harry’s heart leapt. Luna’s Patronus—a sleek and graceful hare—bounded toward him, and in her soft, urgent voice, it delivered the message:
— Harry, it’s time. Come home.
For a moment, he was frozen. It was time. The babies. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his wand and Apparated immediately to her house.