Drabbles

Harry had stopped judging himself for a lot of things by the time he’d graduated from Hogwarts. 

Electing not to join the Auror Department in favor of working in Magical Games and Sports was only one example of how he’d decided to forge his own path now that he felt he was truly able to make his own choices and become more than just a figurehead or a child-soldier grown into a Ministry-funded soldier.

So when he saw Luna across the Ministry refectory and had the idle thought that she looked very pretty in her purple jumper, he didn’t fuss about trying to shut it out. 

She did look very pretty in it. 

It was just a fact.

He let the observation linger in the back of his mind over the next few weeks, floating gently to the surface whenever he had reason to interact with her professionally or socially, which wasn’t infrequently. 

Their group from Hogwarts had stuck close, bonded by literal blood and tears as they’d been, and their departments had plenty of overlap when it came to ensuring sacred lands weren’t tampered with for the sake of erecting Quidditch pitches or sourcing the raw materials for crafting new Gobstones.

It meant that he had ample opportunities to quietly and privately determine that she looked rather pretty always, actually.

So when the memo went around that the Ministry was holding an interdepartmental gala to celebrate the New Year, he didn’t overthink it when his first instinct was asking Luna. 

He trusted his gut — especially in his newfound judgment-free headspace — but he also trusted that if it turned out that Luna didn’t want to go to the gala with him, she wouldn’t make him suffer for deigning to ask her. 

He sought her out the next day, not wanting to repeat his past mistakes by waiting too long to ask the right person. Navigating the labyrinthian halls of the Department of Regulation and Care (they could thank Hermione for that swift change in duty) of Magical Creatures was second nature to him after all the times he’d met with Hermione and, whenever he could finangle it, Luna. 

As usual, the department was mostly vacant, the majority of the employees out in the field regulating and caring for their charges or collecting the necessary information with which to perform those tasks. 

Thankfully, Luna was at her desk.

He approached, watching her quill dancing rapidly over the parchment with the focused determination he’d glimpsed and then grown to admire during the double-handful of years since Sixth Year. He waited for her to pause her drafting and then cleared his throat.

“Luna?”

Her eyes flicked up, expression politely inquisitive and then friendly when she saw it was him. 

“Oh! Hello Harry. Are you here about the response we sent? Because unfortunately, there’s just no equitable nor sustainable way to build a training pitch in the middle of leprechaun-owned woods. Though I can see why they thought it might be a nice idea.”

Shit. The Kenmare Kestrels would not be pleased. But he waved it off; it was a problem for later, once he’d tackled the task currently in front of him.

“Oh, no. No, it’s not about that.”

Inexplicably, what it was about suddenly felt impossible to ask. He felt fourteen again, wanting to ask the pretty girl to the dance but fearing rejection, his familiar foe. 

But he wasn’t fourteen and so he squared his shoulders and gave her his best friendly, confident smile. “Would you like to go to the Ministry gala? With me, I mean?”

She looked momentarily surprised. “Oh!” She blinked. “As friends?”

He faltered. He’d meant for it to be more — perhaps the start of something wonderful — but now doubted whether he had the courage to stand by it. 

“Erm…” 

She nodded instantly at his moment of hesitation. “I see. As friends. Okay, Harry. I’ll go to the gala with you as friends.”

Her repetition of the word twigged a memory. “This feels familiar,” he joked, to cut the surge of disappointment off at the head. 

She tilted her head in an oft-seen gesture of curiosity. “What does?”

“Well, me asking you to a party — Slughorn’s party.” He gestured to himself and then to her. “And you insisting it would be as friends.”

Her expression went wry. “I’m not sure it was me who was insisting that.”

He snorted. “Trust me, you said it about ten times.”

Luna gave a little shrug. “Well, I didn’t want you to feel obligated to more. I know you’d only asked me as a last resort, anyway.”

“That’s not true,” he refuted automatically but then inclined his head when her brows went up skeptically. “Alright, it’s a bit true.” 

She chuckled softly, expression knowing but not hurt. He cherished her understanding, and then processed the implication behind her statement. “Wait, you’re saying you would have gone with me anyway? Not strictly as friends, I mean?”

“Of course I would have,” she replied easily, twirling her quill absently and making the feather flutter.

“Because I was Harry Potter?” He grimaced as soon as he said it, embarrassed by the implication that he cared at all about his celebrity status.

She laughed again, amused. “Are you not anymore?”

“Ah, I am. I just…” He scrubbed a hand behind his neck, feeling hot. “Merlin.”

She looked charmed. He couldn’t think what had caused it but if it was him putting his foot in his mouth, then he thought he actually might have a chance with her.

“It wasn’t because you were Harry Potter,” she said and her emphasis let him know she’d understood the cause of his mortification. 

She stroked her quill thoughtfully across her lips then set it down on top of her paperwork. “You were nice to me. And you were a bit on the outside of things, too. You had a name that made people think they knew everything about you, without even trying to see if it was true. I related to that.”

It was such a keen observation that he had to fight the shy, boyish gesture of looking down and scuffing his shoe. He made himself hold her pensive gaze instead.

“They probably would’ve been surprised with what they’d have found, had they looked behind the name,” he admitted. “Not that I’ve fully sorted it out myself even now, of course.”

Luna shrugged a delicate shoulder. “We’re all works in progress,” she said, then looked self-conscious. “Although perhaps some more than others. In retrospect, I don’t think my brand of weird was meant for general consumption.”

He thought of the girl he’d once fed Thestrals with, unafraid of the strange and the morbid; the girl obsessed with Nargles, something she’d finally proven the existence of only two years into her DRCMC career. Luna had always been able to perceive things others couldn’t and as a man who always struggled with seeing clearly, he found her admirable.

He didn’t like seeing her looking so uncertain about herself. She was allowed to feel whatever she wanted — of course she was — but her discomfort wouldn’t do.

“It wasn’t meant for anything at all,” Harry disagreed. “It wasn’t performative. It’s just who you were. Are.”

She looked at him, eyes going soft but limpid. “No. It wasn’t for anyone,” she agreed after a moment, voice a little wondrous, as if he’d said something profound. “And for what it’s worth, I never saw you as Harry Potter. You were just a person; you are just a person. Just like anyone else.”

He’d never thought he’d find being called ordinary so…lovely. 

“Thanks, Luna,” he said, quietly and genuinely touched.

She hummed a light sound of acknowledgement but her expression was still appraising. “You’re welcome. Although being a person isn’t always a good thing. People are flawed. Self-serving. Not omniscient. They do or say things without knowing the full effects those actions or words will cause.”

His warm feeling of having been seen shifted back to the hot anxiety of having been noticed. 

He’d sometimes been a bit of a prat as a teen, that much was undeniable, and though he’d definitely gained some self-awareness in the convening years, he had the distinct feeling that he was about to be called out for having done or said something insensitive.

“I suppose that’s true,” he agreed cautiously. 

She registered his agreement with a twitch of her lips, and then her smile broke free. “You look like you’re gearing up for a telling off,” she remarked.

“Am I not about to be?” He let himself relax slightly under the renewed warmth of her smile.

“Not at present,” she said lightly. “Why, did my comment spark some residual guilt?”

He huffed a laugh, shrugging a shoulder. “I was a teenage boy once. I’m sure I have a lot of atone for, depending on who you ask.”

She waved a hand. “Bah. Atonement is overrated. As long as you do better next time, leave the past where it belongs.”

“Easier said than done,” he said dryly.

She raised her brows meaningfully. “What isn’t?” 

Privately, he could think of a whole slew of things that were easier done then talked about. He’d never been well equipped with words — action was always easier, especially actions that demonstrated all those squirmy, awkward, soul-baring feelings he’d never had much practice expressing nor receiving,  or those desires that usually drained his brain of every last syllable.

But standing in front of Luna, wanting something that he did have the words for, he just shrugged again and slid his hands into his pockets. “Fair enough.”

She tilted her head speculatively and then nodded.

“Okay, ask me again.”

He frowned, puzzled. “What?”

“To go to the Ministry gala.”

“Oh!” Inexplicably, his heart shot to his throat. He cleared it roughly. “Luna?”

She smiled pleasantly. “Yes, Harry?”

“Would you like to attend the Ministry gala with me?”

She pretended to consider it. 

“As a friend?” she asked, eyes glinting.

“No,” he said, confidently and without hesitation this time. “As a date.”

She beamed at him. “I would love to.”