Hello, Drinor here. I'm happy to publish another of The Hearts of Two Champions
If you want to Read 6 More Chapters Right Now. Search 'patreon.com/Drinor' on Websearch
Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, and Chapter 16 are already available for Patrons, so go to my Patreon to gain Early Access.
Harry Potter
The Black Combat Grimoire sat on Harry's desk. Harry's hand hovered over it, fingertips a breath away from the worn cover.
Just one spell. Five minutes of review before leaving.
His fingers made contact. The leather was cool and smooth, familiar as his own wand. The silver clasps gleamed faintly, engraved with the Black family crest, those elaborate serpents that twisted around a shield. He'd traced those serpents a hundred times while reading.
The weight of it would fit perfectly in his bag. The bag already felt wrong, too light, like wearing robes without his wand in the pocket.
"You promised Luna."
Harry said it aloud to the empty dormitory. His roommates had already left, Terry and Anthony studiously avoiding him at breakfast, Michael Corner taking his morning run around the castle grounds. The usual dance of pretending he didn't exist.
The Grimoire remained under his palm.
Inside were the shield variations he still hadn't mastered. The cutting curse that could slice through solid wood, useful if the First Task involved barriers. The water vortex spell that collapsed after nine seconds when he needed it to hold for fifteen. Defensive transfiguration techniques. Aggressive hexes that made even Sirius wince.
Two weeks until the First Task. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours, and he was about to waste an entire day eating chocolate.
His fingers curled around the book's edge.
Outside the window, students were already making their way down toward Hogsmeade, their laughter and conversations drifting up to the Tower. Someone shouted about getting to Honeydukes before the Durmstrang students bought all the Chocolate Frogs.
Harry's grip tightened on the Grimoire. The leather compressed under his fingers. Just one spell. He could review the water vortex technique while walking to Hogsmeade. Practice wand movements behind his back where no one would see. Luna wouldn't even notice—
"The books will survive without you for a day, I promise."
Luna's voice from yesterday echoed in his mind, dreamy and certain. And then, quieter, sadder: "My mum used to do this. Always experimenting, always trying to push magic further. She'd work for days without stopping... And then one day, her experiment went wrong. And she was gone."
Harry's hand lifted away from the Grimoire like he'd been burned.
He stepped back. Turned away. Grabbed his traveling cloak from the hook by his bed and swung it around his shoulders.
The door closed behind him with a soft click. Harry didn't look back. If he looked back, he'd see the Grimoire. If he saw it, he'd convince himself that just five minutes wouldn't hurt.
And five minutes would become an hour.
And an hour would become the entire day.
And Luna would find him in the abandoned classroom again, passed out from magical exhaustion, having learned nothing except that he was exactly like her mother.
The spiral staircase down from the dormitory was empty. The Ravenclaw Common Room opened up below, its usual quiet morning atmosphere interrupted by small clusters of students. A group of third-years huddled over Astronomy charts by the windows. Two fifth-years argued about the proper incantation for a Banishing Charm near the fireplace.
The Bronze eagle door knocker posed its morning riddle as Harry approached. "I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?"
"An echo," Harry answered automatically.
The eagle's beak curved into something approximating approval, and the door swung open.
The corridor beyond was busier as he arrived at the Common Hall. Students from all three schools moved in streams toward the Entrance Hall, voices bouncing off stone walls in a cacophony of English, French, and Bulgarian. A pair of Beauxbatons girls glided past in their blue silk uniforms, already shivering despite warming charms. Three Durmstrang boys marched in the opposite direction like soldiers.
Harry kept to the right side of the corridor.
A Slytherin seventh-year—Warrington—stood at the intersection ahead, distributing something to a cluster of younger students. The boy closest to Harry pocketed whatever it was quickly, but not before Harry caught the flash of green and silver.
More badges. Lovely.
Warrington's eyes tracked Harry's approach. The smirk that spread across his face was the kind that preceded either a hex or a humiliation. His hand drifted toward his wand.
Harry's fingers were already on his own wand, thumb pressed against the wood beneath his cloak.
The moment stretched.
Warrington's smirk widened. "Morning, Potter. Off to Hogsmeade? Planning to cheat your way into the Three Broomsticks too?"
The younger Slytherins giggled. One of them—a ferret-faced boy Harry vaguely recognized from Potions—whispered something that included the word "fraud."
Every muscle in Harry's body wanted to respond. Wanted to explain. Wanted to defend. Wanted to hex the smirk off Warrington's face and see if he found it as funny when he was vomiting his own urine.
Instead, Harry kept walking.
"That's right, run away!" Warrington called after him. "Just like you'll run from the First Task!"
More laughter. Footsteps behind him. Harry's grip tightened on his wand. His magic stirred beneath his skin, eager and ready and—
The footsteps veered off toward the Great Hall.
Just students. Just noise.
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs anyway.
The Entrance Hall opened up ahead, vast and crowded with students preparing to depart. Madam Filch stood by the doors checking names against her list, her cat Mr. Norris weaving between legs. Argus Filch himself lurked nearby, beady eyes tracking everyone with equal suspicion.
Harry scanned the crowd.
There—a splash of color that could only be Luna Lovegood.
She stood near the marble staircase wearing robes that suggested she'd raided a paint shop and a garden simultaneously. Buttercup yellow fabric clashed spectacularly with radish-red accents. Her radish earrings dangled prominently, swaying with each movement of her head. A necklace of butterbeer corks circled her throat, clicking softly whenever she turned.
Every other student was dressed in muted autumn colors, browns and grays and blacks designed to blend into the Scottish countryside. Luna looked like a sunrise had exploded and decided to take human form.
Beautiful.
Her protuberant eyes found Harry across the crowd. Her face lit up.
"Harry!" She waved enthusiastically, nearly hitting a passing Hufflepuff with her wildly flailing arm. "I was starting to think the books had captured you after all!"
Several nearby students glanced over at the name. Glanced at Harry. Their expressions cooled.
Harry wove through the crowd toward Luna.
"Almost," Harry admitted when he reached her. "But I escaped."
"Without casualties?"
"The Grimoire may have suffered emotional damage."
Luna's smile widened. She linked her arm through his without hesitation.
"Good," she declared. "Books are quite resilient. Unlike humans, who require regular chocolate intake to function properly."
"Is that medical fact or Luna fact?"
"Both. The Nargles have verified it."
Movement near the doors caught Harry's attention. A group of Hufflepuffs was gathering—seventh-years mostly. And in the center, impossible to miss, was Cedric Diggory.
Cedric looked up. Across the crowded Entrance Hall, his eyes met Harry's.
Cedric's mouth opened. Possibly to call out. Possibly to cross the hall and join them.
But then the yellow-and-black robes closed in. One Hufflepuff—a broad-shouldered boy with the kind of face that suggested he played Beater—clapped Cedric on the shoulder and said something that made the others laugh. Another girl, a prefect Harry recognized but couldn't name, touched Cedric's arm and gestured toward the doors.
The crowd swallowed him. The sea of yellow and black parted around the doors, then reformed like water flowing around a stone. Cedric moved with them, casting one more glance back toward Harry.
Then he was gone. Swept away by his house, his friends, his people who loved him and supported him and believed absolutely that Harry had stolen something precious from them.
The words drifted back across the hall, not quite loud enough to identify the speaker: "...can't believe he's still talking to that cheater..."
Luna's arm tightened around Harry's. "They'll understand eventually."
"I don't really care, they are just showing their true colors,"
More students filed past. A cluster of Ravenclaws Harry recognized from his Charms class—they'd been friendly once, before the Goblet, back when he was just Harry Potter the clever fourth-year. Now they looked through him like he was made of glass.
Near the doors, Susan Bones stood with a group of Hufflepuff girls. Fourth-years mostly, their faces still round with youth. Susan saw Harry. Their eyes met. She raised her hand in a tentative wave, her expression warm and sad and sorry all at once.
But she didn't leave her group.
One of the girls beside Susan—Hannah Abbott, Harry thought—whispered something. Susan flushed, lowered her hand, turned back to her friends.
"Susan believes you," Luna observed quietly. "So does Cedric. So do the Weasley twins. So do I. That's more than most people get."
"Doesn't feel like much."
"Mm. Quality versus quantity. One real friend is worth a thousand false allies." Luna tugged him toward the doors. "Now come. We're going to commit acts of chocolate consumption that will make Madam Pomfrey question our judgment."
"I thought chocolate was medicinal."
"It is. But like all medicine, it's possible to have too much of a good thing. I plan to test that theory extensively today."
Filch barely glanced at them as they passed. His attention was focused on a group of Slytherin boys whose bags looked suspiciously heavy. Probably smuggling Dungbombs. Not Harry's problem. Not today.
The doors swung open to October cold that bit through even the warming charms. The sky was that particular shade of gray that Scotland seemed to specialize in—not quite raining but threatening to at any moment. The grounds stretched ahead, frost-touched grass crunching under the feet of students already making their way down the long path toward Hogsmeade.
Harry inhaled. The air tasted clean.
Luna released his arm, spinning in a slow circle with her face tilted toward the sky. "Perfect day for adventure."
"It's freezing."
"Exactly. The Nargles hate the cold. They'll stay in the castle, which means we'll have the village mostly to ourselves. Well, ourselves and several hundred other students, but spiritually to ourselves."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Most important things don't." Luna finished her spin and grabbed his arm again, practically dragging him down the path. "Now stop analyzing and start experiencing. That's an order."
"You're giving me orders now?"
"Someone has to. You're terrible at taking care of yourself."
She wasn't wrong.
The castle grew smaller behind them as they walked. The path wound down the hillside, frost-covered grass giving way to harder-packed earth. Other students moved in clusters around them—Beauxbatons girls huddling together against the cold, Durmstrang boys marching in formation, Hogwarts houses separating into their usual tribal groups.
But with each step away from the castle, something loosened in his chest. The stone walls weren't pressing down on him. The whispers faded into wind and distance. The eyes tracking his every movement belonged to strangers now, not housemates and hallmates and people who used to be friends.
"Better?" Luna asked.
"Getting there."
"Good. Because we have approximately two hours before you start fidgeting and thinking about those books again. I've calculated the optimal chocolate-to-distraction ratio, and we need to maintain a steady intake to keep you in the present."
"You've calculated—"
"The Nargles helped. They're very good at mathematics, despite what people think."
Harry found himself laughing. Luna's expression shifted to something pleased and knowing, like she'd solved a particularly tricky equation.
The path leveled out as they reached the base of the hill. Hogsmeade village spread before them, all crooked chimneys and warm lights in windows. Smoke rose from countless fireplaces.
"Ready?" Luna asked.
Harry's hand left his wand. "Ready."
They stepped forward together.
The bell above Honeydukes' door chimed loudly, determined to spread joy regardless of whether anyone wanted it.
The shop was chaos. Absolute, glorious chaos.
Students from all three schools crammed into every available space, voices rising in a babble of English, French, and Bulgarian. Beauxbatons girls clustered near the Chocolate Frogs display, their blue uniforms standing out like sapphires against the shop's warm wood tones. They examined the packaging, turning boxes over to read the contents with expressions that suggested they'd found the whole thing wanting.
"The chocolate, it is acceptable," one of them announced in heavily accented English. "But the frog shape, why? It is bizarre."
"Because they hop," her friend replied, as if this explained everything.
"In France, our chocolates do not require hopping."
Near the Sugar Quills, a pack of Durmstrang boys were engaged in what appeared to be competitive shopping. One grabbed an armful of Fizzing Whizzbees. Another countered with a tower of Honeydukes Chocolate. A third swept an entire shelf of Pepper Imps into his basket as if he was securing food for survival.
"We must bring back sufficient supplies," one of them said in thickly accented English. "Karkaroff's breakfast rations are unacceptable."
"Everything at Hogwarts is unacceptable," his companion agreed. "Except the library. The library is adequate."
"And the Dueling prospects."
"Yes. And the Dueling prospects."
Luna released Harry's arm and immediately made a beeline for the chocolate section.
Harry followed more slowly.
"Harry!" Luna's voice cut through the crowd. "Come look at this!"
She stood before a display of chocolate bars that stretched from floor to ceiling, organized by type, percentage of cacao, and what appeared to be an entirely separate categorization system based on magical properties. Her fingers traced the labels.
"This one," she held up a bar wrapped in silver paper, "contains essence of Billywig. Excellent for mental clarity. And this one—" a gold-wrapped bar joined the silver, "—has ground unicorn horn. Not from actual unicorns, of course. That would be illegal and also rather mean. But it's shaped like their horns, which apparently counts for magical purposes."
"Luna—"
"And this one is particularly important." She added a dark chocolate bar to the growing collection in her arms. "Ninety percent cacao. Very bitter. Good for grounding exercises when one becomes too caught up in hypothetical futures."
The pile in her arms grew. Plain chocolate. Mint chocolate. Chocolate with nuts. Chocolate with fruit. Chocolate combined with things that probably shouldn't be combined with chocolate but someone had tried anyway.
"Luna, that's too much."
"Nonsense. I told you—medicinal purposes. Each variety serves a specific function." She examined another bar critically. "This one has pepperย added. Stimulating. Useful for maintaining alertness during long study sessions, though you're not having any study sessions today, so perhaps we'll save this for later."
"We can't possibly eat all of that."
"Not with that attitude." Luna added three more bars to the pile. "Besides, chocolate keeps. We'll portion it out over the next few weeks. A strategic reserve of medicinal supplies."
"You've put way too much thought into this."
"Someone has to. You certainly aren't thinking about proper nutrition." She thrust the pile into Harry's arms. "Hold these. I need to check the Chocolate Frogs for rare cards."
The weight settled against Harry's chest. The chocolate was still cold from the shop's preservation charms, seeping chill through his shirt. He shifted his grip, trying to balance the precarious stack, and found himself face-to-face with a small group of Ravenclaw second-years.
"Oh! Harry!" The girl in front—Emily something, Harry thought, or maybe Emma—brightened immediately. "Are you entering the Dueling Race? Thomas said you submitted your name to Professor Flitwick."
"I did, yeah."
"That's brilliant!" The boy beside her—Thomas, apparently—nodded enthusiastically. "You'll destroy everyone. I saw you practicing that shield charm variation in class last month. It was wicked."
The third member of their group, a tiny girl with dark skin and darker eyes, added shyly: "We don't believe what they're saying. About the Tournament. You wouldn't cheat."
Harry felt a fire spreading warmth on his chest. "Thanks. That... thanks."
"Besides," Emily-or-Emma continued, "if you were going to cheat, you'd do it cleverly. You're Ravenclaw. We don't get caught."
"That's not exactly—"
"Good luck in the Dueling Race!" They waved and disappeared into the crowd before Harry could finish the sentence, leaving him holding an armful of chocolate and something that felt dangerously close to hope.
Then, near the Acid Pops display: "—can't believe he has the nerve to show his face—"
The voice carried over the general noise. Male. Older. Gryffindor, based on the red-and-gold scarf visible through the crowd.
"—tournament's supposed to be for actual champions, not cheaters who can't wait their turn—"
Harry's fingers tightened on the chocolate bars. The urge to turn around, to respond, to defend himself rose like bile in his throat.
Don't. Not worth it. Not today.
"—probably used Dark magic, honestly. How else could he—"
"WRACKSPURTS!"
Luna's voice rang out with the clarity of a bell, so loud that half the shop turned to stare. She stood on her toes near the Chocolate Frogs, one finger pointed dramatically at the ceiling.
"They're everywhere! Absolutely infested! I can see them swarming around certain people's heads!" Her eyes, wide and earnest, swept the crowd. "The infestation is quite severe. Must be all the negative thinking. Wrackspurts feed on stupidity, you know."
Confused silence spread through the shop like ripples on a pond.
"Wrackspurts?" someone whispered.
"Is she mental?"
"What's a Wrackspurt?"
Luna continued, completely unperturbed by the attention: "They're particularly drawn to people who make confident assertions about things they know nothing about. Creates a sort of intellectual vacuum that they find irresistible."
The Gryffindor boys who'd been talking about Harry exchanged bewildered glances. One of them opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. No sound emerged.
"Come on, Harry!" Luna grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the counter, leaving a wake of confused students behind them. "We need to pay before the Wrackspurt infestation spreads. It's quite contagious."
The shopkeeper—a plump witch whose name Harry had never learned—accepted their chocolate mountain. Her fingers flew over the items, totaling the cost with barely a glance.
"Thirty-seven Sickles," she announced.
Harry reached for his money pouch, but Luna was faster. She slapped down the coins like they had done something to her.
"I invited him," she told Harry before he could protest. "Therefore, I pay. Those are the rules of friendship."
"Since when?"
"Since I decided them just now. Rules are quite flexible when you make them yourself."
The shopkeeper wrapped their purchases, layers of brown paper and protective charms that suggested she believed chocolate was a precious resource worth safeguarding. She handed the package to Luna with a knowing smile.
"Enjoy, dears. And don't listen to the gossips. Life's too short for that nonsense."
Another small kindness.
Outside Honeydukes, Luna immediately tore open the package and thrust a bar of plain chocolate into Harry's hands. "Eat. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor."
"I'm a friend prescribing medicinal chocolate. Close enough." She unwrapped her own bar—the one with ground unicorn horn—and took a deliberate bite. "See? I'm participating in the treatment plan too."
The chocolate was smooth and rich, melting on Harry's tongue.
"Good?" Luna asked around her own mouthful.
"Yeah. Good."
"Told you so." Her expression was entirely too smug for someone wearing radish earrings. "Chocolate fixes most things. Not everything—some problems require more complex solutions—but most things."
They walked down Hogsmeade's main street, eating chocolate in companionable silence. The cold didn't seem as biting now. The gray sky didn't feel as oppressive. Students passed in clusters, some staring, some whispering, but the chocolate and Luna's presence created a buffer against it all.
"You're smiling," Luna observed.
Harry touched his face, surprised to find she was right. "Huh."
"It's a good look on you. Better than the 'contemplating mortality' expression you've been wearing for the past two weeks."
"I haven't been—"
"You have." She took another bite of chocolate. "You get this little crease right here—" she tapped the space between her eyebrows, "—when you're thinking about dying. It's quite distinctive."
"That's disturbingly specific."
"I notice things." She linked her arm through his again, chocolate bar in her free hand. "Now come on. The Three Broomsticks awaits, and I have a theory about butterbeer that requires testing."
"What theory?"
"That three butterbeers are better than two, which are better than one. It's very scientific."
"That's not science."
"It's Luna science. Entirely different field of study."
The Three Broomsticks rose ahead of them, windows glowing warm and gold against the gray afternoon. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of wood fire and the promise of warmth.
Harry took another bite of chocolate and let Luna pull him forward.
Maybe she was right. Maybe chocolate did fix most things.
Or maybe it was the company.
Scene 3: Three Broomsticks - Butterbeer and Conversation
The Three Broomsticks hit Harry with a wall of warmth, noise, and the yeasty-sweet smell of butterbeer the moment they crossed the threshold. Every table was packed, students from all three schools crammed into booths and clustered around the bar. The fire roared in the hearth, throwing dancing shadows across wood-paneled walls decorated with old Quidditch photographs and faded tournament posters.
Madam Rosmerta moved through the chaos with practiced grace, balancing trays of drinks and somehow managing to greet every customer by name. She was beautiful in that effortless way some witches achieved—curves in all the right places, golden hair piled artfully atop her head, smile warm enough to melt the Scottish frost outside.
Her eyes found Harry across the crowded room. Something flickered in her expression—recognition, maybe pity, maybe just acknowledgment—but when she smiled, it was the same smile she'd given the Hufflepuff girls at the next table.
"Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood!" she called out, weaving between tables with the ease of long practice. "Haven't seen you two in weeks. Thought maybe the castle had swallowed you whole."
"It tried," Luna replied serenely. "But we escaped. The Nargles helped."
Rosmerta's smile didn't falter. She'd been serving Hogwarts students long enough that nothing fazed her. "Table for two? I've got a spot in the back corner if you don't mind the draft."
"Perfect," Harry said, meaning it.
The corner table was exactly what they needed—tucked away from the main crowd, partially shielded by the curve of the wall, far enough from other students that their conversation wouldn't be overhead. A window looked out onto the street, frost creeping up the glass in delicate patterns.
"Two butterbeers?" Rosmerta asked, already pulling out her order pad.
"Please," Harry confirmed.
"Make mine extra frothy," Luna added. "The Nargles say froth improves the medicinal properties."
"Extra frothy it is." Rosmerta winked and disappeared back into the crowd.
Harry shed his traveling cloak and draped it over his chair, the warming charms fighting a losing battle against the draft from the window. But the cold felt good. Real. Grounding in a way the castle's perpetual temperate control never managed.
Luna settled across from him, her yellow robes a bright spot in the dim pub. She unwrapped another chocolate bar—the bitter one, ninety percent cacao—and broke off a square with the precision of someone conducting a scientific experiment.
"So," she said, chewing thoughtfully. "Tell me about the spells you're learning."
Harry's guard went up automatically. "Luna—"
"Not the ones for the Tournament," she interrupted gently. "Not the practical survival magic or the things you think you need to know to stay alive. The ones that fascinate you. The magic that makes you curious rather than afraid."
The distinction caught Harry off-guard. He opened his mouth to say there wasn't a difference, that everything he was learning served a purpose, that curiosity was a luxury he couldn't afford.
But that wasn't true, was it?
"There's this theory," he heard himself saying, "about intent and magic. Most people think it's all about wand movement and pronunciation—get the motion right, say the words correctly, and the spell works. But that's not really how it functions."
Luna leaned forward, chin resting on her interlaced fingers.
"The wand movement and incantation, they're... frameworks. Structures to help focus your intent. But the real power comes from what you want the magic to do. The image in your mind. The purpose driving the spell." Harry gestured with his hands, trying to articulate something he'd only half-understood through weeks of practice. "That's why the same spell can be more powerful from one wizard than another. It's not just magical strength. It's clarity of intent."
"Like the Patronus Charm," Luna said.
"Exactly like the Patronus Charm. The incantation is simple—Expecto Patronum. The wand movement is straightforward. But producing a corporeal Patronus requires absolute clarity about what happiness means to you. You can't fake that. You can't shortcut it. The magic knows."
Rosmerta appeared with their butterbeers, setting the mugs down with a gentle clink. Luna's was indeed extra frothy, foam rising in an impossible tower that defied several laws of physics.
"Enjoy, dears," Rosmerta said, and was gone again before Harry could thank her.
He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into his fingers. The first sip was perfect—sweet and rich and exactly what his body needed after two weeks of surviving on nervous energy and Pepper-Up Potions.
"So the spells you're learning," Luna prompted, "they require different kinds of intent?"
"Different shapes of intent, maybe." Harry took another sip, organizing his thoughts. "A shield charm requires the intent to protect, to create a barrier between yourself and harm. But an aggressive hex requires the intent to damage, to break through defenses, to hurt. Same magical energy, completely different purpose."
"And you have to mean it."
"You have to mean it," Harry confirmed. "That's the hard part. You can't cast a Cutting Curse and secretly hope it doesn't work. You can't throw a shield and doubt whether it'll hold. The magic reads hesitation as weakness."
Luna nibbled her chocolate thoughtfully. "That seems rather absolute. What about defensive magic cast by people who don't want to hurt anyone? Can they use aggressive spells?"
"They can if their intent is clear. If they're protecting someone they love, for instance. The intent isn't to harm for harm's sake—it's to remove a threat to keep someone safe. Different motivation, same result."
"Intent as the difference between murder and self-defense."
Harry blinked. "That's... actually a perfect analogy."
"I have them occasionally." Luna's smile was serene. "The Nargles are quite good at philosophy. They have lots of time to think, floating about as they do."
Around them, the pub hummed with conversation. Students laughed and argued and gossiped, their voices creating a white noise that was oddly soothing. No one was paying attention to their corner. No one was listening to Harry explain magical theory to Luna Lovegood while drinking butterbeer.
"What about you?" Harry asked. "Any spells you're curious about?"
Luna's eyes brightened. "Oh, loads. I've been researching memory charms lately. Not for practical use—I'm terrible at them—but the theory is fascinating. The idea that you can reshape someone's reality just by altering what they remember. Makes you wonder what's real and what's just agreed-upon fiction."
"That's a disturbing thought."
"Most interesting thoughts are." She took a long drink of butterbeer, emerging with a foam mustache that she made no effort to wipe away. "I also think the Patronus Charm is more complex than people realize. Everyone focuses on the happiness requirement, but I think it's really about identity. The Patronus takes the form of what your soul looks like. That's why it's different for everyone."
"Mine's a stag," Harry said quietly. "Same as my dad's."
"Which means your soul and his soul have the same shape. That's rather beautiful, isn't it? Even though he's gone, part of him lives on in you. Not just memories or genetics, but something deeper. The fundamental nature of who you are."
Harry's throat tightened. "Yeah. Beautiful."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, working on their butterbeers. Outside the window, students passed by in clusters. A group of Slytherins, laughing at something on one of those damned badges. Two Beauxbatons girls examining the window display at Gladrags. A lone Durmstrang boy walking like a soldier toward Zonko's.
"You're lighter," Luna observed.
Harry looked up. "What?"
"When we left the castle, you were carrying the weight of everything—the Tournament, the accusations, the training, the fear. Like you were wearing invisible armor made of worry." She gestured vaguely at his shoulders. "But it's less now. You're sitting differently. Breathing differently. The crease between your eyebrows has smoothed out."
"The crease you claimed means I'm contemplating mortality?"
"That's the one. It's gone. Which means you're living in the present rather than dying in the future. Much healthier."
Harry found himself smiling again. "You were right. About needing this."
"I'm right about most things. People just don't listen because I talk about Nargles." Luna polished off her butterbeer and immediately raised her hand to signal Rosmerta. "We need another round. For medicinal purposes."
"We haven't been here twenty minutes."
"Time is irrelevant when treating chocolate and butterbeer deficiency. Both are very serious conditions."
Rosmerta appeared with two more mugs, this time with slightly less froth but equally perfect temperature. She set them down and looked at Harry.
"You eat anything today besides chocolate?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Does butterbeer count as food?"
"It does not." She pulled out her pad again. "I'm bringing you both sandwiches. Ham and cheese. You can protest, but I'll ignore you."
"I wasn't going to protest."
"Good boy." She patted his shoulder and swept away.
Luna was watching him with that knowing expression again. "You're not used to people being kind without conditions."
"Most people aren't kind at all right now."
"Most people are idiots governed by Wrackspurts and social pressure. Madam Rosmerta is neither." Luna started on her second butterbeer. "She sees you as Harry, not as the Fourth Champion or the Boy-Who-Lived or the Alleged Cheater. Just Harry. That's rare."
"You do that too."
"Well, yes. But I'm special. The Nargles told me so."
They talked about other things then. Classes and professors, and the particularly spectacular explosion in Potions last week, when Neville Longbottom's cauldron had achieved sentience and tried to escape.
Luna told him about an article her father was writing for The Quibbler about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Sweden. Harry admitted he still wasn't entirely sure Crumple-Horned Snorkacks existed. Luna assured him that was exactly what the Snorkacks wanted him to think.
The sandwiches arrived—thick slabs of ham and cheese on fresh bread, still warm from whatever charm Rosmerta used in her kitchen. Harry discovered he was actually hungry, properly hungry, not just functioning on automatic.
He ate. Luna ate. They talked about nothing important and everything that mattered.
At some point, Harry noticed a group of seventh-year Gryffindors near the bar, their eyes tracking him with expressions he couldn't quite read. One of them leaned in to whisper something to his friend. Both glanced over at Harry.
The muscles in Harry's shoulders began to tense. Here it comes. Another confrontation. Another accusation. Another—
Rosmerta appeared beside the Gryffindors like a vengeful spirit, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. She said something quietly, too low for Harry to hear over the pub noise, but the effect was immediate. Both boys straightened, faces flushing, and very deliberately turned their attention back to their own table.
Rosmerta caught Harry's eye across the room and winked.
The tension drained away.
"You're smiling again," Luna noted.
"Am I doing it wrong? Is there a proper way to smile?"
"There's Luna's way, which involves being pleased about the world's absurdity, and there's your way, which involves forgetting to be miserable for a few consecutive minutes." She raised her butterbeer mug. "Both are equally valid."
Harry clinked his mug against hers. "To forgetting to be miserable."
"And to chocolate."
"And to friends who kidnap you from libraries."
"And to Nargles who facilitate said kidnapping."
They drank. The butterbeer was warm and perfect and tasted like the kind of normal Harry had almost forgotten existed.
Outside, the afternoon light was beginning to fade toward evening. They'd been here longer than Harry realized. An hour? More? Time had become elastic, stretching and compressing in ways that had nothing to do with Time-Turners.
"Thank you," Harry said quietly.
Luna didn't ask what for. She simply smiled, foam mustache firmly in place, radish earrings swinging gently in the draft from the window.
"That's what friends do," she said. "We save each other from ourselves. It's quite practical, really."
"The Nargles approve?"
"The Nargles are very pleased with today's progress. Though they suggest we continue treatment with a visit to Zonko's. Apparently, laughter has medicinal properties too."
"Everything is medicinal in Luna-land."
"Because I understand what's truly important." She finished her butterbeer and stood, yellow robes swirling. "Come on. We have candy to examine and possibly purchase, and I want to get there before the Durmstrang boys buy everything explosive."
Harry left coins on the table—enough to cover their food and a generous tip for Rosmerta's kindness—and followed Luna back into the cold.
If you want to Read 6 More Chapters Right Now. Search 'patreon.com/Drinor' on Websearch