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Luna drifted down the main stairs to the first floor of Hogwarts. Fairy lights glittered overhead, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the various portraits and paintings hung upon the wall. The Scottish sky was overcast, preparing itself for the torrent of spring showers to come in the coming months. She hiked the basket filled with raw meat higher on her arm. Thestrals may not require blankets in the winter like their horse cousins, but she knew the herbal spice blend she made would help keep their bones from freezing.
“Hullo Luna,” said Harry as he marched up the dirt path, “I thought I’d find you here.” She handed him a piece of meat and he held it up to a Thestral’s mouth.
She smiled at him, “they don’t need blankets you know.”
“Erm, that’s cool, but there aren’t any blankets here so I don’t know how—“ he started before cutting himself off, “you know what, it doesn’t matter, I actually came down here to ask you something.” Harry waited for her to look at him, indicating her interest but she never did. All of her attention was on the creatures in front of her.
“Go on then Harry, you have a question for me don’t you?”
So she had been listening then. It was hard to tell with her.
“Yeah, so… about that,” Harry started. “Well, you know a lot about…nargles, right? I've been feeling really weird lately, is it because of them?”
Harry felt deranged. This was the last thing he'd expected himself to do.
Well, not like it's a high bar anyways, I always end up doing things I don't expect myself to do.
Like….
He shook his head to get rid of the thought. He didn't even want to think about it.
But his mind, the goddamn traitor, kept going back to that night, when Draco apologized to him and they talked, actually talked , for the first time since the beginning of the eighth year.
Luna finally looked up with her dreamy eyes and Harry felt as if she was staring into his soul, unraveling all the secrets in his heart.
Her airy voice jarred him out of his thoughts. “Yes. It indeed seems to be the nargles. There are nargles floating all over your head. What symptoms are you experiencing, Harry?”
He should have expected the question, logical as it was, and yet it still caught him by surprise.
“Err—I…” he hesitated, torn between being truthful with Luna and wanting to keep a part of his life to himself. But he was the one that had asked, the one that had gone to her , and he knew he could trust her not to judge him. Still. It felt a bit like betraying Draco. Sharing a secret that wasn’t fully his. “I’ve been really tired.” He settled on half-truths. “Cloudy, I guess. It’s difficult to focus.” Not entirely true—he could focus on certain things just fine. Like Draco. He pressed on. “And there are times that I feel like—well, I sort of feel like I’m just… going through the motions? I’ll be in the Great Hall for dinner one moment and then the common room the next. Everything in between is sort of… not there?”
He worried on the inside of his bottom lip. He sounded as deranged as he felt and yet Luna nodded sagely, looking past him and at something floating around his head.
“Nargles can do that,” she hummed. Her gaze refocused, settling on his, and he was again greeted with the unsettling feeling of being stripped bare. “When did this start happening, Harry? I haven’t seen a case as bad as yours in some time.” She gave him a soft smile that was likely meant to reassure. (It didn’t.) “Handling the trigger itself can help in ridding yourself of them.”
Harry thought of Draco again and could feel the color rushing to his cheeks. He averted his gaze and shook his head, shrugging.
“I—ahh—don’t know.” He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Don’t remember, I mean,” he hurriedly added.
Luna gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment. He forced himself to look at her again. Thankfully she was looking past him, staring at something above his right shoulder. Her expression was soft. Kind. She tilted her head to the right thoughtfully.
“Our eighth year should be a happy one, don’t you think, Harry?”
He blinked, somewhat startled by the change of topic, but nodded.
“Yes?”
“We’ve all been through so much,” Luna continued, sighing quietly. “We all need to heal, I think.” Her eyes settled on his again, gaze knowing, and a shiver worked itself down his spine. “I suspect yours isn’t the only case of nargles, Harry.” She gave him another small, tender smile. “Talk to them. Maybe they can help.”
Harry left the conversation feeling distinctly unbalanced in a way that always seemed to come about when having spoken to Luna Lovegood.
*’Talk to them.’* He thought for a second that maybe she meant the nargles, but he doubted it. Leave it to Luna to know – or at least give off the impression that she does – something that even you don’t know about yourself.
Harry also didn’t doubt that he wasn’t the only one his eccentric friend had seen plagued by ‘nargles’. They had all been through a war. Some more so involved than others. Especially the Eighth Years. But confiding in those around him had never been a strong suit of Harry’s and he was certain that that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon – Luna’s… Luna-ness aside, as that doesn’t really count. And even then he didn’t disclose everything to her in full this time and he still wouldn’t because this didn’t involve just Harry this time.
’Handling the trigger itself can help.’ The heat returned to his cheeks and he felt a bit foolish in how quickly he got flustered at just the thought of the Slytherin.
Maybe that’s who she meant for him to talk to? That didn’t feel right either, but perhaps another more in depth and lengthy conversation would help settle Harry? There was a chance that Draco was feeling the same way as him. Hopefully. Or maybe not. He didn’t think it was fair to wish his tangled up, complicated emotions on someone else.
Harry decided that maybe some fresh air would do him some good, help in clearing his mind. It’s not like he could turn to occlumency for any assistance.
Harry walked outside to try to sort his thoughts. Thinking through his emotions has never been one of his strong suits - he would much rather just act in the moment. Thinking had a tendency to just get him in trouble.
Not being able to stop thinking about Draco definitely felt like something close to trouble.
Harry’s used to thinking about what Malfoy is getting up to or complaining about how awful the blond is, but after the war, none of those things were important anymore. And yet, Harry was still preoccupied by him.
He probably wouldn’t have noticed that he was still watching and aware of the Slytherin if Hermione hadn’t nagged about needing to “let go of the past” and how he should respect Malfoy, no matter if he liked him or not.
Until then, Harry hadn’t been aware that he was always keeping an eye on Draco. But that’s exactly what was making him hesitate to talk to him now. If he didn’t notice how much time he was still devoting to Draco’s life, what if he didn't notice something else important and screwed everything up?
And, as Luna pointed out, if he wanted to solve his issues, he should start with the root of the problem.
But talking to Draco, not to mention everyone else, would mean talking. Which was another thing that has just landed him in trouble through the years.
It occurred to Harry just then that he had just been pacing the same stretch over and over again, but without anything better to do, he didn't try to stop himself either.
It’s not like he could just go find Draco and talk to him. What if he revealed something and things got even worse between them? Not that much could top the animosity they had had for each other in fifth year, but Harry wasn’t eager to return to such a relationship. He had enough time spent with people having mercurial thoughts and feelings towards him.
Harry spared a passing thought in concern for the path he must be wearing down by now.
Oh, but what Harry really hated was feeling like he was powerless. After years of dealing with how the Dursley's treated him, he never wanted to feel like he couldn’t do anything ever again. So he should just go find Draco and try to get the bottom of the problem.
Mind made up, he got to the end of the path he had been wearing down and turned to go back up and find Draco.
Until he got to that end of the path and then he turned back around again to pace his path again.
Harry admitted to himself that pacing really wasn't going to help this issue, he was tired and stressed and he knew he really should just find Draco and figure this out. He'd faced god damn Voldemort and won for god's sake, why was this so much harder?! His spiraling had him pacing the path a couple more times until eventually he was stopped. The hand on his shoulder had started him and he took a step back immediately, the hand moved and Harry finally looked up from the floor.
Speak of the Devil
He cursed himself for not paying attention to his surroundings as his eyes met those of Draco Malfoy.
"Pot- uh, Harry. Hello, is everything okay?" His correcting himself had Harry doing a double take to make sure it was actually Draco who was standing in front of him. The voice was the same and his signature platinum blonde hair was unmistakable. He'd been pacing the same spot for so long that the person he was so anxious about talking to had ended up coming to him. oh god I'm not prepared for this.
Harry must have been silent for too long, as the eyebrows of Draco furrowed together, the other looking concerned as he called his name again, "Harry?" he asked.
"Draco, hey, um, thanks for.... finding me?" Harry said, wincing internally at how he phrased things and how he sounded.
The blonde looked smugly amused, and Harry couldn't help the way his stomach fluttered. His thoughts from earlier repeated in his head, why was this so much harder than fighting Voldemort? Probably because fighting for your life versus asking out someone you had a crush on were vastly different things. Especially considering his crush was his childhood rival, turned enemy, turned ally.
"Well it's hard not to with how much you're wearing down the cement," Draco drawled. "Are you okay?" the blonde asked again.
Harry nodded, "Yeah, yes, I'm fine..." he mumbled, cheeks slowly heating up more, especially as Draco hadn't yet removed the hand on his shoulder. Icy blue eyes looking at him with worry and care.
"Willyougoonadatewithme?" Harry blurted out rapidly.
Draco frowned, "Slow down and repeat that please?" he asked, eyebrows scrunched together.
Harry took a deep breath, preparing himself, then, slowly, and nervous, he asked, "Will you go on a date with me?"
“A date?” Draco echoed, his face unreadable as he removed his hand from Harry’s shoulder, “With… you?”
Harry’s heart sank. Maybe it had been too much to believe that Draco would reciprocate his feelings. It was Draco Malfoy after all. His and Harry’s past wasn’t exactly all rainbows and sunshine. Harry quickly began to backpedal his confession.
“I mean, if you don’t want to– that’s fine, I just– sorry. You don’t have to go on a date with me. Which, you know that already. Obviously. I’m not forcing you to, or anything.” Harry rambled, silently cursing his inability to shut up.
“I will.”
“--and, I doubt I could force you to do– sorry, what was that?” Harry glanced up to Draco from where he was staring down at the ground.
“I’ll go on a date with you.”
“You.. you will?”
Draco nods, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
“Oh.” Harry responded after a moment of silence, a bit dumbfounded– he hadn’t thought he would get this far, “That’s. That’s good. I’m glad you want to go on a date with me.”
There’s another beat of awkward silence, and Harry felt as if he had to say something to try and salvage this awful confession. Though, if the look on Draco’s face was anything to go by, he found the entire thing quite entertaining.
“I like you, Draco. I like you a lot.”
“I like you a lot too, Harry Potter.”