Luna slumped over the rough-hewn table, the amber liquid in her glass reflecting the dim light of the Black Bull. It tasted bitter tonight, even more so than usual. The warmth it offered was fleeting, a temporary shield against the cold that had settled deep inside her.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, a familiar warmth that startled her from the swirling fog of her thoughts. Harry. She knew it was him even before she looked up. His presence was a comforting weight, a reminder of a time when things felt⌠possible.
âLuna,â he said softly, his voice laced with concern.
She lifted her head slowly, focusing on his face through the haze of whiskey and exhaustion. His eyes were filled with a familiar tenderness, but tonight, she also saw a shadow there, a reflection of her own pain perhaps.
âHarry,â she murmured, her voice rough from disuse and drink.
He didnât say anything more, just let his hand rest on her shoulder, a silent offering of support. She watched him for a moment, noticing the lines of worry etched around his eyes, the weariness in his posture. He carried so much, she knew. Too much for one person to bear. And yet, here he was, concerned about her.
She took another sip of her whiskey, the bitter taste a familiar comfort now. The pub was quiet tonight, only a few other patrons scattered around, their conversations a low hum in the background. It was a world away from the shouts and screams, the fear and the darkness of Malfoy Manor. But even here, in this quiet corner of a Muggle pub, the shadows lingered.
She could feel the stares sometimes, even here. Whispers followed her like stray Nargles. âLoony Lovegoodâs daughter,â she imagined them saying, âher father the liar, the betrayer.â It didnât matter that the truth was more complicated, that her father had acted out of love, a twisted, misguided love perhaps, but love nonetheless. No one wanted to see the shades of grey, only black and white, hero and villain. And the Lovegoods, in their eyes, were now firmly in the black.
She glanced at her glass again, the level dangerously low. Another one wouldnât hurt. Just to push the shadows back a little further, to quiet the whispers in her head.
Harryâs hand tightened gently on her shoulder. She looked up at him again, and this time, she saw something else in his eyes, something deeper than concern, something that mirrored the faint, flickering ember of hope she tried so hard to keep alive within herself. Affection. He still cared. Despite everything. Despite her father, despite the whispers, despite the broken pieces of herself she didn't know how to put back together.
Maybe, just maybe, there was still a glimmer of light in the darkness after all.
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