A New Place to Stay Chapter 35 - Harry Potter

Dumbledore’s alarms go off: the prophecy has been moved. At the Ministry, he finds smashed spheres and a panicked Mundungus Fletcher, and summons the Order to Grimmauld Place in fury. Down in the Hogwarts dungeons, Harry and Severus quietly shatter the orb themselves and hear the full prophecy at last – including the devastating line that either Harry or Voldemort must die at the hand of the other. Harry breaks under the weight of it; Severus hauls him back, refuses to let him take the world on his shoulders alone, and vows to train him to win. While the Order panics over the “missing” prophecy and Dumbledore doubles down on half-truths, Harry retreats to Salazar’s library, finds Sezar and Slytherin journals, and reconnects with Neville and Luna over Christmas gifts and plans to practice hexes after lunch. Guardianship, prophecy, and war strategy all tighten in this chapter.

Transcript

**Chapter 35: Hearing the Prophecy - Dung's in Trouble**

Albus Dumbledore felt a surge of panic as he entered his office. The spells he had attached to one of his many trinkets were going off.

This particular spell was linked to the prophecy, and the alarming implications were clear: someone had either attempted to move it or had actually taken it. To make matters worse, it was early morning, and the place was bustling with Ministry workers.

Surely, someone would have reached out by now if Voldemort had entered the building. Instead of consulting the portraits for guidance, Dumbledore decided to investigate himself.

He Floo'd to the correct department, practically rushing past everyone without returning their greetings. A quick spell confirmed that Fletcher was still present.

Dumbledore slowed his pace, trying to calm himself. If someone had infiltrated the area, Fletcher would have noticed.

Perhaps the spell had malfunctioned? He hoped that was the case, but deep down, he had his doubts.

Dumbledore was not a man prone to wishful thinking. He scanned his surroundings, ensuring no one else was around.

After all, this was the Department of Mysteries, and few ventured down here besides the Unspeakables. “Fletcher?” Dumbledore called, keeping his voice lower than usual.

He could sense the man nearby—perhaps he shouldn’t have assigned Fletcher to this duty after all. “What is it?” Dung replied groggily.

“Have you been sleeping?” Dumbledore's tone turned cold and firm. “No,” Fletcher insisted, though Albus couldn't tell if he was lying, given that he was cloaked in invisibility.

“Move aside,” Dumbledore instructed. Dung stood in front of the door, having just gotten up.

Confused, Fletcher stepped aside. Why was Dumbledore here?

Moody was supposed to relieve him later. A sense of unease washed over him as he watched Dumbledore open the door.

With determination, the headmaster strode into the middle of the room, and Dung’s heart sank at the sight before him. Fallen spheres lay scattered everywhere, and he could see Dumbledore's face grow pale and ashen.

You-Know-Who had won the war. The look Dumbledore shot him made him wish he were miles away.

“Get to Grimmauld Place now,” Dumbledore snarled angrily before he Apparated on the spot. Things had just gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

Voldemort had somehow gotten his hands on the prophecy and knew too much. Dumbledore would have to protect Harry even more now.

Voldemort would do anything to kill him. Just how long until Voldemort revealed everything to Harry?

Harry might feel betrayed, might not accept the plan Dumbledore had for him. No, he would.

He had to. Dumbledore had spent five years training Harry for this moment—training him to accept his destiny, to save everyone, to sacrifice himself for others.

The Horcrux in Harry meant that he wouldn’t survive. All Dumbledore could do was hope to keep this from the boy for as long as possible.

Fletcher swallowed harshly. Should he stay or flee?

His shoulders slumped in defeat. Dumbledore would find him no matter where he went.

He Apparated out of the Ministry and appeared at the door of Grimmauld Place, still cloaked. He was let in by Sirius Black, hearing a woman caterwauling in the background about Mudbloods and traitors in her house.

Harry hardly ate any breakfast; he just showed up, doing what Severus wanted him to do. He made sure to avoid bumping against the prophecy; he didn’t want anyone to hear it except himself and Severus.

His heartbeat raced; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it or not. He just knew this was going to change everything or confirm his worst fears.

He noticed Severus sitting down as well, but he didn’t look in that direction for long. Neville would be back tomorrow—he had gone with his “Gram,” as he called her, for a few days.

Only Harry knew what they would be doing, and his heart went out to Neville. If anything, Neville's situation was worse than his.

His parents were dead, buried and gone. Neville's parents...

They were alive, yet gone, trapped in their own minds, driven to madness by the Lestranges and Crouch. Harry couldn’t fathom what Neville experienced each time he saw them.

He could easily picture the crushing despair that overwhelmed him repeatedly. His heart ached for his friend, and it was that shared understanding that forged the strength of their newfound friendship.

Ron could never grasp Harry's struggles the way Neville could, and the feeling was mutual. Ron had his parents and didn’t fully appreciate how fortunate he was.

Harry pushed the pumpkin juice away, preferring orange juice instead. His thoughts drifted reluctantly to the Dursleys.

Where were they? He had expected Dumbledore to have found them by now; Vernon wasn’t exactly known for his stealth.

Where could they be hiding? Not that it mattered much, he figured.

He was just relieved they were gone; at least he wouldn't have their deaths weighing on his conscience. The Slytherin side of him secretly hoped they stayed missing, though he was anxious about where Dumbledore would place him this summer.

He knew better than to hope it would be with Severus again. No, Dumbledore had a knack for pulling the rug out from under him.

Then again, who else would Dumbledore trust who despised him? No one.

Harry noticed Severus leaving out of the corner of his eye. He waited impatiently for five minutes before deciding to follow.

As anxious as he was about the contents of the Prophecy, he wanted to get it over with. He hated being kept in the dark, and this was his chance to discover what Dumbledore had been keeping secret.

It took what felt like an eternity to make his way down to the dungeons. He was once again wearing his cloak, despite most Slytherins heading home—he didn’t want to take any chances.

He was a Slytherin, after all, and he was always cautious, especially about certain aspects of his life. "Dumbledore wasn’t at breakfast," Harry said quietly.

"He’s not on the map." 

"I noticed," came the reply. "Which means we don’t have long, and what I suspected was true."

Severus stated firmly, not surprised to see Harry this time.

"What did you suspect?" Harry asked, closing the door as Severus cast a silencing charm around the room. One could never be too careful, and there were none more cautious than Severus and Harry.

"That he had an Alert-Me spell on the prophecy," Severus replied, sitting down with an impassive expression. "That means you'll be called soon, right?" Harry asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"Indeed," Severus replied dryly; it was going to be a long day, just as he had predicted that morning. "So you need to smash it to hear it?" Harry asked, shifting the topic.

"Yes," Severus smirked, clearly amused. "So then you never get to hear it again?" Harry frowned, finding that hard to accept at fifteen.

"No, once will be enough, believe me," Severus stated firmly. "Okay then," Harry said, taking a deep breath and clutching the sphere, his heart racing once more.

With bated breath, he let it drop through his fingers. Both men held their breath as it shattered on the dungeon floor with a finality that echoed in the silence.

The shards disappeared, and a familiar voice enveloped the room—strained and loud, just like the time Harry remembered from his third year. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…” 

Neither man reacted to this part.

Severus had heard it nearly sixteen years earlier, and Harry had been told of it during his stay at Prince Manor, once he learned to close his mind effectively so no one could breach his defenses. “…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…” 

Once again, both men had heard this.

They clung to every note of the rasping, almost disembodied voice, hanging on for every word. Their hearts raced, although Severus remained more composed than Harry.

Harry's eyes were filled with apprehension and eagerness for the information. “And the Dark Lord will mark him as his…”

“Equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…” They had heard the first part, but the second part was new.

The phrase “mark him as his equal” clearly referred to Harry's scar. Without thinking, Harry rubbed the spot, lost in thought.

However, Severus was fixated on the part of the prophecy that mentioned the “power the Dark Lord knows not.” What could that possibly mean? What power could Harry possess that Voldemort didn't?

Dumbledore would probably claim it was something trivial, like “love” or some other sentimental notion. Before he could dwell on it any longer, Trelawney's voice broke through his thoughts again.

“And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…” Severus felt his breath hitch in his throat. He had always suspected this, but hearing it confirmed was disheartening, to say the least.

Damn it, he finally understood what Dumbledore was up to. But why hadn’t he trained Harry?

Was it because he didn’t intend to let Harry survive either? Had Dumbledore been raising his son like a lamb to the slaughter?

Severus felt a surge of anger; Dumbledore had better be grateful Lily wasn’t there, or he would have let her have a go at him—and then he would have turned his fury on Dumbledore himself. Now, he grasped Dumbledore’s larger plan, and it made him feel sick to his stomach, especially with the next words from the prophecy echoing in his mind.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”

Silence filled the air as they stood there, stunned. Harry closed his eyes and dropped to his knees.

It was true—he was responsible for everyone’s lives, and that weight pressed heavily on his young shoulders. His Slytherin instincts urged him to curl up and hide from the world.

Everything he had experienced suddenly made sense: why Dumbledore had allowed him to face Voldemort at eleven, why it had been up to him to save Ginny in the Chamber, and why Dumbledore had left him in the tournament without trying to free him from the magical binding. They had all been tests.

Finally, Harry realized that Dumbledore was no better than Voldemort himself. Why had Dumbledore never told him?

Did he even plan to share the truth? Or would he have always kept Harry in the dark?

What was Dumbledore expecting from him? To kill Voldemort in cold blood?

To sacrifice himself for the "greater good"? "Harry?" Severus asked quietly, an unusual tone in his voice that Harry couldn't quite place.

"Yes?" Harry replied, his voice flat as he looked up, his eyes reflecting the emptiness he felt inside. "This changes nothing.

He was going to come after you regardless, and you cannot be responsible for everyone’s life. You will not be.

They do not know the prophecy, yet they sit cowering at home, waiting for him to strike them down. They chose not to fight; they chose their own fates," Severus said sharply.

"If I fail, the world is doomed," Harry objected, his throat dry. "No, Harry, it won't come to that.

I won't let it. I won't let you fail, do you understand me?" Severus insisted, his voice fierce and determined.

"We will train like never before, and you will beat him."

"What does it mean when it says I have power the Dark Lord knows not?" Harry asked, his heart racing. His mind was racing too, pulling together every ounce of confidence he could muster.

Severus knew him best; if he believed Harry could do it, then all he could do was try. He would do it—for his mother, for his father, and for his new dad, Severus.

For Neville, Luna, and every innocent child out there. He couldn't fail; the thought of it filled him with cold dread and emotional anguish.

"I'm not sure, but I would guess it might have something to do with the Horcruxes," Severus said thoughtfully, relieved to see some spark returning to those green eyes. They had almost returned to the state he remembered when he first took Harry in: dull and completely lifeless.

He felt a surge of hope. Harry found himself in Dumbledore's office, grappling with a surge of anger.

If his suspicions were correct, then the old man's manipulations were rendering his vow meaningless. He realized he had to protect Harry not just from Voldemort, but from Dumbledore as well.

The thought made Harry frown; it simply didn't add up, and he didn't want to dwell on it any longer. He craved the solace of the library, eager to read and learn—his new coping mechanism.

Suddenly, a Patronus message slipped through the cracks of the door, delivering a familiar voice. "Grimmauld Place, now," it instructed.

The urgency in Dumbledore's tone confirmed his worst fears: the Prophecy had been discovered as missing. A wicked smile spread across Severus's face, one that hinted at impending pain and torment for the unfortunate recipient of his wrath.

Harry had witnessed Severus's cold stares and smirks before, but this expression was something entirely different—terrifying. Under ordinary circumstances, Harry might have shrunk back in fear, but this time, he felt a strange satisfaction.

He was going to give Dumbledore a taste of his own medicine, and it felt oddly special, as if he were wanted and loved for the first time in his fifteen years. "Do not dwell on this, Harry," Severus admonished with a sternness that demanded attention.

"If I find out you have, I'll take you over my knee. Do not worry; everything will work out...

I’ll make sure of that, understood?" 

"Okay," Harry replied quietly, a warm glow spreading in his stomach. Even now, Severus was his steadfast rock.

Without him, he knew he would have been consumed by fear and anger over the prophecy's implications. "Good.

I’ll see you later," Severus said before leaving the room, heading toward Grimmauld Place and preparing himself for a long day ahead. He didn't like leaving Harry, especially now of all times.

Severus couldn't shake the feeling that Harry needed someone, but unfortunately, sometimes what one wanted was out of reach. He was far from anyone's idea of a comforting figure—he didn’t excel at offering solace—but Harry didn’t expect that from him, which was a relief.

Severus didn’t want to disappoint Harry; it was an unusual sensation for him. He hadn’t felt this way since Lily, and the memory of disappointing her still haunted him.

He was determined not to let history repeat itself. Harry understood who Severus was, what he could offer, and what he could not.

Severus stood outside Grimmauld Place, concentrating on the address. Suddenly, the door appeared as if by magic.

Scowling at the townhouse, he reluctantly stepped inside when the door swung open. The room was already filled with everyone, and Dumbledore was in the midst of berating Mundungus Fletcher.

The others avoided eye contact, sensing the tension. Severus struggled to contain his fury at seeing Dumbledore; the old fool had no idea how close he was to losing his temper.

Everyone stole glances at Severus before quickly looking away, except for Sirius, whose gaze lingered with distaste and hatred. For once, Severus didn’t care about Black; he was too stunned and disturbed by the events of that morning.

“As amusing as this is, Albus, can we please get on with why we are all here?” Severus said bluntly, his expression impassive and his eyes flashing with a complexity that was hard to read as he fixed his gaze on Dumbledore. How could he make Dumbledore pay for what he had done without causing him permanent harm?

His thoughts drifted to his garden and then to Dobby. A smirk crossed his mind at the idea; it was perfect, and that was just the beginning.

No one harmed Harry and got away with it, and Dumbledore had been almost as bad as the Dursleys. Speaking of the Dursleys, he wondered if the house-elves were still feeding them.

Dumbledore paused in his tirade, looking around the room almost sheepishly. He hadn't meant to lose control like that.

Fletcher was cowering in his seat, sweat beading on his brow, his face pale and drawn. The fear Voldemort held for Dumbledore was clear to everyone in the room; Dumbledore's magic was radiating off him in waves, fueled by his potent anger.

"Yes, Severus, you are, of course, correct," Dumbledore finally replied, his voice measured. "What happened?" Molly asked, concern etched on her face.

She had been called away from her husband’s bedside, where the children had been visiting. They had all returned home reluctantly, especially since Percy was still not speaking to his family.

"The Prophecy is missing," Dumbledore announced, casting an accusatory glance at Fletcher once more. He couldn't believe this was happening; Voldemort had gotten his hands on it.

"Missing? You mean Voldemort has taken it?" Moody grunted, his magical eye swirling in an alarming manner.

Though one of the smarter members of the Order, his sharp mind was often clouded by suspicion. "Yes," Dumbledore sighed, finally sitting down, looking defeated.

"What does that mean for us?" Diggle asked, worry spreading across her face. "Bad," Dumbledore said tersely, not bothering to elaborate.

"So are we still guarding the area?" Shacklebolt inquired, already suspecting the answer. "No; it’s best if we guard Harry, more closely than ever.

He knows now, and he will make a much harder attempt at killing him," Dumbledore said grimly. Severus winced internally; Harry wasn’t going to be happy about that at all.

"Potter is safe at Hogwarts, or at least as safe as he can be. We shouldn't waste what resources we have on him.

We need more members; we need to get the—"

"We have giants on our side, along with other beings. When he attacks, I can guarantee there will be many more people involved than are in this room...

unless, of course, you expect children to fight for their lives?" Severus sneered, his words aimed deliberately at Dumbledore. His frustration was mounting; the more time passed, the angrier he became.

"Snape does have a point," Moody grunted, though he knew better than to try to sway Dumbledore. "Albus!

Tell him you don't expect children to fight!" Molly demanded loudly, her voice more forceful than usual since Arthur wasn't there to temper her fiery temperament. "Of course I don't," Dumbledore replied simply, though it was a lie.

If he wanted to maintain their trust, he needed to reassure them. Most of them had children—children they were desperate to protect from this war.

Deep down, he knew it was inevitable that children would be drawn into the fight for their lives and their place in the wizarding world. It was a truth his Order would find hard to accept.

"Very well, we shall continue with our course, but with one change: nobody is guarding the room," he said, irritation threading through his voice. "If anything happens to my godson, Snape, I'll kill you," Black growled, his tone feral.

He couldn't comprehend how Snape could harbor such hatred for his godson that he would endanger him, deliberately provoking Dumbledore to alter his protective plans. Harry was in the dark, and now that Voldemort knew, he was in more danger than ever.

"Are we ever going to hear what this Prophecy is?" Elphias Doge wheezed, his voice frail. He was as old as Dumbledore, having attended Hogwarts with him.

Elphias had been a part of the original Order of the Phoenix, but time had changed him since the picture Moody had taken; his hair was longer, and his face bore many more wrinkles. Many eyes turned to him with suspicion, as if he had just suggested killing Muggles for fun.

"We were risking our lives guarding that thing. Don’t tell me you all don’t want to ask the same question," Elphias snapped, his anger barely masking the wheeze in his voice.

If they didn’t want to admit they were seeking answers too, that was fine. Honestly, he hadn’t expected to be told anything.

"It’s best that the fewest number of people know. I doubt the Dark Lord is going to share it with others," Severus said gravely.

Doge reluctantly nodded in agreement, recognizing that Severus spoke the truth. "Indeed, Severus," Dumbledore interjected, swiftly regaining control of the conversation.

With that, he began the proper Order meeting. Meanwhile, Harry found himself in Salazar Slytherin's library.

He was on a quest for a few specific books, hoping they were still intact and hadn’t been destroyed. He couldn’t help but wonder if Slytherin's descendants had frequented this library, aware of its significance.

Had Sezar Slytherin himself spent time here? So far, he hadn’t found anything written in Parseltongue.

The library was enormous, far larger than the actual library at Hogwarts, which was surprising. This only reinforced his belief that Slytherin’s descendants had indeed used it.

As he pulled books off the shelves, the publishing dates confirmed his thoughts. Some of them looked particularly intriguing, so he set those aside, planning to take them with him.

"This place is cold," Balthazar hissed, nestled in Harry's robes, his tongue flicking out. Harry's expression dimmed slightly.

Leaving Zar down here alone was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done. Yet he knew there was no other option; Zar was growing bigger by the day, and soon he wouldn’t be able to hide him from the world.

Severus had warned him about this. Harry found himself getting too close to the edge of frustration.

As usual, Severus knew best, but there was nothing he could do now. Unless he stumbled upon a miracle, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case—nothing magical could help.

Basilisk skin was impervious to magic. "That's only because no one else comes down here," Harry hissed in reply, ensuring he was looking at his familiar so he knew he was speaking in Parseltongue.

"See over there? That's a fireplace; it would warm the entire room right up."

Zar just hissed noncommittally as he tucked his head under Harry's robe again.

An hour later, Harry had gathered twenty books on a now-empty table, but none were the ones he had been searching for. As he opened a drawer, he discovered a few small books, a stack of paper, and some very odd, undoubtedly old quills.

Curiosity got the better of him; he knew he really shouldn’t read other people’s journals, but he couldn’t resist. He pulled one out and started paging through it.

It was written in Parselscript; this one belonged to Sezar Slytherin. Excitement coursed through him.

Grabbing the others, he found more by Sezar and two by Salazar Slytherin. The book he held in his hand could be worth millions of Galleons; it was penned by one of the legendary founders of this very school.

The question lingered—would history be accurate? Or had it been rewritten by one of Salazar Slytherin’s enemies?

So many possibilities lay within that book. Opening a few other drawers, he found an unbound book that looked similar to the one he had.

Delicately, he opened it, realizing it was different from the one he had read, although still authored by Sezar Slytherin. He briefly wondered how many books the man had written; perhaps the diary would provide that answer.

A smirk of triumph spread across his face; he had finally found what he was looking for. Fortunately, he had brought his school bag with him—a brand-new one, not a hand-me-down.

His education wasn’t the only thing that had changed; his body wasn’t the only thing that had transformed. His clothes and attitude had, too.

“Put the other books in first, and then the unbound one,” Harry thought to himself. He decided he would have to keep them in Severus' quarters; he couldn't risk Ronald Weasley or any of the others finding them—they would get the wrong idea.

If they discovered the truth, Dumbledore would find out, and then he would be summoned to the old fool’s office and never let out of his sight again. Harry shuddered at the thought.

He wondered if Severus was back yet. He had been down there for quite a while.

Harry resolved to drop off his bag and the snake in Severus' quarters before heading out for lunch; he was actually quite hungry. When Harry walked into the Great Hall, he felt a surge of pleasure at seeing a black-haired boy sitting on the bench next to his usual spot.

Neville looked up curiously and positively beamed at him. Harry smiled back; it felt nice to be wanted.

He made his way up the table and noticed that Luna was back too; she had gone with Neville—perhaps to meet his parents and grandmother? “Hey, how was your holiday?” Harry asked quietly, his voice filled with sympathy.

“It was good! My Gram is proud of me,” Neville replied with a proud grin.

“Luna came with us to meet my parents, and she was very nice to them.” 

Harry could easily imagine Luna sitting there, chatting about Nargles and invisible winged horses, and other peculiar creatures she believed existed. He stifled a laugh, picturing the expression on Neville's grandmother's face.

Luna certainly took some getting used to. “I’m glad you had a good time.

Thanks for my present,” Harry said, recalling the books Neville had given him on Herbology and Advanced Defence. He had read them as soon as he got them.

“Thanks, and you too,” Neville replied happily. Harry had given him books on hexes and curses.

“How about we practice some after lunch? Luna too?” Harry suggested, grabbing food and piling it onto his plate.

“Really?” Neville asked, his voice filled with hope. At Harry's nod of confirmation, excitement danced in Neville's eyes.

Neville said, "I'd love to! I've been dying to use my new wand properly."

"Speaking of which, how is it?

How are your spells? Have you tried the Patronus charm again yet?" Harry asked.

The mention of the Patronus reminded him of his own, which had somehow transformed into a doe. He had done some reading and discovered that a person's Patronus could change when they themselves changed.

This could happen due to emotional shifts, like gaining a loved one—whether a daughter, a partner, or a guardian. The book hadn’t gone into much detail about these changes, mostly because they were rare; not many people could cast a corporeal Patronus.

"No, I couldn't use magic over the holidays," Neville replied after finishing his meal. Unlike Ron, Neville had proper manners, thanks to his stubborn grandmother.

"How was your holiday?" Neville asked, feeling a pang of guilt. Poor Harry had been stuck here alone during the Christmas holidays, or so he thought.

"It was fun, actually; I read a lot," Harry replied honestly. He had also spent some time with Severus and received gifts too.

Along with a new wand and a wand holster, Severus had given him a pendant that acted as a Portkey. It would take him to Prince Manor, no matter the wards around him.

He kept it tucked under his robes, where it would remain safe. Luna had gifted him a book about sighted and suspected magical creatures.

Professor Flitwick had sent him ice mice sweets for Christmas. Hagrid had given him a furry brown wallet with fangs, while Hermione had sent a talking diary, which he had promptly shoved to the bottom of his trunk.

Ron had managed to send him an enormous packet of Every-Flavour Beans, even though they weren't exactly friends anymore. Molly had included a sweater, fudge, and mince pies.

And Dobby, bless his little heart, had given Harry a portrait of... Harry had given Dobby a pair of black socks to complement his new robe, a gift he had requested from Severus.

Dobby looked quite smart in it. Remus and Sirius had gifted Harry a book on practical defensive magic and its applications against the Dark Arts.

Then there were the mirrors that Black had mentioned—mirrors James and he had used during detention, which had provided them with plenty of fun. All Harry had to do was say Sirius' name while looking into his mirror, and he would see him there, ready to talk.

Tonks had made him feel a bit nostalgic; she had given him a small working model of his Firebolt, making him miss flying more than he could express. The house-elves of Prince Manor had surprised him with an assortment of sweets: Sugar Quills, Chocolate Frogs, and a homemade Christmas cake.

“Oh,” Neville said, noticing how much Harry had been reading this year. In fact, he better watch out, or he might put the Ravenclaws to shame.

Harry had never been much of a reader before; he hadn’t even tackled the books he was supposed to for the upcoming year. Something had changed, but Neville wasn’t quite confident enough to ask Harry what it was, although he suspected it had something to do with You-Know-Who.

“Ready?” Harry asked, emptying his plate. “Yes!” Neville replied, almost bouncing on the bench.

“Then go get Luna; I’ll meet you at the doors,” Harry said, getting up and walking away.