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schmem14 · 5 days

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Happy Passover to those who celebrate!! Also, a soft reminder that peculiar prompts are open, see pinned post on my page for more details 😁

(Hello, my Tumblr is the only account I have that isn’t Katbeth86, but I love it’s name too much to change it 🙈)

Peculiar Prompt: Harry/Luna, Hidden Soulmarks (each person know where their own are, but the marks can’t be seen by others unless they choose to expose them), angst is fine, but I would please request a happy ending 🙈

What are peculiar prompts? Click HERE to find out and join in the fun!

Lost and Found

CW: none

Pairing: Harry Potter x Luna Lovegood

Rating: T

WC: 1.9k

*Disclaimer: There is a depiction of the Jewish Holiday of Passover/Seder in this story. I am not of the Jewish faith, but I did my best to research the traditions and holiday in preparation for this ficlet.

*****

“All finished, Harry,” Ron grunts as he stacks his stack of gleaming plates on the counter. “I think I did a fair job of it.”

Harry looks up from dusting a bookshelf to where his friend has been scouring every dish until they’re clean enough for tonight.

Harry sets his rag down. “Thanks for helping me. I’ve got the rest squared away.”

He plasters what he hopes is a pleasant smile on his lips, but for some reason, it’s harder this year to pretend he’s okay.

“No problem, mate. I should get going. Gotta pick up the kids from King’s Cross on the way to get Hermione from work. We’ll all be back by sundown, brisket and all.”

Harry nods but doesn’t trust his voice not to wobble. He’s grateful Ron came to help, but even his leaving for a few hours feels treacherously like abandonment. Every goodbye does when you’re as alone as Harry is.

Ron sees something in Harry’s expression and pauses.

He ambles over to Harry to enfold him in a hug.

A torrent of vulnerability so long dammed breaks free. Harry’s breath shudders and hitches with pitiful sobs that soak into Ron's sleeve as he pat's Harry's back.

“Harry—”

“—I know, alright? I—I can’t find her, whoever she is. I can’t seem to fill the hollow space here,” Harry pulls away to clutch his heart. “I’m not getting any younger, Ron. I’m not sure when I’ll find my soulmate, not after two decades of searching. I feel so alone. I need her.”

Ron sighs and leans against the couch opposite Harry, arms folding as he contemplates. He finally asks the thing he’s suspected, ever since Harry first told him about the soul mark hidden on his palm. “Does Ginny know that’s why you divorced her?”

Harry nods and flips his hand to rub his thumb over the smooth skin, concentrating on making the glamour dissipate.

The mark had appeared in the centre of his palm eight months after the last battle. At first, he’d thought Ginny would possess its twin, but when he’d asked her about it, she’d been as bewildered as him.

They’d both been too young and too in love to fathom the weight of marrying when he was soul-bound to another. It became a widening chasm between them, preventing him from feeling at home in Ginny’s embrace.

“Hermione and I worry about you,” Ron says. Of course, they do. “I know you have the kids, but they’re at Hogwarts most of the year. And even if Ginny is still on good terms with you, it’s not enough. Maybe you should try again, Haz. Maybe it’s time to give up on your mystery soul mate and find someone a little closer to home.”

Ron’s only being a good friend, and Harry doesn’t bother to explain that someone who hasn’t been soul marked can’t understand how every other intimate relationship is a poor imitation of who and what he yearns for.

Ever since divorcing Ginny, he feels the lack more than ever. He cherishes a hope after this month of preparing, the Passover celebration tonight will spark some much-needed joy after a lonely winter. He’s even prepared this home, pretending she’s coming like Elijah of old to fill the space he left her.

“I’ll be okay, Ron. I’ll see you later.”

Ron claps his large palm on Harry’s shoulder. “You sure?”

“Yes, Ron. And thanks.”

“Anything for my best mate.”

*****

Hours later, guests begin to arrive.

Ginny is first with their kids, who fling shoes and coats onto the floor of his sparkling entryway.

“House looks great, Har…” Ginny kisses him on the cheek. “Jamie! Get back here and hang your coat! You too, Al and Lils!”

They grumble under their breaths but comply. Normally, Harry’s house isn’t so immaculate, but this is a special time of year.

Ginny produces a crock from under her arm, charmed to stay hot. “I made the matzo ball soup, just like you asked.”

“Smells amazing, Gin. Thanks! I’ll take this to the kitchen.”

Next to arrive is Harry’s one Jewish friend from Hogwarts, Anthony Goldstein and his dangerously pregnant wife, Padma Patil. “Good to see you, Harry! Thanks for hosting this year…” Anthony winks before herding Padma to find a comfortable seat on the couch.

Hermione and Ron arrive next with the precocious Rose and exuberant Hugo in tow.

“Mum, can I try the wine this year? I’m fourteen, and Jamie gets to have some!” Rose whines at Hermione.

“Absolutely not. Jamie is nearly of age, and you’re not quite old enough,” Hermione explains in a longsuffering tone.

“I’ll give you a little sip of mine,” Harry catches Ron whispering to Rose seconds later as he winks at his scowling wife.

Anthony calls from the kitchen where he’s removing several parcels from the bag he’s brought. “Where do you keep the seder plate, Harry?”

“Just a sec, I’ll grab it.” Harry dodges the giggling train of Lily and Hugo as they race past him. He locates the precious porcelain plate with its six cups and unwraps it with careful fingers. It’s one of the few things he’d been able to salvage from his childhood home and his first clue of the lost heritage of his father’s family.

He sets the plate on the counter and helps place each element—Horseradish, Charoset, Potato, Shankbone, Egg, and Lettuce.

When they sit at the table together, Harry opens his copy of the Haggadah and begins to read.

“Prepare the meal of the supernal King. This is the meal of the Holy One, blessed be He, and His Shechinah…”

It’s a solemn affair, less boisterous than in years past.

They speak in hushed words as they sample the Karpas.

The crack of matzah is loud in the reverent silence that even the kids seem to be observing this year.

Lily’s voice is soft and melodic as she recites the four questions.

Later, when she and Hugo search for the afikoman hidden earlier by Anthony, they don’t shriek and thump about quite as loudly as they usually do.

The candles burn low.

The food dwindles from plates and bowls.

Harry pours the fourth round of wine followed by Elijah’s cup at the last empty chair of the table.

Every year, he waits for this moment, secretly hoping that as the Jews hope Elijah will grace their tables, his soulmate will somehow be waiting at the door.

Harry stands and walks to the entryway with shaking fingers. His heart pounds faster and faster. He feels hot inside, burning, full.

He lifts a hand to the doorknob, ready to open it when three sharp raps on the door splinter the silence.

The room seems frozen in amber, every eye huge and expectant, craning to watch Harry welcome the unexpected guest.

Harry twists the knob, pulls it open, and sees her.

*****

When the soul mark appears on her palm on the day of Xenophilius’s funeral, eight months after the end of the war, Luna sees it as an omen.

Not in the sense that she longs to chase it, but that she longs to turn the other way and never stop running.

She’s not one for great displays of sadness, but that doesn’t mean her foundations don’t crack with the newfound knowledge that one thread of love has the power to hurt her this much.

Luna leaves Hogwarts, education incomplete. She flits from country to country discovering all manner of cultures and magic. She loves people and things with her body and her mind, but her heart is reserved for the one whose sign she hides under a permanent glamour.

Years pass, and she never stops moving, though she does stop marking time.

Sometime around the first silvery grey strands threading through blonde, Luna finds herself getting pulled in the undertow of fate to the thing she’s avoided for so long.

It’s an early spring morning and she’s curling her toes and arching her back in a languorous stretch, wiggling closer to the warm body beside her in their battered canvas tent. A surge of urgency wakens within her.

He needs her.

She’s known his identity for years but refuses to get in the way. Last she heard, he married her best friend, had a litter of kids, and got a proper job at the Ministry.

Huddled and comfortable as she is against Rolf in their campsite in Grindavik, Iceland, Luna realises it’s time to come home.

She rolls off his cot and locates a pair of cargo trousers—hers, she thinks, but they’re about the same size and colour. He’ll never know either way, hyper-focused as he is on his research.

Rolf rolls over, grumbling for her to come back to bed, but Luna’s already in a rhythm, the need to move so powerful she has no time to waste.

Everything she owns fits in a shabby rucksack patched with scraps of fabric scrounged on her travels. She slings it over her shoulder now, toeing on her boots as if she’s running the race of her life.

Luna dashes out into the cold dawn air, the last vestiges of northern lights snaking away from view. Luna quickly locates her broomstick and flies toward the glowing embers of sunrise.

Toward home.

She flies all day, never stopping once, not even when her fingers ache and her stomach growls in hunger. She follows the homing beacon in her heart, getting closer and closer to him.

To Harry.

She’s never been to his cottage, but it looks warm and comforting in the glow of lights from the window. Luna stops before the gate, her heart thrumming with nervous energy. There’s a large oak tree out front, the sturdy boughs bending in a protective shade over the yard, a crude swing hanging from the lowest of them.

Luna can see herself on that swing, his hands warm on her back as he pushes her.

She can see herself kneeling in the humble garden, planting all her favourite clippings from every land she’s ever seen.

She can imagine spreading a tablecloth on the weathered picnic table while Harry brings dinner out, their towheaded child tottering along behind him, thumb in her mouth as she follows the smell of food.

She can imagine cosy nights before the fire, and eternal mornings binding every sinew of hers to his as they make love.

Her heart clenches at the sudden longing, the unfamiliar desire to put down roots.

She opens the gate and approaches the house. Her fingers won’t stop shaking as she raises her fist to knock.

The door creaks open, and there he is. Time has worn crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and there are whips of grey in the curls at his temples, but other than that, he’s the same.

“I’m home,” she says, the words tasting right in her mouth. She lifts her palm and concentrates, making the glamour fade.

Harry’s heart is in his eyes as he presses his palm to hers, a perfect mirror of marks humming against one another. She’s never felt so complete in her whole life.

“Welcome home,” he says. “You’ve come at just the right time.”

#peculiar prompts #asked and answered #passover #jewish harry potter #harry potter x luna lovegood #harry x luna #soulmates #salt and pepper harry x luna #harry potter #reblog for Passover

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