black_hat: (doctor who)
[personal profile] black_hat
Pairing: Harry/Luna

for ever_neutral

prompt: baking a cake


“Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m in my body.”

Harry opened up one eye, his hand still on the small of her back. He was laying down in the grass besides her. The wind rushed over them and her hair glinted with the motion in the sun. He had been nearly asleep, there, but her voice, soft and distant as it was, woke him easily.

“Hmm,” he asked, questioning. He didn’t really understand the statement, but he would. She didn’t answer, so that meant she was…thinking about it in her head. Suddenly he thought he got it.

“You feel my hand, don’t you?” he asked, playfully, lightly pressing on her back.

“Yes, and it feels quite nice,” Luna said.

He sat up, thoughtful himself. He had the opposite problem, if it was even a problem at all. Sometimes it felt like one. That had been what had happened after the war, when there was time for relaxing and fun and closure. He had been with Ginny but she told him, after it all, that it felt like he was never there. Harry was too much present, and he always felt that pressure to show her that he cared. He did try but he couldn’t just manage it. He had to get away from it, sometimes, the constant back and forth, and they had finally parted after she had …been hurt and he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. Not really. Not deliberately.

It seemed like it couldn’t be helped and he was resigned to it. Then Luna happened, although he couldn’t say the precise moment it happened.

Was this the same situation again and he hadn’t noticed, again?

He looked at her, concerned.

“I’m more in my body around you, I find,” she said, somehow knowing. “I think it’s because you touch me so much. You’ve been quite the help at making me feel the most amazing things.”

From anyone else, this would have made him turn red. Their first time together, it was strange to say that he had been suddenly afraid again, and it felt wrong because he shouldn’t be afraid ever again. It didn’t feel like he had the right to say it. Like he didn’t have the place to after the war.

“I’m afraid but I still want to be with you,” she had said. “Isn’t that funny?”

Harry had never forgotten the words. Now he was believing what Luna was describing was nothing he had done or would do. It was entirely her.

“You make me feel amazing things too,” he said, simply.

“Yes. I think it’s good we met in the middle.” At his look, “you like to fly free of your body. Don’t you?”

Harry never quite could manage it—but flying was the best out he had had. Before this.

He nodded, agreed. He touched her knee through her skirt and she smiled at him, her eyes focusing on him, but sitting next to her, he put his mind to the idea.


Harry awoke to the noise of dishes and he smiled into his pillow…then it faded as he could see the side of her bed had been made up. That meant she had been up early. Then he looked outside and saw that, in fact, it was still dark outside, the moon highlighting the grass.

Now that she had mentioned it, he noticed how much he did notice. He could feel the scratchiness of his clothes as he padded down the hall, the soon-to-be October chill coming through the floorboards of their home. He was pretty grounded, all around.

It wasn’t a problem. Only sometimes you wanted to feel something new and different.

Harry stood in the kitchen door and watched her as she moved her wand to stir the eggs in the…

It hit him. He smiled, trusting the impulse, and stepped up behind her, letting her know he was there with his hand in the familiar small of her back. He leaned in and could feel her heartbeat through her clothes, the earthy herbal smell she had …and he wondered if that he been a part of the reason for her jewelry. To be connected through any means necessary.

“Good morning, Harry,” she said pleasantly. “I’m having eggs. Would you like to share?”

He usually woke up at any time and made whatever he wanted at the time. It was morning, early, he could feel that much.

“I’m more in the mood for…” he tried to think—not necessarily adventurously but… “cake.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, staring.

Then she smiled. “I’ve never had cake in the morning.”

“Me either,” he said, thinking about it.

“We can watch it bake together then,” she said. “I do love the…”

“Smell and sound of it,” he offered.

“Sometimes,” she said. “It would have to smell very good.”

“How about we make it ourselves?” he asked, and she tilted her head back. Thoughtful.

“I’ve never done that.”

“…Me either,” he said, realizing it was true. He Floo’d to Ron and Hermione’s and started to search their home for the ingredients. He had been felt some pride at guessing that Hermione would still have very Muggle cooking utensils and if he was quiet, he could return them in the morning–

The lights cast on.

Ron stood there, wand in his hand, staring at him. His hair was a mess and Harry glanced down at Ron’s bare feet.

He should have informed them of his arrival.

“I was about to curse your ears off,” he complained. “Harry-.”

“What are you doing?” came a voice out of thin air.

“Hermione’s invisible,” Ron pointed out. “In case you didn’t know.”

She appeared back, her hair a mess and her face pale. “Did something happen? Do you need…why do you need flour?’’

Harry felt his ears burning. “I was trying not to wake you,” he said, as if that was explanation enough.

“Why are you stealing our food?” Ron demanded.

“Not stealing,” Hermione said, “Harry could never steal from us, our flour is his-.”

‘No it’s our flour exclusively at two in the morning,” Ron argued back, looking back and forth in shock. “Do you want him to creep in here-not that you were creeping, Harry-.”

“Well, he was doing that,” Hermione said, crossing her arms.

“He’s not a creeper,” Ron said, “he can lurk around…if he wants, he just can’t be at our cupboards and eating my-.”


“Excuse me, our cream filled pastries, that’s my point-.”

“I uh, we were up late, and we decided to do some baking,” Harry said. “I thought um…next time I’ll owl.”

“At two in the morning?” Ron asked. “I’ve changed my mind, take whatever you want.”

Hermione looked amused. “Oh. Is this something you and Luna do as a couple?”

Ron suddenly looked at the chocolate icing in Harry’s hand.

“You are welcomed to that,” Ron said, quickly, “come on, Hermione, let’s leave the man to his creeping.”

Hermione still looked confused and questioning. Harry wanted to say it wasn’t like that, only now he thought it was like that. Very much like that.


“Harry, you look bright red.”

“I had hoped it wouldn’t show up in the wand light,” Harry sighed, casting the lights on.

“Were you hexed?” she asked. She touched her cold hand on his hot face, and he cupped her hand with his, keeping her there.

“Worse. I was caught,” he said.

“I didn’t quite understand why you were stealing their food,” she did say. Harry laughed.

“Ron said we could keep the chocolate icing,” he said. “Should we get started?”

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed, excited, and took the cake mix from him.

Harry knew that in truth, he couldn’t just lather icing on someone’s body, even if it was someone you loved. Ron had put the thought in his head, but honestly, he hadn’t…intended on …keeping that thought in his head.

His intentions were to simply enjoy the act of baking a cake. Yes.

He set up next to her and they took turn stirring the batter. He watched the motion of her arms, the contentment on her face. He mixed in the egg, and he was feeling at home. It was nice to cook without an order. Cooking here, with her, was a reclamation.

“You crack eggs very well, Harry.”

He felt a small warmth in his chest and he nodded. “Thank you, but it depends on who I am cracking the eggs in front of.”

She laughed that time. He couldn’t really describe the feeling of making her laugh. The first time it happened he had pulled her close and spun her lightly off her legs, not thinking. Not thinking at all. It felt good, to just get close to someone.

“I’m glad I make good company. I…” she looked back at his hands. “This looks very good,” she murmured lyrically.

“It will be,” he said. “You know, you can lick the bowl afterwards.”

She watched his face, then peered at the side of his neck. He thought he must have had something there, some spot of flour.

“Does it have to be the bowl?” she asked.

He shrugged. “There’s no rule that says so,” he said, “you can scoop it out and eat it in a glass or just off the spoon or-.”

She dipped her finger in the batter and ran the finger along his neck. He had to lean against the counter, quickly set the bowl there, because he had the sensation of falling, already seeing it in his head. Amazing, how much he reacted with it just in his mind.

It felt better in actuality, her lips and warm tongue along his bare neck, and he stood there, half not able to breathe.

He took a breath. “So, how did that taste?”

“Like you , only covered in cake mix,” she said, her eyes bright. Well. He put the bowl down, feeling out of his body, as he turned to her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I had the image of it in my mind for quite a while. I wanted to see…”

She smiled vaguely.

“You showed me,” he said, and her eyes brightened and her smile warmed and she turned a bit flushed herself. “Well then,” he heard himself say, shaking, and he took a bit of the batter out of the bowl.

They made plans to finish the cake tomorrow morning.

A very large and spacious cake. (Luna’s idea) And well…

“Maybe we can eat the cake, sometime this week,” Harry said, breathless. He didn’t care if they ever finished.

“I think I’ll keep the icing on my cheek,” Luna murmured into his chest. “For later.”

He hoped it was never over.

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