Despair

      The abrupt shift from suffocating isolation to the presence of another person was so sudden that Harry physically recoiled, his heavy thoughts scattering like startled crows. He stared at the girl sitting on the cool stone floor, her gaze meeting his directly, without a trace of awkwardness or surprise. Her hair, the color of ripe wheat with a silvery ash tint, was braided into a long, intricate plait that coiled in her lap like a living thing, reaching almost to her waist. In the tower’s gloom, illuminated only by the pallid moonlight filtering through tattered clouds, he could scarcely make out her features, but her eyes… her eyes were utterly remarkable. Large, light, and incredibly clear, they seemed to see not his exterior, but his very soul — wounded and coiled into a tight ball. They held no pity, no curiosity — just a calm, all-understanding observation.       “What are you doing here?” she broke the minute-long silence. Her voice was quiet but distinct, like a bell in the nocturnal stillness.       “Decided to go for a walk. What’s it to you?” Harry snapped, inwardly bracing for another round of gossip or accusations. Just another curious student wanting a look at the 'great Potter' in his inglorious moment.       “You look very upset. Did something happen?” the girl persisted, and her tone held no challenge, only a sincere, if somewhat detached, concern. “My name is Luna, by the way. Luna Lovegood.”       The Gryffindor looked more closely at his new acquaintance. She sat with her bare feet tucked under her, dressed in pyjamas with a robe thrown over the top. But what astonished him most was the necklace on her slender neck — it was strung with multi-colored corks from Butterbeer bottles. Her entire appearance, from her bare feet to this absurd jewelry, was so strange, so completely out of sync with everything Harry considered normal at Hogwarts, that he couldn’t help himself. A short, nervous laugh escaped him, born more from the sheer absurdity of the situation than from amusement.       “Did I manage to cheer you up? How wonderful!” Luna smiled, and her face transformed, illuminated by an inner light. It wasn’t the polite, strained smile he’d grown accustomed to over the past weeks, but the most genuine one imaginable.       “So… what are you doing here?” he asked, his defensiveness already softening, feeling the wave of immediate aggression recede.       “I come here every evening,” she simply replied. “I like to watch the sky, even when it’s completely covered in clouds. It still breathes, you know. It has its own life. Do you like looking at the stars, Harry Potter? What’s your favorite constellation?”       The question was asked so softly and naturally, as if they were old friends meeting after a brief separation. “I’m not really into that,” Potter admitted reluctantly. “Astronomy… it just kind of passed me by. I just… I needed to let off steam. To be alone.”       “Do you want to talk to me about it?” she suddenly offered, gesturing for him to sit beside her on the cold stone.       Harry hesitated. Should he open up to this strange, almost ethereal girl? But her eyes held not a shred of judgment, only a quiet, silent understanding. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Maybe.”       He slowly lowered himself to the floor, leaning his back against the cold wall. For a minute, then two, they were silent. Luna didn’t rush him; her gaze was once again directed upward, toward the starry sprinkle, giving him time to gather his thoughts. And in this silence, there was no awkwardness, only a peaceful expectation.       “Do you… do you blame me for being in the Tournament?” he finally exhaled, starting with the most painful point.       Luna turned her head toward him, her pale eyebrows rising in surprise. “Blame you? What for? It seems to me it’s simply the will of chance. Can you blame a leaf for being carried by the wind? Or the rain for starting suddenly?”       “So… so you don’t think I’m a cheater?” Harry forced the word out, the one he’d heard directed at him dozens of times a day.       “Can one even cheat here?” Luna stated rather than asked. “Do you remember the Weasley twins prepared a potion that was supposed to fool the Age Line? Did they succeed in anything? The Goblet of Fire is an ancient and powerful artifact. It sees not only years, but intentions. If you had tried to deceive it, it would have known. And others…” she waved a hand gently, “…others often see what they want to see, not what actually is. They believe in Nargles, but they don’t believe the Goblet could have chosen you simply because it deemed you worthy. It’s very odd, don’t you think?”       “But others think I set it all up, that I did it on purpose!” Harry burst out with bitter fury. “That I’m hungry for glory, that what I already have isn’t enough for me!”       “And does that worry you very much? What others think?” her question sounded as if she were asking about the weather.       Harry looked at her again. Her bare feet, her cork necklace, her utterly unruffled face… Yes, she seemed completely indifferent to the opinions of those around her. She lived in a parallel world of her own, where there was no place for malicious gossip and envy. But he was different! He was from a world where Ron’s and Hermione’s opinions meant everything to him.       “What worries me is that my closest friends have turned their backs on me!” his voice trembled, breaking through the dam of his self-control. “And today… today one of them practically admitted that they’re all jealous of me! That I’m, you see, famous, that I 'overshadow' them! Why are they so cruel to me?” he was almost shouting now, and treacherous moisture welled in his eyes, blurring the stars. He wiped it away angrily with the back of his hand. “I’m scared, Luna! I’m really, really scared! I’m afraid I won’t survive this Tournament! If my friends would just support me, even a little, it would be a thousand times easier… I’d feel like I wasn’t fighting alone, that there was someone at my back!”       He fell silent, breathing heavily, surprised to realize he had just laid bare everything that had been festering inside him all these terrible weeks to this complete stranger.       Luna listened to him without interruption, her large, pale face a canvas of silent sorrow. “I’m very sorry, Harry,” she said quietly. “People… they are very different. Everyone thinks differently. Their thoughts sometimes get tangled, like threads, and they can’t find the end to unravel the knot. Perhaps you should try to understand them. But…” she leaned a little closer, and her voice took on firm, confident notes, “…maybe I can help? Would you like me to be your friend?”       Harry stared at her, not believing his ears.       “Of course,” she continued, “I have my own claws, and I’m only a third-year, but we could meet after lessons. Walk. Talk. I can listen. I’m very good at that. Daddy says I can even hear the things people don’t say out loud.”       A bitter smile touched Harry’s lips. “Thank you,” he whispered. And in that word was a whole spectrum of feelings — tenderness, pain, and a faint, barely flickering hope.       “So you agree?” her face lit up again with that same sincere, radiant smile. “I’m so glad! You know, I’m sure we’ll find loads of common interests! I can show you where the Wrackspurts usually hover, if they haven’t migrated for the winter, of course… And we can look for the Night-Skulkus, it sometimes flies over the lake… Or we can just sit here quietly. Whatever you like.”       The boy listened to her quiet, flowing voice, and it seemed to him that the heavy stone pressing on his chest all these weeks had finally shifted, allowing him to take his first truly deep breath. He looked at this incredible, barefoot, Nargle-believing girl and saw in her what he had been missing so desperately. Not strength, not power, not fame. But purity. Loyalty. And that very faith he had lost—the belief that kindness still existed in the world, kindness that asked for nothing in return.       Perhaps he had found the one he needed. The one who wouldn’t spit on his back. Who wouldn’t betray him. Who would always listen. Who would restore his faith in people. Luna… she was unusual. Most likely, she, like him now, didn’t have many friends. But she, unlike him, didn’t bend under the weight of loneliness and never lost her inner light.       “You know, Luna,” he said quietly, and for the first time in a long while, his voice held not a performative, but a genuine, calm confidence, “I think we’ll make a wonderful duo.”       And high above them, in the opening of the tower, one particularly bright star, breaking through the veil of clouds, cast its silvery light upon them, as if giving its silent blessing to this new, so fragile and so vital, alliance.