The trouble began, as most Hogwarts hijinks do, with a charm that worked a little too well.
Professor Flitwick's assignment for the week was a partner project: crafting a modified Amica Lux—a light spell that could carry a "message of friendship" through color, shape, or motion. It was harmless. The magical equivalent of a magical greeting card.
Naturally, Hallie partnered with Luna.
They worked in a sunlit nook near Ravenclaw Tower, cross-legged on a warm stone floor. Luna had brought a handful of glittering dust from the Divination classroom and insisted it helped with "emotional accuracy." Hallie added crushed rose petals from Herbology "for softness."
The wand movement was simple.
The emotion behind it?
A bit more complicated.
Hallie cast her spell first.
"Amica Lux!" she whispered, her wand slicing gently through the air.
A soft golden light bloomed above her wand, then shimmered—swirled—and abruptly exploded into a full constellation of pink fireflies that circled Luna's head, humming an actual melody.
Luna blinked, delighted. "Oh, they're singing!"
"They weren't supposed to sing," Hallie said, mortified. "It was just meant to sparkle!"
The little light-creatures spun faster, forming the shape of a heart, then a flower, then—most scandalously—a floating image of Luna's smiling face.
"Oh no," Hallie groaned, covering her eyes.
Luna just laughed, soft and musical.
"You're blushing," she said.
"I am glowing, and not in a magical way," Hallie muttered. "This spell is way too honest."
"I like it," Luna said simply, brushing one of the floating fireflies with her finger. "It's very you."
That would have been embarrassing enough.
But it didn't end there.
Because somehow, Hallie's spell hadn't just reacted to her emotions—it had anchored itself to her presence. And for the rest of the day, every time she got flustered or excited, something happened.
In Charms class, her quill began writing poetry on its own.
In the corridor, a third-year girl dropped her cauldron and declared Hallie "the actual embodiment of a love potion."
Even the suits of armor bowed to her as she walked by.
By dinner, Hallie was hiding behind her textbook while Luna, utterly unfazed, fed her bits of chocolate pudding with a spoon.
"You're lucky you're cute," Hallie grumbled, trying to vanish into her scarf.
"I know I'm lucky," Luna replied, smiling at her like the stars themselves had aligned. "I have you."
Hallie almost choked on the pudding.
Later that night, in the Astronomy Tower, they sat beneath a charmed blanket that shimmered like the sky, warmed by a Warming Charm and the slow-burning thrill of being close.
Hallie turned to Luna, heart racing. The moment hung in the air, delicate and golden. Her fingers brushed Luna's wrist. Luna didn't pull away.
She leaned in, just slightly.
So did Luna.
Then—
"AHEM."
They both jumped.
A nearby portrait of a 14th-century astrologer—painted with impressive disapproval—cleared his throat loudly from his frame. "Young ladies. Astronomy only, if you please."
Hallie buried her face in her hands.
Luna giggled.
It was the almost-kiss that didn't happen.
Yet.
As they walked back to the castle, Hallie sighed. "One day, the universe will stop interrupting us."
Luna glanced sideways, smile dancing at her lips. "Would that be better? Or worse?"
Hallie tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"If we already know where it's going," Luna said softly, "the pauses in between just make it sweeter."
Hallie blushed again—fully, completely, and with zero magical interference.
Because this time, it wasn't a spell.
It was just her.