don't know how long it's been.
When I finally wake, the first thing I notice is the light — soft, golden sunlight streaming through the tall windows of what looks like… the Hogwarts hospital wing.
I'm lying on a crisp bed, wrapped in sheets that smell faintly of herbs and healing potions. My body feels heavy, stiff, but alive. Alive.
For a while, I just stare at the ceiling. The last thing I remember is the crystal breaking… Dumbledore's face… then darkness.
Eventually, the nurse — a kind-looking woman in a pale uniform — bustles around me, checking things and muttering under her breath. She's not Madam Pomfrey. I don't even recognize her. Before I can ask anything, she gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder and disappears through the doors, probably to fetch someone.
A few minutes later, the doors open again.
And there he is.
Albus Dumbledore.
Older, wiser, and somehow still exactly the same. His long white beard nearly reaches his chest, and his hair gleams silver in the light. But it's the eyes that give him away — that unmistakable twinkle of curiosity and kindness.
For a moment, I can't speak. The last time I saw him, he was a small boy, barely starting his first year. I was his senior. I remember him fumbling with his wand during Charms class, cheeks flushed with determination.
And now… he's this.
"Miss Potter," he says, smiling faintly. "It's good to see you awake at last."
I blink at him, then frown. "Miss Potter? Oh no, no, no, Professor. It's Senior. You're still little Albus in my books."
His eyebrows lift in surprise — and then he chuckles, the sound soft and warm. "Ah. Some things truly never change."
He sits by my bedside, hands folded, his expression turning thoughtful. "I imagine you have many questions."
"You could say that," I murmur, leaning back. "Let's start with the big one. What year is it?"
"1994," he says gently.
For a moment, my mind goes blank. Then I laugh — quietly, disbelievingly. "So… I've been asleep for over a century?"
He nods. "A hundred and three years, give or take a few months. You were discovered deep beneath the castle, perfectly preserved. Quite extraordinary, really. I had feared you perished during the final confrontation with the goblins."
"So you do remember me," I say softly.
"How could I not?" His eyes soften. "You were my mentor once, Miss—pardon, Senior Potter. The one who first showed me that magic was more than power — that it was understanding. You left quite the impression."
I smile faintly. "Well, I always was a good teacher."
He laughs, and for a brief, shining second, it feels like no time has passed at all.
Then he tells me more — about the present, about the Triwizard Tournament happening this year, about a boy named Harry Potter competing, and the world that's moved on without me.
The more he speaks, the more surreal it becomes. The castle's still standing. Magic's evolved. The Potters still exist. And I — Luna Potter, the girl who vanished a century ago — haven't aged a single day.
When Dumbledore finishes, he looks at me with that familiar mixture of curiosity and empathy. "I am truly glad you are alive, Senior Potter. The world has lost much, but perhaps it has gained something back today."
I meet his gaze, feeling both ancient and young all at once. "I suppose the universe wasn't done with me after all."