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Draco started up from a nightmare replay of facing the Dark Lord, and trembled, scrunching up under his blankets and meeting — what? Oh, yes, Loony Lovegood was in his bed, the bride of Draco Malfoy, no less. As far as he could unravel her airy hints, that floated about like spider web strands, catching in all the wrong places, she thought they could fix that, no problems. Certainly sharing a bed did make it possible to plot inconspicuously. Maybe he hadn't been a fool, after all, to try to get her out of Malfoy Manor's dungeon, even if it had gone wrong.
Severus Snape had reminded him, quite fiercely, that prisoners needed to be fed and watered, and might even like to wash. Draco had started going down there on Christmas Day, summoning Pipkin, the Manor's smallest, youngest house-elf, to bring the necessary food and water. Then he had got into the habit of listening to Lovegood talk. She chattered on while she coaxed food into the old wand-maker (who looked as if he might turn to dust and float away without her care), and it was not always possible to work out which of them she was talking to. Then he had started replying, and then listening to her arguments that the Dark Lord didn't need Mr Ollivander any more, and if he helped her to get out she could in turn get the old man out. There would be no need to threaten her father with her safety again; he would understand she would pay for his mistakes wherever she was. Talk about the road to Hell.
Naturally they had been caught, and not just by one of his parents, which might not have been too difficult to talk their way out of, given how bitterly both resented Lord Voldemort's misuse of the family and their home. In the front hall, heading for the Apparition alcove. If only they'd had another half minute! Even a few more seconds would have seen them away, and Draco could have returned quietly. Pipkin had been instructed in how to cover their traces, as well as in attending to the wand-maker until Lovegood set up the other end of the extraction charm they — no, be honest, she — had devised. (She was astonishingly good at charm work. What a pity they hadn’t been able to put it into effect.)
But no. There stood the Dark Lord, and behind him Macnair and Draco's parents, both of them, and Aunt Bella.
The next bit was entirely Aunt Bella's fault, and he still wasn't sure whether she had meant to help him or to make matters worse.
She had cooed in that icky baby voice, "How sweet! Draco is eloping with his true love."
They had been hand-in-hand, but only in preparation for Side-Along Apparation. Fortunately Draco was sure that the stunned fish expression that must be on his face fitted that accusation as well as "helping a prisoner escape", a far more serious charge.
The Dark Lord must have been in a good mood. He didn't kill them out of hand, or hex them sideways. Instead, he tittered. Scary, but not deadly.
"Your chosen bride is pureblood, Draco?"
Draco could give that a confident Yes. The Dark Lord might be a bit shaky on family origins, but one pureblood knows another.
"Why have you chosen a bride from among my captives?"
Draco didn't like this air of fatherly interest, nor the assumption that he was interested in Lovegood, but at least no one could object to her in principle. He would have to talk fast and hope for the best, using what he had learned and deduced about her in those talks in the dungeon.
"I know, my Lord, that her father has not supported you as he should, but Miss Lovegood herself understands better. She knows what it's like to be oppressed by Mudbloods, to be ignored in favour of upstarts. She realises it can't be tolerated."
Of course, if she'd stood up for herself as she perfectly well could, or paid attention to what was going on around her, none of that would have happened. Not that it ever seemed to worry her much, any more than being oppressed by fellow purebloods. Her own house harassed her more mercilessly than any Slytherin could.
"I wanted to beg my father to speak to you for me, so that she could help us, instead of being a drain — however slight — on our resources. She's cleverer than she looks, observant, no one notices her. She could report to us — to whoever you appoint — on doings at Hogwarts that might not be plain to your principal servants there." That ought not to be seen as a slur on Snape's watchfulness. He hoped.
"Most of us formally committed to your cause, Lord, are on the staff or in the seventh year. An intelligent younger observer, her true affiliation not known, might be able to report signs of rebellion… There are blood traitors among the younger children, I'm sorry to say." Like Ginny Weasley; everyone knew about her, even though Blaise wouldn't appreciate his dropping an allusion to her like this.
The Dark Lord flicked a minor hex at him; Draco gasped and clutched Lovegood's hand hard enough to make her bones creak, though she didn't make a sound. Carefully he slackened his hold.
"You were in error, releasing her before your proposal was approved."
Lovegood spoke up, as Draco couldn't. "My Lord, Mr Malfoy doesn't know me. Draco thought he should have the opportunity to question me, to estimate my usefulness. I'm sorry that we made a mistake, in thinking that might be better done upstairs, where Mr Malfoy might be comfortable. I beg your pardon."
She was clever, saying "that we made a mistake" rather than "if". One was not supposed to contradict the Dark Lord when he said one was in error, and she had not.
Their master cared nothing for Lucius Malfoy's comfort, nor valued his service, these days, but Draco might be expected not to acknowledge that, and Lovegood not to know it. Certainly evaluating the capability of a pureblood spy was an assignment that once would have been given to Draco's father without hesitation.
"Do not repeat your error." He cast the same hex on her, and Draco felt her fingers clench on his, but unlike him she was able to keep silent, which he couldn't be bothered to resent.
Lovegood bent her head, deeply enough that the dirty dishwater blonde hair fell forward to cover her face, murmuring, "No, my Lord."
Lord Voldemort reached out and grabbed her chin, pulling her head up, staring into her eyes. She didn't drop them, and Draco thought frantically that they were sunk now. His master would see everything, understand their pitiful plot and self-serving lies…
But the Dark Lord didn't say a word about that. Instead he said with a faint note of approval, "You have the capacity to be a good and faithful servant."
Great Merlin, someone had not only taught the girl Legilimency, but had a pupil so naturally talented that she could deceive the Dark Lord. Or maybe he was just unable to sort out the tangled mess her thoughts must be in.
"I hope so, my Lord." She bowed deeply. Clearly she had Death Eater protocol down.
"Enough, then. Get her cleaned up, Draco, so that she's fit to dine with me. And show her to your room."
That was definitely a smirk on his lipless mouth. Possibly the Dark Lord thought that Lucius wouldn't like his son's choice, and this was the latest in the endless succession of twists he enjoyed giving Lucius's tail. Draco suspected that this jab was wasted: his father concentrated on essentials, these days, and an unsuitable fiancée was a minor problem that could be dealt with at any time before a wedding might take place.
"Lucius, question the girl about whatever she may have noticed already, and report to me. Coach her in what to look out for."
Lucius too bowed and murmured, "My Lord."
Dismissed, father, son and theoretical bride moved off.
Once they reached the upper floor of the east wing, where the family bedrooms were, Lucius said, "Miss Lovegood, please get comfortable; summon the house-elf Bowly if you need assistance. Draco, ask your mother to provide her some changes of clothing; those robes are ruined, and school dress is inappropriate here, in any case. Bring her to my study when she's ready."
He halted, and as they too stopped walking he met Draco's eyes. "If you are intending a betrothal, Draco, since our lord seems to approve, remember to respect your fiancée's person and integrity. Her status has changed; she is no longer a prisoner, and certainly not a toy for your idle time. Her principal function is to aid us, not to please you."
That was horribly direct. Did his father think Draco had seduced her? Or, possibly more realistically, she him? He hastened to correct any false impressions — but without insulting Lovegood, the fellow-conspirator he could not betray.
"Dad, I wouldn't, she's pureblood! She sympathises with us; I wouldn't want to distress her. Even if it's pleased our lord to assign her to my bedroom."
That reference to sympathy was the only hint Draco dared give that Luna Lovegood might be more inclined to help the Malfoys than their master.
As his father's eyes narrowed in thought Draco added, "I shall tell Bowly to make up the bed in my dressing room, of course; I'll sleep there."
"Better not," Lovegood murmured. "What do you think, Mr Malfoy? Is Draco's bed wide enough to lay a pillow — or a sword — in the middle?"
Lucius Malfoy smiled faintly. "There's plenty of room for two, and no need for a sword. Perhaps you're wise, Miss Lovegood." Smoothly he added, "I do apologise for any deficiencies in our hospitality so far."
Lovegood smiled even more vaguely than he. "Think nothing of it," she said.
Did his father understand that the girl had just rejected his apology, and indicated that she was neither hurt nor made afraid by maltreatment? Draco wasn't going to point it out. But perhaps he would go with Lovegood to her interview, to serve as interpreter — or diplomat.
Things didn't work out as neatly as Draco would have liked — or his father, either. Lord Voldemort supplemented Lucius's instructions to Lovegood with orders to report back on Headmaster Snape's conduct.
She was startled, Draco fancied, but asked humbly for enlightenment, adding quickly, "I shall do as you tell me, my Lord, but I don't understand why that's needed, if you trust him enough to make him Headmaster. If I don't understand, I may make mistakes…" She trailed off artistically, and Draco wished he had her skill. Or her nerve.
Questioning the Dark Lord was not lightly or safely done, but he chose to give her an explanation. "He is my servant, and faithful, but I have given him great power, putting the next generation in his hands, and setting the Carrows in the school also. They will hound to his feet any who might think to evade him; for fear of them the students may obey him to gain his protection. But they are meant to serve me, not my deputy. If their first loyalty should be given to him, he may become ambitious. I do not wish Severus to be tempted above his strength."
Lovegood said softly, "Now I see. Thank you for your patience, Master. I will watch faithfully, to see how the Headmaster performs his obligations to you."
What a little liar she was, and not an actual lie anywhere. All with that not-quite-present air that infuriated tormentors of all kinds, from malicious Ravenclaws to crudely violent Slytherins. Lucky for her it didn't bother their master.
They travelled back to Hogwarts together after the New Year. Lovegood wasn't allowed to go to see her father, but she was able to owl him with assurances that she was safe, and returning to school for second term. She didn't mention the supposed betrothal; neither she nor Draco was sure whether this was simply a crude joke of Lord Voldemort's, or a move in which he saw some strategic value. In any case, she and the Malfoys agreed the matter should remain private. Draco noticed that both his parents seemed to be reconciling themselves to the idea. He had decided he didn't object to being privately engaged to marry Lovegood, but he had no intention of going through with it. Fortunately she didn't seem to want to either.
He did manage to persuade her that it would be unwise to remove Mr Ollivander as she had intended. Pipkin would care for him faithfully. She agreed at last, with the proviso that Pipkin should report at once — to her — if Voldemort resumed the questioning under torture. Draco didn't like the idea of giving themselves away, but the treatment of the old wand-maker had sickened him almost beyond bearing. Al least Lovegood had only been held prisoner, however uncomfortably; he hadn't had to watch a fellow student being used horribly.
Luna was supposed to report direct to Lucius Malfoy by owl; she noticed Draco was very thankful he hadn't been appointed go-between. Since she intended to say nothing of use, it was just as well he shouldn't be in the direct line of fire, though he would certainly be blamed for recruiting her, if her lack of helpful information was noticed.
She hoped that would not happen; she intended to provide a great deal of information.
She started by taking careful note of what was going on, and paying attention to everything said in her hearing, rather than tuning it out as soon as she was sure the subject was not of concern to her. A great deal of what she heard expressed anger and fear rather than a tendency to rebellion, but she still had a good many surprises.
People under stress could be really strange.
Some reacted like her friend Neville, going quiet and stubborn, rebelling on principle as well as when it might be useful. Others were like Ginny, who sparked with resentment like a defective firework, in between throwing off astonishingly sneaky ideas for hindering the Death Eater control of the school. The Hufflepuffs were inventive to a degree she was sure would have surprised the other houses, had they noticed. They were shielding students who had been targeted long before Neville retreated to the Room of Requirement, bringing those most threatened into it with him, as an underground resistance. She thought of them as the rats in the walls, knowing it was not nearly as noble a label as Dumbledore's Army, but feeling it better summarised their purpose: to destroy from within, unseen.
Then there were people like Zacharias Smith, who would do anything, it seemed, including torturing others on command, to avoid simple inconvenience, even when not threatened with harm themselves. Luna had to concentrate not to curl her lip at such people, to control her disgust. After a while she managed to shove that reaction into a box, where it would not disturb her own calm.
What Lord Voldemort had said about his purpose in appointing the Carrows was most interesting; it seemed unlikely he had told them about it. It might be considered helpful to report anything they did that seriously compromised his intent. Not every instance of torturing a Slytherin student, of course, unless that student seemed to be dedicated to Voldemort's service, nor any reference to their inability to teach the subjects assigned to them.
Her greatest anxiety was what she should say about Headmaster Snape. Clearly she had to say something, as Lord Voldemort was most concerned about the use he might make of the opportunities power over the students gave him.
She watched him carefully, under her eyelashes, in the reflections from windows and mirrors, seeing that he was more often present than when he had been simply the Potions Master and the Head of Slytherin, whose duties, you might think, should bring the holder into public view far more often. They had usually seen Professor Dumbledore only at meals, and sometimes not then, for days on end. Headmaster Snape was at the top table for all meals, and in and out of classrooms in a random way, allegedly conducting a survey of the quality of teaching (which made Professors McGonagall and Flitwick angry almost to apoplexy). He could also be seen walking the corridors, conversing with portraits and ghosts — some ghosts, anyway. The portraits, once found by him in their frames, had to obey him, however truculently. Professor Snape, Luna noticed, had no problem keeping portraits in order, and the Bloody Baron overawed most of the ghosts into cooperation too.
The Headmaster was watching his school like a hawk. He trusted no one, except perhaps the four Heads of House, and then only to behave in particular ways in certain circumstances. She wondered sympathetically how much sleep he got, and how difficult he found it to deal with their open hostility.
His purpose had seemed plain enough to her from the time he caught her with Neville and Ginny, trying to steal the Sword of Gryffindor, and punished them by sending them into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid. As if that, after five or six years at Hogwarts, would worry anyone who ran around after Harry Potter. He didn't hesitate to assign detentions, or the writing of extra essays (to be handed to subject teachers for critical review), but he always specified who should be in charge, and, for people like Mr Filch, what they were and were not allowed to do.
Luna couldn't see why no one else seemed to suspect that he was protecting the school and its students, rather than working to train them up as good little Death Eaters to be, eager and obedient. Perhaps a number of people were as sure of him as she was, and hiding their understanding as protectively. That would be nice; it might give him some help in emergency. Maybe it was just as well no one thoughtlessly open-mouthed had noticed.
She saw, too, that he offered no special favours to those who were volunteering for Death Eater training, though he didn't scorn them either; his attitude was one of wait-and-see. There was no E for Effort in that training scheme. A would-be Death Eater had to prove him or herself comprehensively. Which allowed everyone else to identify those fellow students who might betray them to the Carrows or worse.
She thought it fair enough to report what the Headmaster seemed to be doing well, so she told Mr Malfoy about that, suggesting that he wanted the Dark Lord's servants to be fully committed and fully trained.
Luna was careful not to speak to Draco; they were not supposed to have anything in common. He wasn't as unpleasant to her as he used to be, but then Draco was not an automatic favourite any more, now that his father had been cast down from his position of power. Naturally he would be more discreet. Really, apart from being as twitchy as a rabbit scenting a dog, which was tiresome, he was becoming a much nicer person.
Luna decided that she herself was neither as honest nor as tolerant as she used to be; but she was not acting simply for herself, now, but for the school and Dumbledore's Army, until Harry Potter should be able to free them all. She admitted to herself that she missed Hermione and Harry (though not Ron, so much; he had often been rude as well as imperceptive). For one year she had had friends, but now they were away, like Harry, Ron and Hermione, or in hiding, like Neville most of the time after Christmas, and Ginny, after Easter, when she simply had not returned to school. Luna supposed her parents kept her at home; Ginny had said nothing about running away. She heard later that all the Weasleys had disappeared from their home in Ottery St Catchpole: they must have had to hide from the Snatchers or Ministry employees hunting down potential rebels. Ginny must have got away just in time.
Soon after the New Year Luna had had some odd looks from the Headmaster, but that stopped. Probably he too was quite able to estimate the value of someone's loyalty to the Dark Lord, to look at their actions rather than their words. She didn't think he was ignorant of her assignment; someone would have leaked it to him, by now. Quite possibly Draco, who had come to help her and Mr Ollivander at the urging of his former house Head.
It was only when she came back to school after the short Easter break (and Ginny did not, and there was no sign of Neville, though he was certainly behind the walls, still) that Headmaster Snape spoke to her.
That was most unusual: ordinarily he spoke to a student only to impose discipline. You couldn't count his irregular addresses at the dinner table (before the food appeared) on the topic of the service they all owed to the Dark Lord, and the ways in which this might best be given.
Fortunately he was extremely circumspect; she didn't want Alecto Carrow to demand an account of what he said. He waited until Alecto herself reported Luna for inattention and persistent contradiction in Muggle Studies, and made the first part of her punishment sorting some of the books on his shelves. (They were Muggle books, naturally, which Professor Carrow could barely read, and the task was one which she was relieved not to be required to supervise.) Luna began to put into order a set of books on the Muggle industrial revolution, which she was pretty sure he had disarranged to give him an oppportunity to speak with the next person whom Alecto brought before him, if he needed to.
His voice was very quiet, like a breath in her ear.
"Miss Lovegood. I hope you are being extremely careful in those regular owls you send. Disloyalty is soon reported."
She didn't turn to look at him, but murmured her reply to a book called The Lunar Society of Birmingham: A Social History of Provincial Science and Industry in Eighteenth-Century England (did they want to fly to the moon? she wondered).
"I wouldn't want to mislead anyone, sir; I take pains to be sure what I say is helpful."
In the window with the dark sky behind it she saw the brief amused quirk of his mouth. He understood her.
"Do you talk privately with Draco?"
"No, because we never did."
"One conversation about his Easter holiday at home might be informative. For example, someone removed Mr Ollivander."
She had to look at him. "I am glad, Headmaster; thank you so much!"
"I did nothing but tell you of it," he disclaimed. "You may be more concerned to know that some of your former friends were — temporarily — captured and imprisoned at Malfoy Manor."
Luna bit her lip, because it trembled, before she answered, "I'll talk to Draco, sir."
"Don't forget that you too run the risk of being captured and tortured by your enemies," he said.
Oh dear, what had happened to Harry, Ron and Hermione? Or Ginny? She mustn't press him if he didn't want to say more, even here.
She put the last book back into alphabetical order.
"You may go in a moment, Miss Lovegood. But first — do you know the Muffliato spell?"
She shook her head.
"Tell Draco he should teach it to you, as I taught it to him, for greater privacy in speaking together. Go, now. Report to Mr Filch for your detention."
She put her hand on his arm quickly, lightly, conscious of the contrast between its smallness and paleness, and the strength of the arm hidden by his dark sleeve. "Please, sir, be careful. We cannot do without you."
"Anyone can be done without, if need be."
He lifted her fingers and set them on her left hand, clenched against her waist in an attempt to control the sudden nausea his words induced.
After a moment she managed to say, "It would be most inconvenient, however."
His faint smile was altogether grim. "I shall study not to inconvenience you, Miss Lovegood."
Luna swallowed, then slid her fingers into the concealed pocket for the sickle coin she had charmed with Draco's wand in the Malfoy Manor dungeon. Mr Ollivander would not need it now, if he was safe elsewhere. Then she held it out to him, pressing it into his fingers, closing them round it when he was reluctant to accept it.
"If you rub it and speak, I will hear you, though no one else will. Don't lose it!"
His eyebrow lifted in acknowledgement of his surprise. "You can arrange to hear voices in your head, and yet you don't know the charm to muffle your speech? Learn it, Miss Lovegood, as soon as possible. Thank you for this token. I shall hope not to need it, but if I do, I shall be most grateful."
He tucked it into an pocket inside his robes, then used his wand for an unspoken charm — concealing the pocket, perhaps, or charming the coin to remain there.
"Be careful."
He said no more, and she left his office.
If he had accepted her token, it might mean he was aware of being in greatly increased danger. Or perhaps he was just being sensible, but Professor Snape had never struck her as being particularly sensible.
When Harry returned to Hogwarts, Neville summoned all the members of Dumbledore's Army to the Room of Requirement to start the fight to take back Hogwarts, but it was quickly obvious that Harry wasn't there to fight, despite what Luna and everyone else expected. He was still following Dumbledore's orders, looking for something, it turned out, but he seemed to think it had to be secret still. Ron persuaded him to explain a little to them, where Neville couldn't.
It was Ginny's idea that Luna should take Harry to the Ravenclaw common room to see what Ravenclaw's lost diadem looked like. Harry had seen the one her father was making, in his attempt to duplicate the crown, to give a present-day witch or wizard Rowena's wisdom, but that didn't seem enough for him.
Once they were out of the Room Harry draped his invisibility cloak over both of them and Luna led him along the dark corridors until she recognised where they were, and took him up the winding stairs.
She was pretty sure that whatever Harry wanted, there would be a fight now, with so many people eager to oppose the Death Eaters. There were very few of them in the castle, after all. Professor Snape, the Carrows, and some of the seventh year Slytherins.
Oh. That could be a problem. Draco wasn't really a Death Eater, despite having to do what their Dark Lord demanded, but Harry probably still disliked him enough to attack him too. Draco had told her what had happened at Malfoy Manor in March, when Harry and his friends had been captured; Draco hadn't dared do much to shield them, and Harry had wound up taking his wand from him in a fight. Harry wouldn't understand that Draco didn't think he had had any way of stopping his aunt from torturing Hermione. Luna hadn't been impressed either, but she hadn't been able to think of anything useful he could have done, once Harry was identified. So Draco had better keep out of his way.
The Headmaster was a much worse problem, though. He had been going to a lot of trouble to convince everyone — not just his horrid master — that he was a Death Eater through and through, and Harry hated him much worse than Draco. If there was a fight Professor Snape would either have to admit he wasn't a truly loyal Death Eater — which might affect whatever plans he had — or to run away. She hoped he wouldn't fight. Surely he would see how bad that would be — not just to fight when he would be badly outnumbered, even if none of the students would have skills like his, but to fight at all. He had been trying so hard to protect them; he wouldn't want to injure any of them now.
This didn't look good at all.
But all she could do, now, was to help Harry, and hope that Professor Snape would just slip away quietly if the fight everyone else wanted started. No. She could do more than that. She had given him her charmed sickle, which worked pretty much like the fake galleons Dumbledore's Army used, and that Neville had used to summon them, not just from the school, but from all over Britain. She could warn him. Her sickle hung around her neck on a long chain, tucked into her clothing. In the dark of the twisting spiral staircase up to the Ravenclaw common room, where Harry had taken the lead, though that was awkward, with both of them under his cloak, she fished the sickle out. She rubbed it in her fingers, and invoked the spell that let her speak to the holder of its charmed twin. She didn't need to speak aloud for him to hear her, any more than she needed to speak spells aloud.
"There's going to be a fight soon, I think. Please be careful!"
She wouldn't tell him Harry was here; he wasn't fond of Harry, either.
Of course, if he didn't have her sickle in his pocket, or wasn't awake and dressed, he'd never know there was a message. When she was charming the pair of sickles — and that had been hard, using Draco's wand instead of her own; she had never hoped to get that back — she'd expected to be speaking to Mr Ollivander, who would certainly have kept it close.
She let the chain slip down inside her clothing again.
Harry whispered, "Are you sure this goes to your common room? It goes on for ever!"
"Yes, it's all right; we're nearly there."
She supposed that to anyone but a Ravenclaw it would seem odd, to be climbing so high, but if the Gryffindors had a tower, why not the Ravenclaws? It was not as if the Founders had built Hogwarts to force all those different people together; it was right for each House's own place to be not just separate, but far apart physically, just as they were in their ways of thinking. When they got to the door she could see Harry had a problem with the idea of getting in by answering a riddle — did Gryffindors just let people walk into their common room? No; he had mentioned a password.
Once they were inside, Harry slipped out from under the cloak, climbing onto the plinth of Rowena's statue to squint at the rhyme inscribed on the diadem. Then across the room someone moved.
Alecto Carrow! The woman cackled and stepped right up to Harry, who was staring, wool-gathering as he had kept doing in the Room of Requirement.
Luna didn't wait for him to come to his senses. She levelled her wand and thought fiercely, "Stupefy!"
It was good to know it worked in real life. Alecto crashed to the floor so hard that the bookcases rattled. Her fall was also noisy enough to wake the sleepers in the dorm just above; Luna could hear footsteps pattering across the floor, down the stair, coming to investigate. No one liked strange noises, this year.
Harry hastily rejoined her under the cloak and they backed away, sheltering against the wall, as her housemates poured in and stared. They seemed happy that the Death Eater was flat out on the floor; if they had known she'd done it, Luna thought, they might have been pleased with her for once.
However, almost at once Amycus Carrow was banging at the door, swearing uselessly at the guardian. It was as if he and his sister had charmed coins too, to pass messages, for her to summon him. Oh, perhaps that was why Alecto had pressed her Dark Mark. Considering that Amycus was shouting about capturing Harry Potter, Alecto must have got a message off very quickly. Did that message go just to her brother, or to all of the Death Eaters? Amycus said that Voldemort was coming, so he must have received it too — and so would Professor Snape.
Luna sighed silently. There was certainly going to be a fight, and soon, whatever Harry thought. She had better warn Dumbledore's Army, so they'd be ready. Voldemort wouldn't be coming alone. Her fake galleon was in her pocket.
She'd just finished explaining to Neville and the others, ignoring the confusing buzz of questions and exclamations, when Professor McGonagall was outside, asking Amycus Carrow what he thought he was doing. Luna rolled her eyes. What brought the head of Gryffindor here, so far from her tower and her classroom?
Professor McGonagall, unlike the Dark Arts teacher, had no problem letting herself into the Ravenclaw common room.
Luna watched with Harry as Amycus shouted, far more frightened than angry, now, because he expected his master to punish his sister for a false summons. Naturally Professor McGonagall despised him for his plan to claim that the Ravenclaw children had forced the woman to press her Mark — was Voldemort silly enough to believe that? She made her opinion plain, and Carrow spat in her face.
Luna was disgusted, but Harry pushed the cloak aside and cast Cruciatus on Carrow, which horrified her. Even worse, it worked. What had Harry been doing this year, what had happened to him, that he could cast an Unforgivable and mean it? Professor McGonagall seemed more panicked at his presence than worried about what he had done — gallant for Merlin's sake, what a way to encourage him to think about what action was appropriate, though she also made sure neither Amycus nor Alecto Carrow could interfere with him.
Luna let go of the cloak, distracted by Harry saying Voldemort's name. No Death Eaters or Snatchers appeared out of thin air, but Harry said that Voldemort knew where he was. That in turn distracted Professor McGonagall, but Harry managed to get her to concentrate on sheltering the students from the fight that all three of them could see rushing upon them.
Abruptly Professor McGonagall recovered her balance, and told Harry to do what he had to do, following Professor Dumbledore's orders — how her eyes brightened, to know that their former Headmaster's plans against Voldemort were still going forward! Then she was all business. While Harry sought the diadem, the Deputy Headmistress and the Heads of House would get the children to safety and secure the school against invasion.
Harry draped the cloak around the two of them again, before they left the common room. Professor McGonagall sent out three Patronuses to alert the other Heads — and only them, Luna noticed, but it wasn't surprising. It had been obvious this year how deeply Professor McGonagall was hurt by what Professor Snape had done, killing Dumbledore. Luna hadn't liked it either, but the shock and dismay hadn't prevented her from seeing that Professor Snape wasn't acting like the Death Eater he was supposed to be. Professor McGonagall, though, had known him for so long, she must still be blinded by distress, and perhaps all she could feel was hatred, not surprise or doubt. Luna was glad she had been able to send him a warning; surely he had received it?
Oh yes, indeed he had, because unlike his Deputy in her dressing-gown, he was fully dressed. So what must he do but come up here, acting on Alecto Carrow's message, no doubt, and pretend everything was normal, that he and Professor McGonagall should swap sarcasm as usual. Luna could have slapped him. Surely it would have made more sense to hold back? But then, he knew Voldemort was coming, he must know she had been right to say there was a fight coming, and he must have decided to carry on with his Death Eater role. Perhaps he feared they would lose.
Then he asked about Harry, and in a moment there was a wizards' duel going on in the corridor in front of her and Harry — if Harry hadn't pulled her back she'd have been caught in it. Harry kept shielding her, with his body as well as magically, but she watched, too fascinated by their skill and speed to be afraid: a torch became a ring of fire, then a serpent, which was changed to a flight of daggers only held off by the suit of armour the Headmaster shoved between them. Professor McGonagall's transfiguration skills were marvellous — and would have been lethal, over and over, if Professor Snape hadn't Shielded so well. Apart from the serpent, he wasn't attacking at all.
Then the other Heads of House came charging up, shouting and firing spells, and someone animated the suit of armour to attack the Headmaster instead of sheltering him. He flung the armour back at them, turned, and bolted into a classroom, disappearing, getting sense at last.
Professor McGonagall raced after him, shrieking like one of her ancestors high on battle, while Harry and Luna got to their feet again. Professor Snape might have limited his response to attack, but if he'd known she and Harry were there, under the cloak, he mightn't even have felt able to do that. Of course, he might also have started duelling with Harry instead of escaping. She had felt Harry's wand arm lifting several times, and only the speed with which they'd been dodging the fight had prevented him from realising she wasn't grabbing at him just in order to keep on her feet.
Then she heard the sound of smashing glass, followed by Professor McGonagall's furious cry of "Coward!"
All of them rushed into the classroom, Luna gasping, "What's happening?" and Harry running, dragging her along after the professors, his cloak off now, trailing from his hand like a disturbance in the air, all wanting to see, to know.
One of the windows was broken. Oh Merlin, surely he hadn't leapt to his death, as Harry at once supposed?
Bitterly Professor McGonagall explained that Professor Snape had flown, not fallen. Flown away, escaped. Luna was deeply thankful, but also thought severely that it was hardly right to name as coward a wizard who didn't want to fight four others, even if they hadn't recognised that he didn't wish to damage them and therefore couldn't match their violence.
Standing beside Harry, Luna stared out of the window, seeing Professor Snape in the distance, his black cloak spread like a bat's wings, concealing his body. He seemed to be gliding, rather than flapping. Cloak or not, he didn't have wings. She'd really like to see him close up, to know how it was done; there were so many different flight mechanisms.
What a wonderful spell! Since last summer they had known Voldemort could fly, but Luna hadn't seen that. Was it done the same way? Had Voldemort shared the secret, or had Professor Snape worked out his own method, just knowing it was possible and persisting until he could do it? He might talk about foolish wand-waving, but he wielded a wand to excellent effect; she had known that for years. But this display of skill, and possibly invention, was stunning. Perhaps she was in love. Luna smiled to herself, and murmured, "Ravenclaw."
Then the distant wizard did rise, to soar over the Hogwarts wall, becoming smaller and eventually disappearing in the dark shadows cast by the Forbidden Forest. His flight wasn't fast, but it was steady; he hadn't seemed to lose speed at all, as far as she could judge, so he could probably fly quite a long way. As far as one could on a broom?
Perhaps she would find out, one day. Perhaps she could learn to do it herself. Would she want to glide, like one of those tiny Australian sugar gliders, or American flying squirrels? You could stiffen your cloak, make it impervious to air so it became an efficient sail, make it cling to the line of arm and leg, and use that to ride the air. But that method required a high start point, and wasn't true flight. A bird's flight — or a bat's, Luna wasn't fussy — would be more practical. Though it might be easier to start by learning to glide. You'd probably need some kind of Featherlight Charm, too. You'd only want to fly if you didn't have a broom and Apparition wasn't possible, like here at Hogwarts.
When she was paying attention again, Professor McGonagall was issuing an ultimatum to Professor Slughorn, then orders to Filch, then to all the suits of armour in the castle (that was an odd way to word the spell, as if they were stone rather than metal, but it worked), and then, of course, to her and Harry. It was as if she'd forgotten Harry had his own task and would know what to do next, continuing his search for Ravenclaw's diadem, now that he knew what it looked like.
Harry didn't argue. They went back to the Room of Requirement as fast as they could. He needed to collect Ron and Hermione; she needed to join with Dumbledore's Army.
When they got there, panting from running down all those flights of stairs, they found more than Dumbledore's Army. There were the rest of the Weasleys, the Quidditch teams of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor and Hufflepuff (though not in uniform), quite a few people who were in uniform, Aurors and Hit Wizards and even some St Mungo's Healers, and people Luna supposed might be members of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, whom Harry seemed to know.
Harry went off to do his thing, and Luna went to war.
It turned out that war was noisier and more confusing than practice with Dumbledore's Army, but this year Neville had had them practising for that, staging ambushes, skirmishing in groups wearing coloured scarves, and duelling three on one. Luna found that, just as in practice, she was quite good at it, though most of her opponents were bigger than she was used to, and fired off nastier spells, too.
After a while she was a bit singed here and there, but no one had scored a direct hit. She was glad of her Shield charms, which were still steady, now that she had seen the effect of a Stunner used full force. It was interesting that the Death Eaters didn't use Avada Kedavra all the time, or even often: perhaps it demanded too much magical energy. Maybe it was hard to summon up hatred for a specific individual in the middle of a magical brawl. Not that it was necessary; Luna found that Diffindo killed as fast, and impressed her opponent's close companions much more, probably, than having them collapse silently in a blast of green fire. Avada Kedavra killed, yes, but people were afraid of its mystique, because it needed strong hatred to summon up, not because the death it inflicted was worse than any other.
The fighting spread beyond the interior of the castle, into the grounds, like a destructive wave which, having hit, rolled to and fro, and Luna was borne outside with it. There was a moment when a cloud of Dementors heading for the castle descended on some people she only belatedly recognised as Harry, Ron and Hermione. She was with Seamus Finnegan and Ernie Macmillan then, and they reacted as they had been taught, summoning their Patronuses. It was just as well: Harry and his friends seemed to be succumbing, their own Patronuses attenuating, until her hare, Ernie's boar, and Seamus's fox soared over and the Dementors fell back. Harry's stag appeared in a great burst of light, then the terrier and the otter reformed, strong and confident now, and the Dementors reeled, then retreated.
However, then a giant nearly trampled the lot of them, and when Luna could breathe again she couldn't see Harry — or Ernie or Seamus, either — but there were no squashed bodies, so she looked around for another enemy.
People were more widely scattered, now — they couldn't have been the only ones to run from a rampaging giant. There was someone, in a familiar cloak, but no white mask — and Luna saw the long tail of blond hair swing as the man whipped his head about to look for something that had alarmed him. Oh dear. Mr Malfoy. But why wasn't he masked? And had he found a wand yet?
After a moment she ran lightly towards him. He probably still believed in her loyalty to his master. He couldn't have expected her to leave openly with the Slytherins.
"Mr Malfoy!"
He looked awful. Not just bruised, but exhausted, haggard.
He looked around, then asked, voice shaking a little, "Have you seen Draco? Is he — all right? Most of the Slytherin seventh years came to the Dark Lord, but not him."
"I saw him in the Great Hall a little while ago, but then the Acromantulas came in, and everybody ran."
His eyes widened, and she added, "But they left again. They took Hagrid. No one else."
"What are you doing out here?"
"Pretending to fight," she said briskly. "Draco had Goyle with him." She didn't mention that neither of them had wands, and seemed to be trying to stay out of the fight. A hopeless endeavour, when it raged all over the castle. They would do better to go and hide in a dormitory, but she hadn't had time to spare to get to Draco and suggest it when her other friends needed help.
Mr Malfoy straightened, trying to pull himself together. Uncertain though her news was, it seemed to make him feel better.
He asked, "Have you seen Snape? Our lord wants him, and sent me to find him."
"What for?" That didn't sound like good news.
"When does he ever say?" he asked wearily.
They looked at each other in shared distrust.
After a moment Luna asked, "Where is he? He Who — er, the Dark Lord."
"In the Shrieking Shack. He's been there all along; he kept me with him to run errands."
Considering that Voldemort could communicate with his Death Eaters at will, that might have been done just to rub it in that Lucius Malfoy was a helpless pawn, of no real use without his wand. If he really meant the man to go looking for Professor Snape, though, that suggested the Dark Mark wasn't functioning too well as a communication channel — perhaps everyone was just too distracted to pay attention to yet another pain. Then again, perhaps Snape had been summoned, and was deliberately ignoring his master.
"Too proud to fight?" Luna asked, with more malice than she would ordinarily show.
"He's only interested in Harry Potter; this battle is just to get at him. Our lord sees no need to exert himself otherwise. Have you seen Snape?"
"Not for about an hour," she replied. Not sure whether it was wise, she went on, "He left the castle, heading for the Forbidden Forest."
Mr Malfoy sighed without a sound. "I'd better go there myself, then."
"Have you a wand?" That could be seen as a rude and insulting question, so she explained, "There are probably some lying about. There are certainly bodies." Two of them of her making. "Any wand, however badly suited, is surely better than none."
"It would be wise to look," he agreed. "Thank you for your consideration — daughter."
There was a question in that. She smiled at him and didn't commit herself, saying, "We are both very young, not finished at school. We'll have to see." Then she turned the subject to one she was far more concerned about. "When you find Professor Snape, will you return with him?"
"He wants him, not me." She knew who "He" was.
"Yes, but will you come back with him? Please? Wait outside, perhaps? I'll wait there too. In case anything … happens."
He said bluntly, "If he kills Severus there's nothing we can do about it. But — if he is angry, but only punishes Severus for some fault, we could help him, once the Dark Lord has gone — if he goes." He nodded, decisive now. "Yes, I'll return with Severus and find you."
He was looking more alert now, and his shoulders were straight. Maybe being trusted, relied upon, made him feel more like the effective man he must have been once.
"Thank you. I'll Disillusion myself, and wait behind that hawthorn bush on the left of the Shack; you know it?"
"I remember." He took a deep breath. "Thank you again, Miss Lovegood, for your willingness to help Severus if he should need it. My family owes him a great deal, for what he's done for Draco if nothing else."
He nodded, and moved off quickly.
Luna took herself behind a screen of trees, for privacy and the hope of safety, before she took out her silver sickle again.
"Headmaster Snape." There was no response, but she could feel him paying attention with some part of his mind. "The Dark Lord has sent Lucius Malfoy to find you; we don't know what he wants. He's in the Shrieking Shack. I'll be waiting nearby; call on me if you need — anything."
She couldn't, and wouldn't, advise him; what he did had to be his decision. Nor would she say he might be walking into danger; that was probably a constant for all Voldemort's followers.
After a moment he responded, "Acknowledged. Do not use this again unless you must; his awareness is very acute. I'll find Lucius."
Did he really think Voldemort might be capable of penetrating her communication spell? Well, possibly he could, if he suspected its existence, though there had never been a sign that anyone outside of Dumbledore's Army could pick up their messages. She had been discreet in what she said, however; more than he had.
Luna made her way to the Hogsmeade road through as much shelter as she could find, but she had to go through Hogwarts' gates. She Disillusioned herself before she attempted it, but there was no one there. No one alive. She thought there was a body behind a bush, but since she caught the pallor of a mask reflecting the moonlight she didn't stop to investigate.
Once walking parallel to the road, through the light scattering of trees and bushes, still kept a Muggle bowshot clear of the highway, she had little trouble. There were a few people on the road, but they were in no case to threaten anyone: a middle-aged witch half-dragging a young man; two men in Death Eater cloaks, only one of them still masked, helping each other limp along. They were outside the Apparition boundary; they must not feel strong enough to attempt to leave that way. She was getting used to bodies lying on the ground.
She sat on the ground behind the hawthorn bush; she might have some time to wait.
Quite soon, though, she could see Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy walking down the road. Mr Malfoy dropped back. Luna released her Disillusionment Charm briefly and stood up; the Headmaster's only acknowledgement was a slight movement of his wand hand suggesting she hide again. Deliberately she reapplied the charm before she sank back onto the lush grass.
As Professor Snape entered the Shack Mr Malfoy came to join her. He must have noted her position quite precisely, for he stopped only a couple of feet from her and sat down himself, so that the bush, thick with leaves and white flowers, redolent of spring, concealed him from anyone on the road or at the door of the Shack.
In an unvoiced whisper she asked, "Want me to Disillusion you too?" She was careful to lisp the S sounds, which might carry.
He nodded, muttering, "I have a wand, but haven't experimented much. Don't want to blow my head off."
Luna lifted her wand above his head. As she wordlessly employed the charm she saw him shiver, as people always did, from the cold the charm sent trickling down his back.
Then they waited. She didn't know how Mr Malfoy looked, or felt, but she was tense, alert, keeping a watchful eye on the road, waiting for the relief of seeing Professor Snape walk out again, or for some disaster.
There was a yell, followed by a dreadful scream. On the first sound Mr Malfoy's hand clamped hard on her arm — her left arm, fortunately.
"Wait!"
"I know," she answered through gritted teeth.
Their previous wait had been short, though it seemed interminable; the next wait took for ever. Towards the end Luna felt the thrill of an attempt to communicate through the sickle, but there were no words. Then Voldemort swept out of the Shack, his monstrous snake undulating beside him, her head rising above his with every looping movement.
"Wait!" Mr Malfoy repeated, and caught hold of her again, in case she tried to rush into the Shack, effectively invisible though they both were.
"Let go, or I'll hex you," she muttered, keeping her voice as low as possible despite a desire to scream at him.
His hand slackened its grip, but did not release her entirely; she accepted the compromise.
"He's round the corner; now we can go."
This time his hand helped her to her feet, though she suspected she could move much more easily than he did; he had seemed comprehensively battered, before.
Once inside the Shack she removed the Disillusionments, and after a quick look around both hurried over to the Headmaster.
He was lying quite still, a frightening pool of blood on the floor by his neck, more soaking the shoulder and breast of his robes, one hand half thrust inside them.
And he was still bleeding.
Thank Merlin, he was alive. Though for how long, with those horrid gashes in his throat…
Lucius Malfoy pushed aside that arrested hand and ordered, "Use your wand to close the wound."
He went straight for a pocket in the Headmaster's robes that he must know was there, and with a little murmur of triumph pulled out four minute flasks, leather wrapped for security.
"Enlarge these!"
She obeyed him. It only took a moment, then she returned to sealing the ragged wounds. They would be poisoned, and that would need urgent attention, but not if he bled to death first. Mr Weasley had survived for much longer, two years ago, though it was not his throat Nagini had torn open, and she had bitten him several times.
A high, cold voice spoke — not just to them, but to all the folk in the castle: Lord Voldemort demanding the surrender of Harry Potter, giving his opponents an hour to collect their dead. Luna saw Mr Malfoy flinch, and was frightened herself as well as disgusted by the false praise for their brave resistance. He would kill them all to get at Harry, she knew.
She shuddered, but went on carefully tracing over the lower wound on Professor Snape's throat to close it. Voldemort would do what he would do; they had a task of their own. At least now there was an hour of safety for everyone.
A quick glance at Mr Malfoy saw him squinting at the labels with their tiny print; the man needed glasses. Idiot. There were eyesight-correction charms, though as a person aged they lost efficiency. Few witches or wizards of Professor McGonagall's age needed to wear glasses, even for reading, though by the time they reached Professor Dumbledore's years the need was much more common. Maybe Mr Malfoy had cause not to trust the St Mungo's healers who applied those charms. Or else what had been done to him recently had affected his vision. In which case he might be wise not to use that stray wand or any other, until he had recovered.
"Let me," she said, satisfied that the bleeding had been stemmed. She didn't account herself a mediwitch, but this year Madam Pomfrey had been quietly conducting classes in emergency aid, and she had attended all of them.
"Blood-Replenishing Potion, these two. Anti-venin, this one. Cure-all."
Mr Malfoy tucked the Cure-all in his own breast pocket, then set the two flasks of Blood-Replenishing Potion by his side, clear of the bloody mess on the floor that they were both kneeling in. Too late to Scourgify it away now.
"Anti-venin first," Mr Malfoy said tersely. "Help me get him upright so he doesn't choke, or let it run out of his mouth."
Professor Snape was surprisingly heavy for such a thin man; he had lost weight this year — she had seen it happening, month by month — but he still had a man's bones.
Once he was propped up against Luna's shoulder, his head lolling a bit to one side, she put her arms around his body and held on firmly, while Mr Malfoy held the helpless head, opened his lips and with his free hand tipped a tiny amount of the anti-venin in. They both saw Professor Snape's throat move slightly, as he swallowed, and she thought they both thanked Merlin, however silently.
For perhaps five minutes Mr Malfoy coaxed the anti-venin down his friend, then took up the first vial of Blood-Replenishing Potion. Professor Snape seemed to be unconscious, but he was swallowing, and didn't choke once.
As he was getting the last of it into their patient, Luna asked, "Where shall we take him?"
"St Mungo's will probably not be safe for him, whoever wins," Mr Malfoy said flatly.
"Umm," she agreed. "And Madam Pomfrey might or might not be willing to help. But I can ask, if you'll stay here with him."
"She'll be busy. Better to take him away, to a Healer elsewhere. Not everyone will know Severus Snape's face, even now," he finished dryly.
"Or take him somewhere safe, then bring a Healer in, vowed to silence, perhaps?"
"Malfoy Manor would be good, if I were quite sure our lord would lose this encounter with Potter that he's so eager for."
He tilted one eyebrow at her, asking what she thought.
She shrugged. "I don't know. He may lose — I think Harry has inconvenienced him."
"I'm sure of it; I've felt his wrath. But will Potter win?"
She countered, "Even if the Dark Lord wins, is he likely to search Malfoy Manor immediately, every hidey hole? Has your family no specially warded places?"
Mr Malfoy actually smiled. "He never bothered to look all over the house, just took or demanded what he wanted. And I think that yes, even now, there are rooms he could not easily find, especially if he didn't know there was someone to search for." He nodded. "Very well. I'll take Severus there; I can Side-Along him."
"With that strange wand?"
"I'd prefer to use Severus's, if our lord left it. I've borrowed it before."
A quick search of the limp body found it, concealed by his robes, on the floor. "He must have had it in his hand, and dropped it," Luna murmured.
"He could hardly raise it to the Dark Lord," Mr Malfoy pointed out.
He reached for Professor Snape's wand; Luna let him take it.
He tried a couple of charms quickly; it was clear the wand was still willing for him to use it.
"I can Apparate from here. I'll come back as soon as Severus is stable — or inside the hour of truce, if he's not, once I've got a Healer to him. I need to find Draco. You?"
"I'll stay. I have friends here, and should go back to them. If nothing else," she said practically, "I can find Draco and tell him to hide instead of running about in the middle of a fight."
Mr Malfoy winced, but nodded. Luna rose to her feet and helped Mr Malfoy lift and steady the Headmaster over his shoulders. Then Mr Malfoy rose, staggering a moment until he had the limp weight balanced.
"Good fortune; be careful," he said.
"You too, Mr Malfoy."
Luna went back to Hogwarts when it re-opened, only two weeks late. She'd been one of the crew who worked all summer to repair all the battle damage, though she'd been part-time at it until she took her sixth year examinations. These, like OWLs and NEWTs, were held at the start of August instead of in June, and most of the teachers had been able to give catch-up tutoring to the students who wanted to forge ahead instead of repeating the year.
People who'd had a bad year, like Neville, Draco and Ginny, were simply going to repeat it, and Hermione had decided to do the year she'd missed instead of crossing her fingers and taking the exams without the study. Harry went off to Auror training without doing his NEWTs. Ron would have liked to, but he wasn't invited, and in any case he'd decided to help George with the shop; he thought supporting his brother more important than doing lessons after he'd been away from them for a year.
So Luna would be doing her final year with some old friends, and one new one, who might need someone to stand between him and the returning members of Dumbledore's Army. Luckily for Draco, the new Minister had decided that his mother's help to Harry, and his father's having spent a year in prison and another wandless, gave all of them a dispensation from trial for Death Eater activity, voluntary or not. Mr Malfoy did a plausible job, Luna thought, of appearing not to mind that the Ministry, like the Dark Lord, regarded him as ineffective.
Professor Snape was still recovering, Mr Malfoy said, but he too had been excused for being, but mostly seeming, a Death Eater. Harry had made his work for Dumbledore very public (even if Harry still didn't like him, he was determined to show his gratitude for all the professor had done). Kingsley Shacklebolt had screwed a public pardon out of the Wizengamot for Professor Snape, and even a pension. They had got back by refusing to allow him to teach at Hogwarts again. According to Mr Malfoy that too was a benefit in the former Professor Snape's eyes.
Luna was surprised to receive an invitation from Mrs Malfoy to visit Malfoy Manor in November, on the weekend after her birthday. She was one of the older students in her class, and had been an adult for a year now, but Mrs Malfoy said that Mr Snape had suggested a celebration of her eighteenth birthday. He wanted to thank her for her help, now that he was (more or less) on his feet again. Even though he was not well enough to work at potions production full time yet, he was doing some work in the workroom the Malfoys had set up for him. Mr Malfoy had said that St Mungo's had made him an offer half an hour after his pardon had been announced. Luna thought that while he might find it tiresome unless he could also work steadily on potions development and improvement, he'd probably rather not be responsible for students again. Not after the last year, and after six years of trying to teach and protect Harry.
Draco and she Apparated to his home on the Friday night shortly after classes ended for the day.
Mr and Mrs Malfoy welcomed her formally, and both took the opportunity to repeat in private the thanks they had already given her, for what she had done for Severus Snape during the battle, and for what she had done for Draco since it had ended.
She found Mr Snape waiting for them in the drawing room, looking a lot healthier than he had for most of the previous school year (and indeed the year before).
Draco said mischievously, "Severus, meet my bride!"
Luna blinked at him — they had disposed of that nonsense months ago now, to the relief of everyone concerned — but Severus Snape sat up straight and snarled, "Your what?"
Luna said firmly, "I am no one's bride, Severus. I am a free woman, with my own preferences." She looked him in the eye and added, "I did develop a preference, last year, and should like to pursue it."
Severus's hand slipped down from his sleeve, though he still looked thunderous for a moment, until what she said penetrated. Then he stared at her and, to her delighted astonishment, blushed. Very faintly, but she could see it.
She looked at Draco and said, "One day, Draco, one of your little jokes won't fall flat; it will bounce up and bite your head off."
Mrs Malfoy asked, "Draco, Lucius, did you find that old magizoology book you thought Luna would be interested in?"
That was hardly subtle, but as she shooed them out of the room and shut the door behind herself as she followed them, Luna didn't mind.
She went over to Severus Snape and sat beside him on the velvet-upholstered couch before she asked, "Do you still have that sickle I gave you, Severus?" He nodded, looking wary. "And do you think that, if I transfigured both our sickles, say to rings, they might still be used to communicate?"
Severus might have been surprised, and might distrust anything that looked like an advance, but she didn't have to hit him over the head. He understood that she was serious, as she had hoped he might.
"That might be an interesting experiment," he said, as smoothly as if he had not been gaping at her two minutes ago. So he was willing too. That was excellent.
"Oh good. Perhaps I could get yours now?"
She turned to him and started to unbutton his robes.
He flinched very slightly, then answered firmly, "If I may retrieve and examine yours."
They had all the time in the world, and dinner wasn't to be served for another couple of hours.