While Luna was never one to fret, she did pay heed to the Grey Lady’s advice regarding Professor Umbridge. Luna, in spite of her wont to bend the rules, was generally well liked by her teachers and had never been in real trouble at Hogwarts. But she wasn’t so innocent as to believe that Umbridge would overlook the fact that it was her father’s publication that had printed Harry’s interview.

Luna knew that a reckoning of sorts was coming. She just wasn’t sure which direction it would spring from.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Luna was heading for the library after her last class. All day, in the backs of classrooms and in the corridors in between, people had been whispering furiously about Harry Potter and You-Know-Who. The extra issues of The Quibbler (cleverly enchanted to look like pages of text or class notes) had apparently circulated all throughout the school, and most students seemed to have committed the contents to memory.

She was idly wondering what the reception to the issue had been outside the school (beyond the letters of response that had come to Harry that first day) when she rounded the corner and met a foreboding pink roadblock.

Professor Umbridge smiled. The effect was fairly horrific.

“Miss Lovegood,” she said.

It was the first time Professor Umbridge had ever addressed her directly.

Luna smile pleasantly and nodded. “Hello, Professor Umbridge.”

She watched the High Inquisitor curiously. Time to see which way the Professor would pounce.

Professor Umbridge didn’t seem to care for the frank appraisal. The smile didn’t waver, but the woman’s eyes narrowed considerably.

“Miss Lovegood, exactly what are you wearing?”

Luna blinked, wondering what sort of trick question this was. For surely there was some trick to it. She made a show of looking down at herself.

“My uniform, Professor Umbridge.”

Professor Umbridge’s smile grew even more unpleasant.

“On your legs,” she said, pointedly.

“Tights, Professor Umbridge.” In a shade of bright Ravenclaw blue. They’d been in her Christmas stocking this year.

Professor Umbridge’s smile had a tinge of satisfied triumph in it.

“It has come to my attention, Miss Lovegood, that you take a rather flippant and disrespectful approach to Hogwarts’ uniform policy. It’s little wonder that discipline at this school has been reduced to such shambles when such basic rules are not enforced. I don’t know how in the world you learn.”

“With our brains, of course, Professor Umbridge.”

Professor Umbridges’s smile thinned. It was not, Luna thought, perhaps a wise thing to have answered her question. But she was fairly certain that punishment was coming, regardless, so she chose to set wisdom aside for a moment.

“Miss Lovegood, you will go straight to your dormitory and adjust your uniform so that it is in compliance with the rules. Black tights, and also take those radishes out of your ears and throw away that ridiculous cork. Once you’ve done that, report directly to Mr. Filch. You will serve two hours of detention for your inappropriate dress and another two hours for your impertinence. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Professor Umbridge.”

Students had stopped to watch this byplay in the corridor. Luna could see two of her roommates, Rebecca and Cosmina, glaring openly at Umbridge. Luna shook her head at them very slightly. Not that she really thought they’d make a fuss, but best to be safe.

Apparently satisfied, Umbridge flounced off in the direction of her office. Once she rounded the corner, Rebecca and Cosmina quickly swooped down on Luna.

“She can’t do that!” Cosmina said, indignantly. “No one’s ever cared what you wore before. She didn’t care until your dad published that interview.”

Luna offered her half of a sympathetic smile.

“I think she just proved that she can,” Luna said, before turning and heading back to Ravenclaw Tower.

She had a detention to dress for.

Tonight's Happy Hour is announced by a loud, ferocious roar.

Luna is a Ravenclaw, and therefore adept at multitasking. The bartending specials are already written up on the board in shimmering and shifting colored chalk:

Gillywater
Exploding Lemonade
Eggnog

While waiting for customers, she is finishing off a star chart for Astronomy on a large, curly-edged piece of parchment. And she is giving her new hat for the upcoming Gryffindor – Slytherin match a test run.

It’s an impressive sight, perched there on her head; A large lion’s head with a cascading mane. The glass eyes blink dreamily. And the roar might seem to threaten mauled limbs for anyone who actually comes to the bar to place an order.

Luna knows that she’s dreaming.

She knows that she’s dreaming because, on an ordinary day, certain things don’t happen even at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Like a dozen mermaids, leaping and frolicking and swimming through midair down a wide corridor of the castle. Mrs. Norris runs underneath them, swiping at their tails when they dip low enough.

Luna waits for them to pass before she continues on her way.

The wide corridor curves down and ever around. No stairs and no lights, though the way is perfectly bright. And periodically, like finding a clearing in the woods, it opens into a round chamber that must be passed through.

In one, smooth blue ice covers the floor, and Professors Dumbledore and Trelawny skate a graceful waltz to a scratchy record playing on an old victrola in the corner. Bobbing through the air, in time to the music, are pale, pearly, jellyfish-like creatures. Luna stretches out her hand to touch one as she passes.

“Mind the wrackspurts, Miss Lovegood. They’re delicate,” Professor Dumbledore says as he and Professor Trelawny glide past.

“Yes, Professor,” Luna replies, and continues on her way.

In another room, a dozen centaurs arranged in a circle juggle stars and moons back and forth at such a speed that they form a glowing dome that she must pass under to reach the other side. Another chamber is full of magic carpets, hanging from the ceiling and curled in on themselves, like so many colorful, exotic bats.

It’s all very interesting, but Luna doesn’t linger. The corridor keeps going, and Luna knows she is expected at the end of it.

She knows she’s close when the stone floor gives way to earth and grass and trees begin to stretch up out of the ground. The wide corridor becomes a narrow path, and on either side the ground is covered with thousands upon thousands of fat, blood red flowers.

The thestrals are eating the flowers with what appears to be great enjoyment.

Then there’s nothing at all but a field. And at the center of the field is a low table set for tea and a set of comfortably threadbare parlor furniture. A woman in pale yellow robes is sitting on the sofa, stroking a white rabbit that is napping in her lap. But at the sight of Luna she settles him instead on the ottoman and comes skipping forward.

“There you are,” she says, wrapping Luna in a hug as familiar as yesterday, smelling of nutmeg and vervain and hint of mandrake extract. “Did you have a nice walk?”

“Very nice.” Luna wraps her arms around her mother’s waist, and leans back a little to look up at her. It’s a much shorter distance than she remembers. “I’m not late, am I?”

“Never at all. Any time you came would be right on time.” With one hand resting on Luna’s shoulder and the other on her cheek, her mother smiles at her. And Luna knows she is being measured, more in growth than in height and age.

Her mother seems to like what she finds.

Hand-in-hand they stroll over to the sofa and settle down on the soft, worn cushions. The rabbit on the ottoman twitches his nose briefly and watches through half-closed eyes. Luna curls up against her mother’s side, head resting on her shoulder.

“So,” her mother says, cheek resting on the top of her head, “tell me something new that happened today.”

They had played this game every day. Tell me something new that you did today. Tell me something good that you saw. Tell me something bad that happened. What was the best thing that happened?

“Lots of new things,” Luna says, her eyes half closed. “But there’ve been a lot of days since the last time I saw you.”

Her mother chuckles. “Since you’ve seen me. Not since I’ve seen you,” she says. “Tell me about school. Is it going well?”

Luna leans her head back against the back of the sofa. The sky overhead seems to shift and change every time she blinks. Pink and gold dawn. Then deep, dark blue with silver stars. Then a froth of wooly grey clouds. Then the sharp bright orange of sunset. Then the green tinge that comes just before a storm.

“I like school. And classes. And my teachers.” Luna feels her mother smile against her hair. “But other things…..other things aren’t going so well at all. And I think they could get much worse.”

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Cedric Diggory. Professor Umbridge. Ministry lies. The Sorting Hat’s song. A storm is coming surely enough.

As if trying to be reassuring, the sky shifts again to the cozy blue-grey of twilight.

“Yes, I’d heard as much.” Luna’s mother squeezes her hand. “Are you afraid?”

“A bit,” Luna says. “Maybe more than a bit.”

Luna’s mother nods. “A bit, either big or little, is only good and proper, I think,” she says. “Do you know yet what you’re going to do?”

Luna snuggles in a little closer. “Not yet,” she replies. “Something. I don’t think that doing nothing is a choice, at least not one I want to make. But I don’t quite know what to do yet.”

“You’ll sort it out,” her mother says. “You’re such a bright girl.”

Luna smiles at that. “Do you think so?”

“I do. Watch and listen. You always did take everything in. You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

Luna nods. “When the time comes,” she agrees. “But not this very minute?”

Her mother laughs and wraps both arms around her. “No, not this very minute. Let’s just stay here for a while.”

They sit there for what feels like a very long time, watching the sky overhead shift through colors and moods. They sit there until Luna feels her mother sigh a bit.

“Luna?”

“Yes, Mum?”

“Remember what I said. Watch and listen. And I’ll watch you.”

Luna frowns a bit, but nods. “I will.”

“Luna?”

“Yes, Mum?”

This time there’s not answer. And—Luna blinks—no one beside her on the sofa. No tea table. No dozing rabbit on an ottoman.

“Luna?” the voice says again, more insistently.

“Yes, Mum?”

Still no answer. But just for a moment, Luna feels her mother’s hand pat her cheek.

Then there’s another pat. This one different, not nearly so gentle. It stings enough to make Luna scrunch her eyes closed.

When she opens them again, she’s still sitting on a sofa, but not a threadbare one in the middle of a field. It’s a sofa in the Ravenclaw common room. And someone’s still smacking her cheek with ever increasing force, but it’s not Avonmora Lovegood. It’s Roger Davies, who is surrounded by six or seven other Ravenclaws.

“Lovegood!” he says. “Snap out of it, already.”

“Blimey, Roger, she’s awake. You can stop that now.” Enid, in her pajamas and dressing gown. Who must have followed her down from the tower, Luna guesses.

Roger stands up, looking relieved. And oddly, Luna thinks, like someone who has just had a dragon leap out from under his bed. He fishes through a few pockets before coming up with a wrinkly handkerchief which he holds out to her.

That’s also quite odd. Until Luna realizes that her face is completely wet.

“You just strolled downstairs, staring off into space, sat down on the couch, and just…..fountained.” Now Luna recognizes Roger Davies’ expression. It’s not really fearful. It’s just that panicked look that boys get when they see girls cry. “Didn’t make a noise or nothing. It was creepy.”

“I’m sorry,” Luna says, taking the handkerchief and mopping at her face. “I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”

“You didn’t,” Davies sighs. And, true, the other few Ravenclaws still in the common room are drifting back to the tables of homework that, doubtless, have been what has kept them up so late. Everyone except Enid. “Just…..you might want to go see Madame Pomfrey in the morning. Or Professor Flitwick. Or something. Maybe.”

Luna takes pity on him, finishes drying the tears off of her face, and hands back the handkerchief. “Maybe I will do that. Thank you, Roger.”

Even though she’s sure they both know that she won’t. Ravenclaws just like to try to solve problems, that’s all.

Roger just nods. “Yeah. Take her back upstairs, would you, Enid?”

They climb the stairs back to their room in silence. Enid is discomfited, Luna can tell. She thinks that her roommate isn’t going to say anything on the matter at all, but once they’ve tucked themselves back into their beds again, she hears a question from the bed on the left.

“Luna?” Enid asks. “Was it a bad dream?”

Luna lays looking up at the hanging above her bed. “No,” she says. “No, it was quite a lovely dream, actually.”

“Oh.” Enid sounds doubtful. Luna hears the sound of blankets being arranged. “Well, best get some sleep. Potions first thing tomorrow. Won’t do to be half asleep in Snape’s class.”

“No,” Luna agrees. “But we can sleep in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

There’s an amused snort from Enid and, a few minutes later, soft snores.

But Luna doesn’t sleep the rest of that night.

A blast of salty, North Sea wind blows a most unusual sight through the door of Milliways this evening.

Luna is wearing billowy, gauzy white robes over her regular clothes. Her hair is loose and liberally festooned with pink Scottish primroses. And a pair of filmy white wings (now a bit crooked from the wind) have been fixed onto the back of her robe with a sticking charm.

Mr. Spring’s portraits have taken on a distinctly Waterhouse flair this summer.

(This picture could be stranger. The stupefied seal she has been posing with has been disenchanted and shooed back to join his pod.)

Luna may have forgotten that she’s wearing an odd costume. Or it just hasn’t occurred to her that it’s all that odd, really. Either way she walks across the bar with an utter lack of concern.

There’s tea to be had here.

After three years now, the countryside along the route of the Hogwarts Express is very familiar – hills and forest, moorland and farm. There’s something oddly comforting, Luna thinks, in how the world can go by outside the train windows as it always has, even when it’s just been set on its edge.

Just as there’s an odd sort of comfort in knowing the truth of a situation, even when it’s a truth you’d rather not be true.

Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.

Luna had never doubted that Professor Dumbledore would tell them the truth of things, though he had waited until the Leaving Feast to do so. Prior to that he had simply instructed them all not to trouble Harry Potter with questions about what had happened.

Poor Harry Potter. Luna had felt badly for him before, but even more so now. No wonder he’s spent the week since the Third Task looking like one of the castle’s ghosts.

People will doubt the truth, of course. People always do. People already are – Luna had heard a thread or two of disbelieving whispers on the walk to the Hogsmeade station. It's not surprising, of course. People are frightened.

Luna included. The thought of You-Know-Who being back is, frankly, terrifying.

But she doesn’t doubt that it’s true.

It is my belief—and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken—that we are all facing dark and difficult times.

And that’s the really sobering point, isn’t it? That things might get much worse from here.

Might. Not inevitably. But might.

That Cedric is only the beginning.

Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort.

Luna, for all that she is given to thinking about things, has never been overly given to introspection. To thinking about who she is, what she might do about something, and why she might do it. Mostly, she's never had to. She's always been comfortable enough in her own somewhat off-kilter skin that she's never bothered. A situation will arise and she will simply address it as she sees fit in that moment.

But things are changing.

And the thing about train rides? They give you a lot of time to think.

To wonder what you might do if confronted with certain choices.

To wonder if you are, in fact, a brave person. And wonder if you'll be placed in the position to find out, irrevocably, one way or the other.

Countryside slowly begins to give way to brick and concrete and steel, and soon enough the Hogwarts Express is pulling into King’s Cross. The platform is crowded with families, all of whom look a little more anxious than usual to meet the students getting off the train.

Luna knows, from overhearing Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey, that a letter had immediately gone out to the parents telling them of what had happened at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. And there are surely precious few who haven’t gotten additional letters from their children on the subject. Luna had sent three herself. She doesn’t think it’s her imagination that welcoming hugs seem to be longer and tighter than they normally are.

Luna has to squeeze her way through several knots of people before she finds her face suddenly pressed into a well-worn robe that smells like ink and burned toast. And there’s a button digging uncomfortably into her eyebrow.

But that’s okay. Because it’s Dad.

Dad holds onto her for a long time, his nose resting on the top of her head, before giving her one last squeeze and letting her go.

“Come on. Let’s go home,” he says.

Home. And a quiet summer. And more time to think about things. Time to talk things over with Dad and the Cooks and Mr. Spring and Auntie George.

And then hopefully when the time for making choices comes, Luna will trust that she’ll know how to see what’s right.

There’s a witch in the lake, in water up to her waist. And she appears to be staring intently into the bottom of an economy-sized bean tin that is resting on the surface of the water.

Luna has carefully planned this particular expedition, and is properly outfitted in bathing suit, swim cap, and Alabaster’s Best Burn Block ointment, which is smeared liberally on her nose. The bean tin has had the top and bottom carefully removed, and the bottom enchanted with a fixed bubble charm, turning it into a fairly handy tool for underwater viewing.

All the better to see what is on the bottom of the lake, at least in the shallows.

Her journal is in her school bag on a rock on the shore, waiting to record an account of whatever she might see.

Botherable. Though you may have to make a bit of a splash to get her attention.

Luna wanders nonchalantly into Milliways wearing a nightgown and a pair of soft shoes.

She wanders among the tables for a bit, randomly picking up a shaker of salt here, a bottle of mustard there, and numerous other condiments, stopping only when her arms are full. Whereupon she selects a table as a workspace (maybe an empty one, maybe yours), sets down the lot, and begins unscrewing the caps and dumping out the contents.

Odd behavior, even for Luna. A clue to the puzzle may be found by taking a look at her eyes which, while open, suggest that she is, in fact, sound asleep.

It might be a good idea to nudge her toward wakefulness before the mess gets too big.