Harry Potter and the Casualty Conspiracy

"'I'd want some peace and quiet, if it were me,' I told him," A willowy blond young woman explained as she began pouring a cup of tea. Her onlooker was a huskier young man, with a kind face and slightly shaggy brown hair. The girl looked up from the earthy-smelling brew, her protruding, misty blue eyes understanding and calm. "Gurdyroot infusion. My dad's favorite. The Crumple-Horned Snorkack's, too, as it were."

Eyeing the beet-colored liquid she'd passed over to him, the young man pretended to look thankful, but in the end shrugged it off. He was growing a little impatient that the topic had changed from the original one to mythical creatures that only this particular girl, her eccentric father, and maybe a handful of other witches and wizards would appreciate. "Luna--" he nudged gently, as if hoping to grab her attention, as she sometimes had a tendency to appear as if she wasn't listening and seem rather caught up in a sleepless dream, instead.

"Yes, Neville?"

The boy's soft brown eyes flickered from Luna's pale face, to a letter he'd placed on the table. "What happened then? When did your letter come?"

Luna didn't look at all offended that the topic had changed so quickly. From around the countertop separating the small kitchen from the rest of her quaint flat (which had once been quite dull in appearance, though now reflected Luna's unconventional nature in the artwork and furniture), she sort of skipped, her long lilac dress swaying slightly in her movements. "He said, 'I'd love some,' and then I offered to distract everyone as he went under that cloak of his." She paused, her expression priceless, obviously caught up in the memory of her theatrics; having expressed a Blibbering Humdinger was near at the time. "I saw Ron and Hermione leave the Hall a while later. I think they went with him. Probably to send him off, since they've certainly not gone into hiding, themselves."

Neville was still watching with interest, having taken a sip of his tea and pulled an expression rather like swallowing a vomit-flavored Bertie Bott's Bean, which had, unfortunately, happened to him all too many times. "I didn't see or hear from Harry for a week. And then...My letter arrived."

Nodding, Neville quickly replied. "Mine, too. Sounds like he's doing alright, but you'd think he would be happier out in the real world with the rest of us now. He hasn't got anything to really worry about now that the rest of us don't. It's all just finding houses, and jobs, and such. Gram nearly drove me out the door with that handbag of hers." He grinned sheepishly. "I'm sure they were smacks of love, though."

Luna giggled replying, "My father was a little more reluctant," but then regained her usual thoughtful and slightly dreamy composure. "I don't know...Harry's always had something to worry about than none of us could understand. Maybe he still does and we just don't know." She lifted her eyes toward a painting above the small fireplace, which was unlit as it was still summertime. This fairly new painting (her others had been destroyed in an Erumpent horn explosion in her home) was of a group of students, all dressed in the same black robes, though different emblems had been stitched, or in this case painted, on the front. Neville got up from his chair, happily leaving the tea behind, to come follow Luna to the picture.

Beneath the frame, a tiny brass plaque bore the words, "Dumbledore's Army: Friends Fighting for What is Right." It had been done in a Muggle style, meaning that the people in the painting remained still and didn't go about giggling and waving, as pictures back at Hogwarts, and most of the Wizarding world did. Luna still had yet to acquire paints or the knowledge to do so, but after having just graduated, she now had the time to follow such fancies as that.

"It's really good, Luna," Neville added absently, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans. While he'd wanted to stay on the topic of Harry Potter, this was a pleasant divergence from their conversation. "How weird is it to think of what everyone is doing now? Or more, what we don't know about them?" He pointed to a couple of Ravenclaws, with their blue-embroidered crests. "Padma and Michael were dating for a while. Ginny told me."

"Do you think Harry knows about any of this?" Luna asked, tearing her eyes away from the painting. "I've tried sending him letters, but I don't ever know if he actually gets them. He doesn't reply."

Neville shrugged. "I bet Ron and Hermione keep him informed...Wherever he is. He has got to know by now that they're engaged, right? How couldn't he!" Luna nodded.

"Yes, I do hope he has some idea of what's going on now." She smiled brightly. "Plenty of good things. The world is becoming a better place and if he knew that, maybe he'd know that he doesn't have to go on hiding any more."

The center of the painting was where Luna had drawn Harry, which was symbolic not only in the course of the D.A. and him being the basic leader and teacher, but in life in general. Harry had been the one everything revolved around. Everything had happened to him. The rest could only get so close to that center position, but they were never really there. She'd tried to capture his emerald eyes as best she could, but ended up slightly disappointed at the result. There were too many hidden emotions lingering in those green pools for mere paint to capture. "Someday," she said out loud to these thoughts, though Neville probably perceived them differently. Neither was skilled in Legilimency in any way.

"Yeah," he agreed, thinking that she meant Harry would return. "Someday. It'd be nice to have everyone back together for once. The D.A., the rest of the Order..." Since Voldemort's defeat, Neville had unofficially been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix, and now that Ginny and Luna had both graduated from "Hogwarts" (the school had endured a bit of magical damage, so that some portions were still near ruins that would have to be repaired over time), they had joined the remaining ranks, as well. It was a somber camaraderie, those who had struggled through the battle in its entirety, and therefore had the losses to remember, but could do so in the company of their best friends, and still bring grins to each other's faces. With Harry gone, it just seemed like "up-keeping." What anyone could expect upon his return, no one knew.

A flash of silver light diverted Neville's attention from the painting, and he hastily grabbed Luna's shoulder, spinning her around to face the appearing Patronus, both witch and wizard instinctively reaching for the wands in their pockets. It was a weasel, Arthur Weasley's Patronus, usually bearing news from the Ministry.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt has been murdered!" Luna gaped at the silver weasel, speaking with Mr. Weasley's voice, and Neville gasped. "I repeat, the Minister of Magic has been murdered!"

But while this was surprising, it was the weasel's next words that really put the two listeners, as well as all the others Arthur had contacted, over the edge.

"And there is alleged evidence naming Harry Potter as the main suspect in the murder!"