Pretty Good Year

4.

Ravenclaw Tower, is, after a month and a half of emptiness, cold and dark and as lonely, in its own way, as Grimmauld Place had been.

Luna sits for a moment on her old bed, which no longer feels like anything that ever belonged to her, then goes to the small in-House library, where she sits in a blue velvet armchair, and hopes the Grey Lady will come and find her.

The Grey Lady had been her best friend during her first year at Hogwarts. Luna had seen the thestrals on her first carriage ride from the train to the school, but when she'd pointed them out to her fellow first years, they had all either laughed at her or started whispering to each other about how strange she was. The Grey Lady had come to her after the Welcoming Feast while she was sitting in this very armchair, staring out at the moon and feeling lonely amidst the chatter of all the other first years, who had made friends with each other immediately and were now sharing Fizzing Whizbees and games of wizard chess. Luna had never met a ghost before, as the house she lived in with her father wasn't very old, and she had spent the rest of the evening asking the Grey Lady questions, which, Luna had the impression, the Grey Lady had found very flattering.

Luna knows that the ghosts tend to avoid students who have recently lost friends or family, because they are afraid of being asked for favors that are not in their power to grant. The Grey Lady in particular loves to be admired, and dislikes disappointing anyone, and she had nearly gone away when Luna told her about her mother. But Luna only ever wanted to talk about her mother, never to her, and told the Grey Lady so.

The Grey Lady's willingness to listen had been a great comfort to her when she was eleven, and Luna wants very much to talk to her now. But she sits in the armchair for an hour, and the Grey Lady does not come.

Perhaps she is afraid Luna's changed her mind about talking to dead people, now both her parents are dead.

Perhaps the Grey Lady's avoiding her means her father really is dead by now.

Luna has heard the stories. She knows about Neville's parents, and Terry McKinnon's aunt. And Professor Snape admitted that her father was alive when they left him, though she had to trick him into saying it. Her father might still be alive yet—a gibbering, incontinent wreck, fit only to spend the rest of his life on the closed ward at St. Mungo's. Her father might be alive, and calling for her, and she was here, safely hundreds of miles from Ottery St. Catchpole.

Professor Snape thinks her father was stupid. Snape thinks he underestimated the risks he was taking by continuing to print issues of The Quibbler, and living outside the enclave. Snape doesn't understand—none of them did—how seriously her father had taken his work, or how many times he had asked Luna to go to the Burrow without him. He wouldn't go himself because he wouldn't abandon his printing press, which had no chance of fitting into the Weasleys' already overcrowded home. "There is work to be done for the man of letters," he had insisted, and Luna had believed he was right, and that there was also work for her.

So while her father had printed copies of the Order's manifesto, denouncing Fudge's ministry as a tool of Voldemort's ascension, Luna had been experimenting. The way her mother had once experimented, joyfully and recklessly, heedless of dangers. Her mother had died that way. Luna ought to have died that way.

A few days before she followed Harry into hiding, Ginny Weasley had come to visit. Dumbledore was taking her and Ron away to join Harry—somewhere, she said, they would have no need of invisibility cloaks. Harry had given his to Ginny before he left, and now Ginny wouldn't need it anymore—she'd given it to Luna, "just in case," and promised to collect it from her when she came back.

Invisibility cloaks, Luna knew from her father, were one of the rarest artifacts in the magical world. The majority of cloaks still in existence were in the possession of the Ministry of Magic and used by Aurors. None had been made since the sixteenth century, when the original family of craftsmen, who passed their trade secrets from father to son, ended in a family of twelve girls. No one since the inventor and his family had ever succeeded in charming a piece of cloth so that it was invisible when worn but visible otherwise. Similarly, no one had been able to counteract the corrosive nature of a simple invisibility spell, which was not difficult to perform, but had a nasty habit of either becoming permanent, or turning the charmed object into a puddle of sticky goo.

Luna, who was after all quite good at Charms, had set about making one for her father. Ginny's—Harry's—invisibility cloak alone did them no good, because neither of them would take it and leave the other; but Luna knew that if they were both invisible, they could escape together, and easily.

Once they were safely away, she would work on simplifying the process so that everyone in the Order of the Phoenix could have an invisibility cloak of his or her own. Defeating Voldemort, she felt, would be a very much simpler matter, if one had a completely invisible army.

She had been making progress, analyzing Harry's cloak and identifying the component spells that held it together. But not quickly enough to save her father. She hadn't even saved herself—Professor Snape had done that. By now her small W.C. laboratory will have been burnt to the ground with the rest of the house. If she recreates her work, which she is sure she could do quite easily, she can still help the Order. But she will never be able to help her father again.

That will be the strangest part, Luna thinks. No more trips to Sweden in search of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. No more typesetting articles, or addressing issues of The Quibbler before sending them off by owl. A very large part of her life, she realizes, has been devoted to helping her father with things. She will have to fill those hours now by herself.

The hour she spends in the library is very long, and though the Grey Lady never comes it seems to Luna that Ravenclaw Tower is full of ghosts. She looks up every few minutes, thinking she's heard someone come through the portrait hole, but no one ever does.

The sun begins to rise, and she does not want to sleep, or read, or sit still any longer, so she climbs through the portrait hole and goes for a walk.

*

Luna has been in the dungeons before—she took Potions there until her fifth year, when her O.W.L. came up 'Acceptable'—but no one, with the possible exception of the Weasley twins, ever went there just for the fun of it. Yet after she has walked the length of all the other floors, including the Astronomy Tower and the Owlery, she finds herself in a damp, cold corridor, stretching at least a hundred yards before her.

The majority of the rooms she passes appear to be storage facilities, all with wooden doors and iron locks, but half-way down the corridor she discovers to her left an open, circular chamber, into which five iron doors are set. There are tiny, narrow windows cut into each door just above Luna's eye level, and, peering through them, the room beyond each door appears to be dark and empty—except for the one in the middle, where a large fire is burning, if the cheerful red and gold light coming through the window and between the cracks at the sides of the door is any indication.

She studies this door for a moment, until she hears noises coming down the corridor behind her. She turns toward a nearby intersecting corridor, considering for a moment whether the suit of armor just after the aperture is large enough to hide her. Then she remembers that even if Professor Snape does find her here and decides to deduct points from Ravenclaw, none of her former house mates will ever know it was her fault, so she stands where she is and waits.

The noise, which is coming closer, sounds very much like the rattling of a silver tea set, but she doesn't see it or the person carrying it until they are almost on top of her, when she chances to look down and see two tiny house-elves, wearing black tea-towels emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, and holding a steaming tray of food over their heads.

"Hello," she says, and is answered by two small squeaks, followed by a scramble to keep the tray from spilling its contents after their abrupt stop.

They lower the tray and hold it between them so they can look up. The one standing at front, a female with a button nose, smiles up at her. "Hello miss! Is you coming to see young master?"

"Yes," Luna says immediately.

"We is taking his breakfast inside now miss. We will bring another cup for you when we is done."

Luna beams at the house-elves as they scurry to the door, which springs open automatically—she suspects it would have been much harder to get through that door without them. Luna slips in behind them, and stands just inside the door as they carry the tray to a small table.

The room is furnished in Gryffindor colors, looking much as Luna supposes the dormitories in Gryffindor Tower do, though there is but one bed. There are two empty chairs by the table, and the hangings are drawn shut.

"We has your breakfast, young master! We is bringing fruit today, as young master asked. We is bringing another teacup for young miss, too. Is young master needing anything else before we go?"

"Wait—what—what do you mean? Who's there?"

The voice, muffled by the hangings, is familiar. But the person it reminds her of is meant to be dead.

She takes a few more steps closer to the bed, because dead people do not frighten her.

"Neville?"

The curtains begin to rustle violently, as though someone were trying to open them quickly but had got tangled up. When they do part, the voice becomes much clearer. "Who's there? Is that—are you—Luna?"

She walks slowly to the side of the bed where the curtains have opened. She stands where he can see her, and she can look at him.

His blue eyes, darker than usual against the pallor of his no-longer-round face, widen.

Six months have passed since the siege of Hogwarts, and the fall of Hogsmeade, where she saw Neville last. Luna was in the hospital wing, regrowing the bones in her right hand, when Harry carried him inside. Harry had ignored everyone and gone straight to an empty bed where Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore were waiting, and though Luna had pretended to sleep, she heard every word—"It was the killing curse, Voldemort sort of charged his way down the middle of his Death Eaters and hit Neville with it. Professor, I don't understand, did Voldemort learn about the rest of the prophecy—"

The house-elves, who have been watching them a bit nervously, finally disappear with a sharp crack. The noise brings Luna back to herself, and she takes a seat in a scarlet armchair upholstered in velvet.

"Hello Neville. I see you aren't dead. That's very nice. You look quite different." He is skeletally thin, his hair dull and falling below his ears.

"Yeah. I don't guess Voldemort would mistake me for Harry again, would he? Even from behind."

"Was that what happened?"

"Dumbledore thinks so. Or at least, I think that's what he thinks. He, um, doesn't talk to me much about—what happened."

One of the house-elves reappears with a second crack, carrying a plate of scones and a second cup for the tea, this time leaving quietly by the door.

"I expect you're actually here, aren't you?" Neville continues, without acknowledging the activity between them. "Sometimes I see things....people....though if I'd just imagined you, you'd probably still be wearing that necklace of butterbeer corks you always used to have..."

Luna nodded. "Millicent Bulstrode took it away from me during the battle. She'd always been jealous of it, she couldn't drink butterbeer herself because she had an allergy."

Neville pulls himself to the edge of the bed, and puts his feet on the floor with an effort. He is far thinner than she ever saw him at school, and his thinness makes him seem taller, even before he stands up. He pulls his dressing gown over his shoulders, and stares at the table laden with food, as though intimidated by the distance.

Luna reaches for the tea pot and pours a cup for each of them. This seems to give Neville the courage to take the four steps to the armchair on the other side of the table, and when he sits again he is breathing heavily.

"You're very ill," she says, reaching for a scone as Neville takes the first sip of his tea without sugar.

"I have been, ever since the battle. They really did think I was dead at first, and then I woke up because I was having these nightmares.... That was all I did for awhile, really, sleep and have nightmares." A few drops of sweat are visible on Neville's brow. "I see...things—only not people, I haven't seen anyone but the house-elves and Dumbledore for ages. McGonagall, and Professor Sprout, they used to come and visit me sometimes, but they haven't come lately. They said I was dangerous for awhile, and they still keep the door locked, only the house-elves can get in. I don't have a wand anymore. I'm really glad to see you, I haven't seen anyone since the battle. What are you doing here?"

"Professor Snape brought me."

"Snape? Why Snape, what's he doing, he isn't coming down here is he?" A flush of color suddenly overcomes the whiteness of his face and his fingers tighten around the handle of his tea cup.

"Professor Snape came to my house last night with the Death Eaters. They killed my father, I think. Professor Snape took us away and we Apparated somewhere, then we flew a carpet to the castle. He told me to go to Ravenclaw Tower when we got here and I don't know where he is now."

"Oh." Neville slumps back in his chair. "Oh. I'm really sorry about your dad, Luna. You think they killed him?"

"He wasn't dead when we left. Professor Snape told me afterward."

"That's so horrible!" Neville's hand jerks with such force that half the tea in his cup sloshes over the side, into the saucer and onto the leg of his pajamas. "I hate them! Those stupid Death Eaters and their stupid masks, how could Snape just leave him like that, how could you let him, they'll do horrible things to him—"

Luna watches him for a few seconds, then stands and leans over the table to take the tea cup out of his hand. She places it on the table beside the tea pot, then shakes out one of the elaborately folded cloth napkins and presses it to the stain on his knee. Neville falls back in his chair, breathing heavily, but allowing her to tend him. She waits until she can turn her face away from him before wiping the tears that have sprung into her eyes.

When she looks at Neville again he is staring at her, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Luna, I didn't mean to say all that. You—you know about my mum and dad. When I feel things now, it's like they're—bigger than they were before. Does that make any sense?"

"Yes."

Neville reaches for his cup again, but the tea in it has gone cold, and he makes a face. Luna pours him a second cup and pushes the sugar bowl toward him.

"He's probably dead by now," Neville offers after a second. "They don't keep them—alive very often. Usually only when they have a good reason. They were trying to get information out of my dad. Oh. They weren't—your dad wasn't—"

Luna shakes her head. "I think it was just because my dad publishes The Quibbler."

Neville frowns at her. "You mean they're still angry about that Rita Skeeter article? But that was years ago."

"Well, I imagine they are still angry about it, it was quite an effective article," Luna replies, smiling. "But I think they were rather angrier about the one we published two months ago. Professor Dumbledore wrote up a statement in the name of the Order, saying Death Eaters were controlling the Ministry of Magic and that 'Fudge's obsessions, both with power and purity of blood, have created so many footholds for Voldemort's influence within the Ministry that placing Ministry employees under Imperius would be to Voldemort both redundant and counterproductive.'" At Neville's look, she smiles again. "We reprinted that issue loads of times. I must have typeset it once a week, and then I had to fold them up and mail them. It's not the first article I've wound up memorizing. I still know quite a good one about Muggle systems of government being mirrored in isolated settlements of garden gnomes."

"That—that was really brave of you and your dad," Neville says, his voice quiet. "My gran told me that last time—during the last war—the Daily Prophet stopped running for while, because people were so scared of being singled out that they wouldn't even read about the attacks."

"The Daily Prophet has been running a series of articles on the Weird Sisters this week. Hermione Granger even canceled her subscription. She sent me an owl, and I got her a complimentary subscription to The Quibbler to replace it."

"Hermione?" Neville brightens palpably, though he doesn't go so far as to smile. "Have you seen her? How is she?"

"I haven't seen her lately, but during the battle she came into the hospital wing a few minutes before you did. She was in the bed next to me and we talked while our bones were regrowing, to take our mind off it."

"I don't know why I didn't ask Dumbledore already," Neville says, frowning down at his lap. "It's almost like I forgot her until just now, but I don't understand how I could, I used to think about her all the time." He looks up at Luna. "What about everyone else we knew? The rest of the D.A.?"

"Oh, everyone's fine. Well, Harry's gone away somewhere, and Ginny and Ron are with him, Dumbledore's hiding them some place, and most of us were hurt in the battle, but we're all fine now. We did think you were dead though, it was very sad."

"I'm sorry." Neville flushes again, though less brilliantly than he had at the thought of seeing Snape. "I don't know why they didn't tell anyone."

"What kind of things did you dream about? Are you still dreaming? You said you see things sometimes."

"Oh. Yeah, sometimes. The dreams aren't nearly as horrible as they were. They were mostly about people fighting, although Harry was in it a lot. I think...I think..." He speaks quickly as though afraid of being overheard. "I think it has something to do with Voldemort cursing me."

"Because that's how Harry got his visions."

"Yeah...only...I didn't die when he cursed me, but neither did he. I mean, the curse didn't backfire on him the way it did when he attacked Harry as a baby, so why would I start seeing into his head? And anyway, Harry's dreams turned out to be fake. Why would Voldemort bother sending me fake visions? I'm not going to be lured anywhere."

"Especially not as you're locked in."

"Right. I mean—wait, do you think—" Neville lowered his tea again, staring at her.

Luna stares back.

"They're still locking me in, and I haven't been violent at all, not since I woke up anyway, and that's been months ago. Am I going to see my gran being tortured in the Department of Mysteries? I wouldn't do that, I wouldn't run off. I know better than that! Do you hear me, I'm not going anywhere you tell me to!" He started to rock back and forth in his chair, clamping his hands suddenly to his ears, as though blocking out loud noises.

The door opens suddenly, and both of them jump. Neville turns wildly, and Luna stands up.

Professor Sprout strides through the door, followed by McGonagall, Dumbledore, and—Neville cries out softly, and turns a look on Luna—Snape.

"What—oh dear. Oh. Luna, we've been searching the whole castle for you. We were worried when we couldn't find you in Ravenclaw Tower—that's where Professor Snape said you had gone—but we heard voices coming from Neville's room...." Professor Sprout is looking rapidly from Luna to Neville, as though wondering if she ought to get between them.

"Ravenclaw Tower is where I instructed Miss Lovegood to remain," Snape says, watching Luna from over Sprout's shoulder.

"I went for a walk," Luna says to Professor Sprout while returning Snape's gaze. "The house-elves let me in to see Neville."

"That was very good of you, Miss Lovegood," Dumbledore says, startling everyone, from the back of the small crowd. "I'm afraid Mr Longbottom has had few visitors of late."

McGonagall says something low under her breath, that sounds like "Albus!" but Dumbledore does not react.

"If you will excuse the interruption, Neville, I must require a few minutes of Miss Lovegood's time. You are, of course, free, Miss Lovegood, to return and visit Neville any time you like. I will instruct the door to admit you."

He steps back through the door, holding it open with one long arm and stretching the other out into the hallway in invitation.

Luna looks from the professors gathered at the doorway to Neville. "It will be all right. I'll come back soon."

She walks to the door, past Professor Snape, who averts his gaze as soon as their eyes meet. He, Dumbledore, and McGonagall follow her through the exit. But the door, when it closes, does so not only on Neville, but on Professor Sprout.

In the corridor, Luna looks up at Professor Dumbledore, whose face is graver than she has seen it since the end of her fourth year. "So," he says quietly. "You seem to have discovered our secret."

McGonagall purses her lips, glancing back at the door to Neville's room every few seconds, while Snape stands at Dumbledore's left, looking down at Luna with dark eyes, brighter than they ought to be in the extraordinary emptiness of his sallow face.