Happy Christmas, Harry Potter

~ Happy Christmas, Harry Potter ~

Part 4

Harry stood transfixed, hardly daring to believe what his eyes were trying to tell his brain.

Before him stood an attractive young woman clad in what looked to be stately servant's robes more befitting a Tudor court than the twentieth century. Her movements slow and elegant, she instantly drew Harry's attention for an altogether different reason.

He could see right through her.

Her shimmering robes reminded Harry vaguely of the Grey Lady at Hogwarts, though in this case her garb was less that of a noblewoman's than a lady-in-waiting's.

"You...you're not...are you? Mrs. Lovegood?" stammered Harry nervously. Though he'd always thought of Luna's mother in a very positive light, the possibility that he might be addressing her ghost unnerved him.

The young woman smiled -- almost sadly, it seemed to Harry.

"Truelie not," she said in a strangely archaic voice that seemed to come from within his own mind rather than from across the room. "For unlike myselfe, she beheld not fear for what lies beyonde the mortal realme..."

Harry was dumfounded. He'd never heard Luna make mention of a ghost at home. But if it wasn't her mother...

"But...then who are you?" he queried, his curiosity overriding his natural wariness. She was a ghost, after all -- she couldn't harm anyone.

The woman's gaze drifted over to the flickering flames in the old fireplace. For several moments she was silent, and when she did finally speak Harry noted her ghostly voice was tinged with melancholy.

"My name," she whispered softly, her eyes fixed on the glowing embers, "is no longer of consequence in your worlde..."

Harry stood transfixed as the apparition slowly drifted over to the fireplace, whereupon her expression livened up slightly as her eyes fell on Luna. "However, you may call me Sarah, if you wish...such was my nayme when I attended my Ladie Catherine's courte..."

Harry retrieved his wand from the floor.

"Do you, um, live here?"

The young woman smiled ruefully to herself as she slid a ghostly hand along the mantle. "Live...such as it is..."

Harry bit his lip. How could he have been so stupid?

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "I didn't mean -- "

"Nay," interrupted the apparition, still gazing into the fire even as she addressed him. "T'was not taken in offense, Harry James Potter. Indeed, it is most gratifying to be referred as one of the livinge after so longe a time, even if it be in error..."

The fire crackled. Luna stretched lazily, but gave no sign of being aware of the presence of the mysterious ghost. At that moment Harry's eyes fell upon a dark figure, sprawled languidly across the sofa behind Luna with one leg dangling over the side -- it was himself!

He did a double take. "Wha -- what's going on? Is this a dream??"

The ghostly figure slowly turned towards him, a curious glean in her translucent eyes. "A dream, sire? Not trulie, though you be in a dreaming state of minde..."

Harry crouched down next to Luna.

"Luna? Can you hear me?"

"Have ye not listened?" voiced the apparition, shaking her ethereal head. "In this state you may no more speake with the waking than I may become Queene of the realme."

Indeed, Luna continued to gaze dreamily into the fireplace, an expression of sleepy contentment on her face. "What's going on?" asked Harry, his hand drifting through Luna's shoulder as though he were incorporeal. "If this isn't a dream..."

He stood up and turned to the apparition. "Why are you here? Luna never mentioned you before..."

The ghost smiled. "Aye, there be likelie manie thinges of which you be unknowing," she said cryptically. "For within these walls skulk manie spirits...'tis a place of refuge for my kinde, of sorts..."

Moving slowly from the fireplace, the ethereal young woman knelt down before the sofa, just next to Luna. Harry fingered his wand nervously.

"You coulde do worse than this one," said the phantom cryptically, lightly running her ghostly hand through Luna's pale forelocks (which never moved). "She is possessing of a wisdom beyond her yeares, as was her mother...a trait of their kinde, it is..."

"I...I know," said Harry uncertainly as Luna yawned. "A lot of people think she's a kook, but I know that's not...er...pardon my asking, but why are you here, exactly?"

The ghost, "Sarah", looked up at him.

"In my dream, I mean," he added. "If I am sleeping...I've spoken with ghosts before, at school, but...not like this."

The young woman rose gracefully to her feet in the manner of one well-practiced in such a movement.

"Because ye've lost yourselfe, Harry Potter," she replied. "Thou hast resigned yourselfe to your fate...a fate of youre own choosing."

"Wha -- what do you mean?" blurted Harry, shocked at the ghost's declaration. "My choosing -- I didn't ask for any of this!"

"Aye, mayhap not," said the apparition, her ghostly form shimmering in the fireplace's dim glow. "Though the path ye've taken is no less a choice -- "

"Now don't you start!" interrupted Harry, his arms flailing angrily. "If I'd wanted to be lectured I could've gone to the Burrow!"

"Aye, 'tis true," admitted the mysterious young woman, inclining her head apologetically. "T'was not to preach I came upon ye this night..."

Harry was equal parts irritated and perplexed. Just who was this ghost??

She looked at him. "But ye have put youre friendes at a distance, of that you cannot denie...a moste misguided course -- "

Harry had heard enough. He made for the stairs, becoming suddenly aware he had no idea where he was going. But he did know he wasn't keen about getting a Hermione-like sermon, let alone from a ghost!

He'd barely laid foot upon the first step when the apparition silently appeared, hovering in the middle of the staircase above him. "But you forget yourselfe," she reminded him. "We are in your imaginings, you cannot simplie walk away."

Harry sighed. She was right -- if this was a dream --

And yet, it didn't feel like one. He seemed too aware, too lucid...

"Okay, look," he said at last, "What are you supposed to be, the Ghost of Christmas Past or something?"

"Nay," replied the young woman, seemingly lost in thought. "Though I be familiar with the tale...ye hath giveth me an idea..."

She glided smoothly down the staircase and took hold of his hand. Harry gasped -- her ghostly fingers were icy to the touch, though he was more surprised at the fact that she seemed corporeal, at least to him.

"Hey, what're you -- "

"Do not feare," she assured as a wave of dizzyness swept through him. "Harme shall not befall ye, Harry Potter..."

"I'm...not..."

Harry's words faltered as he felt the world spinning by at dizzying speed. Vague, hazy images danced through his mind as he lurched forward, floating through space for the briefest of moments. Then, as suddenly as it began, the dizzyness left him. He blinked -- and found himself again in Luna's living room, his mysterious guide standing quietly next to him as though nothing had happened.

"What's going on?"

"Ye neede only waite..."

Harry looked about. The room had changed slightly. For one, it was daytime, the light streaming in through the windows revealing a bright morning beyond. The mantle no longer displayed any Christmas cards, though there were still holiday decorations to be seen. The box overflowing with thin stone tablets that Harry had seen at the base of the staircase was missing, in its place stood a large papier-maché figure of a waxwing.

"What is this?" asked Harry as the phantom lady released her icy grip. "Where are -- I mean, when are we?"

" 'Tis not so very longe ago," answered his ghostly companion. "Tho' I imagine that might depend upone youre point of view..."

Harry went over to the window and peered outside. There was snow -- a goodly amount of it, in fact. In his estimation it was midwinter. But the mystery remained: why was he here?

He turned to the apparition. She seemed to sense his burdgeoning questions, but instead of providing answers she simply indicated with a wave of her hand that he should simply content himself to wait. That suited Harry not at all well, but in point of fact he could see little alternative.

It wasn't long before the sound of running upstairs drifted down to his ears. His back stiffened slightly as rapid footfalls emanated from the staircase -- whoever the source was light of foot. He took a step forward, and a moment later Luna emerged from the stairs. Her appearance shocked Harry -- not because she was so much younger than he knew her, but because of the expression of sheer, unadulterated panic on her face. Harry reacted instinctively.

"Luna! What's -- "

She spun around and looked right at him. Harry could see she was almost hyperventilating. His stomach knotted painfully.

"What's wrong??" he asked, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Luna's eyes widened --

Harry was momentarily confused. Could she actually see him?

She bolted right at him, so quickly that Harry had no time to get out of the way. But rather than a precipitating a collision, she passed right through him.

"Gah!" blurted Harry in surprise -- being incorporeal took some getting used to.

Luna grasped an old, battered tin box on the mantlepiece and fumbled desperately with the latch.

Harry moved closer, his ghostly companion maintaining a discreet distance. Something had to be terribly wrong to drive Luna into such a state. A sense of dread overtook him as he recalled a peculiar conversation they'd shared a couple of years before; she was just about the right age, too...

The box fell from Luna's trembling hands and clattered open onto the floor. A tiny dusting of greenish powder flew out -- Floo powder, Harry realized.

"No...oh, no..."

The box was empty. Luna looked to be on the verse of hysteria; a pale, trembling hand twisted through her long blonde hair as tears trailed from reddened eyes.

Harry was mortified. To see Luna in such a state was as shocking as anything he'd ever experienced.

She shuffled back, nearly stumbling against the couch in the process, her normally fluid and graceful movements now halting and clumsy. Harry was desperate to reach out to her but realized he was powerless to intervene -- what he was witnessing had already passed into history. He could no more affect it than he could control the movements of the stars, and, it left a terribly bitter taste in his mouth.

Luna looked about helplessly. "Daddy," she squeaked in a tiny voice, "please come home...Mummy's in a bad way..."

A light tapping sound drifted in from the kitchen window.

"Nevermore!"

Luna ran into the kitchen, her gait energized by newfound hope. Harry followed close behind. He glanced at the ghostly lady as he ran past -- her gaze was fixed solemnly on the floor, her hands clasped together before her.

Luna ran to the window and struggled desperately against the counter to pull it open. She knocked a plate over the edge, sending it crashing into pieces to the floor. Finally, on tiptoes and with her fingers outstretched to the utmost, she just managed to unhook the latch and push the window open.

But rather than Luna's familiar raven, it was a decidedly haggard-looking brown owl that stumbled through the small window, dropping down unceremoniously into the sink. Harry recognized the old bird instantly.

"W-who are -- E-Erroll!" exclaimed Luna, quickly picking him out of the sink and setting him upright on the counter -- rather firmly, Harry noted, from the bird's fussing and squawking at being so vigorously handled.

Luna worked frantically to undo the tiny message wrapped around Erroll's leg, though her hands were shaking to such an extent that it took several tries. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks as the note finally came free. She threw it down to the counter, unread.

She grasped a pencil and parchment from a drawer and began scribbling furiously, her breathing becoming increasingly wracked with sobs. She'd barely gotten a few words to parchment when a scuttling sound drew her attention to a most distressing sight -- Erroll had jumped up to the window sill and was extending his wings in preparation for flight.

A look of sheer horror crossed Luna's face. "NO!!!" she shrieked, lunging up from the table in a desperate, do-or-die dive for the window.

She hit the edge of the counter, hard, just as the owl took flight. She bounced off, collapsing in a heap on the floor with a cry of pain as her head struck a chair leg. Harry winced -- he felt his own tears welling up at what might have been Luna's one chance to save her mother...

"ERROLL!!"

Luna scrambled to her feet, her hair strewn messily about her tear-stained face, blood trickling down from a gash on her temple. She dragged a chair to the counter and quickly clambered up to the open window. But it was too late -- Harry watched with heartbreaking distress as the Weasleys' owl rose slowly over the wintery countryside.

"ERROLL! ERROLL!! ERRROLLLLL!!!"

Luna called after the slowly shrinking owl in desperation, her delicate voice finally breaking from the effort. But it was to no avail. Harry knew the old bird to be halfway (if not entirely) deaf, but this did nothing to temper his anguish.

Luna collapsed onto the counter, her silver eyes wide with disbelief as she stared after the departing owl.

"Please come back...oh please come back, mister owl," she wept pleadingly as she clasped her pale hands together in supplication, her pale cheeks glistening with rivulets of tears. "Please don't go..."

Harry couldn't bear to watch any longer. He turned and shambled out of the kitchen, shoulders slumped and heart in his mouth. His ghostly escort stood by the staircase, observing him silently.

He whirled on her. "Why'd you bring me here?" he chocked angrily, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "You thought this would make me feel better? Seeing...seing this?"

"Nay...t'was thinking just the opposite, in fact..."

The ethereal young woman glided forth and grasped his hand once more.

"No! Let go -- "

But before he could wrest free of her icy grip, his world was spinning once again. He lurched forward --

-- and found himself outside. It was winter still, and the snow was falling lightly. The Lovegood's windmill loomed over a tall hedge behind him, its canvas blades host to a small roost of birds he couldn't identify at this distance. It was overcast, though it appeared to be mid-morning. His ghostly companion was gone.

He looked about anxiously. Where was she? And more disturbingly, how was he supposed to get back? Assuming, of course, this wasn't some sort of elaborate dream. But everything was too real, too vivid...

It was then he glanced upon shallow footprints leading past him, emanating from the direction of the windmill. He instantly recognized their familiar wandering pattern; evidently his ghostly guide had meant for him to follow -- but why had she gone?

He set out after the footprints' maker -- hopefully he would find answers there. As he trudged along, he sincerely hoped he wouldn't come upon a scene like that he'd just witnessed...the pain in his heart was still raw.

The trail led him down to a narrow, winding stream, easily crossed, beyond which he spied a solitary figure at the edge of a small grove of trees.

There Luna stood with her back to him, clutching her well-worn cloak snugly about her narrow shoulders as the wind whipped at her, sending her long locks scattering wildly in ever direction.

He heard wisps of her voice being carried upon the wind -- she was speaking to someone, but he could see no one else. In fact, from Harry's vantage point, she seemed to be addressing a rather old and gnarled oak tree!

Harry hesitated. Though he was present in spirit only, it didn't feel right to be privy to Luna's private moments. It was unnatural -- and the thought of consciously eavesdropping on his friend disturbed him.

But the ghost had clearly brought him here for a reason. What's more, he was curious as to why Luna would be addressing a tree, of all things. He drew closer, his phantasmal feet making no sound upon the snow. When he got to within a few strides of Luna her voice became clearer:

" -- she'd like, I think. But then, she's not convinced that they even exist, much less anything about their nesting habits. I do think she'll come around one day, though. She doesn't diss Daddy's work hardly at all anymore -- I think his exposé of Scrimgeourgate opened her mind on a lot of things. I'm really quite fond of her...oh, which reminds me, I'll be seeing Harry this afternoon, if he's still at the Leaky Cauldron. I've missed him these past months at school, so I'm looking forward to that. It's a shame you've never met him, he really is very nice, though he can obsess a bit sometimes...oh, and Neville sent me a lovely Christmas card: it croaks to the tune of O Tattenbaum! Ginny said that was Trevor's influence. He's such a sweet little fellow, warts and all. Trevor, I mean...so is Neville, minus the warts..."

Harry stared intently into the woods. There definitely was no one present aside from Luna, unless they were under an invisibility cloak or otherwise similarly concealed. It made no sense -- who was she speaking to?

Luna sighed as she pressed her forehead lightly against the large oak tree she'd been facing. When she spoke again her voice was lower than before, so that Harry had to strain to hear.

"You know, It still feels a bit strange, this business of having friends. I haven't nearly as much free time as I used to, but I don't mind, really. Daddy said I'll get used to it...he says I was dreadfully overdue, but I don't think there can be timetables to such things...they happen when they happen, don't they? Even so, I'd never take them for granted...I cherish them entirely too much for that..."

Harry felt his emotions building up within him once more.

We cherish you too, Luna. Probably even more than you know...

"Well, I really should be going," said Luna in her more typical dreamy tone. "I still have to find some walnut husks for Harry's present. I suppose I could use bark, but it wouldn't last -- where? Oh, yes, just overlooking the faerie knoll, isn't it? I know where that is...I'll ask if they can spare a few..."

With that, Luna wrapped her arms around the old oak's weathered trunk in an affectionate hug.

"Tá grá agam duit, mo chara," she whispered before scurrying off into the woods.

Harry stood there, bewildered. He wasn't sure what he'd just witnessed -- whatever it was, the strange ghost had evidently deemed it important enough to show him. He was relieved he hadn't witnessed another tragedy, but he was nonetheless a little uncomfortable in being made privy to such private moments of Luna's life.

At the moment, however, he had a more immediate concern -- the apparition was nowhere to be seen, and he had no idea how to get back on his own, assuming he wasn't just dreaming...

"Hello?" he called out to the cold morning air as the wind picked up briefly.

No answer.

"Hello? Miss, um...Sarah? Where'd you go?"

His only response came from the scattered chirping of winter birds and light rustling of branches in the breeze. Had she abandoned him??

"Hellooooooo!!"

Still no response.

"Hey!!"

"Harry?"

He jerked awake with a start. "Wha -- who...Luna?"

"Hello, I'm right here," she said, gazing at him intently from just inches away. "I think you were having a nightmare, you've been mumbling in your sleep...but rather that than going insane, I think!"

Harry craned his neck and looked about. He was sprawled out on the sofa, one leg dangling loosely over the side. Luna was on her knees on the floor next to him, her hands pressed against the sofa's cushion on which his head had been resting. Had it all been a dream, a nightmare, as Luna had suggested?

It hardly seemed possible; it had been much too vivid, too real. But how could he explain what he'd seen?

Luna tilted her head slightly. "Are you all right? You look like you've seen a two-headed banshee..."

Harry slowly drew himself up into a sitting position. "I...I'm not sure what happened," he said carefully, intensely aware of being in possession of very delicate knowledge he really couldn't explain logically. "It was weird...there was this ghost..."

Luna's eyes lit up excitedly. "Sir Walter?"

Harry looked at her. "Er, no, it was a woman -- "

"Oh, Lady Isabelle?"

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "I'm not sure," he said carefully. "I don't think so, though. She said her name was Sarah."

"Oh, yes, she's nice," affirmed Luna, sitting back down so that her legs folded under her kimono. "She's not usually so forward though, especially with strangers."

Harry blinked. "You know who she is?"

Luna nodded. "She prefers to communicate in dreams, though she can manifest herself openly if she wants to," she explained. "She's not usually very talkative as she's still a bit bitter about how she died...but then, I suppose most ghosts are."

Harry was still reeling inside from the scenes he'd just experienced. Nonetheless, his curiosity was piqued.

"How'd it happen?" he asked, curious to know more about this mysterious ghost, and hence her possible motivations for bringing him into Luna's past.

Luna gazed at him blankly for a moment before replying. "Beheading, I imagine," she finally answered sedately. "That was the sentence for traitors back in those days."

Harry leaned forward, surprised. The young woman hardly seemed the traitorous type. "She was a traitor? What'd she do?"

Luna shook her head. "Only what she'd been ordered to do by the King's ministers, under pain of death," she said sadly. "Which was to give false testimony at the Queen's trial. But once they got what they wanted they had her executed, too. But history only recorded Catherine Howard's fate."

Harry was horrified. He couldn't imagine being forced to betray one's loyalties only to be betrayed in turn...it would be the worst possible end. No wonder she hadn't crossed over!

"That...that's awful," he voiced dispiritedly.

"Yes, isn't it?" agreed Luna. "It's interesting that she would show up in your dream...but then, she has shown an interest lately in keeping up with current events. Biscuit?"

They looked at each other. Luna wore that quirky half-smile that Harry found so hard to read.

"Eh?" said Harry, wondering if he'd momentarily blacked out through part of their conversation.

"I made some biscuits for Santa," explained Luna, getting to her feet in a graceful rocking motion. "He's fond of gingerbread in particular, I discovered. I made a full batch this morning, so I have some extra...I'm going to have one before I go to bed, would you like some?"

Harry declined the offer; it was nearing midnight, and he wasn't keen on going to bed with an overfull stomach -- he'd had enough of nightmares for one night. He'd been quite prepared to sleep on the sofa but Luna offered a proper bed in their guest room ("you're not supposed to see Santa when he comes in"), and so she led Harry upstairs to the mill's fourth floor. Moving down the short central hallway, Harry paused at a bedroom decorated with a large collection of old stuffed toy animals (among which were several pandas scattered about the bedspread), ceramic figurines and dollhouses.

"Hey, nice room," he commented, nodding. "It's cozy...nice dollhouses! I didn't realize you collected."

Luna looked at him. "That's Daddy's room," she stated airily. "Some of the dollhouses he built, the rest he got from an old Muggle friend of the family...I'll tell him you liked it, though!"

Harry glanced between the pandas and Luna. "What, you mean -- isn't this your room?" he asked disbelievingly. "But what about all those...er..."

"Daddy doesn't believe in gender stereotyping," said Luna proudly. "He says that's for the addle-minded."

Harry chortled. "Yeah, I can tell! If I'd tried decorating my dorm like that I'd have been laughed -- "

Luna's eyes widened. Harry immediately kicked himself: how could he have been so insensitive??

"I didn't mean -- I wasn't making fun -- "

Luna took a step towards him, her hand raised --

Harry recoiled instinctively. Was he about to get slapped? It hardly seemed possible; even where her father was concerned, Luna would never respond violently. But then, what was going on?

"Don't shrink away," cautioned Luna, stepping forward again. She was now so close he could detect various hues of silver in her wide, misty eyes. Harry was up against the wall as he found himself quite unwilling to move...or even blink.

Luna inched closer until they were almost nose-to-nose. "Hold very still," she whispered as she slowly drew her hand closer, though Harry paid little attention: he was much too preoccupied gazing intently into those strangely misty orbs -- in her pupils he could see himself staring back, an expression of sheer stupefaction on his face.

Luna's fingers suddenly moved, their tips brushing ever so lightly against the bridge of Harry's nose. He bumped his head lightly against the wall, startled.

"Wha -- what was that all about?"

Luna stood back slightly. She held her fingers up at eye level, a finger pinched at an angle against her thumb.

"Goodness, Harry," she voiced in surprise, "couldn't you feel that?"

Harry rubbed his nose in reflex, mystified as to what had just occurred. "Feel? What was I supposed to feel?"

Luna moved her hand closer before him.

"What?" asked Harry. "I don't follow -- "

His eyes refocused. That's when he saw it.

A transluscent, vaguely crayfish-like creature was struggling to free itself, its spindly tail held fast between Luna's thumb and forefinger. The creature was tiny -- no more than a fruit fly in size, though for all that, much harder to see.

"Gah!" exclaimed Harry, wiping his face feverishly. "What in blazes is that??"

"It's a Nargle, of course," replied Luna as she strolled into her father's bedroom. Pushing aside the thin lace curtain, she opened the window and released her captive to the elements. "You must have picked it up at the Cauldron -- all our mistletoe here is Nargle-free."

Harry was scratching his head as she rejoined him. "You mean...that really was a Nargle? There's really such a thing?"

"Sure there is," said Luna assuredly. "I thought you knew that. It's a good thing you didn't get stung, otherwise your nose would've swollen up like a grapefruit."

"Eh, that bad?" said Harry, carefully feeling his nose for any soreness.

"Oh yes," replied Luna, her eyes popping excitedly. "Then gangrene would set in and it would've eventually dropped off...but that would take days, and we have medicine for that down in the pantry..."

"Oh...well, good thing, then..."

"Hmm," said Luna, looking him over. "You know, you might have more..."

The thought of other such beasties lying somewhere unseen on him filled Harry with nervousness. "Do you really think...?"

"Well, they're usually found in small colonies," explained Luna. "So there might be...I suppose we could burn your clothes, if you like."

Harry gawked at her. "What? No! I mean -- isn't there some other way?"

Luna pondered the question. "Well, we could set out a small bowl of cinnamon in your room," she suggested after a moment's reflection.

"Cinnamon?" repeated Harry. "How'll that get rid of them?"

"It won't," corrected Luna, suddenly taking to swooping her arms through the air as if she were gliding off a mountaintop. "It'll attract them. Nargles will gorge themselves on cinnamon above all else, you know."

Harry ducked one of her outswept hands. "But if...oh, I get it," he said in dawning comprehension. "Sort of like the Pied Piper in reverse, right?"

Luna stopped in 'mid-air' and turned to look at him.

"Who?"

"The Pied Piper," repeated Harry.

They looked at each other for several moments in silence.

"You know," prodded Harry, "the Pied Piper of Hamelin?"

Luna shook her head. "Is he a plumber?"

Harry could scarcely believe it. "A plumb -- no," he said, astonished that Luna might be unaware of the tale. "It was hundreds of years ago, way before plumbers. The Pied Piper. Of Hamelin."

Luna dropped her arms to her side and continued to look at him blankly.

"The bloke who led the hordes of rats away from the village of Hamelin," he explained. "Saved the town from disaster."

"Really? What charm did he use?"

He didn't use a charm," answered Harry, stroking his chin as he thought back to the tale. "At least I don't think...no, he just played a flute, and the rats followed him out of the village."

Harry had never seen it coming. By the time Luna had recovered sufficiently from her raucous fit of laughter to speak vaguely coherently, he was leaning up against the wall, hands in his pockets, and utterly bewildered. Though he was, at least, in better spirits than he'd been a short while before -- Luna's chime-like laughter was nothing if not contagious. And in truth, he was happy to see her laughing: the disturbing memory of a very distraught Luna had weighed heavily on his mind.

"Pied...Piper!" she cried breathlessly, looking at Harry through tear-filled eyes.

"You know, I should've gotten you a Muggle fairytale book for Christmas," said Harry, wishing that he'd thought of it before. "I can't believe you've never heard the story. What's so funny about it, anyway?"

"Oh, come on," said Luna, her airy voice speckled with mirth as she wiped her eyes. "I play the cornamuse, but I've never once had a horde of rats follow me about...you come up with the funniest stories, Harry! Plus he's pied!"

Harry put up his hands. "Hey, I never said it was supposed to make sense," he said in his defense. "That's just how the story goes. It's a fairy tale, like Jack and the Beanstalk."

"Who?"

"Jack and the -- now don't tell me," said Harry at the sight of Luna's inquisitive stare. "You've never heard of that one either."

Luna shook her head.

"Sleeping Beauty?"

"That doesn't ring a bell."

"Hansel and Gretel?"

"The Vaudeville act?"

"Um...no. Little Red Riding Hood?"

"I'm afraid not."

Harry sighed and rubbed his brow. "When this is all over, I'm going to bring you up to speed on this stuff," he promised. "How can you read so much without knowing any of those? They're classic bedtime stories!"

"Well, I suppose they just never came up," said Luna. "I don't think mum would have known any of the Muggle stories. But then, I always had so many questions at bedtime that my parents likely had their hands full just answering those. Daddy says I was a quite inquisitive sort in those days."

" 'In those days'?" questioned Harry teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

Luna looked at him curiously. "Well, yes," she said vaguely. "Haven't you ever wondered how a fly lands on a ceiling without using magic?"

"Um, I've never lost sleep over it," replied Harry truthfully, stretching his arms over his head (and bumping one of the hovering lanterns) while vainly trying to stifle a yawn.

"How can you not wonder?" asked Luna, her head tilted quizzically. "But you're right though, we really should be turning in before Santa arrives, it would be rather discourteous..."

She led Harry to the small guestroom at the end of the hall, which appeared to be doubling as a storeroom for stacks of Quibbler back issues.

"Yes, it is a bit cluttered," Luna had said. "But with all the interest in the Quibbler since last year Daddy's had to keep a larger supply of back issues on hand -- there's quite a demand for them!"

Cluttered or not, Harry didn't mind. The room, though small, was cozy enough. A modest bed stood flanked by an battered old dresser and a small, bowlegged nightstand. Leaning up against the curved outer wall next to the stacks of Quibbler magazines was a terribly warped trombone and a small box filled with what appeared to be piano keys. A small shuttered window over the bed and a rusty lamp on the nightstand shared lighting duties. There was no closet -- simple pegs on the wall handled such chores.

"It's not much," said Luna as she lit the lamp, "but it's more comfortable than sleeping on the couch, especially if the brownies get into the cider again this year...I think I've hidden it quite well, though."

Harry smiled at her. "This'll do fine, thanks...remember, I used to sleep in a cupboard."

As Luna left to fetch the cinnamon, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and riffled through a copy of the most recent Quibbler magazine. The front cover bore a headline vaguely appropriate to the times: "Death Eaters - What Do They Really Eat?" which elicited from Harry a chuckle, as did an article on page three devoted to the exposure of the latest Ministry plot involving specially trained chickens, cursed toenail clippers and exploding eggs.

It wasn't long before Luna returned, bowl in hand. She placed it on the dresser and advised Harry to dump the contents out the window in the morning, as it would by then be infested with Nargles, assuming of course, he was still a carrier.

"Thanks, Luna," said Harry, putting the magazine aside.

She smiled brightly at him.

"It's no trouble," she said airily. "We keep loads of cinnamon on hand, you know, just in case. Well...Happy Christmas, Harry!"

"No," amended Harry as Luna turned to go, "I mean...thanks for everything. I wasn't talking about the cinnamon."

Luna turned back at the door, her eyes locking with his. For once, Luna seemed caught genuinely by surprise.

"Everything's an awful lot, Harry," she said. "I could never take credit for so much -- "

"I know," replied Harry. "I just...what I'm trying to say...I'm really glad we're friends. I mean that."

Luna observed him curiously for a moment, before suddenly drawing forward and plopping down on the edge of the bed next to him.

"I'm very keen on that, too," she stated earnestly. "I have to say, I'm happy you decided to come today, Harry. I've missed you at school, and owls are never quite the same as speaking in person."

Harry smiled. "I missed you too," he echoed, warm memories of Luna and her outlandish lion hat flooding his thoughts. "I really wish I could've done this stuff from school, but it just wasn't practical..."

"Well, you might be back next year," chimed Luna, merrily swinging her legs back and forth. "You'll want to finish your schooling when this is over, yes? It'd be a shame if you became a hobo."

Harry guffawed at the prospect. "A hobo! Um, no, I don't think there's any risk of that...to tell the truth, I haven't really thought that far ahead, with all that's going on. I've been kind of...well, preoccupied."

Luna nodded. "Yes, you're becoming obsessed," she said simply.

"I...what??"

Luna leaned close. "With this Horcrux business. That's what happens when people think of only one thing for too long," she voiced knowingly. "It'll eventually drive one to madness, you know."

Harry grinned. "I guess that wouldn't happen to you, would it?"

Luna shook her head. "Oh no," she said seriously. "I like to keep two or three things in mind at once, that way one doesn't run the risk of madness...plus it helps to keep one's wits sharpened."

"Ah," said Harry, suddenly understanding where at least some of Luna's dreaminess stemmed from. "Makes sense...I think it'd have the opposite effect on me, though. I'd probably go mad trying; that or I'd be wearing my underwear on the outside without realizing it."

Luna gazed at him briefly, as if trying to picture him with his clothing so disarrayed. "Well, it might not be for everyone," she stated after a moment. "I've noticed that most people do seem to be rather single-minded...anyway..."

An odd feeling welled within Harry as she took his hand in hers.

"I will forever be your friend, Harry," she stated resolutely. "In this life and the next..."

Harry's emotions bubbled very near the surface. There was no subtleness to Luna's out-of-the-blue declaration; it was an expression of such profound friendship and affection that Harry found himself with his heart in his throat. What was it about this girl that affected him on so profound a level?

"Luna...I..."

But before he could finish choking the words out Luna smiled, and leaned forward to plant a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Happy dreams, Harry," she whispered mystically, her eyes sparkling strangely in the soft glow of the lamplight.

And with that, she slid smoothly off the bed, and was gone.

Harry sat there for a good while afterwards, still trying to understand what it was he'd just experienced. He'd felt a strange sensation course through him following Luna's peculiar expression of affection. But then, he'd never been kissed on the nose before, either.

As he lay back in bed, the sweet scent of cinnamon drifting lightly through the room, he tried to sort out a most confusing array of thoughts. Just what had that strange ghost intended to show him, and why?

More importantly, now that Luna had gone, he found himself wishing she hadn't left. For one thing, he had to tell her what he'd seen -- to not do so was unthinkable. She deserved nothing less.

But there was another reason, one was was just slowly dawning on him. Though there were times when she utterly mystified him, there was one undeniable constant: he'd come to thoroughly enjoy her company.

And truth be told, though he had not yet admitted it to himself, he could stare into those silvery eyes for hours on end...

As he finally drifted off into a deep slumber, his last conscious thoughts were of a young Ravenclaw girl standing before a bulletin board and gazing at him with a dreamy smile...