The Other Side of the Sky

The Other Side of the Sky

It was the look on her face that made him sigh in exasperation, though she thought it was his new secluded mood. Hermione immediately turned back to her book, pretending she hadn't stolen a glance at all, but it was enough for Harry Potter to lean back in his chair, fold his arms over his chest, and ask plainly what she wanted to talk about.

Hermione laid the book down flat on the table (which was a little hard, considering the fact that it was so thick that the pages kept falling over each other) and stared at him seriously: "I'm worried about you."

He did not want to have this conversation. His best friend could have at least distracted her, but Harry betted that Snape purposely gave Ron a detention so Hermione could pester him about talking about his emotions. What was it with girls and talking? He didn't want to talk. He just wanted to be left alone. But like that would ever happen...

He sighed again. "Hermione-,"

"No, Harry, you listen to me this time," she interrupted forcefully. "Keeping things to yourself is never healthy. You could get sick."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that to happen..."

"Oh, Harry, don't be like that. Please, we just want to help you, but you have to let us. How can we know how to help you if you won't say anything?"

"I don't want help. I'm fine."

"Oh!" She shook her head, frustrated, and went angrily back to her book. "Just forget it."

Which left Harry feeling guilty, though he hated himself for it. Still, he really didn't want help. Why did everyone insist he was in need? But then, he had been pushing his friends away. Maybe that sent out the wrong signals. He had hoped people would get the hint and leave him alone. That's really what he needed: time to think. But it seemed like time was the one thing he never could have. Things were happening too fast...people kept coming and going without explanation, and he was supposed to figure it out for himself. People keep leaving, the phrase rang in his ears, and he winced. Don't think about it. All you do is torture yourself anyway. And everyone else already does enough of that on their own.

He glanced over at Hermione to see she was frowning into her book, her eyes unmoving. And then she spoke: "You'd better hurry, or you'll be late for practice again."

That surprised him, and he quickly checked his watch. Damn. He got to his feet and was about to leave the Common room when he remembered they had had something like an argument and hesitated.

"Hermione, I- I'm not ready for all this just yet," he admitted, stammering.

She looked up at him sadly. "I know. But you have to be someday."

"I will. Just not now."

She didn't say anything back, only returning to her book.

He almost hesitated again but changed his mind, turning abruptly to head down to the practice field and thinking he could say something else if he wanted to at dinner. He met some of his other teammates on the way and exchanged hellos, though as usual, refrained from any real conversation. He listened as Katie complained about the students' most favourite subject of distaste- Professor Snape of Potions- and how little time they would have to practice until the first match of the season. But Harry found he'd rather not think that far ahead. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be playing Quidditch for quite a while longer, but Hermione and the others were already giving him enough trouble as it was. They'd really get after him if they discovered his temporary lack of interest. That was probably why he was so out of it during practice. He was lost in the memory of his Third year, when he and Ron first discovered the Firebolt on his bed Christmas morning. And flying it had been amazing...

But now...

"Sirius wouldn't want you to be like this, Harry," Hermione's words whispered in his mind. Well, why not? he thought bitterly. He did everything to save me, protect me from Voldemort. Why shouldn't I feel this way? It's punishment.

But he hated it.

He didn't want to punish himself like this. What good did it do? All he felt was worse than he started out. And it made him feel so...restless, I guess, if that's the right word. I keep feeling like I'm missing something, like I should be searching for it. But why? Sirius is dead. What else matters...?

But something had to. There had to be a reason he was still here, a reason he always came out all right in the end, even if everyone around him didn't. And if what Dumbledore and the rest of the Order said was true, then that something was saving the wizarding world in a last stand-off with Voldemort himself. But even if he got that far- even if he won and saved everybody like they all assumed he would- what would he do afterwards? What was left for him after all that? Would people still care about him then?

Did they all really want Harry Potter to win or The-Boy-Who-Lived to win?

Which one would have to sacrifice himself so the other would come out victorious?

Harry sometimes doubted if there was even a distinction between the two, but something told him that the thing that was missing- the thing he had to find in order to be happy after all of this was over- was somewhere in between them. But trying to find it was like looking through a foggy mirror- one where you can't see the other side.

Before he could dwell on the disturbing matter more, someone shouted a "Heads up!" at him, and he did, only to be hit in the face but a fumbled Quaffle. His glasses didn't break, surprisingly and thankfully, but he did get a shock out of it, nearly slipping of his broom and plummeting fifty or so feet to the ground. Katie and the others tried to approach him, sputtering apologies, but he insisted he was okay. Still rubbing his tender face, the Quaffle was fumbled again and he swerved the right, but it wasn't enough. He heard a distinct crack in his wrist as his hand shot out to smack the ball away from him, and his arm flew back in an awkward position. Swearing unabashedly by now, he sank to the ground on his broom and stumbled off onto the field, holding his left arm close to his stomach.

He had to admit it didn't hurt nearly as bad as the Infamous Second Year Catastrophe, but it was enough to make him feel strangely dizzy, his left arm completely numb. Then his teammates landed on the grass beside him, crowding around. The pain of his wrist made him irritated, angry more at himself for not being careful than he was at the Chasers who had fumbled the ball.

Katie volunteered to take him to the Infirmary, but he replied that his legs were in perfectly good condition. He then took his Firebolt in his good hand and stomped off to the castle, knowing he had brushed the team off, probably making them feel even worse. He almost surprised himself when he thought, Well, good, let them be sorry. They deserve it.

Almost.

Madame Pomfrey was neither surprised nor pleased to see him at the door of the hospital wing when he got there. She only sighed and gave him a look, waving for him to take a seat. He chose a bed in the back corner of the room, setting his Firebolt down at his feet as he sat down. She healed his broken wrist with a flick of her wand, then ordered him to stay on the bed while she went to find a potion to numb the pain, flinging the curtains closed around him.

Numb the pain. What a funny statement.

He was still waiting (he suspected she forgot about him) when he heard a familiar voice from the other side of the bed curtains and all the dark brooding disappeared. Ron was here? What was he doing? Ah, it was probably something from Snape and his detention.

He scooted over to see what was happening and nearly fell off the bed entirely when he saw his best friend carrying a drowsy Luna Lovegood in his arms, asking for Madame Pomfrey. What was Ron doing with Luna? The last time he checked Ron was too uncomfortable to even sit near her.

Madame Pomfrey's eyes widened when she saw Luna, quickly motioning for Ron to take her into the bed next to Harry's. Apparently she had forgotten Harry. And Ron hadn't noticed him yet. But Harry didn't say anything, keenly watching the interesting situation. But the healing witch only kicked Ron out of the small area and closed the curtains, leaving both him and Harry to wonder what was happening behind them.

Harry frowned. What was that all about?

"Ron?" he asked curiously, determined to get an answer.

His redheaded friend turned around and stared back in surprise when he finally saw him. He almost looked amused when he saw the bandages Madame Pomfrey had wrapped around his left wrist. "What happened to you?"

Harry grinned a little, feeling better. At least Ron didn't try to exaggerate things or make him confess teary secrets like Hermione wanted, though she claimed it was all for Harry's personal benefit. "Quidditch practice," he explained easily, careful to avoid talking about what was really wrong with him. "I wasn't paying enough attention and a Quaffle hit me. Madame Pomfrey's making me a potion to numb it, so that's what I'm waiting for."

"Oh."

Harry went on, "The Chasers were fumbling the ball because of the cold. If you had been there, it would have hit me anyway."

"Thanks. Your confidence in my skill is truly inspiring."

"I didn't mean it like that-,"

"I know, I'm just teasing."

Then Harry glanced at the bed next to him, deciding now was the best time to ask if he wanted to know. "What's wrong with Luna?"

"I don't really know. I think she fell down the stairs of the Great Hall. She broke her ankle so I had to carry her."

In total surprise, Harry was about to ask him for more details, beginning to worry about her as he continued to stare at the closed curtains, but Ron interrupted hastily:

"Oh, damn- I almost forgot, listen, I'll see you later. I've got to- but I'll be back-," he cut himself off abruptly, a blush coming on to his cheeks. With an embarrassed shake of his head, he turned and hurried out of the Infirmary, not looking back.

Harry stared after him wordlessly.

What was he so embarrassed about?

Then he looked back at Luna's bed. She fell down the stairs? That doesn't sound like her. Granted, she can be a little out of it at times, but she wouldn't do something like that. Not unless someone made her fall, but that was ridiculous. Then again, a voice inside his head reminded, not everyone likes her. You remember that night last year when she was looking for all of her lost possessions. People had taken that from her for fun, just to humiliate her. Who's to say they wouldn't try something else?

Something stirred inside him, something almost like anger. What idiot would do something that dangerous to her? Not liking her was no excuse to try and hurt her. So what if she was different than anybody else? For all we know, we could be the ones that are different. Maybe she's the normal one out of all of us.

And Harry suddenly felt silly. Here he was defending Luna Lovegood. He could hardly believe it. Ron would certainly get a kick out of this, if he ever came back from whatever he had ran off to do.

"Harry!"

He turned back, scattering his thoughts, and saw Ginny and Neville stumbling into the Infirmary and looking rather winded. Ron's little sister's face was pink from running, and Neville was panting slightly. Ginny immediately asked, "We're here for Luna. Is she- I mean, did Ron get her here yet?"

Harry gestured with his hand. "Yeah. Madame Pomfrey is looking at her now."

"Good," Neville breathed, straightening. Then he glanced at Harry's wrist, though the youth had been trying to hide it. His eyes widened. "What happened to your hand?"

"Er- nothing. I just...uh, hurt it in practice."

"Oh." Neville frowned. "Is it okay?"

"It will be. Madame Pomfrey is supposed to give me a potion before I leave, but she's a little busy at the moment."

Neville flinched. "Oh. Right."

Ginny stepped forward, frowning at the closed curtains of Luna's bed. "What's taking her so long?"

"Well, Luna was looking kind of sleepy when she got here. She might be asleep already."

"Really? I hope she's okay..."

"What happened anyway?" Hopefully these two would be better with the details than Ron was.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. It was just so...weird. I mean, we were all in the Great Hall having dinner- Neville, Hermione, and I were just coming in- when we saw Luna sitting by herself at the Ravenclaw table. We dropped by to say hello, but she just kind of looked at me like I was some sort of hallucination. I didn't think much of it- you now Luna, she looks like that half the time anyway- and went to our table to eat. Then Hermione finished first and decided to head back to the Common room to wait- for you, by the way- and passed by Luna again to say good night, but she didn't even look at her. After a while, when Luna hadn't touched her food or opened her magazine like she usually does at dinner, Neville thought something must be wrong so we went after her when she left the Great Hall. She was half way up the steps by then, and I asked her if anything was the matter, but she said no and that she was just tired. Neville said she was looking paler than usual and suggested she might be ill, but she kept insisting she was fine. Well, I didn't believe her for one minute, and I made her come with us to the Infirmary. The funny thing was that she gave in right away, didn't even say anything else. We were walking up the steps and talking when all of a sudden, she said, 'It still stings', and just...fainted. The next thing I knew she was tumbling down the steps with all her books and parchments flying out of her bag. God, she scared the hell out of me..."

Harry thought that was plenty detail, even though it hardly made any sense. But before he could ask for a recap, Neville interrupted and finished the mysterious account:

"We were trying to get to her to come to when Ron appeared and asked what happened. Ginny barely got through explaining when he just swung her right up in his arms and took off to the Infirmary. Then he got caught in the moving staircases and we split up. Which brings us here now, talking to you."

Harry decided girls added far too much of their own opinion in the facts, but didn't say anything about it. He nodded instead, frowning, "It still doesn't make any sense..."

"You're telling me," Neville muttered. "Luna's not even the type to get sick."

"You said she was looking at you like you were a hallucination?" he asked Ginny, who nodded.

"Yes. And the whole while, she acted like she wasn't really here, mentally, you know. Like she was sleep-walking or something."

There were plenty of ways Ron would respond to that statement if he were here, Harry realized, and Ginny seemed to realize that, too, as a small smile fell on her face. But it was too small to be a real one, and it faded quickly when she glanced back at Luna's bed in impatient worry. Before she could say something else, Madame Pomfrey came out and discovered the lot waiting by Harry's bed. She blinked, taken aback, and promptly snapped, "No visitors! She needs rest!"

Ginny was about to protest, but the woman wouldn't hear of it. She held up her hands and shook her head, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. "No, no. Let the girl sleep. She doesn't need any disturbance. Go on, now, you may come back after classes tomorrow."

"You mean she's staying the night?" Neville asked worriedly.

"Don't bother me with silly questions, I have things to do! Now go on! Go!" Then she saw Harry sitting on the bed. "What are you still doing here?"

"Er- you were supposed to give me a potion?" he answered tentatively.

She blinked, thinking hard. Then she remembered. "Oh. Oh, yes, of course. Well, get those pajamas over there and change into them."

"Wait- I am not staying overnight!" Harry started to refuse fiercely but she clicked her tongue again, eyes flashing in annoyance.

"I do not have time to make it for you now. You must wait until morning if you really want that wrist to be healed properly."

"But-,"

"Pajamas! Now!" she barked, clearly agitated.

He exchanged annoyed looks with Ginny, but forced himself to obey, retrieving the pajamas from a stack nearby. Ginny and Neville were biding their time wisely, waiting for him to return. When he did, Ginny whispered, "Keep an eye on Luna for me, Harry. You know, just in case."

He felt foolish but agreed anyway, feeling a little worried himself. If her injuries were making Madame Pomfrey act more snappish than usual then something must have been wrong. Neville said he hoped he'd feel better and he muttered a quick thanks in reply, watching them leave. Then he sighed, siting back on the bed. Well, he wouldn't be able to do his homework now. Oh, darn.

He changed into his pajamas lazily, taking his time. He was going to be here all night. No use in rushing it. With another deep sigh, he lay back on the bed, staring up at the familiar ceiling. He listened in silence as Madame Pomfrey moved around the room, though it was kind of pointless considering he and Luna were the only patients in the wing at all. But she still kept herself busy, and when she was finally done, he heard her quickly leave the Infirmary altogether instead of going to her adjoining room and office. That was weird. Where was she going?

And that reminded him of Ron. Where had he gone so abruptly? And why'd he make such a deal of it? Harry frowned. More people keeping secrets. So was he. And everyone deserves a secret once in a while, I guess.

Suddenly he heard a sound. He froze, lying very still, eyes wide and ears attentive.

Nothing.

Probably your imagination. Just go to sleep, Harry. You've been tired all week anyway, and here you won't get any distractions. But Harry couldn't sleep. He was too afraid of what he'd dream about. That was why he was so tired, and also probably why he was so irritable to people all week. Insomnia did that to you, right?

He was about to relax when he heard the noise again, but this time he thought he could make it out. It was like a little cry, like someone talking, only in a distressed way. But there wasn't anyone else here. Only Luna.

He sat up.

Luna.

Harry leaned forward and pushed the curtains aside, peering towards Luna's bed. It was absolutely still and undisturbed, or so it appeared. He waited and listened for a bit longer, and then he heard the cry again. That definitely was from a person, and it was coming from behind those bed curtains.

He slipped out of bed and crept towards hers, gently pulled the cloth back. Luna was lying on top of the covers, still wearing her school uniform and cloak, her face scrunched up like she was having a bad dream. Her hands were curled into fists, and she moved and twitched involuntarily, her hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead from sweat. Every now and then she cried out, turning her face away sharply, trying to hide from an imaginary monster that just wouldn't leave her alone.

Harry was too stunned to do anything at first, wondering if he should wake her, and then finding himself afraid to. But when she let out a sharp shriek, he knew something was really bothering her, and he'd had enough of those kind of nightmares to know he'd much rather someone wake him from it than stay trapped inside. He leaned in towards her and gently touched her shoulder.

With a startled gasp she jerked awake, grabbing his shirt and clutching it hard, yanking him down in the process. Then she was staring into his wide green eyes that mirrored the shock she was in, their noses inches from each other. They stayed that way as Luna tried to regain herself and Harry tried to calm himself.

"Hi," he mumbled finally, still wide-eyed.

She was still breathing hard, but she swallowed and whispered back, "Hi."

Harry wanted to say her hold was hurting his neck, but he didn't, glancing down at the fist that gripped a part of his shirt. "Um..."

She blinked then let go and he straightened, standing there awkwardly. He reached up and patted the wrinkle out of his pajama top instinctively, and to his later regret, did it with his left hand. She saw the bandages and sat up suddenly. He took a surprised step back.

"Did you do something to your wrist, Harry James?"

It took him a minute to realize she was still addressing him. How did she know his full name?

"I...I broke it during...er, during Quidditch practice," he stammered, still confused.

She frowned. "Were you not focusing?"

He would never get over how she seemed to know all of this. Maybe she really was the only normal one out of them...Nah...

"No."

"I didn't think so. Usually, you play very well. I've never seen a Seeker as good as you. You always find what you're looking for," she added conversationally, completely ignoring the whole nightmare incident he had woken her up from.

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged.

She smiled.

"If I were good at finding things, I wouldn't spend all the talent on Quidditch, though." He just stared at her. But then she leaned forward and peeked out into the rest of the room. "Has Ronald come back yet?"

"No, Ronal- er, Ron hasn't. Why?"

"I asked him to look for my missing things. I thought he'd be back by now..."

Somehow, the fact that Luna would ask for Ron's assistance and yet decline Harry's offer of help the year before bothered him just a tiny bit. But why should he be? That is stupid, Harry. It's none of your business who Luna asks to do things for her, and it isn't as if you have any right to feel bothered by it. Still...he couldn't help but wonder what made Ron a better "seeker" than him. She just said how good he was at finding things.

Harry shook his head. This was getting too complicated and rather pointless. He dropped the subject from his mind, refusing to think about it and feeling foolish that he even started to think about it in the first place.

"Is something the matter, Harry?"

"Huh?"

"You look frustrated. Does your wrist hurt?"

He did not want to talk about himself. So instead he ignored the question and asked about her. "What are you doing here anyway? Ginny said you fell down the steps. Are you sick or something?"

Her face changed.

"No."

He waited a moment, but she didn't elaborate. "So what is it?"

"I have a demon."

He stared, unable to respond. Luna always said strange things, but that by far was the strangest, and it bothered him that she looked so serious about it.

"A- A what?" he repeated unbelievingly, almost distrustfully. She frowned a little, hearing the skepticism in his voice, and that frown made him flush slightly, regretting his tone.

"A demon."

He looked away for a minute, half-hoping Madame Pomfrey would come back. But she didn't. So he turned back to Luna, who was still sitting up in her bed and staring at him solemnly. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous.

"Well...maybe it was just a bad dream-,"

"Dreams are not bad, Harry James," Luna explained patiently, as though explaining things to a child. "Nightmares are. And I stopped getting nightmares after my mother died. My father says its because she watches over me now and keeps them away."

Harry was confused, feeling a little awkward when the conversation turned to her mother. It made him think about Sirius, and he found himself wondering why he still had nightmares if what she had just said was true. But he shook his head, determined not to think about it. He stepped a little closer to her.

"But you sounded like you were having a dream. Or a nightmare," he added hesitantly.

She glanced away. "That was it- my demon."

He still didn't understand, and for once she didn't bother to try and explain it. After a bit of a silence, he asked, "Are you sure?"

And she nodded confidently. "I've seen it."

"Seen it?"

"Yes. Here, in this Infirmary."

He found himself interested, though he thought that was a bit morbid of him, but Luna didn't seem to mind. He cocked his head, frowning slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I'd come to visit someone, and when I got here, everyone said I should leave. But I had to see her; I was worried about her. Only no one would let me in. So I waited until no one was looking to sneak inside. She was lying right there- in that bed behind you- and she looked so...still and frightened, and when I looked around, I saw everyone in the beds were looking just like that. And Hermione's mirror had a picture of a demon in the glass- my demon- and I-,"

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"Wait a minute," he interrupted, straightened with his eyes wide. "You went to visit Penelope Clearwater, didn't you?"

She was staring at him now. "Yes."

"And you...That was in our second year- or actually, your first year- wasn't it?"

"Yes."

The Year of the Basilisk, he realized. She remained silent, still staring at him in something akin to awe and surprise. When Riddle's diary...and Ginny ... It was so connected with his own memories of that year that it didn't seem possible. But of course...Penelope was a Ravenclaw, just like Luna, and Luna is in Ginny's year...even if he didn't know her then...She was still affected by the horrific events of that year at Hogwarts, everyone in the school was. Then he looked up, frowning. "Wait- so you're saying you saw it in Hermione's mirror?"

"Yes. It was looking right at me. I remember the color of its eyes: yellow, like a demon's."

Then why wasn't she...? Well, of course- it was only a hallucination from the trauma. It wasn't the real Basilisk. It couldn't have been. She was still here, still alive. So Luna couldn't have been physically hurt, nor Petrified like the others were who had seen its reflection. It really hadn't been there for her to see in real life...had it?

"Luna- Luna, what else do you remember about that?"

She replied softly, "Its eyes are enough. Those are my nightmares now."

They were both silent after that, Harry slowly trying to understand the reality of this startling discovery.

"It visits me at night, but only some nights," Luna went on. Harry shut his eyes, not entirely sure he wanted to hear this anymore. It was worse enough knowing the events of that year had placed such a heavy mark on another person. He didn't want details of it. "And it leaves scars." He still did not respond. He heard her move in the bed, and then she asked in a sincerely earnest manner, "Harry? Have you ever seen a real snake?"

Harry opened his eyes.

"A snake?"

"Yes."

He wasn't sure if he should tell her about the incident in the Chamber with Ginny. But he couldn't lie to her. Not when she was looking at him with such genuine, trusting expectance. His hand went absentmindedly to his arm, stroking the place where the fang had pierced four years ago, and he was thinking of Fawkes, the phoenix that saved him.

"Once or twice," he answered offhandedly.

"And you're a Parseltongue, aren't you?"

He almost started in alarm. How does she know? Oh- right. Once again, the ill-famed Second year. He scowled as he thought of it. He hated being reminded of that. But Luna was waiting for an answer and so he shrugged indifferently. She went on,

"So you must know a bit about snakes. Like their characteristics and such."

"I guess." It's not something I fascinate myself with though...

She scooted over to the edge of her bed, leaning in towards him with her eyes even wider than usual. And Harry thought they were shining with something like eagerness and an almost frightened excitement. That made him step back a little, brow creased.

"I've been bitten by one."

"One what?" he asked stupidly.

"One snake," she clarified, not noticing his lack of logic.

Harry had a feeling this was tying back to her demon and he didn't like where it was going. He frowned, concerned. "Luna, what are you saying?"

"Remember, I told you my demon visits me."

The Basilisk.

Harry could barely breathe, struck by the absurdity of it all.

"Could you look at the scar and tell me if it's from a snakebite?"

"Er-,"

But Luna was already straightening and rolling back the sleeves of her robe. He took another timid step back, still unsure by the whole course of events. All he wanted was a potion for his wrist, not to diagnose snakebites.

Still, he was a little curious.

But his curiosity evaporated when he realized what she was doing. A rapid, warm blush on his cheeks and a nervous lump in his throat replaced it instead. He was about to open his mouth and stop her, but she looked up suddenly, waiting expectantly and perfectly unabashed.

She had undone the clasp of her robes and unbuttoned her blouse partially, pulling it down over the left side of her chest. And there, on the upper rise of her left breast, above her heart, were two holes, pricked a sickly red against her pale skin and catching his eye immediately. His mouth fell open. Definitely a snakebite. And the fact that it was so obviously definite took him by surprise. He stared at it in shock for another minute before dragging his gaze back to her face.

"Luna..."

"Is it?"

"I...Well, yes, I think so, but I-,"

"I think so, too," she murmured quietly, letting go of her blouse and clasping her hands in her lap.

She didn't bother to re-button her shirt and the embarrassed blush came back on his face. But Luna didn't notice, too busy thinking of his confirmation of her suspicions. Harry folded his arms awkwardly over his chest. Come on, don't be stupid. This is serious.

"Luna, you should tell someone."

"I told you."

He flushed again. "Yeah, well...I'm not exactly the best to... That is, you should tell someone who can help you."

"I told you."

He looked up at her sharply, but before he could ask her what she meant, the door opened. Panicking, he threw himself back at his own hospital cot, tripping over his feet and falling face-first into the curtains. He scrambled with them a bit, finally untangling himself and jumping into bed. He glanced up again, cheeks red, to see Madame Pomfrey staring back at him incredulously.

"Something the matter, Mr. Potter?" she asked airily.

He was breathing hard, wondering how much she had seen and heard, worrying about what the scene must have looked like to her, and stuttering as he spoke. "Ah, no. No, no, I'm- I'm great. Fine. Just...fine."

"If you want to leave so badly, you may spend the night in your dormitory and come for your potion tomorrow morning."

"Oh."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Er, I mean- no. No, thanks. I think...I think I'll stay here anyway...Just in case."

"Very well. But, please, move yourself to another bed, preferably across the room. Miss Lovegood needs peace."

"Right."

He got up and walked stiffly to the other side of the room, finding the bed farthest away. Before he climbed in, he glanced back one last time but regretted it immediately when he saw Madame Pomfrey frowning at him with narrowed, accusing eyes. Trying to be casual, he slipped under the covers, distinctly hearing the woman mutter something about the need for separate hospital wings for boys and girls as she pulled the curtains closed around Luna's bed.