Of September Plains

For all her well-to-do upbringing and inarguably amiable disposition, Amelda Hoppingsworth couldn't help but stare. Surrounding her were mountains of the most bizarre and mismatched trinkets and oddments that she'd ever seen; an astounding feat in itself, considering that she was, after all, a witch. But, despite the fact that she was nearly at the end of her fourth year with the Department, she had never seen such a vast array of assorted oddities. A thousand scraps of parchment, each with a thousand scribbled notes criss-crossing their weathered faces, were scattered all around, forming a sort of second carpet. Here a Siren's Shell emitted a low, wrenching moan; there a Fwooper squawked mutely on its perch. Amelda even thought she recognised a tendril of Devil's Snare from her Hogwarts years' Herbology.

But perhaps the oddest thing of all – or at least, amongst the strangest features of the decidedly ridiculous camp – was that they were standing in the heart of a grassy plain, the browning grasslands stretching away on every side, the absence of humankind all too noticeable. Except, of course, for the unattended knick-knacks that were piled before them.

She glanced at her older colleague, attempting to glean some mark of how on earth he took this development. He seemed remarkably unperturbed by the sheer strangeness of the collection. Indeed, after peering around the campsite, he turned to her with a scowl, gleaming brown eyes completely devoid of perplexity, "Bit of a mess, isn't it?"

"Er," Amelda paused, not quite knowing what to say, "If I may, sir, why exactly are we here?"

He didn't answer at first, instead bending over and picking up an oddly shaped object that looked suspiciously like an Erumpent's Horn. Amelda took a long step backward. The wizard chuckled to himself softly as if at some private joke. Placing it with a gentleman's reverence back in its place, he rubbed his hands together.

"We're here," he said, glancing around again, as if seeking the Creator of this baffling World, "To pass on a little message."

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of her standing, but at the roll of his eyes ploughed on, "But I've heard about this affair, and with all due respect sir, isn't this a little bit out of the Department's jurisdiction?"

The tall wizard shot her a quizzical glance. She stared; he of all people should realise what she was getting at, "You said that this was the Lovegood case, didn't you? The one that's been in the Prophet a lot lately?" At his nod of assent, she continued, almost exasperated now, "I can understand how we'd be needed in cleaning up the mess she's made. But what good can we do in actually coming out to meet her ourselves? Surely that's the Improper Use of Magic Office's job."

To her surprise, and no little indignation, her colleague actually laughed, "This isn't an official trip, Ammy; we're heading on out to Devon. Just so happened that we had a bit of extra time on our hands; just enough for to take care of some personal business for a friend of mine." He grinned, "Keep your hat on, we're not breaking any rules yet."

Amelda stared, instantly dropping her disapproval at the man's infamous lack of regard for regulations, "You know Luna Lovegood?"

The man grinned, "Are you kidding? Me and Luna go way back. We were actually at Hogwarts together, if you'd believe it, back when You-Know-Who was still hanging around. She was a year under us, of course, but we were pretty close by the end of it all."

"Have you seen her since she began all this business, then?" she asked cautiously, suddenly unsure of where she stood with a friend of Lovegood's.

But to her private relief, the Obliviator just shook his head, dark eyes still twinkling, "Nah, haven't seen Luna in, what, probably a little over six months now." He paused, distant eyes counting invisible fingers, "Well, not since the wedding anyway. And she didn't mention any of this," he snickered, waving his arm at the multitudes of junk littering the field, "Just said something about going hunting for a Puntious Porkle, or something."

"That's Sumptuous Sorkle," corrected an unmistakably vague voice, "And what else could I be doing out here?"

Amelda blanched. Her colleague spun on the spot, grinning widely as he caught sight of his apparent acquaintance. Luna Lovegood wasn't known as being the oddest witch in Britain for nothing. Silvery eyes exuding a distinct air of dottiness peered through a thin pair of spectacles, blonde hair hanging raggedly around her pale face. Her wand was clasped in her hand for once, although her robes were every bit as strange as her motley collection. An ugly red jumper and mismatched olive skirt poked out of the folds of her dark cloak. But these oddities were all but expected; what surprised Amelda was the frail frame of the woman. From her reputation, Amelda had imagined the witch would be a little more imposing.

"Been a long time," grinned the lanky wizard, enveloping the slip of a witch in a bone-crushing hug. Luna's thin arms stretched around him awkwardly, giving him a light pat on the back. The Obliviator stood back with a slight smile, "Still stirring up trouble with the Ministry?"

Luna gave him an oblivious look, instead giving Amelda a disquieting stare. The young witch tried to hold her gaze, but at the transparency of the mad-witch's look, quickly ducked her head in shame. She glared at her feet as she heard her superior's low chuckle. Without turning back to the other wizard, Luna murmured, "On the contrary, it's been quite peaceful out here. You should stop by more often."

"Thirty displaced ghosts is what the Ministry considers trouble," the Obliviator said, serious now. Amelda thought it was odd how the head of their office could switch temperaments so quickly; probably a result of contact with the Lovegood woman. He continued, "Whatever you've been doing out here's been driving them away, and this area's s'posed to be reserved for ghosts alone. I don't know what you've been up to, and you know I don't give a rusty bronze knut about what the Prophet has to say, but those bloody ghosts have been stirring up the Muggle villages nearby." He paused, then snorted, "But that's for the Ministry to worry about, I suppose."

Amelda nearly clucked her reproval, scandalised at her colleague's lack of delicacy. A small, odd smile quirked the Lovegood's crooked lips, "I suppose even Hermione couldn't get that love of rules out of you."

"She wishes," Ron sniggered, conjuring up a couch for himself and Amelda, while Luna took her own stool with a wave of her wand, "Told me to give you one of these," he passed her a slip of paper, a hint of pride in his voice now, "Said she wanted you there for it."

Luna glanced over the tiny scroll of parchment, before smiling up at him, now bright and warm, "Thank you, very much. And congratulations, of course."

Ron scratched his head, suddenly bashful, "Bah, it's nothing. It'll be great to have you there." Looking for a man in great need of a diversion, he peered around, "So what've you been working on that's got the spirits in this area in such a fright."

"I'm not sure," Luna replied, vagueness flooding into her demeanour once more, "It seems they take offence to the Sorkle pheromones I've been spreading around here." She tapped her nose in thought, "They're probably just afraid that a Humming Horgy will want to devour them; it's a common misconception that they like to eat ghosts." The witch nodded to herself, as if what she were suggesting were the most plausible thing in the world, "Really, the Horgy only likes the taste of Dementors; the ghosts have nothing to worry about."

"I see," said Ron politely, letting alone the impossibility of anything eating a Dementor, and the fact that the essence of mandrake that she had been using created an unbearable stench that could only be smelt by spirits. Amelda just continued to stare.

A long moment stretched out awkwardly. For Amelda anyway. Both Ron and Luna seemed relatively comfortable, the former peering curiously around the campsite, the latter peering disturbingly at Amelda.

Finally, Ron sighed, "Look, you're probably going to get a letter from Harry's office soon anyway; you can blame bad luck, but the Ministry's isn't going to be able to ignore over a hundred violations of the Secrecy laws in a few weeks. Action will be taken. You might want to lay low for a bit."

Luna smiled, "Thank you for your concern. I'll be alright, though. After all, the Ministry's really looking up these days; Shacklebolt hasn't quite sunken to cooking goblins into pies yet."

This time Amelda couldn't help it; a childish giggle escaping her at the sheer insanity of the being that was Luna Lovegood. The witch turned her dotty gaze on her, instantly eliciting silence. Ron merely chortled, before seeming to remember something.

"Oh, yeah," he said, straining to grasp the niggling memory, "Harry told me to tell you that he's good for Friday if you are. Same time, same place."

While Amelda didn't think it could have been possible, the look in Luna's eyes grew a tiny bit more clouded. But if she had to have guessed, she would have said that there was a hint of excitement in that vague expression.

"Tell him that I'll see him there," she smiled, vanishing her stool before leaning forward to give Ron a peck on the cheek, "It was good to see you again, Bilius."

And with a startling crack, she was gone.

Amelda just stared at the spot where Luna had been standing moments before. She was every bit as strange and crazed as the Prophet had claimed, but in spite of this, the frail witch seemed to possess an innate grace. As if reading her mind, Ron shook his head, "She's really something, isn't she?" Sighing, he tucked his wand away, flipping his cap onto his head as he helped his junior to her feet.

"C'mon Ammy," he said, his wide grin returning, "We've got business in Devon. Not that anyone'll thank us for it, of course." He chuckled dryly, "Matter of fact, if we've done our job right, most of 'em won't even know we've been."