A/N: For anyone who knows me/follows my other stories, I apologise for saying I would reply to reviews and PMs and then not. My internet has died, without much prospect of getting fixed before Christmas, so I only have access at work. I have another chapter of House of Cards ready to go up very soon, but thought this would keep some of you going until then...

He carefully took the small creature in his hand, and, very carefully indeed, spread out the azure wing. It trembled slightly in his grasp, but it was not too frantic, thanks to the very mild sedation spell he had cast on it. Holding it in his palm, pinned down with his thumb, his first two fingers holding the wing, he reached for his camera with the other hand, pointed the large lens at the creature, and snapped off several shots.

There was no doubt about it. It was the Lesser Rainbow-Winged Mirble. He held it up to the light for a moment, just to enjoy the light streaming through the almost transparent wing, causing rainbow colours to fall on the parchment notebook that lay on the table, like the effect from a stained glass window.

He smiled happily to himself, and placed it gently in the cardboard box he had lifted it from. In a few minutes, it would begin to recover from the spell, and could then be released, unharmed, back into the forest. Meanwhile, he picked up the notebook and began to make notes, glancing down at the creature every now and again.

The Lesser Rainbow-Winged Mirble was extremely rare and extremely elusive. To see one in the wild was astonishing; a magical moment. In his thirty five years, he had seen many rare creatures; he had been travelling around the world since he had been a child. But it didn't make each new species less of a special occasion.

Finished for the moment, he put the notebook down. It was magically protected, but the odd mark and stain had got through, and it looked a little battered. He didn't mind. He felt that it reflected himself. That notebook had gone through a lot with him. And it was not nearly as battered as it would have been without the spells, existing in this hot, damp, dirty environment.

And talking of spells... he brushed his thick, sandy coloured hair away from his damp forehead, and realised that in his concentration, he had let the spells surrounding himself lapse. The heat had forced itself onto him, and he was sweating profusely.

He pulled his wand out, and quickly performed the necessary spells, feeling the relief as cool air surrounded him. That was amongst the first spells he had learnt, as a child in Borneo. His parents had had slightly different interests from him; they had been more interested in the slightly sinister things that lurked in Borneo's forests. Not because they had any malignant intentions; they simply believed that dark creatures could not help being what they were, and that studying them was more constructive than killing them. He shared that belief, but his own interests had followed more harmless routes. Rare, lesser-known species; the kind of creature dismissed by many as myth. Those were what he chased. Some were dangerous, of course, but mostly they were harmless. Most had been unknown to those early naturalists, and so were not included in text books. Already, he had enough new material in his notebooks to write his own book. Including a few species which he believed were absolutely new.

"Sir!" a voice broke into his thoughts. He sighed. The boy insisted on calling him Sir, as if he was some middle-aged professor.

"Yes, Jim?"

A young man with straggling dark hair and several days' growth of slightly patchy beard put his head around the tarpaulin partition.

"The new team member's arrived, Sir."

"Ah." He sighed again. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about this new team member who was joining them. Of course, since Dawborn had contracted that virus and had had to be taken out, they were a little understaffed. And it was trying to be the only expert in the study of fauna; sometimes, he could do with an extra pair of hands, but he didn't like calling on Jim. The boy might be a talented photographer, but he was terribly clumsy when it came to handling creatures. And the same went for the other members of the team. The plant experts were busy with their own things, and the others knew nothing about the delicate handling some creatures needed. And they did not really appreciate what they were doing. To them, it was just a job; they did not see the beauty of the creatures in the way he did; they could not see magic (in its metaphorical sense of course) in the ugliest of beetles. So it would be a relief to get someone who actually had some experience in the field to help.

On the other hand, he tended to get irritated by workmates. Even Dawborn had been an annoyance at times. He talked too much. He was not content simply to exist, along with whatever wonderful creature they were studying.

But there was no choice about it; he had been sent an assistant, whether he wanted one or not.

So he dusted his hands off, and turned around to meet the newest team member.

His jaw dropped.

She was standing just behind Jim, a vague smile on her face, blue eyes fixed interestedly on him. But what had made his jaw drop was the way in which she was dressed.

The team mostly dressed in neutral colours. Khaki, beige, dark greens and browns. They blended in with the forest, and showed stains the least. This young woman – who couldn't be more than twenty five, he thought – was wearing bright red baggy shorts and a t-shirt of a dozen different colours; purple, brown, orange, white... swirling together in a pattern that made his eyes hurt, although after looking at it for a moment, he realised with something like fascination that the patterns swirled together to form some kind of creature... a lizard of some sort, he thought.

Then he realised that he had apparently spent the last few seconds staring at her chest, and blinked and looked away. At least her footwear was sensible; a pair of brown, sturdy boots that looked like dragon hide. And she was wearing a sun hat, although it had a variety of strange objects hanging off it.

"Hello," she said pleasantly, as if there had not been a slightly awkward silence.

"Ah..." he focussed on her face again, and found that she was still smiling at him, "Hello, Ms... er..."

"Lovegood," she held out a hand, "My name's Luna Lovegood."

She was going to be a disaster, he thought, as he strode ahead of her through the camp. She had disaster written all over her.

"Did someone show you where to put your stuff?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes," she replied, not apparently having any trouble keeping up with him as he easily stepped over branches and bits of equipment, and ducked under stray branches, "That young man showed me. He seemed nice, but not very bright."

Well, that was a fair summary of Jim, he thought, if a bit rude, given that she'd just met him.

"That's the toilet," he said, pulling aside a tarpaulin and showing the rather basic facilities, "And this," he waved his hand around a clearing, "is the kitchen and living space. That tent over there is the plant people. Next door is where Jim does his photos; I tend to do my own though. That little tent there is the dry room. It's got spells over it, and everything that really mustn't get wet gets stored in there. All the paperwork goes there, and most of the magical observation equipment. Ordinary trapping equipment is here," he looked hard at her, "It's all pretty basic."

She looked back, and smiled that bland smile that made it impossible to tell what she was thinking.

"Yes, that's quite all right," was all she said, "What exactly will I be assisting you with?"

"Everything," he told her, "Trekking, trapping, observing, recording... How much have you done, by the way?"

"Oh," she looked vaguely surprised, "The people at MINA said they'd sent you my resumee. They said you'd accepted me."

He waved this aside.

"Bits of parchment. I don't read bits of parchment. Tell me about yourself."

"Oh," she looked thoughtful, "I thought it was a bit funny. I mean, people have been reading my resumee and then turning me down for years... If you didn't read it, that explains it."

He stared at her.

"What?"

"Don't worry," she reassured him, "It's nothing bad. I think it's quite good myself. But people don't seem to agree. I worked for my father when I first left school, helping him with his magazine. The Quibbler?" she smiled hopefully at him, but he looked blank, "Well, anyway, after that, I decided to go travelling for a little while. I went to South East Asia for six months, and came back after three years. I did quite a lot of animal tracking while I was there, but not really of Magical animals specifically. I went and lived with a tribe in the Malaysian rainforest for a year, and then I came out, and it turned out that everyone had thought I was dead. I tried living up in the Arctic, in Sweden, by myself, but that didn't work out. And then I got a job in a pub called the Hog's Head, but they fired me because I kept serving people the wrong drinks. After that, I tried to get a job for a long time, and eventually got one with MINA, but it was really just admin work. I'm quite good at admin work, because of helping Daddy with the paper. I was doing a lot of filing of records for them, so I brushed up my theory a bit... and then I wrote an article on my experiences in Malaysia, and Daddy published it, and somehow somebody at MINA saw it, and thought because of that, that I might be a good person for this project... so here I am."

He nodded, not letting anything he was feeling show on his face. She was an admin assistant. MINA – The Magical International Naturalists' Association – had sent him an admin assistant. Still, at least she had some field experience. Some of the other things she had said filtered gradually through his brain throughout the afternoon. She had stayed in the Malaysian jungle for a year, without it apparently occurring to her that people might miss her. She had served people the wrong drinks when she was a barmaid. She had tried to live inside the Arctic circle by herself.

The woman was mad.

She was also, he had to admit, efficient. They were cataloguing his findings of Macksin Beetles in the leaf mould, and she was quick and clever, and swiftly reorganised his notes for him into a more rational state.

When he commented on this, she smiled her vague smile.

"Yes, it was helping Daddy that did it. His things were in the most terrible state when I started to work for him."

And that was her only comment. She didn't talk much either.

"You didn't go to Hogwarts, did you?" she said, at one point.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I think I'd have remembered you," she said. He stared at her. What was that supposed to mean?

"Well, I doubt if we'd have overlapped there," he said irritably.

"Oh," she tilted her head on one side to look critically at him, "How old are you?"

"Thirty five," he said shortly.

"Well, I'm twenty nine," she said, "So we probably would have done."

He stared at her again. She was twenty nine? Bloody hell, he'd had her down as early twenties.

"Actually, I didn't go to Hogwarts," he said abruptly, "We travelled around a lot when I was a child. My parents educated me."

He spoke stiffly, because he'd always found that people who'd gone to Hogwarts or some other school looked down on people who had not. But she just smiled eagerly, and looked interested.

"Oh really? My mother was going to do that for me too!"

"But she changed her mind?" he questioned, after a short pause.

"No. She died."

Later, he found her sitting outside her tent, writing letters. She had a small red beetle in her hair, but she didn't seem to have noticed. He observed her carefully for a few moments. She was a strange person, but not such a disaster as he had first thought. And he hoped he hadn't upset her with that awful comment about her mother earlier.

She looked up and spotted him, and smiled, as usual. She didn't seem offended, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to tell.

"Writing to your family?" he said pleasantly, and then hoped he hadn't put his foot in it again.

"My father," she said simply, "And my friends. They like to hear from me."

In fact, they had made her promise to write. When she had come back from Malaysia, they had all been there to meet her as she arrived back in England, and the first thing that had happened was that Ginny had rushed at her, caught her by the shoulders, shaken her hard, shouted "Never. Do that. To us. Again!", flung her arms around her and burst into tears. Luna had been a bit surprised, but then, Ginny had been pregnant with James at the time, so her hormones had probably been affecting her.

He glanced at the parchments spread out in front of her. They must have been magically protected, because the water dripping onto them from a leaf was not affecting them. She probably learnt that in Malaysia. On top of the pile was a photograph of a pretty toddler, with bright red hair, who was clearly giggling wildly.

"Is that a relative?" he asked politely.

She smiled fondly down at it.

"No. That's my god daughter."

He stared at her. He knew what a god daughter was. His mother had been a Muggleborn, and he had godparents himself. He just found himself unable to picture the people who would choose Luna Lovegood as the godmother of their child.

"Her parents... are friends of yours then?" he asked, trying to keep the note of curiosity out of his voice.

"Yes, they're old school friends," she nodded, "Have you heard of Harry Potter? He's quite famous..."

His mouth fell open. Harry Potter? Well, bloody hell, he might not exactly keep up with the news, stuck out in places like this, but Harry Potter? Everyone knew who Harry Potter was! But... was she trying to say...?

"D'you mean...?" he said, when he had found his voice again, "D'you mean that's Harry Potter's daughter?"

"Yes. Lily," she waved the parchment she was busy writing on at him, "This letter's for Harry and Ginny."

He blinked rapidly. She was friends with Harry Potter. Old school friends. Good enough friends for him to have chosen her as godmother for his daughter. That must mean... she must have been involved in the War. It couldn't mean anything else. Of course, everyone in Britain at the time had been involved, to some extent, but she must have been close to Potter. He swallowed, and opened his mouth to ask. And then closed it again. She'd get enough questions when Jim found out. He wouldn't bother her.

She had changed into clothes of a far more sensible colour for their trek into the forest, he saw with relief. She wasn't entirely clueless after all. And she moved very quietly; he was impressed.

"There!" he whispered, pointing, "See that?"

It was nothing more than a flash of colour in the green and brown of the forest floor. He was not sure what it was himself... and then it came into full view, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was a Plirrian Toad. Rare, fascinating (it was said that the call of the toad had healing qualities, and it was certain that its saliva had been used by the forest tribes for millennia in various potions and charms), and hideously ugly, it was an astonishing sight. He stared at it, transfixed by his good luck. At the bumpy blue curve of its little head; the bulbous white eyes; the glistening skin. The ridges across its hunched neck, and the tiny delicacy of its feet. He drank in every detail. Jim, behind them, had seen the expression on his face, known that this was something good, and was now snapping photographs, with no idea at all that he was photographing something so miraculous. He never did.

They watched, silent and still, until Jim made a movement, a twig snapped, and the toad gave a leap, away into the bushes.

He let out a breath. He had not been aware that he was holding one. There was no point being annoyed with Jim... and no amount of annoyance could ruin the fact that he had just seen a Plirrian Toad.

He glanced at the girl. Her eyes were shining with the same light as his own, and there was no need for words as they looked at each other. His heart lifted suddenly. He had found somebody who understood.

They lay behind a rock on the edge of the Mexican desert, and he thought of that day, more than two years ago. The day when, for Rolf Scamander at least, everything had changed.

Since then, they had made their expeditions together. Somewhere along the way, their relationship had ceased to be platonic. But everything remained unspoken. There was a silent agreement; that was all that they had ever needed. Except that some things needed to be said.

He knew perfectly well what Luna meant to him. He knew – or he hoped he knew – what he meant to her. That didn't make it any easier to find the words. Words had never come easily to him.

"We'll be in England this time next week," he said casually.

She was watching a bird, flat on her stomach and staring out over the top of the rock.

"Yes," she said absently.

"Got any plans?" he asked.

She thought for a moment.

"I'll go and see Daddy and the others. It's been a long time. I haven't seen Neville and Hannah's new baby yet."

"And then what?" he asked. She looked up, surprised. They never really talked about plans.

"I suppose I'll find a job for a bit again. Until our next trip."

He swallowed. He should say it. Say it now. But how?

"I'm going to write a book," he blurted out, "Write up the last two years of work. See if I can find a publisher."

"Oh," she looked at him, her eyes alight with interest, "That's a good idea," she smiled serenely, although her eyes were twinkling, "What are you going to call it? Travels with a Madwoman?"

He chuckled.

"Not a bad title," there was a heavy pause, then he spoke again, "Would you... would you like to help me?"

She turned round properly, and stared up at him, brushing her blonde hair off her forehead.

"I'd love to," she said genuinely, "Thank you, Rolf."

There was another pause, while she sat up and looked at him.

"And I suppose," she said casually, "we'd better get married or something. If you'd like to."

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. It wasn't exactly how he had thought a marriage proposal should go – not that he had much experience with these things – but then, that was why he was in love with Luna Lovegood.

"That's a good idea," he agreed lightly, "I'd like that."

And that was that.