An agonizing, white hot pain clenched around Luna's head- God, no, this was too painful. The noise was everywhere. It seemed to buzz madly- even the colours were too loud. The angry red was horrible. It zipped across the meekly blue sky like a wild wasp- the colour was everywhere. And descending upon her. It was a group! A swarm of terrible, angry red and they were going to-
"Enough."
And then it was Silence. Luna embraced it. Oh, sweet Silence. Her Protector had arrived. The red stopped advancing at a sudden halt. Her vision was steadily clearing. Gryffindor colours- loud, aggressive, terrible colours that would trap her and swallow her and-
She whimpered audibly.
It was then Luna realised she was curled up into a foetus position on the floor. On the grass. The sweet, tender colour of green grass. She squinted. And a darker green- emerald green fabric lay near her face. That definitely wasn't hers. Luna wasn't in Slytherin.
Oh.
You're in a Quidditch game.
Quidditch. It seemed so…so, not part of her world anymore. She could not play Quidditch, she was a prisoner. Quidditch was for Before.
"Who are you?" It was the same voice speaking, but Luna could only appreciate the dark velvet of it after her initial shock had faded. This was a nice sound. It wasn't as nice as Silence- but it was good. Yes- nice.
"Who. Are. You?" the voice asked curtly, clearly becoming more impatient. Oh, it didn't sound nice now. It sounded mean. Interrogating. But the voice made an interesting inquiry- who was she now? She was Luna Lovegood. But who was she in 1942? Her vision had cleared completely by then, and slowly, she tilted her head upwards to the sound of the voice. A slender, shadowy figure loomed over her.
"L-" she began quietly, but stopped as another figure- this one, somehow, seemed more kind. More gentle.
"That's quite enough, Tom." He murmured in the other figure's ear, resting a palm lightly on the boy's shoulder. Luna supposed it was not intended for her to hear that, but after spending three weeks in silence, one found themselves extremely sensitive to sound.
This was a Quidditch game. Why was it silent?
Well, someone had just apparated into Hogwarts- that was impossible. That would stun the whole school into silence. Particularly if that someone looked like a rabid animal.
Her vision was clear, now. So many new colours. A ginger beard dangled above her. A lovely, warm ginger. Not angry red. Warm ginger. Luna hesitantly reached out her fingers to stroke it. A deep rumble of chuckling came from next to her. A gentle rumble. A nice sound. Nice, nice, nice. Oh, it was all nice now.
"That's my beard, dear." He said, piercing blue eyes twinkling with both mirth and confusion. Luna darted her gaze away. His eyes were too loud. Too much. Dumbledore frowned and stood, leaving the girl motionless on the ground.
The whole school held their breath.
He paused, as if about to say something, and shook his head. There was only one way someone could enter the school's grounds- something he did not wish to divulge to the rest of the staff.
"Lancaster." He addressed the Gryffindor seeker quietly. One girl, in the crowd that had swarmed around Luna, immediately straightened up, "Yes, Professor?" Dumbledore rubbed his temples for a moment, taking a second to contemplate. "Empty the stalls, the game will be postponed." Lancaster's jaw tightened, clearly displeased, but nodded.
"Riddle," he turned round to the boy. Tom's dark gaze tore itself away from the motionless girl and swerved to Dumbledore reluctantly. "Escort the girl to Madam Retani." He was, after all, Head Boy. Where was Dippet? It was part of the Headmaster's responsibility to the pastoral committee at Hogwarts to attend quidditch games.
Tom sneered inwardly. He did not want to touch the thing. It could barely articulate its own name. But he would not risk his façade. He crouched cautiously next to her. If the girl had noticed that he had approached her, she gave no sign of it. There was blood on her clothes, tears, burns, dirt. A refugee, perhaps? There were no wizarding wards currently, though. She remained impossibly still- even the movement of her chest was almost mobile from her hollow breaths. Unhealthy. Diseased. She disgusted him. She fascinated him.
"Who are you?" he murmured softly, so that it was inaudible to the crowd that surrounded them both. Her eyes flew open, and he recoiled slightly at the startling, manic blue of them. Insane. "Luna." She responded at the same volume. Her voice was like a breeze- quiet and gentle, but reassuring and persistent at the same time. He had gotten her to speak. Good, good- that would keep Dumbledore happy with him for a while. His eyes flickered away from Luna to check up on the other man. Too busy bossing around the school, the old fool.
"He's not a fool, you know."
Tom blinked. Had she just- but, no, his occlumency was excellent-
"I'm very good."
His jaw tightened, forcing up more shields to protect his mind. He could not interrogate her now. How was she doing this? No one was able to challenge the future Lord! No one! Dark eyes smouldering with fury, he leaned over her. "How are you doing that?" he hissed. She did not look at him. Why did she not look at him? What wasthe matter with this stranger? "Answe-"
"Is everything alright with her, Tom, dear?" a shrill, worried voice exclaimed from behind him. Madam Retani, it seemed, had found her own way to her newest patient. Tom drew back immediately, masking his frustration perfectly. "No. She's-" he stood up quickly, realising he had no way to finish his sentence.
"She's wrong." Tom muttered under his breath, before promptly turning on his heel and walking away, emerald green quidditch robes billowing behind him.