Xenophilius Lovegood has never made himself a particularly popular figure in the Wizarding World. You could never be sure when he was going to accuse your family of harbouring nests of Nifflers, awaiting your chance to seize Gringotts from goblin control because you didn't agree with their tea break allocations.

Appearing in The Quibbler holds none of the thrill of appearing in The Daily Prophet... until Harry Potter makes it obvious which newspaper he prefers.

So, when Xenophilius announces the tenth anniversary of The Quibbler, people scramble for invitations, hoping for a chance to be near the Golden Boy, and pretending The Quibbler hasn't already been in print for at least thirteen or fourteen years.

Luna contemplates that this might be the very best party ever. Daddy has purchased hundreds of balloons, each of which sings a different song over and over, which Luna knows people will like, because this way, there is a song for everybody. Other balloons explode in mid-air, showering guests with confetti that she's sure they will be able to remove later on.

The guests seem to be entering into the spirit of things; Luna has already seen a few guests pretend to be knocked off their feet by the streamers zipping around, and even heard them continue the charade by complaining about it. At this rate, she doubts anyone will mind that the 'cake' is comprised of past Quibbler issues.

She drifts off to talk to Ginny and Harry, the latter of whom is apparently some sort of magnet for the singing balloons - they surround him, forming a bizarre-looking, discordant halo.

"All right, Luna?" Harry asks, batting one of the balloons away. It is wholly ineffective; not only does the balloon return, but it brings a partner.

Ginny scowls, aiming her wand at the new arrival. It bursts with the sound of a cannon-blast, but thankfully stops singing. The rest of the balloons scatter immediately, and Ginny sticks her wand in her back pocket, looking satisfied.

"Thanks, Gin," Harry says, grinning. "Very useful."

"Oh, there's nothing I can't get rid of, especially now Ron's started working with George, and can't seem to stop himself testing out new products on me. I swear, I'm a day away from a permanent Bat-Bogey Hex. The only thing stopping me is the thought of my future nieces and nephews."

"Do it," Harry says grimly. "I haven't been able to remove my glasses for a week and a half."

"Daddy has some potions you can try out," Luna offers generously. "People are always sending things through the post that stick to Daddy. It's very unfortunate. Sometimes people send rubbish by accident. I often wonder how they feel when they discover they've sent the wrong thing. They're usually too embarrassed to send apologies."

Neither of them reply, and Luna notices Ginny's eyes fixing on a point behind her and widening, which is the only warning she has before she turns and catches sight of-

Rolf.

"Hey, Luna."

Luna sets her jaw, and wishes the balloons were back, so she could have reasonably pretended not to have heard him. Perhaps he will assume Wrackspurts have blocked up her ears.

Ginny mercifully answers for her, cutting across the silence before it has a chance to get awkward. "Aren't you Rolf Scamander? Don't know if you remember me; I'm Charlie-"

"Weasley's sister," Rolf finishes with a smile, folding his arms across his chest. "Nice to see you again."

"This is Harry."

Luna has witnessed Ginny introducing Harry many times, and discovered that every time she introduces him as 'Harry Potter', it seems to grant access to thousands of unwanted questions. This way, giving the illusion of intimacy with the saviour of wizardkind, without the acknowledgement that this is the Harry Potter, is usually far more effective.

Rolf raises one of his eyebrows ever-so-slightly, and Luna – who spent months with him as her only companion – is probably the only one to discern a change in facial expression. He extends his hand, and says, "Good to meet you, Harry."

"Have you seen my brother lately?" Ginny asks curiously, darting a look at Luna.

"Not lately," he answers, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, Lu-"

"Young man," intones a voice from behind him. "Please, explain how I have ended up at a party being presided over by none other than Xenophilius Lovegood. Preferably whilst you are arranging for our immediate departure."

Rolf flushes, and turns around, taking a step back, which inadvertently places him right beside Luna.

The voice belongs to an elderly wizard, who does not appear to have noticed that his loud tones have attracted the attention of more than one party-goer – and even of Xenophilius himself.

"Newton! Newton – I didn't think my letters were getting through to you any more!" Xenophilius calls, hurrying across the room in a cloud of luminous green. "I can't tell you how much-"

Five feet from Newton Scamander, Xenophilius is thrown back in a burst of red light.

Luna exclaims loudly, fearing an Umgubular Slashkilter has snuck in unnoticed, but Xenophilius has scrambled to his feet before she can get further than three paces. "Not to worry, Newton, all my fault. All my fault. Slipped my mind, that's all. Don't fret, I'm not intending on breaking any rules. I know the limits."

Newton does not look especially comforted. "Not a problem," he says in a clipped tone. "Unfortunately, we can't stay long. I was just telling my grandson that we've been called out to Sweden. Something about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

Xenophilius's expression is purely blissful. "Oh, of course, Newton, of course. Perhaps I might-"

"Top secret, obviously, Xenophilius. Wouldn't want the papers getting hold of such a thing. Might scare off the backers, if you know what I mean."

The Quibbler's editor falters, but then nods vigorously.

Looking pleased that things have gone his way, Newton nods to Rolf. "Shall we be off, then?"

Rolf shifts his weight from foot to foot, shooting Luna a covert glance. "Actually, Granddad-" Luna starts. Granddad. Of course. "–I haven't quite finished. There's some Ministry matters that I need to discuss privately with Miss Lovegood."

Both Xenophilius and Newton's eyes land on Luna at the same time, and she shrinks back.

"I can see why you chose to bring these Ministry matters of yours to a party," Newton observes coolly. "I'll be waiting for you at home, Rolf. Don't forget, mind. Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. In fact-" He peers at Rolf, and then turns on Xenophilius. "Dear me, Xenophilius. The boy has clearly been infested with Wracklesplinters. Did you not put up any protection? He looks quite vacant."

Xenophilius looks like he might burst into tears. "I might have something," he mutters distractedly, before disappearing off into the crowd.

"That was unkind," Luna informs Newton calmly, taking a step closer, and finding herself able to get closer to the writer than her father.

Newton, she discovers, has the same guilty expression as his grandson. "My apologies, dear girl. Your father tends to be a little effusive in his praise for my works. I find a gentle suggestion that I am paying attention to his findings most successful."

"My father is not a child, Mister Scamander," Luna says determinedly, thrusting her chin forward. She is quite aware that Rolf will probably side with his grandfather, and she will not only lose him, but his Ministry contacts too. "There is no need to humour him if you do not have the benefit of a mind as open as his."

As she turns on her heel and exits, she hears Newton's comment. "With a mind as open as his, it's a wonder only his common sense has fallen out so far."

Luna sinks down onto the grass outside, watching the hall's windows flash various colours. It must have rained at some point, because the grass is damp, but not unpleasantly so. The noise from the remaining balloons thankfully has not travelled outside; she prefers silence at the moment. She brings her knees up to her chest, and wraps her arms tightly around her legs.

"Mind if I join you?"

She shakes her head, knowing without checking that it is Rolf.

He sits next to her, stretching his legs out over the grass. "Nice night. If it stays this quiet, we might get to see some Mooncalves. I hear they're popular in Devon."

Luna offers him a weak smile. "I don't mind if you want to go and collect their dung by yourself."

"Ouch," Rolf replies good-naturedly, leaning back on his elbows. "I think that might be the most unkind thing you've ever said, young lady."

Luna shrugs, tugging at a handful of grass. "Maybe," she replies vaguely. "I don't often say unkind things. I usually try to avoid it."

"I know. I'm, er, sorry about Granddad. He's not normally – well. I obviously didn't think he'd be like that, or I would have ensured he stayed at home."

"Why was he here?" asks Luna, her voice uncharacteristically sharp. "Why are you here?"

He avoids her eyes, glancing over at the trees that form the perimeter of the nearby park. "Can't I visit my friends every so often?"

It has been three years since Hogwarts, and still the word friend makes her glow in the same way it did when Ginny first started calling her that. She is quiet, contemplative, and considers how effective her new Dirigible Plum pendant must be.

Rolf sighs. "All right, Luna, you win." She stares at him, unable to ascertain what sort of game they have been playing. "Look, I didn't answer your letters because – oh, I don't know. You're so young."

"I'm old enough to receive letters," she blurts out, alarmed.

He pulls a face at her. "Very funny, Luna-my-" He clears his throat. "I was the one who requested your training be with McGilligan. I thought if I didn't see you, I'd stop thinking about you."

It starts raining then, the drops cool on her skin, and Luna wonders whether the weather has been listening to them. Maybe the clouds like the idea that Rolf has been trying not to think about her as much as she does. She unfolds her legs, places her hands behind her on the grass and leans back on them. When Rolf asks if she'd like to go somewhere drier, she shakes her head.

"It's not that bad yet," she answers, though she is aware that the earth is becoming wetter beneath her hands. "It's – nice. It reminds me of Albania."

"In Albania," Rolf says, conjuring a rain-free bubble around himself, "we had tents. Dry tents."

Luna shakes her head at him, sending a few droplets scattering with the movement. "I don't think your grandfather would be very impressed if he heard you talking like that."

Rolf grins back, and she has forgotten how much she likes to see him smile. "I think you made a bad enough impression for the two of us, Luna, d- don't you?"

"Depends if he's met Harry Potter yet," Luna says lightly, tracing a pattern in the mud with her left hand. "I find people often think better of me if they discover I'm Harry Potter's friend."

Rolf is quiet for a moment, but then he smirks. "You'll find a similar thing happens when people discover you're friends with me."

Luna shifts forward onto her knees, getting mud down the front of her robes to complement the back, so she can look him directly in the eye. She can't tell where his rain barrier begins, and isn't sure if it will allow her any closer – but she is not interested in testing it. She has had enough of Lovegoods being barred from Scamanders for one day. "Hmm."

He looks more wide-eyed and innocent than she has ever seen him, and she notices he is keeping very still. He reminds her of a wild animal trying to figure out who she is and what her next move will be.

Luna's mouth twitches, almost betraying a smile, and she says thoughtfully, "I think your grandfather may have been right."

"About what?"

"Wrackspurts. I think you might have been infected. Maybe we'd better get you inside after all."

Rolf turns his head away, and she sees that beads of rain have settled themselves in his hair. After a minute, he rises – when did he remove the bubble? – and offers her a hand.

"Did it work?"

"Did what work?" he asks, his voice a little rough as he helps her to her feet.

"Your plan. Did you manage to stop thinking about me?"

He looks her up and down, mud-covered robes to soggy hair, his eyes resting on the Dirigible Plum necklace.

"We should go inside," he says instead, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and steering her towards the hall. "Your father will be wondering where you are."