Her name was Luna Lovegood.

"Lufugōd," he said to himself, quietly. English, yes—an English that had been warped and woven over a millennium, but his speech, somehow.

"Luna," though, tripped him up. "It's Latin," she filled him in, but he could not see how any more Latin would make its way to the island. Godric stiffened when he heard the message of war growing louder, a Muggle war but one that would shake wizardkind nonetheless. Rowena grew curious, quizzing her for more and more. Helga told them that they'd have to be prepared, eventually, but in the meantime there were herbs to grow and children to feed.

How easy it was to feed children by the dozens—or ask house-elves to feed them all—and how difficult to feed one small child? He had sent her to eat with Rowena's students, who inspected her as something strange. She did the same, but they had it easier when there were so many more of them—and she was eating food she did not fancy.

"Are you all right?" he asked, as he passed by on what was supposed to be his way out and saw her still slowly gnawing on a piece of bread.

"I suppose," she said mildly.

"What is wrong with the food? The other children eat theirs."

"Yes, I know," she said, looking down. "I...I am not used to these flavors." A few others gave her looks.

"I suppose you would not be," he sighed. "What do you care to eat?"

"I...do not want to talk to you," she suddenly said, sitting down at the table and taking a very large bite out of the bread. Annoyed, Salazar returned to the head table and finished his dinner in a huff.

The students began to trickle out, and when she followed them, he followed at a distance. She seemed ready to make her way into the dormitories, but he called, "Excuse me, Lovegood," and she turned to him.

"Come here," he said. "I have a few questions for you."

She nodded, glancing this way and that as she followed him down the staircase and into a side corridor.

"You come from a thousand years in the future."

She nodded.

"It is...natural that you would have different tastes than the others. Tell me what you like, and I shall see if the house-elves can create it."

"Oh no sir, it wouldn't be fair for me to have special food. There are probably starving Muggles somewhere, and when you consider what the Weaving Wallabat must do for even a morsel of food..." she shook her head. "I couldn't possibly."

"The Weaving Whatnow? What sort of beasts have you discovered in the last millennium?"

"Er, I haven't discovered any beasts, sir. But the Weaving Wallabat is a native of..." she cocked her head to one side. "I suppose you haven't heard of Australia."

"Lovegood," he said, "you area witch, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have your wand with you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I want you to try casting a spell. Any spell will do."

She pointed her wand at a book, whispered a couple nonsensical words, and waved her hand. Nothing happened, except that she shook her hand and then looked down at it, dazed.

"Do not worry," said Salazar. "When I nod my head, but not before,I want you to repeat that same spell. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

He lifted the translation charm, then nodded. She said something Latin-sounding, making the same hand movement, and the book rose up in the air.

Salazar smiled, picking it up, and restoring the charm. "Do you know why you succeeded that time?"

"No, sir."

"It is because I cast a translation charm on you. As long as the charm remains in effect, you can speak to me or anyone else in the castle—but your wand will not understand you."

"Oh."

"It is completely impossible to expect you to take lessons with these other students. Not where spell-casting is concerned. Perhaps you can study Potions, or the theory of magical lore, but as for your Charms and Transfiguration..." He blinked, an idea forming. "You will have to study with me. That way, you can tell me more about the time you came from, and I will help you learn new magic."

"Oh. Am I not to go back to 1993?"

"I...am not sure."

She wrinkled her eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Before you arrived—what were you doing?"

"Nothing in particular. I'd gone to wade in the lake."

"You were not casting magic?"

"No."

Salazar nodded. "I was, you see. Casting magic, trying to see the future—as I suppose I have done. But in order to duplicate that spell, someone would need to be standing in the past, trying to see their future—I do not know how I could send you forward in time."

"Oh."

"Do you miss your friends?"

"Oh no. I haven't got any, where I come from. But my father will miss me, at least at holidays. Of course he won't be too lonesome during the term, he's always known I was going to Hogwarts."

"Your father..." he repeated. "Have you no mother?"

"Oh, no, sir, she's dead."

"Ah," he said, and then, uncertain how to continue tactfully, "What I mean to say is, because of who and what you are, you cannot study with the other children. There is no reason to expect you to eat with them, as well. Speak to me and I will inform the house-elves...you're not being wasteful if they had never expected to cook for you in the first place."

She gave him a quizzical glance, but then nodded and began listing foodstuffs he'd never heard of. One out of three or so made sense, and he mentally noted to tell the elves.

"Tomorrow morning, come to my office on the second floor."

"All right."

She paused, but he had to ask one final question. "Lovegood?"

"Yes."

"What are those hanging from your ears?"

"Gurdyroots," she said calmly.

The future, he decided, was a strange place.