Thanks very much to my Beta, Letomo.

The following ways of notation may be found in this story. This is excluding whatever I need to represent chatting, texting and stuff like that. And you can thank Twilightwanderer for the Abbott and Costello.

Speech: "Who's on first."

Thought: *What's on second.*

Vision: #I-don't-know's on third.#

Thanks to the latest to recommend me: Gonadius and War

Reviews are much appreciated, they inspire me.

Chapter 7: Luna, Love, Language

Olive Hornby had aged quite well, Minerva mused. It was rather interesting to note that she seemed rather more nervous than ministry officials usually were. The minor position she held had turned out to be one in the Unspeakables, dealing mostly with rogue ghosts. That any Unspeakable would show nerves at all was rare, but over her own specialty…Minerva's lips quirked.

"Olive, it has been quite a while."

"Since Theo graduated." Olive said in a rough, raspy voice. "I see you've been doing as well as you can, considering the overwhelming pressures of your vocation."

Minerva raised an irritated eyebrow. "I must admit I'm surprised at your choice of career, Olive."

"So were my parents. I was serious about your job being harder, Minerva. You have all the ghosts, including Peeves, and a thousand wandering, curious children. I had three. That was enough." Olive's nervous face relaxed slightly and her eyes twinkled.

Minerva's irritation evaporated. Olive had been a rather supercilious girl and young woman while they had both been at Hogwarts. She'd barely spoken to the woman when Theodore, her youngest, had graduated. She seemed to have been much improved.

"Ah…Minerva…I realize it is against regulations, but once I'm done, which I admit might take a bit, I have a lot to apologize for, can I see my grandchildren?" Olive asked almost shyly.

Minerva chuckled. "Not so much a rule as a guideline, Olive. I'm sure Hannah and Denver will be delighted to see you."

"Hannah, yes. Denver, not so much. I'm here in stead of a Howler from his mother. We got a note about him bullying that first year, Miss Lovegood."

"Ah, yes. A blessing in disguise."

"Indeed? And how is that?"

"We've been made aware of bullying again. We had gotten complacent. It's a problem with a staff with so little turn over. Silvanus has been here, well he taught us. About the only changes we've had are in Muggle studies, Defence and Arithmancy."

"Hmmm. There's only a limited number of teachers after all."

"We need more of them, do you realize that half our pupils barely know how to spell properly? And no one but a handful of purebloods speaks even a word of another language. If one of our pupils ended up in France without a Lingua Franca spell, well…" Minerva shrugged.

"Myrtle studied languages. She was fluent in Latin." Olive observed sadly.

Minerva eyed the other woman askance. "Shall we go see her?"

Olive squared her shoulders. "Yes. Yes, it is time."

Myrtle Jones was floating a few inched above the ground in the Headmaster's office, looking out through one of the huge windows onto the grounds below. The Headmaster's Office was not, to Myrtle's mind, a very attractive place. Too many doodads and gewgaws and too few books. Hence her gaze was turned firmly outside.

The Forbidden Forest was a dark blue haze in the near distance, the subtle natural enchantments mixed with the vast wards of Hogwarts visible only to powerful wizards, Aura readers and the mentally unbalanced. And the dead, of course.

Myrtle was moving almost imperceptibly, her hands very lightly clasped and wringing. Albus Dumbledore studied her with interest, it was not very often one saw a nervous ghost after all.

He heard Minerva's voice murmuring the password to the Gargoyle. He grinned. *Minerva still sounds annoyed every time she has to use one of the passwords. Severus does too. Only Filius and Pomona get into the spirit of the thing, They even provide favourite sweets and confectionaries. Silvanus…yes, well his choice of sweet was more stomach churning than anything else.* Minerva was explaining the sweet to Olive as they mounted the stairs. *Kendal mint cake. Hmmm. I need to go there and buy some more. Maybe have a wander through the lake district this Vacation. I can use the exercise and it may be the last possibility. Tom is getting more powerful again.*

The two women entered and Myrtle twisted in the air. Olive Abbott was white faced and had her eyes downcast.

"Myrtle…Miss Jones. I apologize for the pain my past behaviour has caused you."

"Hmmm." Myrtle shook her head. "I'm sorry…that didn't work." She shrugged helplessly. "Err. You're a specialist at this, right? How does this normally go?"

Olive grinned. "Well…it's going to take a while. You see, what I just said was the main apology. Now we get down to all the times I hurt you, and I apologize for each instance."

"Oh. I didn't realize…"

"You'll find that as we go along the things I should be apologizing for will become clear to you." Olive turned to the Headmaster. "We may need a quiet place to sit."

Dumbledore nodded. "I had anticipated the need. You will be provided with tea. Filius' tea set is already there. Please follow me."

The man in the office was of middle age, but well preserved. He wore a good tweed suit. A lot of people, especially Americans, made fun of tweed. But tweed was like leather. Hard wearing, resistant. Fire and cold both had little effect on the strong wool. The triple weave favoured by him and his colleagues was the closest thing to a woollen knife proof vest available and inconspicuous enough to wear on a busy London street.

The knock at the door did not startle him, the minor wards kept him appraised of who approached.

"Robson. Come in."

Quentin Travers looked old to the younger man's eyes, old and tired. "Sir."

"Yasmin Datara is dead. A new Slayer has been called. In Scotland. Her name is Ellie Tavistock. John Burgoyne is her watcher." Travers ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Yes, sir?"

"You will go there and offer support. There have been strange occurrences…"

"Occurrences, sir?"

"Girls. Young girls, showing signs of physical abuse and rape. But with no memory of the events that caused them." He gave Robson a significant look.

Robson nodded. "I see. I will leave as soon as possible. I will need to gather my notes on the previous cases."

"Very well. Robson…if this is a Wizarding matter…refer it back to me."

Robson froze in the doorway. "Politics, sir?" His voice was cold.

"No, Robson. One of the girls attacked was in JAGS. The same year as my twins. If it is one of them… They had better deal with it swiftly and very decisively. I don't care if it's a the son of their Minister, or the Minster himself…I will not let children be hurt!" Travers' voice was even colder than Robson's.

Robson nodded. "Very well, sir."

Quentin Travers went back to the final report on Yasmin Datara. She had only been the Slayer for seven weeks and had only been fourteen years old. He wrote the traditional, final words at the bottom of the sheet, the final words that signified the gratitude of the Watchers' Council for those who died to protect mankind: Mors sed Invicta, Dead, but unconquered

Luna looked with some distaste at the gathering mass of students below. The second years were going to be duelling. Lockhart had organized it, which, in Luna's opinion, meant it was A bad thing. But professor Flitwick had said he would be there, and duelling, and Luna vividly remembered her mother's description of the Charms professor taking on and consecutively defeating three visiting Aurors one day, when Soleil had been in her fifth year. Xenophilius had smiled at his wife's gushing description about the gallant way in which the little man had defeated Alastor Moody, as well as his protégés, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Rufus Scrimgeour. He'd winked at Luna and said all the girls at Hogwarts had fallen a little bit in love with Flitwick that day. Her mother, blushing furiously, had vehemently denied it.

Luna had never been in love, so she was wondering if professor Flitwick was going to do something like that and make her fall in love, just a little bit. Enough so that she would know what it was like. Myrtle, floating next to her behind the balustrade, looked equally interested. Myrtle of course, had been rather older when she died than Luna was now and had dropped hints about a much younger Flitwick, when he had first joined the Hogwarts' staff in 1946. Apparently he had been the World Duelling Champion six years running before that and had been instrumental in several battles against Grindelwald. That hadn't been covered yet in Luna's History of magic classes. All in all it gave her a rather different image of her Charms professor and Head of House than she had had before.

She rather guiltily looked over her shoulder at the Portrait of Death, who no doubt would not approve of her thoughts. In the meantime she would see what would happen.

"Did you see how he threw about Lockhart?"

"Oh yes…" the breathy answer came. "Did you see how fast he moved? His wandwork was at least as good as Professor Flitwick's…"

"I never thought he could do anything but make potions…The way his hands moved on his wand while teaching…" The dreamy reply came.

"He's really quite attractive when he gets animated…those eyes…"

Behind the two girls, one ghostly and far more experienced than her fifteen year old appearance and one experiencing her first crush, the portrait shook his head in amusement.

"Ehem. Far be it from me to interfere in your interesting conversation about the potions professor's duelling skills… "

Luna blushed a vivid scarlet and Myrtle a dark lead grey.

"Now, I couldn't see the duels, but if you could give me a description of the occurrences?"

The rumours worried Luna. She didn't know Harry Potter very well, but she doubted that he would be happy about being accused of being the heir of Slytherin. She slowly mounted the staircase, with Myrtle beside her. The ghost-girl was unhappy, the current events reminded her forcefully of her own school years, of being ignored or bullied. And of her death. They reached the landing and with a slight, airy thud a pillow first materialised and then fell on the floor. A second, ghostly pillow appeared next to it.

The girls sat down, looking up at the portrait which seemed to look down on them with good humour. "Now, what subject do you wish to delve into today?"

The girls exchanged looks and then Luna spoke, hesitantly.

"What do you know of Parseltongue?"

"Parceltongue? Speaking with packages?" The portrait was once more confused.

"Err, no, speaking with snakes."

"Oh, Serpentspeak, yes? I can teach you if you want. I'm fairly certain you have the Ear and the Mouth for it. I speak several animal languages myself."

Luna gaped up at the painting, as did Myrtle. "Y-you speak Parseltongue?"

"Yes. In some families the ability to speak a certain animal language is hereditary, an inborn ability. But many have the ability to learn them, if a teacher can be found. Others can only understand them. In the old days we called that Mouth and Ear. I think you have both."

Myrtle glared. "You never told me that you could speak animal languages!"

"You always seemed more interested human languages. I did once ask you if you wished to learn the tongues of non-human beings." The portrait said calmly.

"I thought you meant Gobbledegook!"

"Which would have been very useful, Goblins respect those who speak their language. And knowing a being's language is the first step towards understanding the being, language is the mother of culture."

Myrtle opened her mouth to continue the discussion, apparently a continuation of an old one, when Luna spoke in very soft, scared voice.

"I can learn Parseltongue?"

"You can speak the language of Pixies, which consists mostly of clicks, hisses and whistling noises. The language of serpents is not that great a step from there." The portrait pointed out gently.

"B-but…Harry Potter…I mean, he defeated V-Voldemort! And they hate him because he can speak it!"

Luna was wide eyed and uncertain. Luna's unspoken fear, that she, unpopular and considered weird, would be even more badly treated than the young hero if she started speaking to snakes.

"Luna…you don't have to learn Serpentspeak. There are many animal tongues, and I can teach you Gobbeldegook as well."

"Oh. Serpentspeak isn't evil?" Luna's natural curiosity seemed to overcome her fear.

The portrait snorted. "Hardly. Far more evil beings speak English or French than Serpentspeak. Especially French."

Myrtle sniggered. Luna looked between the portrait and the ghost girl, unfamiliar jealousy flaring at the familiar interaction. *It's not fair! She wouldn't be here if it weren't for me! She would be sitting on her bloody toilet and flooding the loo!*

The portrait inclined itself towards Luna and spoke to her. "Serpentspeak is a useful language; most serpents are quite polite, they're very observant and thoughtful, if a bit formal and 's not in any way evil."

"And having the ability to speak it inanely isn't either?" Luna asked.

Myrtle suppressed a giggle. "I think you mean innately, Lune."

"Oh." Luna blushed, a little in embarrassment and a little in anger. *Oh, yeah, rub it in. Rub in how much smarter you are. How much better. How much more you've learned!*

Myrtle put a comforting, if cold and mostly immaterial one, on the younger girl's shoulder.

"Hey. You're eleven. You have an amazing vocabulary. No need to be ashamed you confuse two words you rarely have to use. I laughed because I've heard the conversations Potter and Weasley have, inanely fits very well if that is how he would speak to snakes. Can you imagine him asking some viper about his opinion on Quidditch?"

Luna giggled. "Oh. Inanely means silly, right?"

Myrtle nodded.

"And empty and devoid of meaning." The portrait supplied, thoughtful, his eyes flicking between the girls. "Now, what languages did you two want to learn?"

Luna leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "Ummm…Language of kitties? Or Bunnies?" Her luminous grey eyes were wide and hopeful.

The portrait noted that Myrtle had perked up when Luna had mentioned the language of felines. He felt the twinge in his heart as he remembered wandering the fields with Helena, talking to the wild cats of the forests and the barn cats that lived around their manor, and how, one day when she was ten, she had smuggled a kitten into her rooms, that had become her first familiar. Just like her mother's and Helga's had been… *Some things have not changed, no matter how many years have passed…*

Out loud he spoke in a measured and amused way. "The language of felines. Very well. Felis Felicis "

A huge, fat cat appeared from thin air, sniffed Luna's fingers, dropped to its side and purred as the girl petted it.

"Happy Cat?" Myrtle looked up at the painting

"What, you would prefer a scratching evil beast? Now pay close attention…"

"Lune! Wait!" Myrtle floated fast behind the younger girl, a determined look on her face.

Luna looked back over her shoulder, and reluctantly halted. After the lesson in Feline she'd hurried away from the mezzanine. She'd expected the other girl to stay behind, again, to talk to the portrait, while she had to go to her lessons and do her homework.

"What?" She asked, sulkily.

"Lune…Let's talk, okay?" Myrtle led the girl to a portrait next to the stairway up to the Ravenclaw common room. It depicted an elderly man reading a book, while sitting against a tree.

"Hello Myrtle. This is your friend Luna?"

"Yes, Dr. Scansion, she is. She may enter when she guesses the riddle."

"Very well. What goes on four legs in the morning…" He twinkled at the two girls.

Luna rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid you know. A man, baby, adulthood and old age."

"Correct. Don't worry, the next one will be more difficult." The portrait swung aside to show a short corridor and an elaborately carved wooden door inlaid with bronze ravens.

Myrtle floated up to it and glared. The large handle went down and then very, very slowly the door opened. Pearly beads of grey ectoplasmic sweat appeared on her forehead. She waved Luna ahead and curiosity overcame the blonde's annoyance with her friend.

The room beyond was a marvel of bronze and blues. Two portraits hung on the wall, one a tall, regal looking woman with long, black hair standing in a queenly robe and with a coronet on her braided and piled up hair, her dark grey eyes flashing. Opposite her a short, sun-bronzed, freckled redhead man, reclined on a strangely shaped couch, one of his legs dangling over the edge and his head on a large blue and bronze pillow. He was reading a book. The portrait was not animated, nor was that of the regal lady, but it seemed to Luna that the Lady was glaring at the reading man.

Between the portraits was a large, airy room, a large, ancient desk against one wall and a table with six chairs of an old, strange design in the middle. A couch and a low table stood a little to the side. The floor was of polished wood and a two doors led off the chamber, probably to a bathroom and a bedroom. Luna looked around and gawked.

"It's beautiful! How? I didn't know this was here!"

"The Grey Lady, she brought me here. I thought that Hogwarts made it for me, but I'm beginning to think it's just a very old room."

Luna stood in front of the portrait of the Lady, her head slightly tilted, squinting. "She looks like the portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw in the common room."

Myrtle nodded. "Yes, I think it's her." She floated to the couch, "Luna…I first met him just before the end of the first term. I was being chased by a couple of Hufflepuffs who wanted to pull my hair and pour ink down my back…My father worked in the mines in Wales, my mother was a housewife and I had seven brothers and sisters. I was the oldest. They wanted me to go into service and earn extra money and help around the house. When the Hogwarts letter came…"

Myrtle swallowed. Luna sat beside her. "They weren't happy?"

"They disowned me, threw me out of the house."

"Oh…Where did you live?"

"My grandmother…she was very poor, poorer even than my parents…But she did her best. So I went to Hogwarts. Gran died when I was in my third year. After that, Mr. Death was the only one who cared for me…To lose that…To know he was up there and I could not see him…" Myrtle looked at Luna despairingly, spectral tears running down her cheeks.

"Luna…you two are the only reason I'm rational again, able to think beyond anger and hate. I don't want to lose you or him…"

Luna held up a hand, stopping Myrtle's plea, then gently put it to the older girl's cheek. "Myrri…I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I didn't realize that you had no one even before…before you died. I'm sorry I was jealous…" Tears were running down Luna's face as well.

Myrtle took a deep, useless breath and then took Luna in her arms. She felt far more solid than usual and had a look of deep concentration on her face. Luna blinked. "Wow…"

Myrtle smirked and her body softened into permeability again.. ."The Grey Lady taught me."

Luna sighed. "I'm sorry about…"

"Luna…without you I wouldn't ever have spoken to him again, I think…And don't worry about the jokes you don't get. You will soon enough."

Luna's grinned slightly. "So…he doesn't like the French? What did they do, invade?"

"I'm not sure…But since we don't even know his real name…"

Luna clapped her hands in glee. "Oh! I know! There's a list of all the paintings of Hogwarts in a book in the Library, it says so in Hogwarts, A history! He's got to be in there!"

Myrtle grinned. "Now that is using your noggin!"

"Let's get to the Library."

The two girls skipped from the room, one a few feet above the ground. A grey shape floated into the room and looked after them, the expression on her ghostly face sad. She laid hand on the portrait of the woman and smiled sadly. "You would be proud of them, Mater. So proud."

End Note:

I did not spell Luna wrongly, Lune is Myrtle's pet name for her.

JAGS is James Allen's Girls' School, a very exclusive girls school in Dulwich London founded in 1741. It and its affiliates provide education for academically gifted girls between the ages of four and eighteen.

Mater is Latin for mother.