Luna was writing on a sheet of parchment. It was covered in numbers and calculations, many of them crossed out or written over, and it looked for all the world like a very complex set of calculations. Actually, it was no such thing; she was simply trying to reconcile the bank account. It was the same every month, and every month she promised herself she would bring in a new system that would make life easier. Every month, she never got round to it. Eventually she threw down her quill and turned to her father who was sat at the desk behind her writing the Editorial for this month's edition.

'It's no good, daddy. I've tried and tried but I'm still short by 8 Galleons, 4 Sickles and 11 Knuts.'

'Have you put down the books I bought?' he asked.

'What books?'

'I just told you, the ones I bought. Do listen, dear.'

'How much did they cost?'

He fished a receipt out from under a pile of papers. '8 Galleons, 4 Sickles and 11 Knuts.'

'Why isn't it in the book?'

'What book?'

'The book we use to write down everything we spend so I can DO THE ACCOUNTS.'

'Why do you want to do the accounts?'

She rested her head on the table. 'Because I want to see if we can afford a new printing press.'

'What's wrong with the old one?'

'You mean the one that's broken? The one that's been broken for two days now? The one that was broken for three days last week? Daddy, it's not reliable enough anymore. Circulation is up again, and we haven't got a press that can cope with it.'

'Well you should do the accounts then, and see if we can afford a new one.' He hated it when she screamed; he wished she wouldn't do it.

-o0o-

The eighteen months that had passed since she received her MOM had certainly seen some changes in The Quibbler. Rolf's paper on Grindylow populations had been, as she had hoped, the start of something new.

They were now regularly receiving papers from aspiring young magical scientists who could not get published elsewhere. Neville, for example, had written several pieces for her on Herbology. Better still, he a co-written a piece with Professor Angyalka in Hungary. Neville was out there on a study course and Angyalka was an acknowledged world expert in Wolfsbane potions. It was a real coup for The Quibbler, as many prestigious journals would have been only too keen to publish it themselves.

That, of course, got them noticed and almost every day owls arrived with yet more scripts for them. The problem was that neither Luna nor her father knew which were good and which were not. That was where Rolf came in useful; he decided that they needed some advice, so used it as an excuse to "pop over" a few days earlier than he would have done for Christmas.

Obviously they did no work the first day, being too busy wrapping their arms around each other and trying to kiss each other's faces off. It was still rather like being with a couple of sixteen year olds. Once she let go of him they got down to the serious business.

'Peer reviews, that's the thing. When somebody writes a paper they get it reviewed by somebody else first; someone who knows what they're talking about. That gets rid of any rubbish. In fact, send this lot back to the authors, and tell them to get it done themselves; it saves you a lot of time.' It certainly did.

Yes, The Quibbler was almost unrecognisable to the magazine Luna used to take to school with her. They still had a page for "Sightings", but that was about it from the old days – apart from "Conspiracies", of course.

It had come about when they were short of a filler piece one month. Luna remembered that letter from Jerimiah Pyle and thought it might be quite fun to publish what it said. She almost wished she hadn't burnt it now, but she could remember the key points. So she wrote it out, and then underneath gave a point by point listing of all the reasons it was complete rubbish.

Over the next week or so they received various letters all saying the same sort of thing. 'Yes, I agree that one was rubbish, but you'll never guess what I heard the other day…' Luna took a gamble, and made it the back page ending to the next edition.

People loved it, especially those in the last years of Hogwarts. It was exactly the sort of thing that appealed to their schoolboy – and girl – sense of humour. So, they started to hunt around for their own, just to see their names in print. It became a rather subtle game; too obvious and it would be rejected. There was no point, for example, in writing that the Minister for Magic was an unregistered animagus because somebody had seen him transform into an okapi in Hogsmeade High Street the other day.

On the other hand, the (verifiable) fact that nobody for a whole term at Hogwarts had been given detention for being outside their houses after curfew could be the basis for a rumour that students were being slipped sleeping draughts in their evening meal. Professor McGonagall had not been pleased when Luna ran with that one.

-o0o-

Another path that Luna was running with was her Foundation. It had been launched in The Quibbler the month following the Awards. At first there had been a problem with the idea that it would be open to all children. Indeed several people had written to say that they would have contributed, but could not bear the thought of their hard earned money being used – as one particularly nasty correspondent wrote – "to fund the spawn of murdering Death Eaters who should have been drowned at birth. How would that make Teddy Lupin feel about his parent's sacrifice? You should be ashamed of yourself."

Luna wrote back and said to make children suffer the sins of their parents was the surest way to ensure history would one day repeat itself and that Andromeda Tonks agreed with her. Andromeda did, and went public with her support. Money had poured into the Gringotts account, and had received a terrific boost when George Weasley announced that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would be a major sponsor.

Three or four times a year they would meet up to consider requests. It was a good job Luna had appointed trustees; she was far too innocent. Every letter and application tended to reduce her to tears. It took cooler heads than hers to point out that each needed to be vetted properly.

The wizard population is fairly small, so there was little room for outright fraud, although two were discovered. These were passed on to the Ministry, and the miscreants actually ended up in Azkaban. However, people did tend to – exaggerate somewhat. Very often, help given could be scaled back to that originally requested, which meant that there was more to go around. Nobody who needed real help was turned away and the foundation was generally considered to be a Good Thing.

-o0o-

She looked back at her parchment, now showing two columns of numbers that agreed with each other. She did a few more calculations and persuaded herself that not only could they afford a new press, but it would make good sense to buy it. With the extra revenue from the additional copies they sold it would pay for itself in just a few years.

Indeed, as she looked at the numbers she realised they were quite well off. If they paid themselves a regular salary…she scribbled a few more numbers…she would have more than enough to live on. In fact, there might well be enough for two…

She couldn't wait for the summer and their next expedition.