When Lovegood ate, it was always with a certain brightness in her eyes, a certain alacrity.
She dished odd combinations on the same plate, and Tom had dined with her enough times not to say "Pudding doesn't go with that." By now, he wasn't even moved to; he hadn't been lying when he said he enjoyed watching her eat. Like he was special, his Luna was special.
The other Slytherins were clearly curious, sneaking glances at her in reflective surfaces and all that, but they knew better than to question Tom or Tom's company.
"It's so odd, seeing the Great Hall this way," Luna commented, seemingly oblivious to all of the attention. "In most ways it's the same, but it's so different, too."
They were falling, Tom noticed, into their regular pattern of him observing her observing things. He was certain that he would be keeping her until New Years. After that, she could leave- he was not dependent -but until then...
"Oh, it's Mr. Baron," Luna observed as the Bloody Baron swooped in near the end of the table. "Still dead, then."
"He died ages ago," Tom said.
"And there's Miss Helena," Luna added.
"Who?" Tom followed Luna's gaze and saw... "You mean the Gray Lady?" (Of course Luna would know the ghost woman's real name. Admittedly, Tom had never paid the ghosts much thought. After all, they were dead. They had failed to remain alive, in any real way. What had they to offer him? Hmm...)
"That's what people call her," Luna agreed. "I don't think that's a very nice name, though."
Tom identified what could well be a full conversation if he allowed it to be, and he determined that he was in the mood to allow it to be. "'Gray' is an insult? Clouds are gray. You like clouds, don't you?"
"Yes," Luna mused. "But sometimes when people say something that sounds nice, they don't mean it nicely." There was a speaking-from-experience note in her voice that intrigued Tom. He was reminded of all the times she had casually dropped hints that she was not well-liked in her time. Well, he thought, eyeing the time turner around her neck, then I rescued her, didn't I?
And maybe one day she would let slip the names of the people who had bothered her. That would be...satisfying.
"You're looking sort of wolfish, Tom," Luna remarked. "Is something the matter?"
(There was an outbreak of whispering, likely because none of the other Slytherins could imagine being allowed to address such observations or such inquiries to Tom Riddle.)
Himself, Tom was pleased that even his absently leering at her neck wouldn't make his Luna try to misbehave, to self-preserve. She was with him wandless, her life completely and utterly in his hands, and she acted so calm. She had said something on the topic before, he recalled. Something like I've always known you might kill me, Tom. Merlin, she was a perfect possession.
On principle, he did not believe in Dumbledore's talk about love as the most powerful magical force in the universe. Not when something like death had such a clear upper hand. And anyway, he, Thomas Riddle, was to be the greatest wizard alive, and he had no need for love in any form or capacity; in fact the very concept repulsed him as something exchanged by people weaker than himself. Something that kept people in flux and made them vulnerable. Still, he was self-aware enough to know that whatever he did feel for Luna, and he wasn't sure even what it was, it was an intoxicating force. That was why he had quickly figured out that he, not the Doctor, needed to be in control of his doses of her.
"Nothing," he replied. "Are you done eating?"
"Nearly."
"Hurry up."
Luna scooped up most of the remaining food and popped it into her mouth. "You don't eat much," she noted. "Is it hard for you to get used to the larger portions?"
(More whispers, even more surprised.)
Tom rolled his eyes. "If you're talking, there's room for more food."
"You're a bit of a bully." She ate the rest.
"Come on."
Luna followed Tom, keeping her eyes moving and idly running her hands over most every surface they passed by. It passed as her normal fanciful disposition, but truthfully she was very focused. It had occurred to her on the walk to the Great Hall that, with Mr. the Doctor having no way of knowing where she was, her only imminently-reliable ally was...herself. And if that was the case, given how criss-crossy her path through Time had been even so far, she ought to be checking for messages from herself.
She tried to think of where she might decide to leave a message so that only she could find it; at the least, if she decided that now, her future self would remember it.
"Will you pay attention?" Tom said scathingly.
Luna blinked. "Have you been talking?"
Tom didn't answer, but he had a surly look in place. Luna was sure that he couldn't have been saying anything, though; she would have noticed him talking to her, wouldn't she have?
Unless the wrackspurts were...
Oh!
"My Spectrespecs," Luna murmured aloud, and Tom turned to her curiously as she patted herself down, looking for her special glasses...but these weren't her robes. And even if they were, she didn't think her robes had the Spectrespecs in them anymore; either they had fallen out at some point in her adventure, or Older Tom had confiscated them when he kidnapped her.
"Your what?" Tom asked, amused.
"They help me see the wrackspurts," she explained, ceasing her search with a bit of a pout. They could help her see other invisible things, too. With the right spell, she could write near-anything, on the walls or anywhere, invisibly, and see the message through the 'specs...But she didn't have the 'specs.
"Wrackspurts; I actually know that one," Tom chuckled.
Luna watched him chuckle. Even when he was chuckling, he didn't seem jolly or personable so much as suavely confident. It made her remember, again, that he was Voldemort.
They waited a second for the stairs to move into place, then continued up. They certainly weren't going to the Slytherin common room.
"Where to, Tom?"
"The Come-And-Go Room. Where else?"
"Hmm." Fair enough. As long as it wasn't the forest. As long as there wasn't another unicorn. She almost cried again just remembering; she really needed to stop thinking about it.
She didn't get to hear what Tom said to the door to make it appear, but when they went through it, they entered what could conservatively be referred to as a bedroom but which quite nearly resembled a loft, with cozy areas for sleeping and for sitting, and a shelf of books that all looked enticingly peculiar, and art supplies on a rack near the far wall. She wondered if another Her had been here already; there were a few drawings already on the wall.
In a corner near that was what seemed to be a work station, with covered jars of potion ingredients, dark-looking scrolls, and glowing oddities. Instinct told her that was for Tom.
On a small table beside the door were a pair of Spectrespecs and a colorfully-striped wristwatch. The table disappeared as soon as Luna had (gratefully) put on both, and she welcomed the slight distortion of color and image that came with wearing her 'specs.
"What do you think?" Tom asked, in the perfunctory tone of someone sure that the response would be positive. "Nice enough?" Then he noticed her eye gear. "Merlin. Are those the Spectrespecs?"
She didn't answer; on the bit of wall over his shoulder was an invisible message, scrawled in what looked like a more mature version of her own handwriting: "Save the Marauders! Lily Evans and James Potter! Harry Potter's parents! In danger; save them ASAP!" And slightly below it, in a slightly different version of her handwriting: "P.S.: Will take awhile."
...
"...and she probably would have had to bear Morfin's child, but she ran away when her brother and father were sent to Askaban, and she gave your father a love potion which loads of fans of the series theorize caused you to be this messed up." Martha panted, finally done.
"But she was one of Slytherin's heirs; she must have been powerful," Tom insisted.
"Pretty sure she was just devastatingly inbred. Please can we stop?" Tom had spent a lot of time asking about his mother. It was almost cute, how desperate he seemed to know about her. But hearing that she had been what he would call "weak" and "pathetic" had drastically corroded his mood. Or maybe it was the fact that the grandfather who gave him his middle name was such a deeply undignified wretch. Or maybe it was any number of things about his gross, depressing backstory, but the fact of the matter was that he had gone from indifferent to desperate to surly, and Martha was developing a throbbing headache.
"No. I didn't brew a new batch just for you to give out on me. Tell me about Dumbledore again."
"I already told you everything that was in the books and everything the author said about him outside the books. That's all I know. You want me to say it all again?"
"Maybe later. Tell me about Harry Potter, then. In fact, tell me about his parents; I can nip this in the bud early."
"That's not very sporting," Matha said, dread pooling in her already-nauseous stomach as she actively forced these words out instead of the answer Tom was demanding.
"Tell me."
...
"Alright. Let's try to get through this without spoilers," Eleven said.
Clara raised a hand. "What are spoilers?"
Ten gestured between both of himself. "We're from the future. Also from a different universe. We have very specific insights into your universe, but those insights are becoming a bit less relevant because Chinny here-"
"Thin ice," Eleven muttered.
"-decided to tamper with Luna Lovegood's childhood."
"Hang on," Clara said, her eyes hardening. "What do you mean?"
"She was in danger, so I took her on a ride in my time machine," Eleven explained. "No one got hurt, almost mostly, and she's perfectly sa-...Actually, nevermind."
"You were going to say 'safe' and then you stopped yourself," Clara noted, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "What happened to my child?"
"She's fine. She just might have...So you know Tom Riddle?"
"Yes."
"Well, in a way that was completely not my fault, she ended up shot back in time. Weeping Angels, unnecessary to explain. She met him as a child, and now they're sort of friends, except instead of happiness and lifelong memories, there's kidnapping across time and space. We were trying to get her back, but then he sent us here, and the door is locked and wooden, and the sonic doesn't do wood."
"That's probably also why you're here," Ten added. He was pacing, fast. "Because of Luna. Not sure what specifically his plan is; he's got us, sure, because we're probably the biggest threat to his plan, 'cept Albus, but he can't get Albus, because Albus is brilliant and has magic. He's got Ollivander; not sure why, but there could be loads of reasons."
"In the books, it was because of, er, the wand...thing...with Harry," Eleven interjected. "And the Elder Wand, also."
"Sure," Ten carried on, and the two of them- well, the two of him -had reached a sort of rhythm where no one else could get a word in. "He's got Luna's mum, sure: control Luna, probably. Neville...They were friends in the books, more than friends in the eighth film..."
"Books, films!" Clara shouted impatiently. She stalked up to Eleven. "You are lucky I don't have my wand," she said, then stalked up to Ten: "And you had better figure out a way out of here so I can save my child."
"'Figure out a'...What exactly do you think I'm doing?" Ten asked incredulously. "Do you think I'm just pacing for the air flow?"
"He's got Martha," Eleven said gravely. "But he didn't send her here."
"Martha's clever," Ten continued the thought. "She'd..." He went still. "Oh, no...She'd talk to him, to keep from being killed. She knows enough about the books; it wouldn't be difficult for him to figure out-"
"-that she knows more than she should," Eleven continued his thought. "He'd know she can be a resource, and she's no way to defend herself. He could be interrogating her right now. Well not right now, but back then. He could be interrogating her back then."
"Excuse me," Neville finally managed to interject. "I don't...really understand. You know Luna?"
Both Doctors turned to him, and he looked wary at their combined attention and strangeness.
"The question is, do you? And how well? And from what?" Eleven asked.
"Right. Because we only know how the story was supposed to go, not how it went," Ten said. "We need all three of you to state what you remember about your last few years before being captured."
"Preferably as it pertains to Voldemort and/or Luna Lovegood," Eleven said.
"Right," Ten agreed.
"Who is 'Voldemort'?" Ollivander asked. "You keep saying that name."
"Right," Ten repeated, this time with a grimace. "We meant 'Tom Riddle'. In the original timeline, he gave himself a wonky nickname. Not sad to see it go, to be honest."
"I am," Eleven argued. "Now we've got to call him 'Tom'; where's the fantasy there?"
"Focus," Clara suggested.
"Right," Ten said for the third time. "Neville, you're up first."
Neville looked as if he would have preferred to actually take on Tom Riddle if it meant he wouldn't have to brave public speaking, but he began regardless, "I...Well, I've been at Hogwarts for the last few years."
"And, anything exciting happen there? Who were your professors?" Eleven asked.
"Is Dumbledore still Headmaster?" Ten asked.
"'Course," Neville said, frowning a bit. "No one could replace Dumbledore."
"Book five says hi," Ten said under his breath.
"And book seven," Eleven agreed just as quietly before raising his voice again: "And...?"
"Professors...Er, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick..." (He went on to list the normal lot for a while.) "The, er, DADA professor changes every year..."
"Which means the curse is still in place, which means Tom still asked for the job," Ten noted.
"But that was to hide the diadem, wasn't it?" Eleven said.
"Well, who says he didn't need to hide the diadem again this time?"
"Or something of equal importance; we mustn't make assumptions. Neville, who were the Defense professors you've had, in order, and what happened to them?" Eleven asked.
"Quirrel, he, er...I think he was bitten by a snake. Lockhart was next, but then it came out that he...what?" Neville broke off when he saw the time lords exchanging uneasy looks.
"Nothing. Keep going," Eleven said lowly.
"Lockhart, er...It came out that he was obliviating people, so he was removed. After that..." Neville frowned suddenly. "Er...Sorry, I just...I don't know why, but my memories are sort of..." He went red from embarrassment. "I'm not sure why...I can't remember..."
"So some parts of the timeline might be in flux," Eleven murmured. "And others have already changed. The climaxes of the first two books, undone."
"Not very stable," Ten said. "Not at all. It means that someone is still making changes."
...
Luna deliberated on how to best follow Future Luna's instructions. Saving Harry Potter's parents...She would have to do that rather soon; she didn't know that she would always have the chance. And she knew roughly what time period it would be, and she could make it there through trial and error at the very least.
Yes. I can do that, I think.
She would have to wait until Tom had left her for the night.
"What are you doing?" she asked him, wandering the immediate surroundings within a three-meter radius of Tom's bizarre work station.
"Making a surprise for Christmas."
"It's not going to be like the u-"
"No, it's not like the unicorn. You ask that every time."
Luna frowned, finding this comment unfair. "I've only asked it once so far. It's not my fault Future Me asked it, too."
"Of course it's your fault," Tom argued. "What sort of thing is that to say?"
"Hmm." Luna picked up a jar that, unlike most of the others on the desk, was opaque.
"Careful," Tom said, sounding amused.
Luna opened the jar and was nearly blinded by a startling light emanating from within the container until she regained the presence of mind to close it.
Tom laughed at her. "You look so stunned."
"What was that?" Luna asked, holding the closed jar up and examining it from many angles.
"Never you mind." Tom rose from his seat, took the jar from her, and placed it back on the desk. A second later, the entire work station vanished. "Good night," he said, making for the door.
"Good night," Luna replied, though still displeased by not receiving an answer about the light in the jar. "Don't let the nargles bite." She was surprised to hear Tom recite the words along with her, then flash her a smug grin before exiting the Come-and-Go Room. It was concerning how much he knew of her by now.
But never mind that.
Luna started spinning the time turner.
...
"Insteresting," Tom said.
Martha's breathing was shaky, and there was a tear making progress down her cheek.
"Enough on the Potters," he decided, turning a page in his notebook. "Tell me about Luna's fate, in the books. Did we ever meet?"
"Not explicitly, I don't think." Martha's tone had become flat, resigned. She didn't fight the potion anymore. "She fought with Death Eaters in her fourth year, and you turned up at the fight, but there's never a mention of you being in the same area. In her sixth year, she gets captured by Death Eaters and locked up in Malfoy Manor, in the cellar, because her father's magazine" (She managed to take a breath; she was getting better at that, at least.) "was printing things your lot didn't like."
"His magazine. That was...?"
"The Quibbler. Probably doesn't exist yet."
"Maybe not, but I can't wait." Malevolent amusement lined his calm words. "And what happens in the cellar?"
"Don't know really anything that happens before Harry helps her escape. I know Ollivander was locked up with her, and she made him feel better about being a prisoner."
"She does have that skill, yes," Tom murmured, thinking back to his orphanage days. Then it occurred to him: Locking up Ollivander might actually be a good idea. Then he, Tom, would decide who received good wands. Appealing concept. "And after that?"
"She helps fight in the Battle of Hogwarts, where you're defeated." Bringing that up as often as possible was her only way of rebelling. "She helps take on Bellatrix for a bit, I think. Then Bellatrix is killed by Mrs. Weasley."
"And after that?"
"In the books she isn't really mentioned. The author says she has a family with Rolf Scamander. In the movies, she might have a thing with Neville Longbottom."
Tom felt his eyes heat up as if he had stuck his head into an oven. From Martha's recoil, he gathered that they must have turned red. He wasn't always in control of that. "Say those names again for me?" he asked levelly.
...
The Luna who was waiting for Tom when he returned to the Come-And-Go Room the following morning was probably about fourteen- his own age -dressed in Ravenclaw Robes in her own size and, when he entered, sketching a TARDIS on the wall in charcoal.
This wasn't the first time he had had Luna change age on him mid-visit. "Long night?" he asked with a smirk.
"A bit, yes," she answered, fluttering her fingers at him (whose tips were dark-grayish from the charcoal). "Had an errand to run." He watched her wipe her hands off on a rag that was draped over her lap. Watched, silently, because there was a look on her face as if she wanted to say something but had forgotten what it was. At last, her eyes brightened and she chimed, "You've had my wand for a few years, now. Can I have it back?"