A/N: This one's going to be around 16 short chapters. It's set somewhere around now, which would put Hermione in her mid-30s. Rated for the swears and some sexytimes in later chapters. It's a gift for MyWitch, who is a fabulous artist and pal of mine, and who finds the thought of Luna and Lucius together hilarious.

Postcards from Hell

1: The Speakeasy

Hermione looked over her right shoulder, wary.

Nobody was watching.

And then glanced over her left to find the alleyway empty.

Afternoons in Diagon Alley were fairly quiet, which was why Hermione had planned her visit to Luna's for two o'clock on a Tuesday. There were no crowds of people rushing to and fro, no Ministry employees out for their lunch breaks, and no children running amok, fueled by Florean Fortescue's ice cream concoctions.

When she was sure that the coast was clear, Hermione reached up to the elaborate brass knocker shaped like a faun and tugged twice on his beard. 'The hinkypunk flies at midnight,' she whispered, feeling like an idiot.

The faun's eyes snapped open as he came to life. 'Why does he fly so late?' he asked, his voice a high-pitched whistle.

'He missed his train,' she replied, saying the words she'd memorised earlier that morning.

'Why did he miss the train?' the faun asked.

Hermione took out a crumpled business card to double-check on the wording of the next phrase. She blushed. 'He was submitting to the… to the sexual dominance of the niffler.'

The faun gave her a shrewd look and nodded, and the door swung open wide.

'I have had enough! I cannot take another minute with that man!' Hermione declared, flopping onto the worn leather chaise in Luna's office. She stared at the ceiling, charmed to look like a perfect summer day on a deserted island in the Caribbean, all happy clouds and sunlight. The charm extended down onto the walls, with palm trees swaying in the gentle breezes, and Hermione could almost feel the salty air on her skin.

You really had to hand it to those Ravenclaws. Their wand work was impeccable.

If not for the bright red desk Luna was sitting behind, the wooden floorboards beneath their feet, and a bulletin board crammed with postcards from clients' trips abroad, Hermione would never have known she was still in London.

'Can you get me out of the country today, Luna? I don't care where I go.'

Luna spoke into the end of her wand. 'Gerald, could you bring us some tea? A large pot, please.'

'And biscuits?' Hermione questioned, a hopeful smile on her face.

'And biscuits, Gerald,' Luna said, relaying the message to the older gentleman at reception.

'Schmarfenplagrinenten,' came the garbled reply from the geranium on Luna's desk. For the life of her, Hermione had no idea what Gerald had reported about the status of biscuits, but Luna clearly understood.

The odd intercom seemed to suit the place.

'No, the chocolate ones,' she insisted. 'And the ginger ones with the lemon creme, if Lucius hasn't eaten them all.'

Lucius Malfoy.

Or Lucius Lovegood-Malfoy, as he was now legally recognised in the Wizengamot.

Hermione was still baffled as to how that relationship had unfolded, but Luna seemed quite happy with the man. The couple celebrated their eighth anniversary earlier in the summer, and their exclusive off-the-books travel agency was going gangbusters as far as Hermione could tell.

The business card Luna had given her was printed with the phrase The Holiday You Need, Not the Holiday You Want in turquoise ink. On the back, Luna had scribbled out the password script that Hermione needed to get past the door knocker.

She had booked two holidays with Luna in the last year, and they had both been surreally perfect: one trip had been to Darjeeling so she could wander the foothills of the Himalayas, and the other was to a remote village in Uruguay. It was like the heavens had opened up both times, showering her with beautiful experiences that opened her eyes to the truths of the world and provided her with crystalline clarity about the meaning of life and the harmony of the planets…

Or whatever.

All the warm, fuzzy feelings were good while they lasted, but the glow inevitably wore off when Hermione found herself back at work with Severus Snape, International Man of Misery.

Which is why she found herself back in Luna's office for a third time, begging her old friend to arrange another Portkey to somewhere—anywhere—so she could have some much needed respite from her insane work schedule and her arrogant arse of a colleague.

'Lucius picked a doozy of a password this time,' Hermione said, scooting to the edge of her seat.

'Yes, he did,' Luna said, petting the leaves of the geranium on her desk. 'At first, he wanted something about vintages of French wine. My proposal was about the mating habits of the lethifold, which he claimed was far too scandalous to use in mixed company. We ended up with a compromise.'

Hermione frowned. Here she thought Lucius was the provocative one, but it seemed that he was actually a bit of a prude. And then she just had to know—'Say, Luna? How do lethifolds mate?'

Luna leaned back in her chair, a serene smile spreading across her face. 'Preparatory cunnilingus. Lots and lots of cunnilingus.'

Hermione coughed once or twice as Gerald marched into the office with a silver tray filled with their tea things and a pile of nibbles. He didn't blush or look startled in the least by these words, and Hermione had the uncanny feeling that he wouldn't even look up if Prince Charles turned cartwheels through the room wearing a latex bodysuit.

'Libidinous lethifolds like licking… like licking…' Luna said, her voice drifting off. 'I can't remember the rest.'

'Oh, well,' Hermione said, pouring herself a cuppa, 'if you—'

'Like licking lethifold labia!' Luna said, interrupting her. 'That was what I wanted the password to be. Libidinous lethifolds like licking lethifold labia!'

'Er…' Hermione said, reaching for words while reaching for a spoon to stir her tea. 'Er… right. Your use of alliteration is superb.'

'And it's biologically accurate as well. I had another good password about cockatrices last month,' Luna said. 'But again, Lucius was uncomfortable, so we changed that one to a few lines about furniture salesmen.'

Hermione shrugged, unable to find the connection.

'Now, then,' Luna said, 'When do you want to leave, and what has Severus done this time?'

A/N: I adore Luna.