They moved with a grace neither had suspected the other possessed. Truth be told, neither of them had ever given the other much thought before now. They were too different; male and female, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, blood-conscious and open-minded, but here and now they had at last found some common ground.

They circled one another, blades ringing together then sweeping apart again. Her movements made him think of a dancer. She was effortless - instinctive - and he found himself envying her. His own muscles ached from their long hours of practice, but if she felt any pain, she hid it well. Her face wore only its usual expression of detached serenity. She might have been dancing with her own shadow.

She had been a quick study, he had to admit. A natural with the blade. He had been working with her for only a few months, and yet every time, it took him longer to disarm her. She said she had made the sword herself, and if that was so, then she had an eye for beauty as well. The slender blade was long and straight, and the basket hilt, as finely-wrought as the wing of a bird, curved to protect her small hand.

At last, Ernie Macmillan put up his sword. "I yield, Milady," he said with a half-smile, wiping his face on his sleeve. "I perish for thirst. We've been at this for ages; what say we pause for refreshment?"

She lowered her blade as he turned to a table that had not been there a moment before, and poured them something cold and fruity-smelling from a newly-appeared decanter into two silver goblets. He passed one to her, something weighing on his mind.

"Luna," he said. "I've been meaning to apologise to you, and this may be the last chance I get. I'm sorry I called you a weirdo when I was in fifth year. I didn't know you then."

"It's all right, Ernest." Luna Lovegood gave him a bright smile. "A lot of people have called me worse things."

He shook his head. "No, it's not all right. It was rude and it was thoughtless. And I was wrong." His brown eyes met her pale blue ones. "You're not weird, Luna. You're - free. You don't care what people think. I envy you that."

She gave him an odd little bow. "Thank you, Ernest."

He took a long swallow of sweet, chilled wine to hide his momentary embarrassment, then said, "Should we call it a night? It must be very late."

The Room of Requirement had given them no windows and no clocks by which to judge, but then he supposed he did not really want to know the time. All they had wanted was a place for their final practice session. The room had provided a large, open space, torchlit and with a stone floor. There were a few pillars to duck behind and weave around, but beyond that, the floor was as bare as the walls.

"No," she replied, lowering her own empty goblet. "I don't think I could sleep yet. Tomorrow is going to be very exciting, don't you think?"

"Exciting?" he said, startled. "I - er - suppose that's one way of putting it. We'll be facing You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters and Merlin knows what else without our wands. Sounds ruddy terrifying to me."

Luna fixed him with her misty gaze. "I trust Harry," she said simply. "And he trusts those twins."

"Well, obviously - " he began. "But those twins, you know. One of them is dead, and the other one thinks he's got his brother living inside his head with him. That just sounds mad. I mean to say, are we seriously planning to put our lives in the hands of a madman?"

She smiled at that. "Some of us aren't nearly as mad as you might think, Ernest. You don't know everything there is to know. I think it sounds like quite a good plan."

She set down her goblet, which vanished the moment it touched the table, and raised her blade once more. "En garde."

He did his best to keep up, but the ache in his muscles seemed to have sunk into his bones, and he could feel his reactions growing slower by the minute. Her movements mesmerised him, though, and he found he did not want to stop, because then she would stop as well. She was not only beautiful to watch; it seemed to him that her dancing kept the uncertainty of tomorrow at bay.

He realised that she was watching him, too. In fact, her eyes were fixed on his, as if she was no longer aware of the movements of her body at all, and he saw in them a look of determination - of focus - which he had never seen there before.

Neither of them noticed the lush blue carpet that spread across the floor like moss, even as they trod upon it. Tapestries unfurled across the walls, and a window opened in the stone to let in the moonlight and the warm May breeze. The torches in their wall sconces narrowed into candles, and a bouquet of lilacs bloomed into existence on the table, which had returned along with the wine.

All he saw were her eyes, pale and intent, but later, he swore that it was the scent of lilacs that had disarmed him. The blade flew from his hand and he took a step back as she moved forward, pressing her advantage. The backs of his knees came up hard against something, and they were falling.

The bed had sprung up out of nowhere, tripping him and catching him all at once. He landed on the rich blue coverlet with her on top of him, her hair falling around his face. She was disconcertingly close. He could feel the heat of exercise radiating from her body where it pressed against his, see the curve of her bottom lip, smell the scent of her hair. She was still watching him.

"Er - maybe the room thinks it's time we got some sleep?"

"Do you think so, Ernest?" she said, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

"Well," he babbled, "it must have thought we were tired, mustn't it? I mean, there's a bed."

"There is," she acknowledged. "Good night, Ernest."

"Er - good night, Luna."

But neither of them moved. Everything seemed so still and quiet that Ernie was no longer certain that his heart was still beating or that air still moved through his lungs. The only thing he knew was that her eyes were beautiful after all, and that he must do something before his brain realised that his body had stopped, and decided that he was dead.

"I'm not dead," he said fiercely. "Not yet."

His fingers curved around the back of her neck, tangling in her hair as he pulled her down for a kiss.

"I'm sorry," he said as his upbringing reasserting itself. "I should have asked. Kissing you like that, and on a bed! It's unseemly and disrespectful and -" And the dreamy smile on her lips made him want to do it all over again.

"I don't mind," she told him. "It was nice. I like you, Ernest. Do you want to go to bed?"

He sat up, scandalised, setting her gently away from him. "I would never presume - Not without a proposal of marriage -"

Marriage? Why in Merlin's name was he talking about marriage? Until an hour ago, he had not even known that he loved - No! He should not be thinking that yet, either.

She fell back on the bed, laughing, and he was reminded of the silvery sound of their blades ringing together.

"I didn't mean like that," she said. I just meant -" She inclined her head gracefully toward the pillows. "Unless you want to go back to Hufflepuff?"

He looked at her for a long moment. The last thing he wanted tonight was to be out of her presence.

"No," he said at last. "You'll stay with me, then?"

"I'd like that very much, Ernest."

She held out her hand to him, and he took it. Together, they made their way on hands and knees to the pillows at the other end of the huge bed, and lay down side by side, their heads close together, their fingers interlaced. Ernie thought he might ask the room to provide them with a shower and a change of clothes, but he found that he did not wish to be apart from her even that long. The connection they shared was too new - too delicate and precious - and he feared that any step away taken too soon might sever it.

For a long time, neither of them said anything; they merely lay together, touching and breathing and peacefully existing. He realised how much he liked that about her. His upbringing had taught him self-consciousness, but with her, he could just be, secure in the knowledge that she had no expectations of him.

"I don't want you to think," he said at last, words awkward in his mouth, "that this happened just because of what we're going to do tomorrow. I think - I'd really like to know you better, Luna."

He thought he could hear her smiling. "I'd like that, too," she said softly.

He squeezed her hand in his. "I thought maybe you and Ron -"

Luna giggled. "Really? I did used to fancy him a bit, mostly because he's Ginny's brother and she was always so nice to me. But no, Ronald's with Hermione."

He chuckled. "I had noticed something of the kind. I just - wasn't sure how you felt about it."

She rolled over on her belly to face him. The smile was no longer on her lips, but he still saw it in her eyes. The fingers of her free hand strayed to touch his hair.

"Most people think it's me and Neville," she told him. "But you know, I think he's a little scared of me. Anyway, I always thought -"

"Me and Hannah?" He grinned. "Everyone thinks that. We're really just good friends."

She giggled again. "I was going to say I always thought you were with Justin."

He blushed crimson. His reply was a long time coming, but something about her compelled him to honesty. He knew she would not judge him.

"I think maybe Justin thought so, too, sometimes," he reluctantly admitted. "But it was just curiosity, you know? Youthful high spirits. Anyway, it was all over a long time ago."

"So you're available?"

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close for another kiss.

"Not anymore," he sighed contentedly.

The room would conjure an alarm clock when it was time for them to wake.