The Bowtruckles we observed seemed content to-

content to-

Luna yawns widely, struggling to focus on the words on the page.

"Dry report?" McGilligan asks cheerfully, planting a mug in front of her.

Still not sure of her place in this office, Luna shakes her head, fixing her eyes on the drink. The report is dry, but she'd rather not complain about the work she's given until she's certain she's earned their respect. "I couldn't sleep last night," she answers. Couldn't sleep, because Daddy had her up on a Snorkack hunt, though she has learned not to mention Daddy's expeditions at the Ministry. The Ministry do not hold Daddy in a particularly high regard, because they need to see things to believe them. Sometimes, Luna suspects they are beginning to win her round to their way of thinking. But that might be the amount of brain-addling creatures employed by the Ministry to prevent people seeing the sort of things the Ministry is really up to.

"Ah, yes. I'm not surprised; the moon was bright last night. If only your father had named you Solar, then I might have had your full attention today, eh?"

Luna smiles politely in response, having endured puns based on her name ever since meeting McGilligan. She supposes it makes a change from 'Loony'.

"Anyway, never mind that. I've found some more interesting work for you to do, if you'd like?"

Eagerly, Luna nods, but her excitement is misplaced, for McGilligan's instance that she learn the tricks of the trade before going out on more expeditions continues. He places a journal on her desk, one filled with comments from somebody who isn't stuck indoors for their future benefit.

"Rolf Scamander," announces McGilligan, but Luna already knows that from his handwriting. "Read it, write it up – for Merlin's sake, make sense of the boy's scribbles. I'm convinced half his reputation is based off the fact that nobody can read what he writes."

Luna's cheeks are flushing hot and cold as she flicks through the book. Thankfully, her supervisor is unaware, and leaves with a smile.

Rolf would make a good writer, she decides, curling up in her chair. His observations are interesting, and he has a knack of describing things in a way that almost has Kappas manifesting themselves in her office. She should see if she can get him to do a piece for Daddy – though his grandfather probably wouldn't approve. Rolf may not approve either, she reflects glumly, pursing her lips.

She is halfway through a section on Re'em poachers, when a noise behind her makes her start. She whips around, wand in hand and heart in mouth, half-expecting to have mentally transported the poachers to her office, but all she finds is-

"Harry!"

Harry grins at her – or, rather, at her brandished wand, which she promptly sticks behind her ear. He looks dreadful; hair sticking up at all angles (though that, she supposes, is nothing out of the ordinary), and robes torn and muddied.

"Just came off a case," he says, running his fingers through his hair, and pulling out twigs. "I thought we might not finish in time, and it went right down to the wire."

"What wire?" Luna asks, carefully marking her page in Rolf's journal, before closing the book.

Harry fishes his wand out from his Muggle jeans underneath his robes. "Figure of speech, Luna. Don't worry about it. So, do you have the tickets?"

Ginny's Quidditch team had reached the British and Irish League final. Not wanting her to be too disappointed if he couldn't make it last-minute, Harry told her straight out that he'd be tied up with the Aurors, and arranged for Luna to get him a ticket instead, figuring she would be better able to keep a secret from Ginny than one of the Weasley brothers. If he couldn't make it, he reasoned, Luna could bring her father, and Ginny would be none the wiser.

It was not, as it turned out, a particularly brilliant plan, and Harry wound up sleeping at Ron's the night before he was due to leave.

"Of course. You'll need a change of clothes, though. Don't worry, I've got just the thing," Luna says, beaming.

He does still look rather concerned, but perhaps that is a hangover from being with the Aurors. The expression vanishes instantly once they have Apparated back to her house, and he catches sight of what she has in mind.

"No."

"I know they look a bit ridiculous now, but not when we reach the stadium," Luna says practically, tossing his at him. "Everybody wears them."

"People who go every week wear them," Harry corrects her. "Everybody else wears what they like – and I'd rather be like everybody else."

That's Harry's problem, really, Luna thinks as she shrugs at him. They don't have time for him to stall, much less for him to find something else to wear. Besides, this is the perfect way to ensure Harry Potter won't stick out like a sore thumb.

Or, so she thinks. When they turn up at the game, they attract a surprising amount of jeers. Probably fans of the opposite team – some of whom, she notes, have turned up dressed as wasps. Well, that is hardly less embarrassing than being dressed as a harpy.

The sight doesn't seem to cheer Harry up any, though perhaps that has something to do with the fact that Dean and Seamus have shown up, and are currently weeping with laughter. It is difficult for Luna to pretend they can be laughing at anything but the costumes. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Harry readjust his feathery headdress uncomfortably.

Sitting with Dean and Seamus is not the pleasant experience she thought it would be when Dean first suggested it. True, they are all cheering Ginny on, but in between times, Dean and Seamus devote themselves to winding Harry up about his outfit, until Harry cracks and hexes them, promising darkly that they'll find out what he's done later.

It works wonders, and the two boys content themselves with casting slurs on the opposition rather than their fellow supporters.

"Oi, Harding – my nan could have hit that harder!"

"Give it up, Johnson, you couldn't find the Snitch if you choked on it!"

This last comment appears to be of particular amusement to Harry, though perhaps he's trying to make up for whatever spell he cast on them. Luna leaps to her feet as a figure in dark green robes bolts for the Wasps's posts. The area around them erupts as Ginny scores.

"Beautifully weighted throw, mate," Dean tells Harry enthusiastically, as though Harry had been responsible for it.

The scores mount up quickly after that, and the lead changes hands several times.

"This one's all going to hinge on the Snitch," Seamus notes wisely, "and half the time, that Powell would have trouble catching a cold."

Luna hugs herself, aware that her voice is beginning to fade as the hours drift by.

The match ends abruptly; one moment, the Harpies' Seeker is dodging a Bludger, the next, she is punching the air in victory, her hand clamped around a small golden ball. The stadium quietens for a second, making the subsequent noise explosion seem even louder, and Georgie Powell is engulfed by her team-mates.

"Knew she had it in her!" Seamus exclaims, and Luna's mouth quirks in an amused smile. It has almost been like old times, watching Gryffindor play – only with Harry in the stands for a change.

They sit and wait for the crowds to disperse, as the Harpies are receiving their trophy on the pitch, and the Wimbourne Wasps are standing by, arguing amongst themselves. Harry drums his fingers on his knees impatiently.

"Thank you for the ticket, Luna," he says, noticing her looking his way. "I hope I can catch Ginny before she apparates home."

"She won't go immediately," Luna informs him, adjusting her feathered cloak. "All the Weasleys are here. Molly asked me if I wanted the ticket they got you this morning." In response to his guilty expression, she pats his knee. "Don't worry. I told them that Nargles often nest at the top of Quidditch stands. She believed me, even though everyone knows-"

"Nargles like a quiet life," Harry continues, nodding sagely. "Look, the crowd's letting up. We can go wait outside the players' rooms for her; that's probably where the Weasleys are."

Dean and Seamus follow them down, declaring their desire to congratulate Ginny, but Luna suspects it has rather more to do with the other six members of her team.

The Weasleys have come en force to the game, and it isn't till Luna sees the expressions on their faces that she recalls the harpy costumes. Ron demands how much Harry got paid, and George asks if he lost a bet, and then Bill wants to know if Harry's seen a mirror. It all stops when Harry, turning a bright red that he fails to hide despite pulling the beak-shaped hat down as low as it will go, flicks a glance at Luna.

Dean slips his arm around Luna's shoulders, and gives her a comforting squeeze. They've been close ever since they wound up at Shell Cottage together, and Dean often checks she isn't getting too lost in magical creatures at the expense of human companionship. "Never mind them, you make a great harpy," he tells her, with a grin. "And Harry's never looked so fetching."

"I heard that, Thomas," Harry informs him, having discarded the hat at last.

"Has she come out yet?"

George rolls his eyes, and turns to his newly-arrived brother. "Yes, Charlie. That's why we're all standing around like mugs. Because she's already come out."

Luna tenses, because it's Charlie, and she hasn't seen him since she first met Rolf. And all of a sudden, Charlie's companion is standing right in front of her, and she half feels like she might have summoned him through her thoughts.

Rolf's eyes linger on Dean's arm around her, and suddenly, smoothly, Dean pulls away to pay his respects to the emerging Harpy Beater – Gertie, or something of the sort.

"I've been reading about you," she manages, her mouth oddly dry, and she realises that the problem with wearing Dirigible Plum pendants in crowds is that there are too many thoughts around. That must be her problem; too many thoughts fighting for attention, so she can't simply pluck one out and focus on it.

"McGilligan told me," he answers. "I was in the office today. Luna, what are you wearing?"

She tries not to react to his being in the office and not visiting her, though cannot help the corners of her mouth turning down. She is beginning to feel ridiculous now, and her cheeks aren't just heating up from the warmth of the day. "I'm a harpy."

"I see," Rolf replies, moving so he can lean against the wall. "I'm more of an Arrows fan myself. We'dve been playing the Harpies today if the Wasps hadn't been cheating scum in the semi. Bloody pests."

"Good job you're not still bitter," Charlie smirks. "I never would have given you Harry's ticket if I thought you'd be shouting for the other side, anyway."

Ginny chooses that moment to emerge, and Luna watches her reaction to her boyfriend's presence affectionately, feeling a happy glow steal through her.

"Luna? Can we go somewhere and – talk?"

Whilst this is far from the last thing she wants to do right now, Luna experiences a pang of regret as she takes one final look, seeing Ginny taking Harry's beaked hat from him. Nevertheless, she nods at Rolf, and finds herself being tugged away by her hand

He stops when they're a reasonable distance away, tucked behind a now-closed food stall, out of sight and hearing of the Weasleys. She finds her breath shortening, and isn't wholly sure it's down to the brisk walk.

Rolf looks ever the same – perhaps a little more tired than before. Luna has forgotten how much taller he is than her; she does her best to straighten up so he doesn't need to stoop so much.

"So – how've you been?"

Luna frowns at him, rolling the sleeves of her feathered cloak up. It really is getting to be unbearably hot – why hadn't she thought to bring a change of clothes for after the game? "Fine. The Weasleys are allowed to know I've been fine as well, though."

He shifts uncomfortably; perhaps he is too hot also. Or perhaps, as she is beginning to suspect, he has no real reason for stealing her away. "You got my journal, then?"

Idly, she fiddles with one of her earrings – talon-shaped, to complete her harpy costume. She hadn't made Harry copy that part. "Of course."

"You're not making this easy, Luna."

She eyes him critically, because, really, she is trying to make this as easy as possible. "What is it you want to say?"

For a moment, he looks like a lost boy; then, he blows out his cheeks. "Right. I'm going away. For quite a long time, I think, if everything works out. I'm only going to be in England another month."

Luna is quiet whilst she digests it. "You want me to finish interpreting your journal as soon as I can?"

"No – no, that wasn't what I meant at all. I want – I need you to come with me. Please. I'll make it educational for you; it should be good experience, and I know McGilligan won't let you out of the office for another few months unless somebody requests you specifically. So, I'm requesting you. Specifically."

"You put me with McGilligan in the first place," Luna says slowly. "Did you want me to be stuck in the office?"

Rolf looks pained. "No – and yes. McGilligan's a good trainer, I knew he'd give you a good grounding."

"You can't control my career like this, Rolf," Luna protests, all the frustration at having been stuck indoors all spring suddenly bubbling over. "They hired me because I gave them good research – research I picked up myself. Nobody will ever take me seriously if you're constantly fiddling." She pauses, and rearranges her sleeves which have already slipped past her elbows. "It's not fair that you get so much off the back of your grandfather."

He is staring at her, speechless, as Ginny's face appears round the side of the stall. "Oho! So this is where you snuck off to. No wonder Dean's not been having any luck with you, then, Luna!"

Unable to process this, Luna pushes past her friend, mumbling about going home. She hesitates, and glances back at Rolf, who looks as though she has Stunned him. "I hope you have a nice trip."