Predictions and Premonitions

"A what?" Ron asked without thinking. Then he blinked and flinched a little. But no bright-voiced reprimand made him feel like a six year old. Right. Hermione was a St Mungo's. Suddenly his mouth went quite dry. But she was at St Mungo's! And surely, surely, things would—

"An Oompa-Loompa," Luna repeated happily. "They were only discovered in the 1960s. In a bit of jungle, smack-dab in the middle of Africa. Known as 'Loompaland' by local witches and wizards. A very dangerous region, full of rare and deadly magical creatures. I can't wait to go there! Whangdoodles live there. And there are supposed to be hornswogglers and snozzwangers." Luna beamed. "Whangdoodles are amazing creatures, by the way. They are carnivores. Their favourite diet consists of humanoids—goblins, oompa-loompas, and when they can get them, human children. Their mating customs are amazing, they draw those fascinating doodles into the mud near riverbanks—"

Lois made a choked noise next to him. Looking down at his plate, Ron suddenly felt no more appetite for the huge piece of chocolate cake awaiting his attentions.

"You wanted to tell us something about Oompa-Loompas, dear," Molly managed faintly.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Luna didn't look sorry at all. "Loompaland is nearly at the top of the list of things I want to see in my life, right after the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, you know. Rolf tells me I get carried away sometimes."

Lois coughed. Ron found her knee under the table and squeezed it a little. "The Oompa-Loompas?" he suggested.

Luna nodded and pulled out her glasses. A sure sign that she was settling down for serious business. Her glasses looked like simple, golden-rimmed Muggle affairs—and extremely odd on her. Ron wondered what exactly they showed Luna.

"An American wizard on his world tour discovered them and published the only available article about them in 'Fantastical Beasts'. After his discovery, only one team of magical creature experts had the chance to investigate the site. Newt Scamander was a part of that team in 1965. It's one of the greatest mysteries of my profession. You see, after that very promising initial examination, the Oompa-Loompas disappeared. No one has seen even so much as a toe-nail of them since! Until now, that is." She gazed at Ron, so wide-eyed that Ron felt he could drown in her limpid blue stare.

Suddenly she looked away, and her tone changed, cool and crisp. "There is only one picture extant, but this photograph and the descriptions from Newt Scamander's papers match what you say exactly, Ron. Oompa-Loompas are about as high as the knee of a tall wizard, they—have long golden hair, often curly, and very white skin, rosy cheeks and blue eyes. Their diet —if they can get it, that is—consists primarily of cocoa beans, but they also eat the bark of the bong-bong tree. If that is not available, they turn to green caterpillars and red beetles. That American wizard—a Willy Wonka—mentions also eucalyptus leaves. But that must be a mistake, since there are no eucalyptus trees in Africa, not even in the magical parts of the continent's jungles." Suddenly Luna's eyes bugged out with excitement. "Unless, of course, he discovered another tribe of Oompa-Loompas. In Australia. I don't think anyone has ever searched for Oompa-Loompas in Australia before."

When everyone just stared at her, speechless, Luna blinked. "Oh, yes, we weren't finished, were we?" She turned back to Ron. "Oompa-Loompas have an extremely strange social structure. They are completely fixated on one leader and will do everything he says, no matter what it is. They have no conscience, only obedience. Newt Scamander had a theory that Loompaland was regarded as so very dangerous by the locals not so much because of the deadly beasts living there, but because the old Oompa-Loompa chieftains ordered every outsider who entered the jungle caught, killed and cooked for Sunday luncheon."

Ron gulped audibly. But no one seemed to hear him. Molly was fanning herself with her saucer. However, Luna went on blithely, completely entranced by her subject. "They communicate primarily in song, probably so hornswogglers think that they are birds. You see, Oompa-Loompas live in tree-houses. Or lived, that is."

Luna fell silent, obviously many miles away in her thoughts. No doubt crawling around in an African jungle and searching for Oompa-Loompas, Horn-Snozzers and Blog-Doodles, Ron thought.

"Oh," Luna added suddenly, cutting through the dazed hush with her cheerful voice. "And their songs contain predictions of the future."

oooOooo

Her room was black. No light at all. And silent. No noise at all. Even in the silence of the deepest dungeons, Hogwarts was filled with the hum of humanity.

Here, Hermione was alone, the only sound her laboured breathing, the drumbeat of her frantic heart pounding in her ears. Instinctively she raised shaking hands as if to ward off—

Ward off what? With what? She had no wand!

Suddenly realisation struck her like a blow. She fell forwards over her knees in agony. The familiar sizzle of magic in her veins was gone. Once more she felt as she had in the monastery, empty, no magic, nothing but a shell, a leaf tossed in a dark wind—

Her stomach cramped as a scream exploded from deep within her. But when she opened her mouth, no sound emerged.

In the darkness before her, her hands started to glow with an eerie light. Its shine illuminated a child's face. A girl, maybe ten or twelve years old. Straight brown hair, freckles. Strange, amber eyes.

Perdita.

"Hermione," her sister whispered. "You must do something!"

"How?" Hermione wailed. "I have no wand!"

"Make one!" Perdita ordered.

From what? Hermione thought. And then she realised what Perdita was looking at.

Her hands.

Her hands, still raised in a defensive gesture, still burning. She stared into that light. Her eyes hurt just from looking at it. She could see the silhouettes of her finger bones in the fire.

Slender, straight bones.

"Make one!" Perdita repeated.

oooOooo

A/N: Everything that is taken from "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" really belongs to Roald Dahl. And not to Luna Lovegood. No matter how much she'd like that. Most of the other stuff belongs to Joanne K. Rowling. (Though Luna Lovegood insists she only belongs to herself. And Rolf, maybe.) Some essential things belong to Garth Nix. Not in this chapter, but still.

Hope you liked my contribution to all the stuff that doesn't belong to me.