Headlines.

Luna wrinkled her nose, peering over her father's shoulder at the newspaper he was clutching. A very familiar face was peering back at her from the black and white photograph covering most of the main page, although it was wearing a digitally enhanced scowl. His hair was tidier than usual in the picture, too, parted to show the jagged lightning bolt scar.

"'The Boy Who Lies'," she read aloud, shaking her head. "You don't believe that, do you, Daddy?"

Xenophilus shook his head furiously. "Of course not, Luna. If Dumbledore believes him, that's good enough for me. Besides, this is the Daily Prophet. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them, my dear."

"What are the headlines in this issue of The Quibbler, Daddy?" asked Luna, seemingly nonchalant. Her father wasn't fooled for a second.

"Well, I was going to run a wonderful article on Gernumbli magic..." Xenophilius began.

Then he looked up at his daughter's earnest, wide-eyed face.

"I suppose I could print something about your friend Harry."

"Thank you!" Luna exclaimed, beaming, "Although he isn't really my friend, Daddy. We've never even spoken."

Not yet, anyway. It was always just a matter of time.

Write about something you've lost.

I expect people will be thinking I'm going write about my mother for this, but that's silly. I haven't lost her. I'll always have her!

Shortly after she died, though, Daddy did catch me a baby Heliopath. He found it down by the bridge at the bottom of our garden. It must have got lost or something, because I haven't found one there since.

I don't know if you're familiar with Heliopaths, but they're easily domesticated, at least if you're careful. Cornelius Fudge, the old Minister for Magic, he had an army of them.

They're spirits of fire, but you can even train them to control their flames, so they can burn things at will rather than accidentally (and constantly). To do this, though, you have to keep them in isolation for a few weeks before handling them. Otherwise, Daddy says, they'll be frightened by your touch, and combust, and it isn't a reversible process.

Daddy put him in a box with some fire-proof padding and a little teddy bear (for company), and then we put the box up on my dresser. Then all we could do was wait.

Two weeks passed, and I checked on the box everyday, making sure it was being kept warm enough, and that everything was ok. And then, finally, enough time had passed, and I was able to open it!

But, when I did, the poor little thing was gone. I searched the house from top to bottom, but I couldn't find the tiny Heliopath anywhere. Daddy said it didn't matter, it obviously just hadn't been the right sort of pet for me, but I was still terribly upset. Some of them just can't be domesticated, but I'd felt so certain this one would be.

I haven't had any pets since they. I've been a little scared. I know I'm hardly nine years old now, but what if I lose them too?

Is there anyone in your life who you feel is exceptionally wise? Who, and how did you meet this person?

Xenophilius Lovegood was working on the latest addition of the Quibbler. His printing press was clattering away loudly, and his daughter, Luna, was curled up in an armchair on the other side of the room, watching his every movement with saucer-like eyes.

She was only eleven - she hadn't even started Hogwarts yet - but she was already convinced that her father was the most wonderful and the most wise wizard in England.

No-one else she'd met knew about the Crumple-horned Snorkack, or how to protect their mistletoe from nesting Nargles. They didn't even seem to care about the terrible things going on within their own Ministry. Xenophilius Lovegood was the only one who dared to speak out about Cornelius Fudge, the new Minister for Magic, and his vendetta against goblins.

Not only was he wise, he was brave too. Even if people laughed at him, he'd always carry on speaking the truth.

"What are you doing, Luna my dear?" Xenophilius asked, when he finally became aware of his daughter was watching him, silent and unblinking.

He turned his attention away from the press, and, wiping inky hands on his robes, moved across the room towards his daughter.

"Oh nothing, Daddy," Luna said with wide smile, giving him a quick hug, which left her own robes splattered with ink from the press. "Nothing at all."

What makes someone a hero? What makes someone a villain?

Luna woke up to find herself lying in total darkness. It was cold and musty and, worst of all, it was silent. She could hear each trembling breath she took, echoing off the walls.

Heaving herself to her knees, Luna tried to remember where she was and how she'd ended up here. Her head was pounding, and there was a bloody lump somewhere underneath her tangle of matted blonde hair which was probably the reason for that.

She remembered being dragged off the train by the Death Eaters. She remembered Neville shouting something, trying to help her, but then there was a stunning spell...

And then...then she was here.

"Daddy?" she whimpered, unable to stop the words from slipping past her lips. It was childish instinct - the belief that parents could simply hold you in their arms and make anything and everything better by doing so. The adult part of her, on the other hand, didn't want him to be anywhere near here. Xenophilius, so bright and creative and vibrant, might not survive something like this.

"Daddy isn't here," cooed a voice from just outside, and the cell was suddenly flooded with light. It caught Luna by surprise, making her eyes ache, but she barely noticed the pain. The speaker, silhouetted in the doorway, was all too familiar.

Her hand automatically reached into her pocket for her wand, but, of course, it wasn't there anymore.

Bellatrix Lestrange laughed, her eyes glittering horribly, and then reached forward and dragged Luna to her feet by her hair.

"Nice try, blood traitor brat," she growled, dragging Luna out into the flickering light of the corridor outside.

The young witch was soon wishing she was back in the darkness.

***

"We don't want some stupid headdress, Lovegood," laughed the Selwyn derisively. The Death Eater was holding the model of Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem in one hand, pulling bits of it off, studying them, and then throwing them to the ground in disgust.

With each piece discarded, Xenophilius slumped further forward, his whimpers becoming steadily more dejected.

"Please," begged the shaking, white-haired wizard, clutching at Travers' robes, "Please! I just want my Luna back..."

Snarling with contempt, Travers pushed him backwards. Physical force was more than enough, but he pointed his wand at Lovegood's chest for extra emphasis.

"Unless Harry Potter turns up on your doorstep," he growled, "Or Dumbledore comes back from the grave, we don't want to hear."

***

Bellatrix Lestrange and Xenophilius Lovegood both did bad things, for different reasons. Technically, they're both villains. Really? Well...who can judge?

Forest and Creek

Every Sunday afternoon, when Luna was small, her father would take her down to the stream at the bottom of their garden to fish for Plimpies. They'd sit on the bridge with a large supply of sandwiches and a flask of Gurdyroot infusion, and wait. Sometimes they'd stay there until the sun began to set. They never actually caught anything, though.

Luna always believed that this was because of her father's technique, not the lack of plimpies. They weren't stupid creatures. Why would they let themselves be impaled on the vicious fish hooks Xenophilius favoured?

They'd return home empty-handed and, more often than not, extremely disheveled. But it didn't matter, because Luna's mother would help them get their damp clothing off, and she'd sit them down in front of the range with biscuits and cocoa until their smiles returned.

After she died, Xenophilius determinedly continued with the weekly fishing trips, although their return to the house was no longer the most enjoyable part of the day.

When Luna became older, he'd send her down to the stream on her own, with instructions and a packed lunch and, if he wasn't distracted by an article on the Rotfang Conspiracy, a waterproof fire in a jam-jar.

Luna enjoyed the peace and quiet, which isn't to say she didn't like the chaos and noise of her house. It was just that it was nice to get some time to herself to really think.

In Spring and Summer she'd stretch out on the wooden boards to feel the warm sunlight filtering through the leaves on the few exposed inches of her skin. In Autumn, she'd build a nest for herself out of crisp orange leaves. In Winter she'd curl up in a ball around the jam-jar fire. She didn't really pay much attention to the actual fishing on those days.

She still didn't catch any Plimpies, but she didn't really expect to. She hadn't actually put the hook on.

Write about a conversation when what you said wasn't what you were thinking.

August hadn't been as warm as usual. In fact, it had been downright cold, with unseasonal fog and very little sunshine.

Despite the poor weather, and even poorer circumstances, Luna was still packing for Hogwarts. Her father sat on the end of her bed, watching as his only child piled odds and ends only she would consider packing into an already bulging trunk.

It was all too normal. The Ministry had fallen. Albus Dumbledore was...gone, so Hogwarts was probably no more than a shell of what it had once been. The wizarding world was crumbling around them, and although Luna wasn't actually in the centre, she was too close to it for Xenophilius.

"I don't think you should go back to Hogwarts," he said, suddenly. It was a moment of uncharacteristic seriousness, so much so that Luna dropped the gurdyroots she'd been holding all over the carpet.

The worst thing was that she knew his worry was not unfounded, even before he present the carefully constructed argument he'd prepared.

Hogwarts had always been considered safe (or at least as safe as a school for under age, untrained hormone-driven witches and wizards could ever be). Regardless of external events, the students within had always learnt in safety and security.

Things had changed over recent years, of course, what with the Chamber of Secrets, and then that business with Sirius Black. But over all, Hogwarts had remained steadfast.

Now Severus Snape was in charge, with You-Know-Who pulling the strings.

Though she wasn't a Gryffindor, Luna was braver than a lion when she had to be, and smart to boot. It wasn't that Xenophilius didn't think she could look after herself. It was just that you only had to glance at the paintings on her wall to see how much she cared for her friends.

She'd died for them. And, since of those friends was Harry Potter, the chance of that happening was worryingly high.

These were all things they both knew.

What Xenophilius didn't know - or didn't want to admit he knew - was that asking such a question was fruitless. Luna had opened up when she'd found herself actually having friends, like a flower which had been waiting for just the right burst of sunlight. She'd no more betray them than stop breathing.

"I'll be fine," she assured him, and, even though she was thinking the absolute opposite, she knew it was worth the risk.