Control.

Bellatrix Lestrange likes being in control. She likes being in control and she likes abusing the power which that gives her.

Luna learnt that the hard way.

For all her intelligence, Luna Lovegood is rather naive. She believes in the good in people. This is why she doesn't hold it any grudges when it comes to the people who mistreated her at Hogwarts. This is why she was such an easy target for the Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor.

They treated her like a dog treats a chew toy, pushing constantly, seeing how far they could go before she toppled over the edge.

Luna never snapped. Luna just stared back at them with wide silver eyes, filled with pity. She wasn't sorry for herself. She was sorry for them. This made the Death Eaters angry, and confused, and, occasionally, just a little bit sorry.

In the end they all left her alone, even Bellatrix. Luna would hum to herself in the darkness of the cellar, playing with the odds and ends she'd located in their makeshift cell. Despite her size, despite the fact that she didn't have a wand, she was able to unnerve the Death Eaters.

And, though she didn't take any particular pleasure from it, she supposed that meant she was in control.

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.