"Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us without words?" - Marcel Marceau.

It was amazing, when you thought about it, that words - just simple words - could have such huge effects on people. They were just a handful of syllables, really. A few carefully chosen vowels and consonants, strung together to make sentences. But, somehow, they managed to convey a thousand different thoughts and emotions.

Words like "the Weasley twins have been sneaking around the Charms corridor" would send the entire student population of Hogwarts running for cover, fleeing from exploding toilet seats and puking pastilles.

Words like "I'm sorry" could earn forgiveness or condemnation. It all depended on the circumstances, and the intonation. Remarkable.

Words like "wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure" always made Luna smile. Rowena Ravenclaw was such a remarkable woman.

Words like "Lord Voldemort has returned" were always heard, no matter what volume they were uttered at. They sent fear running through the hearts of even the bravest witches and wizards.

Words like "I love you..."

Well, that all depended on who was saying it.

***

"I love you."

It took Neville a long time to get the words out. He stopped and started several times. He spluttered and stammered and shook. But he got them out eventually, and that was the main thing.

Luna slipped her hand into his. She didn't reply. She couldn't.

That was answer enough.

***

"I love you."

"That's nice."

Rolf looked at her worriedly. Just nice? Not 'wonderful'? Not 'I love you too'.

No. Definitely not.

"Never pray for justice, because you might get some." - Margaret Atwood.

Fred and George were uncharacteristically silent as they made their way to dinner. Business was going well, but the success of their products and mail order service made the demand for new bits and pieces even greater.

The proprietors of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes were stuck. They had plenty of ideas, but they needed a new candidate to test things on. Someone who wasn’t a) a first year or b) Neville Longbottom.

As they were debating the problem – or, at least, debating which Slytherin they should choose – the twins came across a very odd sight.

Skipping down the corridor, with her back to them, was a blonde fourth year blissfully ignorant of the older student levitating an unopened package out of her back pack.

It was odd only because both the perpetrator and victim were Ravenclaws, and because there seemed to be no real motive. Magical trickery in itself was nothing new at Hogwarts. But it was also very useful, because Fred and George found their new test dummy without even having to look very far.

It was all too easy, really, to replace the box of stolen sweets with a box of canary creams. The chirping and flurry of feathers coming from the great hall a moment later was very satisfactory.

“The new batch seems to be working well,” Fred commented.

George nodded. “So are we. Someone needs to keep an eye on the poor and unprotected of Hogwarts…”

***

The twins took to their new role like Nargles to mistletoe.

“You know, Fred, I think we’ve finally found our true calling,” George commented, as they watched a disgruntled – and green haired – Hufflepuff fifth year stalk across the Great Hall. He’d laughed at the blonde girl’s earrings.

“Definitely,” his brother agreed, “Using our talents for good, rather than…”

He paused. ‘Evil’ seemed too strong a word.

“I’d go for ‘bad’,” George said, after considering the use of the word for a while, “It’s not like we’re even doing anything particularly wrong.”

The Hufflepuff was now heading towards the hospital wing.

“Well…”

***

A few months later, they met the girl they protecting face to face. It wasn’t all that hard to see why people teased her.

She was balmy. And that, as Fred often pointed out, was putting it mildly. Luna seemed to have a sign pinned to her back, proclaiming ‘hex me; I’m different, and too sweet to get annoyed’. It was as clear to everyone else as Snorkacks were to her.

Still, they were Weasleys, and they had sworn to look after her. The twins would never go back on their word, and she was rather nice. When you got to know her.

To nice to enact her own revenge, that was for certain. It was lucky, really, that Fred and George had no such scruples.

It was also a good job Madam Pomfrey was rather adept at removing antlers from students. They didn’t suit Draco Malfoy at all.

***

He was a distant relative of Fleur’s, so obnoxious he was being given a wide berth my all the Weasley wedding guests. Even Aunt Muriel didn’t speak to him, and she was so infuriating herself that she tended not to notice it in others.

Fred and George, however, saw this as reward rather than punishment, and were watching him from a distance, waiting for a chance to strike.

“’ave you seen what she is wearing?” he remarked, in a loud whisper, “Not even proper dress robes! And ze colour!”

There was a chorus of laughter, and Fred ground his teeth. It was obvious who they were talking about. She was currently dancing over to one side, arms raised above her head, blissfully unaware of the insults.

“She mus’ be insane, if you ask me…”

And then, just like that, he crossed an invisible line. Yes, she was loony. But she was their loony.

Fred and George exchanged glances that would have sent Hogwarts students running for their lives (or at least running until they were out of the range of any exploding toilet seats). A few minutes later, the Frenchman in question had hair that was a rather spectacular shade of yellow. Just like Luna’s dress.

***

Luna was racing for the astronomy tower. In theory. In reality, she was simply trying to get to a place where she was needed, preferably without getting killed in the process.

Skidding on shards of broken glass, Luna narrowly escaped death at the hands of a burly, masked Death Eater struggling to fit through the window he’d just smashed. She stopped herself falling, but her palms ended up cut to ribbons, and the sticky blood made it impossible to grip her wand properly when she tried to fight back.

With a gasp, she ducked a jet of red light, avoiding death by inches, yet again. The Death Eater, now safely inside the castle laughed, sensing triumph. He probably would have found it, too, if Fred and George hadn’t been nearby, securing one of the many secret passageways around the castle. Ever Luna’s guardian angels, they hit him with a hex so powerful that he flew back into the wall and fel, at least temporarily, still.

Luna didn’t get a chance to turn and thank them. More Death Eaters were pouring in. She could hear shouts and screams from further ahead, and didn’t pause for a second, simply hurled herself back into the fray after wiping her palms on her robes.

“That’s gratitude for you,” remarked Fred with a laugh. “Think I should go after her?”

“I’ll finish here,” said George with a nod, “Be along as soon as I can. Save at least one good Death Eater for me?”

“I can’t promise anything, if you’re too slow,” Fred laughed, waving at his brother before jogging off to join Percy, who was hastening down the corridor in the same direction as Luna.

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.

Impossible.

Luna Lovegood lived an impossible life.

It was the sort of life that many would envy. She drifted through existence like a butterfly, alighting periodically on particularly interesting flowers or colourful stones, before fluttering off again, as light as air.

A charmed life.

She was either unaware of the negative aspects of the universe, or decided to ignore them. With so much beauty in the world, why focus on the darkness? It would pass eventually, as it always did. Light had a habit of shining through.

A blissful life.

Although...perhaps she was more of a thestral than a butterfly. She wasn't beautiful, with untidy hair and silver eyes wide in a face that was a little too pale. Eerie.

She was as clever as a thestral, though neither of them looked particularly intelligent. It wasn’t the sort of knowledge you could learn in books (although Luna was adept at that, when she put her mind to it). It was the knowledge that came only from looking at the world with innocence and hope.

Her mother had given Luna an infinite capacity for hope, and her father had given her the ability to believe in anything that she deemed worth believing in.

A naïve life, but a good one. And, for anyone other than Luna Lovegood, utterly impossible.

"To be great is to be misunderstood." - Oscar Wilde

“She’s barking!” Ron hissed. Harry tried to ignore him, which was easy giving the blinding obviousness of his statement.

The ‘she’ in question was Luna Lovegood, DA member and Hogwarts School’s resident eccentric. It hadn’t been her intention, but her arrival in the library had caused everyone to look up from their Potions essays and Transfiguration homework.

Luna often had that sort of effect on people.

The Hippogriff feathers currently platted into her long blonde hair probably didn’t help.

“Hello, Harry,” she said, giving him a bright smile as she’d wandered dreamily past on her way to the Divination books, “Hello Hermione. Hello Ronald.”

Harry nodded, and returned the smile. It was so bright, so utterly innocent, that ignoring her would have been like kicking a kitten. Even Hermione managed a weak ‘hi’.

Ron continued to stare at her, aghast.

Luna didn’t seem to notice, and drifted past, her robes billowing around her. Strange how her robes seemed to billow. They were the same school robes as the rest of Hogwarts wore, but they looked different on Luna. Ethereal, as if she was an all-too-solid ghost hovering through the castle.

No ghost would wear radishes as fashion accessories.

“She’s barking,” Ron repeated, allowing his voice to rise a little now Luna was out of sight behind the bookcases.

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, glaring at him, “She’ll hear you.”

“So?” Ron shrugged, looking a little sheepish, as he so often did when Hermione berated him (despite his best efforts to remain unmoved). “I don’t mean it in a bad way. She’s our friend. But, I mean, come on, Hermione, she must know she’s utterly insane.”

The ghost had drifted around the bookshelves while he was talking/ Ron, pink cheeked, opened his mouth to apologise, but it was rather redundant. Luna looked delighted. He’d called her a friend. He could have added several spiteful and intelligent adjectives after that, and she wouldn’t have cared. A real friend.

“To be great is to be misunderstood,” she said, pleasantly, before slipping past them and out of the library, a battered book clutched to her chest. They could hear her footsteps on the cobbles as she skipped along, but then she rounded the corner and disappeared out of earshot.

“I suppose it makes a chance from ‘wit beyond measure...'” ventured Harry, helpfully.

Talk about a moment in which you wished you had a camera.

Luna Lovegood was the antithesis of everything usually considered beautiful, and never more so than when she was hanging cutlery from the branches of a Christmas tree in lieu of actual decorations.

It was a habit of her mother’s, apparently, and she’d sounded so proud when she explained it that Neville hadn’t even considered it strange.

That was probably a sign he’d been spending too much time with her.

It was Christmas Eve (their first Christmas since the war, in fact). For reasons Neville couldn’t quite fathom – Luna probably didn’t understand them either – he had been invited to the Lovegood’s half-finished house in order to help decorate the tree.

She had already festooned the partially-completed brickwork with holly and icicles before he’d arrived, but there was still plenty of work left to do. Neville had never realised Christmas decorations involved such hard work. Even Xenophilus had consented to help them!

Admittedly he didn’t do very much, and retreated to bed rather early, but Luna was delighted to catch a glimpse of the person he had used to be. He’d been a shadow of himself since returning from Azkaban, although the matter-of-fact way she explained that to Neville had left him half-convinced she was joking.

Like the rest of the Wizarding World, the Lovegoods were still recovering from the after-effects of the battle against You-Know-Who. It was a slow process for Xenophilius, but, if you looked at Luna, humming to herself as she danced around the tree, those tragic and terrible events were a whole world away.

She’d been held prisoner in Malfoy Manor and fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, but even that hadn’t been able to shake her out of the wondrous, hope-filled world she inhabited. Neville was both pleased, and more than a little jealous.

When the battered clock on the mantlepiece began to chime - where had the last few hours gone? – Luna dropped the silver forks she’d been hanging with a clatter. She grabbed his hand and, to Neville’s utter astonishment, dragged him out into the snow.

It was bitterly cold, but the warmth of her hand in his was enough to stop him noticing it. She smiled up at him - beautific - and then let go of his hand, springing away to spin round in the flurry of flakes cascading from the sky, arms outstretched.

“Merry Christmas, Neville,” she said, in between catching snowflakes on hre tongue, and he nodded. For reasons even more mysterious than those behind his invitation, his throat seemed to have closed up.

Luna didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, she turned to face him, grey eyes reflecting the moonlight, and, almost instinctively, Neville drew her to him. She felt terribly fragile in his arms, as insubstantial, as the snowflakes shimmering on her eyelashes.

It wasn’t Luna he was holding. It couldn’t be. It was a ghost girl, an echo of Luna, because she was far too perfect, too wondrous, for the likes of Neville Longbottom.

When you dream about something – someone – for so long, it’s easier to keep them a dream than risk losing it all. The slimmest shadow of reality was better than nothing at all.

However, when her pale face turned to his, and her lips moved to meet his own, she suddenly felt very real indeed.

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.

"Sometimes the appropriate response to reality is to go insane." - Philip K. Dick

A lot of people seem to think I'm insane. I'm not. Not even slightly. Daddy says we're just open-minded, and there's nothing wrong with that. I like to think that I see things other people are too scared to see and too scared to believe in.

I think that Mr Dick has gone things the wrong way round. He seems to think that to escape reality you have to go insane, but the thing with reality is that it will rarely let you get away with that. If anything, reality forces you to become sane.

You have to cope with all the terrible things, and if you're lost in your own little world you just can't do that.

The war changed me, and it changed the way I saw the world. I didn't really have much of a choice. So many terrible things happened, it would be naive to think I would be the same person at the end as I was at the beginning.

I think it made me a little saner, and a little more closed-minded, which is rather sad. I don't look at Daddy the same way anymore, and I don't believe in everything he says. I don't look at the world and see just the good things - I can't help but notice the bad.

I'd rather be insane, really. But you can't have everything.

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?

You've woken up as the opposite sex this morning...

Now what?

Hogwarts was the sort of place were accidents happen all the time. You can't expect to keep hundreds of young, untrained witches and wizards in one spot without at least slight mishaps.

This particular accident, however, was a little bit different.

***

It happened on an apparently ordinary January day in her sixth year. She woke up slowly, enjoying the feeling of being safely enfolded in the canopy of her bed. It wasn't until the other girls in her dormitory also began to wake up, and the screaming started, that Luna realised something was amiss.

Her voice, when she asked what was wrong, was a lot deeper than she remembered. And her hair was shorter, too - there was none of the familiar weight on her shoulders.

When she scratched her cheek, she realised that there was even a faint trace of stubble on it.

Not feeling particularly worried - more intrigued - Luna made her away across the dormitory, past her frightened roommates, and studied herself in the mirror.

The figure looking back at her, although dressed with some difficulty in Luna's patched and frayed night gown, was definitely not the one she remembered. It was taller, more muscular (although not that muscular), and, most importantly, male.

"Oh," said Luna. One of the girls gathered behind her almost fainted.

***

Luna sat patiently in Dumbledore's office, her legs over the edge of the armchair she was seated in.

She'd met the trio in the Great Hall on the way to breakfast. Luna had a Charms lesson at 9 o'clock, and didn't think that changing gender was any excuse to miss it. Harry, however, had persuaded her to go and see Professor Dumbledore first.

He'd kept a remarkably straight face when he told her this (Ron hadn't been so polite), so Luna had been all too happy to obey.

Professor Dumbledore, when he'd found her waiting patiently by the gargoyle for him to return from breakfast, had kept a straight face too, though he'd been rather sat to inform her that it might take a while to locate a counter spell.

She's still wanted to go to her lessons, but the Professor had insisted Luna remained here, for some reason.

Humming to herself while she waited, Luna decided she was rather glad she wouldn't have to get used to this new anatomy. She didn't really like it very much. Later, she'd have to ask Harry, Ron and Neville how they coped.

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 recurring dream you've had.

I'm walking through the Forbidden Forest. It's a surprisingly warm Autumn afternoon and the leaves are crunching underneath my feet as I walk. Weak shafts of sunlight are filtering through the canopy of leaves above my head. I've never been anywhere so quiet or so peaceful.

There is a Thestral standing close by, half hidden in the shadows. I can see its bright white eyes glinting in the darkness. Anyone else would probably be scared of it, but it doesn't look frightening. It looks lonely. A bit like me, really. It's separate from its herd, just like I'm separate from everyone else in Hogwarts.

I think it understands me. It steps daintily across the ground towards, stretching out its dragon-like neck so I can stroke it. Then, before I can touch him, he starts to nudge me. Gently at first, then harder. Its skeletal nose pushes into my shoulder, and I take a step backwards despite myself.

Slowly, but steadily, the Thestral pushes me further and further backwards, right out of the forest and into the sunshine. It's almost painfully bright after the darkness inside.

Once it has guided me across the grounds towards the lake, the Thestral stops nudging me. It watches me for a moment, just the tiniest fraction of a second, before disappearing back into the Forbidden Forest as quickly as it appeared.

I stand on the shore of the lake feeling very confused, and listening to the soft waves which are being whipped up by the cool autumnal breeze. I'm still looking towards the forest, and my Thestral. I don't want it to leave. It's the closest thing I have to a friend here at Hogwarts.

There are footsteps nearby, and I want to run. I want to find that peace again, to be quiet and alone and at home like I was in the forest.

I know I can't, though, so I turn and face them.

At first I don't realise who it is. I could have been looking at myself, and its been such a long time since I last saw her. My mother smiles at me, and reaches out a hand to take mine in hers. Her palm is cool to the touch, and she doesn't seem to be able to speak, but I don't mind, because she's my mother and, somehow, she's here.

We walk along the edge of the lake in silence, watching the giant squid splashing about and the Thestrals flying about above the treetops. I recognise the one I saw earlier. He's joined the herd at last. Its nice to know that neither of us are alone, even if its just for the night.

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.

Write two letters: One to someone you hurt and the other to someone who hurt you.

I don't think I've hurt anyone. At least I hope I haven't. If I have hurt you, I'm very sorry. It was an accident. I've always tried to be a nice person, even when people aren't nice to me. My mother taught me that. She taught me a lot of things. Just because people don't believe in Nargles she'd say, doesn't mean they are a bad person. Some people are just more closed-minded than others. Such a shame

It makes me sad to say that the other letter is much easier. There are a lot of people I could write it to.

I could write it to Bellatrix Lestrange, who kept me locked up in a cellar for months, and treated me like an animal. She laughed at me, and she called me Loony. I didn't mind the name too much when it was people back at Hogwarts were saying it, but Bellatrix said it like it was something dirty.

I suppose I could write it to You-Know-Who (I'm not as brave as Harry, I still can't say his name). It was all his fault, all the bad things that happened. He hurt my friends, and tried to destory my school. He didn't succeed, but he tried, and that's bad enough.

But, do you know what? I'm not going to write either letter. Because that would imply that I hated them. My mother always said hate was a terrible thing. I don't want to hate anyone, even if they deserve it. It might sound a bit like blowing my own trumpet, but I do like to think I'm better than that.