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Harry blinked hard, certain his exhaustion was causing hallucinations. But when he opened his eyes again, she remained—Loretta Emrys, sister of Merlin himself, standing before him in the Slytherin dormitory. The soft golden radiance emanating from her illuminated the green hangings of his four-poster, yet somehow didn't wake his slumbering roommates.
"This can't be real," Harry whispered, reaching for his glasses. "You're from my dreams."
Loretta smiled, the expression transforming her already striking features into something almost painful to behold. She stood tall and regal in flowing silver-blue robes that accentuated her hourglass figure. Her silver hair fell in glossy waves past her shoulders, framing a face of such symmetrical perfection it seemed almost inhuman.
"Thou art not dreaming, Harry Potter, though neither am I truly here." Her voice carried the melodic cadence of centuries past. "What thou perceivest is but a projection—a shadow cast across the veil between my realm and thine."
Harry sat up straighter, his mind racing. "How is this possible? I thought you could only reach me while I slept."
"The boundaries grow thinner as thy perception grows keener." Loretta moved closer. "Thy power waxes, young serpent-friend. Thou hast begun to see beyond the veil that blinds ordinary eyes. Thou saw the Golden Eyes."
The mention of seeing triggered a memory that had puzzled Harry for months. "The Golden Eyes," he said suddenly. "At the Tonks' home, two months ago. I saw them watching me from the garden, but when I blinked, there was nothing there."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Loretta's ethereal features. "Indeed. Thou hast glimpsed that which typically remains hidden from mortal sight. 'Tis what the ancients called Insight—the ability to perceive the layers of reality that most cannot."
"Like Luna and her ghost cords?" Harry asked, thinking of his strange new friend who could see connections others missed.
"The Lovegood child possesses a natural gift, inherited through blood. Thine own Insight awakens differently—through exposure to ancient magics and thy bond with creatures of power." Her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Itisa's empty cushion.
Harry frowned. "What does this mean for me?"
"It means danger and opportunity in equal measure." Loretta's expression grew serious, the glow around her intensifying. "Listen well, Harry Potter. Within these walls dwell two pieces of a fractured soul that must be destroyed—one hidden in plain sight, one closer than thou might suspect."
"What souls? Whose? I don't understand."
"Thou needst not understand all at present." Loretta reached out, her fingers hovering just above Harry's cheek without quite touching. "Continue to use thy Serpent Eyes, for they shall reveal what others cannot see. But be wary—not all visions bring comfort."
Harry wanted to ask more—to demand clearer answers about these soul fragments and what they meant—but found himself unable to form the questions as Loretta leaned forward. Her lips brushed his cheek in the ghost of a kiss, leaving a curious sensation like ice and fire mingled together.
"Thou hast done well thus far," she whispered. "But greater challenges lie ahead."
Before Harry could respond, her form dissolved into motes of golden light that scattered like dust in a sunbeam, leaving him alone in the darkened dormitory with only the soft snores of his roommates for company.
He touched his cheek where her kiss had left that strange tingling sensation. Soul fragments? The words tumbled through his mind, refusing to assemble into coherent meaning.
"Just when I thought this year might be somewhat normal," Harry muttered to himself, lying back down and staring at the canopy above. Of course, when has anything in my life ever been normal?
Sleep eluded him for hours as he replayed Loretta's words, wondering what pieces of a soul could possibly be hidden within Hogwarts—and why he, of all people, needed to be the one to find them.
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A week had passed since Loretta's mysterious appearance, and Harry still hadn't made sense of her cryptic warnings. He pushed the thoughts aside as he settled at the Slytherin table for breakfast, wedged between Sebastian and Anna while Daphne and Astoria sat across from them.
The enchanted ceiling above displayed a clear autumn sky, bathing the Great Hall in warm morning light. Astoria, bright-eyed despite the early hour, was attempting to coax Itisa with morsels of bacon.
"Here, kitty!" Astoria cooed, holding out a morsel of chicken. "I saved the best part just for you."
Itisa, lounging regally on the hearthrug, flicked her tail once before deigning to pad over and accept the offering. The disguised Nundu delicately took the chicken from Astoria's fingers, careful not to make contact with the girl's skin.
"She likes me!" Astoria declared triumphantly.
"She likes your chicken," Harry corrected with a half-smile. "There's a difference."
Astoria reached to scratch behind Itisa's ears, but the creature glided smoothly out of range, returning to her spot near Harrz with her prize.
"Why won't she let me pet her?" Astoria pouted, her mismatched eyes—one blue, one amber—reflecting her disappointment.
Harry shrugged, not wanting to explain that Nundus generally considered humans beneath their notice at best and prey at worst. "She's particular about who touches her."
"Cats choose their people, not the other way around," Sebastian offered diplomatically.
The conversation drifted to the upcoming Quidditch season as Marcus Flint's voice carried across the Main Hall, boasting about the team's new advantage. The Slytherin Quidditch Captain was holding court with a cluster of younger students, Draco Malfoy prominent among them.
"Father says the Nimbus 2001s should arrive by next week," Draco drawled, loud enough to ensure most of the Slytherins could hear them. "He says they're the fastest brooms on the market—professional quality. The other teams won't stand a chance."
"Must be nice," Anna murmured, "having daddy's gold solve all your problems."
Harry nodded, a familiar irritation kindling in his chest. He enjoyed flying—the freedom and exhilaration of it—but the politics surrounding Quidditch often left a sour taste in his mouth. "It's not exactly sporting, is it? One team getting superior equipment just because a parent has deep pockets."
"Welcome to life, Potter," Daphne remarked. "Those with resources use them to their advantage."
"Maybe, but Quidditch should be about skill, not who has the fanciest broom." Harry leaned forward, warming to his topic. "If it were up to me, both teams would use identical brooms. Keep everything standardized so it's actually about the players' abilities."
Sebastian arched an eyebrow. "Radical thinking for a Slytherin. Most of us prefer to use every advantage available."
"It's not just the brooms," Harry continued, ignoring the jibe. "The whole scoring system is bizarre. Why should catching a tiny golden ball be worth fifteen goals? One lucky grab can negate an entire match of superior play."
"So what would you do, oh wise reformer?" Daphne asked, a hint of amusement in her usually cool voice.
"Make the Snitch end the game, but not give any points, or at most, just ten or twenty points. That way, the Chasers' work actually matters." Harry realized he'd been gesturing emphatically and let his hands drop, slightly embarrassed by his own intensity. It's just a game, he reminded himself.
"Granger's at it again," Anna interrupted, nodding toward the Gryffindor Table.
Harry's attention drifted to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was moving from student to student with a clipboard and quill. Several people were signing what appeared to be a petition.
"What's Granger up to?" Daphne asked, following Harry's gaze.
Astoria perked up. "Oh, that's the petition I helped her with yesterday! It's brilliant—we're collecting signatures to request Professor Lockhart's teaching methods be reviewed by the Board of Governors."
Four pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at the youngest Greengrass.
"You helped Hermione Granger?" Daphne asked, her perfectly shaped eyebrows rising toward her hairline.
Astoria shrugged, unperturbed. "She has excellent organization skills, and I know a charm that makes official documents more compelling when presented to authority figures. Grandfather taught it to me last summer."
"You used family magic on a school petition?" Sebastian asked, looking both impressed and scandalized.
"It's not like I gave away state secrets," Astoria replied, rolling her eyes. "Besides, Lockhart is worse than useless. Three days ago he tried to demonstrate a Shield Charm and somehow managed to vanish all the bones in his left hand."
"And then claimed it was an intentional demonstration of what happens when the spell is cast incorrectly," Anna added with a grimace. "He had to go to Madam Pomfrey during lunch."
"At least Quirrell taught us something, even if he was hosting You-Know-Who on the back of his head," Sebastian said dryly. He glanced at Harry with sudden inspiration. "You know, Potter would make a better Defense teacher than Lockhart, and he's only twelve."
Harry felt his cheeks warm. "I just like to read a lot. I'm sure everyone else can do as well as me. It's not—"
"Helping Mudbloods now, Astoria?" Draco's drawling voice interrupted as he paused behind them, still clutching his new broomstick. "What would Grandfather Greengrass say about his precious pureblood granddaughter becoming a blood traitor?"
The temperature around them seemed to drop several degrees. Harry saw Daphne's hand move so quickly that it blurred, disappearing beneath the table. Draco's smug expression faltered as he felt the subtle pressure of a wand tip pressing against a particularly sensitive area of his anatomy.
"Threaten my sister again, Malfoy," Daphne said, her voice as cold and clear as ice breaking, "and I'll demonstrate exactly why the Greengrass family has survived eight centuries of pureblood politics." Her blue eyes blazed with such intensity that even Harry felt a chill run down his spine, even Itisa seemed impressed by it. "You'll be less of a man than you already are—not that that's saying much."
Draco's pale face blanched further. He opened his mouth, closed it, then backed away without another word, nearly tripping over his expensive new broom in his haste.
"You shouldn't have done that," Astoria whispered, though her eyes shone with admiration for her older sister.
Daphne serenely returned to her tea. "Perhaps not. But I find that some lessons are best taught through practical demonstration rather than theory." She cast a meaningful glance toward the departing Lockhart, who was showing off his dazzling smile to a group of fifth-year girls. "Speaking of which, how many signatures has Granger collected?"
"Thirty-seven so far," Astoria replied, her composure quickly returning. "But we need at least two hundred and fifty to force a formal review."
Harry met Sebastian's eyes across the table, a silent message passing between them: Daphne Greengrass was not someone to cross lightly. Neither, apparently, was her first-year sister.
"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Harry told Daphne with newfound respect.
"You are not one to threaten my sister, Potter," she replied matter-of-factly. "Though your tact could use some refinement in other areas."
Harry grinned. "Like questioning sacred Quidditch rules?"
"Precisely." Daphne's lips curved in a small smile.
One Week Later
The abandoned classroom on the fourth floor had become Harry's unofficial workshop. Professor Flitwick had granted him permission to use the space after hours, impressed by the young Slytherin's dedication to magical crafting. Tonight marked the fifth consecutive evening Harry had spent hunched over the weathered oak workbench, surrounded by an array of specialized tools and materials.
The crafting kit from Andromeda Tonks gleamed in the candlelight—twelve silver implements nestled in dragon-hide pouches, each designed for a specific aspect of magical artifice. The curved etching stylus with its diamond tip could carve runes into the hardest metals without dulling. The phoenix-feather brush applied binding agents with precision that no ordinary paintbrush could match. The crystal magnifying lens revealed magical currents invisible to the naked eye, swirling patterns across the surface of enchanted objects.
Harry wiped sweat from his brow, leaving a smudge of silver dust across his forehead. The clock on the wall showed half past midnight—he'd been working for nearly six hours straight.
"This should be working," he muttered, examining the talisman prototype under the crystal lens. The spiral configuration of Norse runes glowed faintly, but the Etruscan power-enhancement sigil he'd added remained stubbornly dark. "The theory is sound. The calculations are correct. So why won't it activate?"
He set down the lens and flexed his fingers, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. A thin cut ran across his palm where the silver wire had slipped earlier, and small burns dotted his fingertips from channeling too much magic through the conductive tools. Creating magical artifacts always extracted a physical price—a lesson Andromeda had warned him about when gifting him the advanced kit.
"Magic requires sacrifice," she'd said. "The greater the creation, the greater the cost."
At the time, Harry had nodded seriously while privately thinking she was being a bit dramatic. Now, with exhaustion settling into his bones like lead weights and his magical reserves depleted to uncomfortable levels, he grudgingly admitted she had a point.
The Italian Ministry's request for an enhanced talisman had seemed straightforward at first. They needed protection against ancient curses found in archaeological sites—tombs and ruins dating back to pre-Roman civilizations. Harry's existing design could absorb standard hexes and shield against most dark magic, but the Etruscan curses operated on fundamentally different magical principles.
He reached for his research notes, flipping through pages of calculations and diagrams until he found his original sketch. The elegant spiral pattern had come to him in a dream. The design should channel power more efficiently than his triangular configuration, allowing the talisman to absorb and neutralize even exotic curses.
"The theory is sound," he repeated stubbornly.
Harry lifted the silver base and examined it from different angles. The metal caught the candlelight, reflecting it in a way that highlighted the intricate rune work. Perhaps the problem wasn't the design but the material itself? Standard silver worked well enough for conventional magic, but these ancient Etruscan curses might require something more specialized.
A wild thought struck him as he glanced toward Itisa, who was curled on a cushion in the corner, watching him work with unblinking golden eyes.
Nundu parts are incredibly powerful magical ingredients. The thought formed before he could stop it. Maybe a whisker, or even a single claw...
He immediately felt disgusted with himself. Itisa wasn't some magical creature to be harvested for components. She was his companion, his friend. Using her body parts for his experiments would be no better than treating her like the dangerous beast the Ministry classified her as, rather than the intelligent being she truly was. She had already given blood...again to Anna to help her with her sickness two days ago, with Sebastian feeling even worse than before.
His friend appreciated Harry's help, but he wanted to help his sister by himself; he wanted her to be permanently healthy. The Aqualis Crystal wasn't activated, and Itisa's blood could only do so much.
"Sorry," he murmured toward her, though he hadn't spoken the thought aloud. Sometimes he felt she could read his mind anyway.
Itisa blinked slowly in response, then yawned, revealing impressive fangs that could tear through dragon hide as easily as parchment.
Harry returned to his workbench, pushing away thoughts of Nundu-enhanced talismans. There had to be another solution—one that didn't involve exploiting his friend.
Three hours and four failed attempts later, Harry's frustration reached its peak. The latest prototype actually caught fire when he tried to activate it, sending a shower of blue sparks across the workbench and singing his eyebrows.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, dousing the flames with a quick Aguamenti charm. "What am I missing?"
He slumped back in his chair, running his hands through his perpetually messy hair. The deadline loomed less than six months away—the Italian Ministry expected delivery by the end of the school year, and Harry had promised Minister Vittoria Lombardi a functioning prototype by Christmas.
The elegant amber-eyed Italian Minister had been impressed by him, treating him as an equal rather than a child. The memory of her respect made his current failure all the more frustrating. He didn't want to disappoint her, or lose the opportunity to visit Venice's magical academy.
"Maybe I'm overthinking this," he mused aloud. "Etruscan magic flows like water... what if I'm trying to force it into channels that are too rigid?"
He reached for a fresh piece of silver, then hesitated. His hands were trembling from magical exhaustion, and black spots danced at the edges of his vision—warning signs that he was pushing himself too hard.
Andromeda had lectured him about this too: "Magical depletion can cause permanent damage in young wizards. Your core is still developing, Harry and it won't fully develop until you are seventeen. You must respect its limits."
With great reluctance, Harry began packing away his tools. The phoenix-feather brush went into its special case first, followed by the etching stylus and the set of precision magical conductors. He carefully wrapped the failed prototypes in silk cloth—even failures contained valuable lessons.
"Come on, Itisa," he said, shoulders slumping with disappointment. "We're done for tonight."
The disguised Nundu stretched languidly before padding over to him. She nudged his hand with her head.
As they slipped out of the workshop and into the darkened corridor, Harry found himself reflecting on his lack of progress. Despite his reputation as a prodigy in talisman crafting, this enhanced design was proving maddeningly elusive. The magical theory behind it stretched the limits of his understanding, and the physical crafting demanded precision he was still developing.
For all his accomplishments, he remained acutely aware of how much he still had to learn. The thought was both humbling and oddly comforting—after all, if he already knew everything at twelve, what would be left to discover?
"Sometimes you need to break something apart before you can build it better," he murmured to himself.
The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily silent as Harry made his way back toward the Slytherin common room. The castle took on a different character after midnight—the portraits dozed in their frames, suits of armor seemed to shift slightly when not directly observed, and shadows stretched into peculiar shapes cast by the intermittent torchlight.
Exhaustion weighed on Harry like a sodden cloak. His hands still stung from the small cuts earned during his talisman work, and his magical reserves felt dangerously depleted. All he wanted was the comfort of his four-poster bed and a few hours of dreamless sleep before tomorrow's classes.
As he rounded the corner near the Transfiguration corridor, a flash of silvery-blonde hair caught his attention. A small figure drifted down the hallway ahead, moving with an odd, gliding gait that seemed almost choreographed. Luna Lovegood, barefoot and dressed in what appeared to be a nightgown beneath her open school robes, was trailing her fingers along the wall as she walked, occasionally stopping to peer behind tapestries or into alcoves.
Harry's first instinct was to call out to her, but something about her dreamlike movements gave him pause. Was she sleepwalking? He'd heard it could be dangerous to wake sleepwalkers suddenly.
He followed at a distance, watching as Luna moved with surprising purpose for someone who appeared to be in a trance. She paused at a suit of armor, reached up on tiptoes to look inside the helmet, then continued on with a small sigh.
"I know you're there, Harry Potter," she said suddenly, without turning around. "Your footsteps sound like raindrops on a tin roof. Very distinctive."
Harry stepped forward, abandoning stealth. "Luna? What are you doing wandering around after curfew? If Filch catches you—"
"Mr. Filch is currently investigating a strange noise on the sixth floor," Luna replied serenely, finally turning to face him. Her protuberant silver eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. "Peeves knocked over a bust of Paracelsus precisely four minutes ago."
"How could you possibly know that?"
Luna tilted her head, radish earrings swinging. "I asked Peeves to do it, of course. He's quite accommodating if you compliment his chapel of chaos properly." She then noticed his hands. "You look like you've been wrestling with Wrackspurts. They cause brain fog, you know."
"I've been working on my talismans, actually. But never mind that—why are you wandering around barefoot at one in the morning?"
"I'm looking for my things," Luna explained, resuming her search by peering behind a portrait of a sleeping medieval healer who snorted irritably in his frame. "The Nargles have hidden them again."
"Nargles?" Harry repeated. He was sure he had heard that term during the train ride to Hogwarts.
"Oh yes. Mischievous little creatures. They're notorious thieves, especially attracted to personal belongings with sentimental value." She said this matter-of-factly, that reminded him a little of Hermione. "They took my favorite blue socks—the ones with the silver stars—and my mother's bronze inkwell. I'd really like those back."
As Luna continued her methodical search, Harry noticed something that made his stomach clench. Her feet weren't just bare—they were reddened from the cold stone floors, and small scratches marked her ankles and shins.
"Luna," he said carefully, "are you sure it was... Nargles... that took your things?"
She paused, a shadow crossing her usually serene expression. "Well, I suppose technically it might have been my housemates. But saying it's Nargles makes it easier, don't you think? Less personal that way."
The casual admission hit Harry like a physical blow. "Your housemates are stealing your things and hiding them?"
"Only some of them," Luna clarified, as though this made it better. "Mostly the third-year girls. They think I'm odd." She smiled faintly. "I suppose I am, by most standards."
Harry felt a surge of indignation on her behalf. "That's not right, Luna. You should tell Professor Flitwick."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to trouble him. Besides, finding things can be its own adventure." She gestured around the corridor. "I've discovered seventeen secret nooks and three hidden passages just by looking for my missing hairbrushes."
Before Harry could argue further, a soft padding sound announced Itisa's arrival. The disguised Nundu trotted toward them with something dangling from her mouth—a pair of blue socks decorated with silver stars.
Luna's face lit up with genuine delight. "Oh! Hello, beautiful one. Have you been helping me?"
Itisa dropped the socks at Luna's feet, regarding her with those intelligent golden eyes that seemed to evaluate everything they saw.
"Thank you," Luna said solemnly, bending to retrieve her socks. She spoke directly to Itisa, not as one might address a pet, but as an equal. "These are my favorites, you know. Mother enchanted them to keep my feet exactly the right temperature, no matter the weather."
Harry watched this exchange with fascination. Most people either fawned over Itisa or maintained a respectful distance, sensing something dangerous beneath her feline disguise. Luna did neither—she simply acknowledged Itisa's intelligence without making a fuss about it.
"She seems to like you," Harry observed.
"We understand each other," Luna replied, pulling on her recovered socks. "Creatures who are misjudged often do."
Itisa made a rumbling sound that might have been agreement, then turned and padded a few steps down the corridor before looking back expectantly.
"She's quite remarkable," Luna said as they walked after her. "Nundus are supposed to be solitary creatures, yet she's bonded so completely with you. I think it's because you both know what it's like to be misunderstood."
Harry shifted uncomfortably at the casual reference to Itisa's true nature in the open corridor. "We should find the rest of your things," he said, changing the subject. "Itisa seems to have a knack for locating hidden objects."
Luna beamed. "What a splendid idea! Shall we make it a proper expedition?" Without waiting for an answer, she pulled her wand from behind her ear and whispered, "Lumos," creating a soft glow that illuminated her serene features.
For the next hour, they searched the castle's corridors and alcoves, with Itisa leading the way like some magical bloodhound. The disguised Nundu uncovered Luna's shoes behind a tapestry on the second floor, her quill wedged atop a bookshelf in an unused classroom, and finally, her butterbeer cork necklace hanging from the frame of a sleeping portrait.
As Luna fastened the peculiar necklace around her throat, her expression softened with evident relief. "Mother always said it would protect me from negative energies. I've missed wearing it."
Harry watched her fingers caress the corks with such tenderness that he hesitated to ask the question forming in his mind. Instead, he said, "I promise this won't happen again, Luna. I'll make sure of it."
She regarded him with those large, silvery eyes that seemed to see more than they should. "That's very kind, but unnecessary. They'll grow tired of it eventually."
"It shouldn't happen at all," Harry insisted. "No one deserves to have their belongings taken, especially something so..." He trailed off, gesturing to the necklace.
"Precious," Luna finished for him. "Yes, it is. Though I suspect the Ravenclaws who took it merely thought it was silly."
"Do you do this often?" he asked. "Searching at night?"
"It's quieter then," Luna replied. "And the castle feels more honest after dark, don't you think? Like it's not trying so hard to pretend it's just a school."
Harry considered this. "I never thought about it that way, but you're right. It feels... older at night. More magical."
"That's because we're seeing it as it truly is, without all the people imposing their expectations on it." Luna glanced up as the ghost of a young woman floated across their path, seemingly unaware of their presence.
Harry followed Luna's gaze and noticed her eyes tracking something invisible extending from the ghost. "You're seeing one of those cords again, aren't you?"
Luna nodded. "This one connects to the Astronomy Tower. I believe she fell—or perhaps jumped—from there. The cords always connect ghosts to the most significant moment of their ending."
"How does it work?" Harry asked, genuinely curious despite his fatigue. "Why can some people become ghosts while others don't?"
Luna's expression grew uncharacteristically serious. "Most think it's just a choice—whether to go on or stay behind. But it's more complicated. Ghosts are caught between worlds because they've bound themselves too tightly to physical places or unfinished business. The cords I see are those bindings made visible."
She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. "Did you know that ghosts aren't really the people they once were? They're more like... echoes, trapped in endless repetition. The real person—their soul—has moved on. What remains is just a magical impression, repeating the same patterns forever."
Harry frowned. "But they can talk to us, learn new things—"
"They seem to," Luna corrected. "But have you noticed how they always return to the same stories, the same complaints? The Bloody Baron has been regretting the same murder for centuries. Nearly Headless Nick complains about his botched beheading every Halloween. They don't truly change or grow." She shook her head sadly. "Coming back as a ghost is the worst decision one could make in life or death."
Something in her tone made Harry hesitate to press further. Instead, he asked, "How did you discover you could see these connections?"
Luna's solemn mood vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Oh, I've always seen them. Mother said it's a gift that runs in our family. She could see them too." A wistful smile played across her lips. "She said they're like the visible strands in the great tapestry of magic that connects everything."
There was something in her voice that made Harry want to ask more, but an indefinable instinct told him not to press. Instead.
"We should get you back to Ravenclaw Tower," he said. "It's getting late, and we both have classes tomorrow."
Luna smiled, the mysterious melancholy vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "This was nice, having someone to search with. Like having friends."
"We are friends, Luna." Harry said without hesitation, and Itisa meowed loudly as if agreeing with him.
Her silver eyes widened slightly. "Are we? That's lovely. I've never had a proper friend before."
As they resumed their walk toward Ravenclaw Tower to ensure Luna returned safely, Harry found himself warming to her peculiar perspective. There was something refreshing about her complete disregard for conventional thinking—as though the opinions of others were interesting curiosities rather than judgments to be feared.
"You're different from anyone I've ever met, Luna Lovegood," Harry said as they reached the base of the spiral staircase leading to Ravenclaw Tower.
"Thank you," she replied sincerely. "Most people don't mean that as a compliment, but I can tell you do." She bent down to gently stroke Itisa between the ears—a liberty the disguised Nundu allowed. "If I lose my things again. I am sure your cat will find them before I do."
Itisa, walking ahead of them, flicked her tail as if acknowledging the compliment.
"She's not exactly a cat," Harry said.
"No," Luna agreed with perfect serenity. "She's much more interesting than that. But secrets are like shoes—they only fit properly when chosen by their owner."
Harry couldn't help but smile at the peculiar analogy. "That's one way of putting it."
"Goodnight, Harry Potter. Mind the shadow-walkers on your way back to the dungeons."
Before Harry could ask what shadow-walkers were, Luna had already begun ascending the stairs, her recovered shoes making soft tapping sounds against the stone.
"I'll make sure they leave you alone," Harry called after her, his voice echoing in the stairwell. "I promise."
Luna paused to look back, her expression curious rather than grateful. "But then how would I practice my tracking skills?" she asked with perfect seriousness. Then she disappeared around the curve of the staircase, leaving Harry standing in the torchlit corridor with Itisa at his side.
"Tracking skills," he muttered, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and concern. "That's not the point."
As he turned to make his way back to the Slytherin dormitory, Harry made a mental note to have a word with some of the older Ravenclaws. Luna might view the theft of her possessions as an odd sort of game, but Harry recognized bullying when he saw it—and he had no intention of letting it continue, regardless of her peculiar outlook on the situation.
Harry's staff on his room glittered once more, and Harry was sure he heard a hiss coming from the walls.
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