Luna(tic) (Marauders Era)

47. Grief Like a Rosary

Margaret Everleigh was in the garden when Albus Dumbledore knocked on her door for the second time in her life and she did not at all appreciate the intrusion. It wasn't that he wasn't polite. He was. Plenty so. He knocked, he waited, he greeted her kindly and asked her how she was. How Luna was. If Luna was home. And he seemed genuinely interested in the responses. Genuinely pleased to hear that Margaret was well. That Luna was well. That she was out with friends.

The problem was that no matter how polite he was, Albus Dumbledore set Margaret on edge and it had taken less than half of their first conversation for Margaret to hope they never had to speak again. And yet there he was, sitting on her worn down couch, sipping watery tea from a slightly chipped mug Margaret had never bothered trying to repair as Margaret herself clutched her own cracked cup and tried to look less tense than she felt as she waited for the answer to a question it felt rude to ask outright.

Of course, ten minutes and a very boring exchange about the weather later, and Margaret was wound tightly enough not to particularly care about sounding rude and at last she sighed, steeled herself and said, "May I ask, professor, why you are here?"

The old man smiled, the expression making a sort of twinkle enter his eyes that Margaret wasn't sure she trusted. "Call me Albus, please," he said with a little tip of his head.

Margaret didn't answer. Didn't acknowledge. She just waited. Because she wanted to know what this was for. Why the headmaster of her daughter's school and one of the most influential men in the magical world was sitting in her living room. She wanted to know what defense she needed to prepare. What lies she needed to ready. She wanted to know how she was going to have to protect Luna this time. She wanted to know what had happened. And what it would cost to keep up the quiet pretenses she and her daughter had spent so long crafting.

And maybe Dumbledore saw some of that, a whisper of it in Margaret's expression or a hint in the hands clutching her tea. Because his answer wasn't immediate. And it came with a dulling of that twinkle in his eyes, a seriousness entering his expression that did nothing to ease Margaret's nerves.

"I am here," he said after a moment, "because, as she may have told you, Luna was admitted to the hospital wing during the course of this past term."

Margaret blinked, felt something deep down go the kind of still usually found only in prey as a predator circles overhead.

Hospital Wing. It wasn't an answer to what had happened, really, but it was close. It told Margaret enough. She knew what happened when Luna ended up in front of doctors. Knew the particular way her daughter panicked. And why. Knew that this conversation was all too likely to trend towards the familiar promises of of course she would make sure her daughter got help. And yes, she was aware Luna was a little odd but they were managing it. And no, she didn't want the school's assistance on this because she wanted Luna to keep as many normal aspects of her life as possible.

It was a careful dance. A sidestepping of expectations. A setting of boundaries without ever seeming to be the one drawing lines. It was a fragile balance. One Margaret had learned and learned well. It came with the territory. With having a daughter everyone had always somehow seen as half mad.

It was, Margaret knew, this experience that kept her from pausing. From flinching. From doing anything that might give her away. It was the experience that had her keeping her frown to a soft, concerned thing. A natural, motherly response to a visit to the hospital wing. No hint of hidden agendas or suspicions. No overreactions. Just normal. Always normal.

"She didn't mention it," Margaret said slowly. "Was... was it anything major?"

Dumbledore smiled softly, reassuringly, and yet Margaret couldn't help but think there had been a moment of hesitation. A blip of something like confusion and she wondered if, in nearly two years without having to worry about passing off people's unwanted comments, Margaret might have gotten out of practice in her answers.