Out of Time

Chapter 46

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here's no great matter

- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

The rapid-fire barrage is strangely soothing, as is seeing another person's face and hearing another voice. Their extensive isolation has become part of the background tapestry, so rote as to be unnoticeable. Not now. Luna's vibrance and energy is like finding cool water in an endless desert. Hermione soaks it in like a parched sponge, drawing revitalised life from it into every cell of her body.

She leads them into a side room off the entrance, brightly lit and overstuffed with haphazard furniture in odd places - as if someone cleaned out the attic and shoved everything down to the first floor. But there's a triangular table by the window that she slides out to free the third side, sorting out five chairs for three table sides. Mr Lovegood hasn't joined them yet, but Hermione expects he will soon enough.

"You first," Harry insists, visibly torn between soaking up Luna's enthusiasm and feeling overwhelmed by it. Hermione can relate. She's rabid for news of Hogwarts.

"Me?" Luna looks startled, as if surprised to find herself part of the equation. She even points at her own chest with one index finger, the nail painted blue with little yellow stars on it. The remainder of her unfinished plait falls loose, the strands draping across her skinny shoulders.

Harry nods, reaching for one of the tea cups that Mr Lovegood sets on the table. "Tell us about Hogwarts."

Luna's blue eyes track her father as he retreats back to the kitchen to fetch some biscuits. "Well, Draco can tell you a good bit, I'm sure."

Draco chokes on the tea, eyes watering, but really, Hermione should have foreseen this. Luna has attended Hogwarts with them since their second year. Of course she'd still recognise the shape of his face, if nothing else.

She's still mildly concerned, and she knows Draco is. "Does your father -"

Luna shakes her head. "I doubt he knows it's you, but it's not about appearance, really. It's about the way he looks at you, Hermione."

She smiles beatifically at Hermione, who can't think of an adequate response to this. Draco, casting furtive looks to where Mr Lovegood putters in and out, slouches down in his chair.

"Er, either way," Harry starts over, looking around the cluttered room with open interest. It is overstuffed and cluttered, yes, but odds and ends seem placed with distinct purpose. Nothing in this room feels like clutter. "What about since Christmas?"

Luna inhales deeply, as if she's in an aromatherapy sauna. "It's much the same as it was. The Carrows are tightening the doors, though. They let Pureblood students go home for holidays, but no one else. I'm lucky here. And Ginny's at home this weekend."

Harry brightens at this, even though they can't possibly stop by for a happy little chat. On the far opposite end of the spectrum, Hermione can't help tensing, wondering if Luna will say anything about Ron. She doesn't.

"But you already know Defence is just 'Dark Arts,' now. They're using Crabbe and Goyle in your place, Draco."

Now Draco visibly tenses, drawing Hermione's attention over from Luna or the oddities surrounding them in the room. His knuckles turn white under the table.

"His place for what?"

Draco's eyes squeeze shut as if he's in pain, bracing for a blow.

"For punishments, of course. Someone has to do it."