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Summary: "She has Potential her mother had once whispered – those silver eyes, identical to her own, solemn and impossibly deep with pain and secrets; secrets Luna knew never to ask about."

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > GeneralsmolderFR181835,349108520,60420 May 1313 Oct 14No

Chapter Two: Part One

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling & BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

Luna’s Second Year: In Which Men are Dogs – But Only in the Most Literal Sense

Part One

Luna can’t say it was an easy summer – that word doesn’t quite fit the mood that surrounded everything. There was no ease.

Her Father was not pleased when she told him what had happened in the Chamber. He understood (with a sad, helpless, sort of look in his eyes as he clutched her hands tight that made her feel sorrow as well. Made her wish to be careful, train harder. For him. Because Father did not deserve more loss; truly might not be able to handle more loss) and had researched the Slayer both before and after he met her Mother. He was aware of what it meant for her to have this blood in her veins, that he could not stop her, that it was a life she would always be was pulled to live (until she was no longer doing so) - but that did not mean he would ever like it, would ever have wished it for his dear Moon-daughter who was not even a teenager yet.

But that was not to say that the summer had gone poorly either. Instead of going away on expedition, her Father seemed to want desperately to keep her close (and she understood this, had many sisters in her mind echoing the sentiment. Holding that distant fractured, story-book idea, of family so close and dear). They split their time between home and working on the paper at the Quibbler office building. Spending long hours laughing over making brunch in their kitchen or getting sunburns trying to make heads or kneazle tail's over their, always overflowing garden that had once been Mum’s domain.

In the evenings she tended to write letters – Ginny was off with her family in Egypt and Luna was happy for this, the change of scenery seemed a wonderful distraction for her friend. Her return letters were full of talk of wide deserts with sloping dunes, pyramids, tombs filled with intricate wall paintings, and the heavy heat. (Only near the end did she ever speak of her nightmares, an afterthought almost, overwhelmed by all this wonder. And that was more than alright with Luna.)

It was that actually the training she was missing most. Being able to run off into the Forest and patrol, to have the centuars teach her. She misses Glinda and all of the other friends she made last year rather badly (hopes they are all alright). And by the time her letter comes again this year, Luna is starting to get a bit edgy.

Her Father picks up on this and allows her some independence - simply giving her money and setting her lose on Diagon Alley to gather school things on her own while he works that day in the office (the Stubby Boardman story is getting quite a lot of reaction from readers). And it is when she is mostly finished (only a new quill and perhaps a look at some trunks with hidden compartments – access to weapons could be useful) that she encountered Harry.

He is staying at the Leaky Cauldron it seems and after sending off a quick Owl (Hedwig is such a beautiful creature) to Father she had a lovely lunch with him (and was able to get him to eat that bowl of pudding with her after all). He seemed on the outs with his relatives and rather soured when they were brought up.

Luna believes she cheered him up by filling him all of the latest news from the Quibbler though. He even laughed out loud a few times – seemingly instantly apologetic afterwards. She had only smiled, leaning forward and placing a hand upon his arm, “It is alright, Harry – I know that my Father’s work is different. And the surprise of that can be quite funny. We often laugh when we make discoveries, laughter is an amazing thing. It feels good, doesn't it?”

He had blinked, looking a bit uncomfortable, and pushed those round glasses up his nose - but, after that, he had laughed more freely. She thinks that is a good thing; Luna never paid much attention to Harry before their lives collided last year, but since he has come into her orbit she has noticed how very serious he tends to be.

Just because you are "chosen" - whether Slayer or Boy Who Lived - doesn’t mean you have to let it weigh heavily upon you after all. (A few of her sister Slayers smile at this, some shake their heads – think her young. Luna thinks perhaps it is simply because she is a Lovegood.)

All, in all though - despite the tearful goodbye she shares with her Father, it is with a sense of relief that she starts the new school year. Ginny and her meet at the train station with big hugs and the red-head speaking faster than a mermaid swims as they walk together to find a seat.

Later, as she is walking back to her cabin from the bathroom she is still feeling rather content, light and hopeful; and a smile does not seem to want to leave her.

And it is, of course, then that it happens – when her senses start screaming to her (allowing her to brace against the wall) seconds before the train screeches roughly to a halt.

And then the cold, the shadows, the darkness.

The sadness. She starts to feel swamped, she sees her mother with face half gone, feels the blood on her skin, smells the burnt flesh, hears herself singing desperately. (Oh Merlin, not again. Mommy. Please don’t leave me.) But of course she knows what is going to happen, she has seen this before and - again, again her mother dies before her eyes.

But instead of the coldness this time she is angry. So, very, very, angry. The boiling fury multiples as the many within her head take the emotion and intertwine it with their own sense of protectiveness, heightening it to a feeling of wrath she is not used to. Luna lets it happen though – because how dare something take this memory of her mother and use it like that. Hot pure rage burns away the grief leaving her eyes clear and allows her to return to consciousness on the hallway floor where she can see the thing hovering over her.

Dementor something in her brain whispers, knowledge she has read at some point shaking loose.

Demon her sisters insist.

Slay they all agree.

Luna grins, more barred teeth then a smile, and a low growl comes from somewhere deep in her throat causing the outstretched hand to hesitate – and that is the only warning before she pounces.

She has no weapons but it barely matters and her wand – magic – never even crossed her mind. Because right now she is Slayer, purely. And the dementor is her prey and sad prey at that, without its mind magic affecting her (too far gone in this need to destroy. Slay. She is Slayer and there is a demon in front of her - a demon that attacked her; her blood calls for justice. The Powers care little of joy or sadness, it factors little into her Calling) it is little more than a cloak and bones. And she will bite and rip, and smash and break. When she is done there will be nothing left.

She does not know how long it takes but sometime later her dark corridor is flooded with a single light and she feels another presence – another inhuman presence. She turns her head sharply, senses still ringing, body tensed and the man holding the wand takes a step back at her gaze.

“Miss,” he says and then clears his throat nervously, as she continues to stare unblinkingly. “Are you alright, Miss?” he asks.

Then he looks around the corridor, a bit wide eyed - there is bone fragment and piece of fabric scattered about. “Was that a dementor?” he asks his tone disbelieving. But it is quickly followed by worry and he scans her for injuries as one hand seems to pat down his pockets for something. “Were you attacked? Are you alright?”

“It was a dementor,” she agrees, stressing the past tense just a bit feeling laconic and pleased, post fight. He pauses his self-pat down at that, studying her. And she watches him right back, she likes his face she thinks as her eyes trace the scars, and she wonders how many she will accumulate before she dies.

The man blinks first, going back to searching his pockets. He makes a triumphant noise when he finds some chocolate – handing it to her, she takes it but does not make any further move. “It will make you feel better,” he assures her.

But still she stares at him. (Testing his aura against hers although she isn’t sure if he is aware. It’s nice she decides. He’s nice. He’ll not hurt her - at least never on purpose.)

Finally she blinks, turning the chocolate over in her hand, before stepping closer to him and leaning in. “I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,” she whispers to him conspiratorially as if telling a secret, the man’s lips twitch as if he is trying not to smile. Luna doesn’t know why he doesn’t - it is always nice to smile after all.

“I’m, Remus Lupin - the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor,” he introduces himself formally, holding out a hand to shake. And she does, not showing when the voices in her head all chime in to confirm – werewolf – at the touch. It’s not as if it matters. Her earlier assessment stands.

Instead she lets go of his hand and grins at him; says, “Won’t that make things interesting.” A statement not a question.

Indeed, it is her new Professor who is the one to look at her uneasily and ask, “Why?” As if he would rather not hear her answer.

And so she laughs, her too loud, over long laugh. “Now that,” she says between giggles at the look on his face “would be telling.”

He smiles at her then, half wary, half confused - and she walks away nibbling on the chocolate.
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