"Hagrid might be our best bet for a backup," Penelope had mused earlier that evening, her eyes scanning the Great Hall. "That man could find a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a broom closet. If there's a Boggart lurking anywhere within three miles of the Forbidden Forest, he'll know about it."
Allen had nodded, but his mind was already miles ahead. "I hope so. But honestly, the logistics are the real nightmare. Edward nearly tackled me twice during dessert to ask about the schedule."
"Everyone's buzzing, Allen," Edward had whispered, leaning in so close his glasses nearly fogged up. "The second years are already arguing over who gets the front row. When do we actually start?"
"As soon as the ink is dry on the Headmaster's permission," Allen had promised. "I'm not starting an underground dueling club—not yet, anyway."
Privately, Allen felt a headache forming. If every Ravenclaw was going to hunt him down for updates, he'd never get any actual research done. He needed a way to broadcast information, something more sophisticated than pinning a parchment to a crowded notice board. A magical communication device—compact, discrete, and efficient—was moving up his priority list.
Rest didn't come easily that night. Just as he was drifting off, a soft tap-tap at the window revealed a school owl. A letter from Professor Flitwick.
Allen cracked it open by the light of a wandering Lumos charm. Not only did the tiny professor offer his full support, but at the bottom of the parchment was the sweeping, loopy signature of Albus Dumbledore. A formal permit.
"Perfect," Allen murmured, his pulse quickening. He wasn't one to sit on a good idea. If he had the permit, he had the green light to start the technical preparations.
He slipped out of bed with the silent grace of a cat. A quick glance at Edward showed his friend was lost in a dream, likely one involving a perfect Patronus and a mountain of Treacle Tart. Allen crept out of the dormitory and stepped into the Ravenclaw common room.
He expected the sapphire-draped hall to be empty, save for the occasional whisper of the wind against the high towers. He was wrong.
By the large arched window that looked out over the moonlit lake, a small figure was curled into one of the velvet armchairs. Long, waist-length golden hair spilled over the side like a waterfall of silk. She was facing away from him, her breathing slow and rhythmic.
Allen paused. It was well past midnight. Most Ravenclaws were sensible enough to value their sleep—unless they were him. Curiously, he stepped closer. He wanted to tell the girl to head to bed before the morning chill set in, but as he reached the side of the chair, a pair of wide, silver-gray eyes snapped open.
They weren't startled. They were simply... present.
"Luna?" Allen said, unable to hide his surprise. "What are you doing down here at this hour?"
Luna Lovegood propped herself up, her movements fluid and ethereal, as if she were made of smoke rather than bone. She ran a hand through her hair, looking at him with that trademark hazy expression that made you feel like she was seeing through your skin and into your thoughts.
"Marietta and the others think Gillywater smells like pond muck," Luna said, her voice airy and remarkably devoid of bitterness. "They hid my favorite cup to 'help' me realize it. I had to stay here to air out the scent of the water before I went back to the dorm. I suppose I just drifted off."
Allen frowned. He knew the girls in his year could be clannish, but hiding belongings felt petty. "That's not right, Luna. I'll send a note to Penelope. As Head Girl, she can make Marietta return it by breakfast."
He reached for his pocket, half-intending to summon his owl, Benny, right then and there.
"Oh, don't bother," Luna said, shaking her head slowly. "Penelope is very kind, but she's part of the 'orderly' world. If she forces them, they'll just hide my shoes next. Besides, things have a way of returning to me by the end of the term. They usually just get lost in the shuffle of existence."
Allen stared at her. Her nonchalance was baffling. Any other student would be crying or fuming with rage, yet Luna spoke of it as if she were describing the weather.
"I could talk to them myself," Allen offered. "They usually listen to me."
Luna let out a soft, musical laugh. It was a refreshing sound—clear and pure, like a silver bell. "Allen, if you went to bat for me, the jealousy would be so thick I probably wouldn't even be able to find the door to the common room tomorrow. People find you very... distracting."
Allen felt a rare moment of helplessness. He was used to solving problems with a wand or a well-placed word, but Luna was playing a different game entirely. She seemed to possess a kind of "blissful ignorance" that was actually a shield. She saw the cruelty, she understood the jealousy, but she chose not to let it stick.
"Jealousy makes people quite ugly, don't you think?" she added, her gaze drifting back to the moon.
"It certainly doesn't help," Allen agreed, studying her. She was an enigma. People called her "Loony," but looking at her now, he saw a girl who was more grounded in her own reality than anyone else in the castle. She was sensitive to the core, yet armored in a way that made her untouchable.
"Are you going on an adventure?" Luna asked, her silver eyes locking back onto his. "You have that look. Like you're about to build something that hasn't existed before."
"I'm going to the workshop areas," Allen admitted. "I need to craft some communication charms for the training group. It's better to do it while the castle is quiet."
"I don't think I can follow you," Luna said, a faint shadow of disappointment touching her face. "I'm a bit of a wanderer, but I'm not very good at being invisible."
Looking at her—lonely, ostracized, and yet so remarkably kind—Allen felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of guilt. Why shouldn't she come? She was a Ravenclaw, after all. Curiosity was her birthright.
"Actually, Luna... why don't you come with me? I could use a second pair of eyes to watch for Wrackspurts."
Luna tilted her head. "There were quite a few of them hovering around your head just now. They make the brain go fuzzy."
"Well, I'm inviting you officially now," Allen smiled, extending a hand. "I don't retract invitations once they're out in the air."
"Then I'd like that very much," Luna said. She stood up, grabbed her wand from the sofa cushions, and tucked it behind her ear like a Muggle pencil.
The two of them slipped out through the eagle knocker and into the darkened corridors. The castle at night was a labyrinth of shifting shadows and whispering portraits. Allen usually relied on his Invisibility Cloak, but walking with Luna felt different. It was a thrill he hadn't allowed himself in a long time—the danger of being caught, shared with someone who didn't seem to care if they were.
They were making good time until they reached the fourth floor.
Suddenly, a cackling sound echoed from the ceiling. A bundle of colorful rags and a bell-bottomed hat dropped into their path.
"Ooh! Ooh! What have we here?" Peeves the Poltergeist crowed, wiggling his toes in mid-air. He looked absolutely delighted, his eyes bulging with malice. "Allen the Ace and the Loony Lion-hunter! Out for a midnight stroll? On a date, are we? I must tell the walls! I must tell the floors! Love is in the air, and it smells like crazy!"
"Silencio," Allen flicked his wand with bored precision.
Peeves's mouth continued to move, but the only sound was the faint whistle of wind through his teeth. He looked outraged, his face turning a deep shade of purple as he shook his fist at Allen.
Luna watched with mild interest. "That's a fifth-year spell, isn't it? Very tidy."
"It is," Allen said, his eyes never leaving the poltergeist. "But Peeves is a creature of chaos. Silence won't stop him from writing on the walls or throwing ink. He needs a more... physical reminder."
Peeves tried to zip away, but Allen's wand traced a complex pattern in the air. An invisible barrier—a modified Impedimenta layered with a tracking charm—snared the poltergeist like a fly in a web.
"Peeves," Allen said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that echoed the cold authority of the Bloody Baron. "I heard Professor Lupin gave you a taste of your own medicine with some chewing gum. Have you forgotten the lesson so soon?"
Allen raised his wand to shoulder height, pointing it at a decorative spear held by a nearby suit of armor. "Waddiwasi!"
The sharp spear-head didn't just fly; it blurred. With a thwack, it lodged itself firmly into Peeves's left nostril.
The poltergeist's eyes went wide. He somersaulted backward, clutching his face, his silent screams looking increasingly frantic. He began to bow, his head hitting his knees over and over in a desperate plea for mercy.
"Listen closely," Allen whispered, stepping into the poltergeist's personal space. "If a single rumor about Luna or this evening reaches anyone's ears—including the portraits—I won't just use a spear-head. I'll find a way to bottle you up and leave you in the Chamber of Secrets for the next thousand years. Am I clear?"
Peeves nodded so hard his hat almost fell off. Allen flicked his wand, releasing the silence and the snare. Peeves vanished through the floorboards with a muffled whimper.
"That was quite impressive," Luna noted, her expression unchanged. "You sounded very much like the Baron just then. Very firm."
"Sometimes it's the only language the castle understands," Allen said, stowing his wand. "Shall we?"
They continued on, but the encounter with Peeves seemed to have broken their streak of luck. As they rounded the corner toward the Muggle Studies classroom, a pair of glowing lamp-like eyes appeared in the dark.
Mrs. Norris.