“Someone make her stop,” a hiss came from across front desk. The Head Healer, who had been on duty since yesterday, reached over to grab his files. “It’s driving the rest of the staff insane.” The witch behind the desk nodded warily. She, too, had grown tired of the musical changes. Moments before, classical music had been floating through the ward, spreading a calming Christmas spirit. But once again, the music had turned sour—a combination of clashing chords and notes that simply did not match.

The girl at the piano did not seem to mind at all, the hushed whispers about her music. In fact, she was quietly humming along with her disheveled song. Her tangled blonde hair swayed back and forth with the tune as she brought herself into the music even more. The witch rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath to the Healer before he walked away. The music continued on, and a dark haired man walked into the nearly empty ward. Silently but swiftly, he walked to the front desk—where there was no exchange at all. The witch merely handed him a stack of files, nodding curtly before he walked away.

It was no secret that Harry Potter made routine visits to St. Mungo’s. He not only often visited those who were still injured from the war, but he often was seen in Death Eaters’ rooms. The hearings and trials had continued throughout the rest of the year, but many of Voldemort’s followers had still not been located. Particularly those who had been at the Ministry the night of the final battle, and fled into hiding at the news the Dark Lord was dead. But this was Christmas Eve, and the witch didn’t dare to ask why Harry was here and not celebrating with family.

When he had reached the door of the first patient’s room, he paused, hand on the brass knob. The girl’s song had caught his attention, and Harry turned to find the source of the odd music. The notes were still fighting each other every beat of the music, but he found it oddly comforting. Walking over to the small upright piano, he tapped the girl on the shoulder. She turned around to face him, and Harry was utterly surprised.

Luna Lovegood hadn’t been seen since late July, when she made a brief appearance at the Weasleys’ during his forced birthday party. She had simply shown up, had a brief word with Hagrid, and handed Harry a small gift. Of course, when Harry opened the gift later, he found a gurdyroot with a bow wrapped around it. Luna had left the party without much of a word to anyone else. No one had seen her except her father, who was the only one who acknowledged he knew something, refused to speak of her plans. But here she sat in St. Mungo’s, playing the piano on Christmas Eve.

“Hello, Harry,” her voice was lofty and soft, just as it had been last time he’d seen her. Luna turned back to her music, which now drifted softly back into a Chopin piece. Standing there, dumbfounded, Harry tapped her on the shoulder again. Her hands paused on the keys, Luna nodded—as if giving him permission to ask her something—then resumed her playing.

“Luna, where the have you been the past six months?” Harry spoke softly, but there was a hint of an edge to his question. Her Chopin turned into Beethoven, but didn’t answer his question.

“I’m busy, Harry,” Pressing her hands into the keys, the song became louder, as if to block out her visitor. Harry grabbed her shoulder, and turned Luna away from the bench to face him.

“Luna, where have you been?” He had become a bit too loud, and the witch from the desk looked over at him. Smiling apologetically, Harry let go of Luna’s shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets. Luna frowned, refusing to answer, and went back to the piano. Her song became sour again, and Luna pounded out chords that didn’t make sense.

Not really knowing what to do, Harry sat down on the edge of the piano bench and began to listen to her song. Her song was becoming comfortably harsh and she received a few twitters from passing healers. Luna continued to play for a while, while Harry listened, but she then abruptly stopped.

“I got married,” Luna had spoken so softly that Harry wasn’t sure he had heard her right.” Her hands didn’t return to the keys this time, but sat awkwardly in her lap. Harry looked at her, confused, and repeated her words. He was sure he had not heard her correctly.

“You got married?” Anyone else would’ve heard the strain in his words, but Luna didn’t say anything at all. Harry rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair. “Married, Luna?”

“Yes, back in August,” Her hands still sat idle in her lap, and her voice showed no infliction at all.

“And you didn’t tell any of us? Not even Ginny?” Harry stared at the piano keys, hoping they would begin to play and block out her this time.

“No, she just knew that I was leaving.” Luna ran her fingers along the wooden edge of piano.

“Why, Luna? Why wouldn’t you tell any of us?” Harry’s tone was not at all congratulatory. It was much more distressed, perhaps even heartbroken.

“He was a Death Eater who was trying to start another anti-Muggleborn movement in Germany.” Harry’s face grew hard at these words.

“That’s why you wouldn’t tell us? Because you married a Death Eater? Bloody hell, Luna! A Death Eater?” He’s green eyes flashed black, and he slammed his fist on the piano keys. The sound make the witch at the front desk jump, but this time Harry gave her no apology. “Luna, we fought for years against Voldemort, trying to crush his sadistic regime and you married one of his followers?” Luna’s face was still expressionless and her hands still sat limp.

“Yes, I married Rolf Scamander this past August, about two weeks after your party.” Her voice was no longer lofty and calm, but solemn and flat.

“Luna, we’ve been trying to track him down for months. Do you understand what this means to some families? Everyday, people come into my office asking for news on who killed someone in their family, and I have to show them a list of possible people. His name is on that list, Luna.” Harry’s voice had risen to a point where the witch had left the room to give them some privacy.

“He never killed anyone, Harry. No one. He was sent to Germany, but went into hiding before he got there. Rolf never wanted any of it.”

“Neither did Draco Malfoy and he’s still paying restitution. You’ve been hiding for the past six months married to a Death Eater and you thought no one would recognize you?”

“He’s a healer, and St. Mungo’s has graciously accepted him back as head healer on the second floor. The only reason I’m here is because my house was raided last night. How do you think that feels, Harry? Innocent people being raided. Mr. Weasley was there, too. How do you think it felt to see an old family friend raid your house? Then have them see that you live there?” Luna used her fingers to play a D minor arpeggio. “It’s awful, Harry. Don’t you realize what I’ve given up?”

“It’s not as if I’ve had to deal with? You showed up at the Weasleys’, handed me a gurdyroot, and left. I’ve been taking the blame for you leaving. Think about that.” He reached into his cloak pocket, and pulled out the moleskin pouch Hagrid had given him. Opening it carefully, he reached inside and pulled out the said gurdyroot. “I’ve been carrying this around with me for the past six months because I couldn’t handle you not being here, when I find out that I’m going to have to take you to the ministry for a hearing? You think I want to do that at all? I have to pretend that you are like everyone else, and that your husband is completely guilty until he proves me wrong. Because even though I believe you could right about him, I still have to do what I’m paid to do. What I’ve dedicated my life to doing.” Luna become very still, and finally her face showed some expression. Remorse.

“I’m sorry, Harry…” Her voice was lofty and full of understanding. She began to play again, but Harry stopped her.

“Why does your music change? Why does it go from standard to your own?” His voice wasn’t calm, but it was obvious he was trying to regain control.

“I’m playing from my heart, Harry. I play how I feel, and when I think about certain things, my music becomes different. I know what it’s like not to care, and I’d rather not care what people think then worry about what they will think. But when not me not caring puts other people at risk, I have to care.” She continued to play, her song growing darker and darker.

“But what about us, Luna? What about everyone else you care about? And those who care about you?” Harry’s tone was much more even now, and he looked truly worried.

“I don’t want to think about it. My songs become darker than they are now, and it’s not something I like or want to play.” Her hands drifted back to Chopin, and Harry could only stare.

“Luna, have you ever thought about listening to someone else play?” Luna pondered the thought for a moment, but shook her head.

“I’ve become so absorbed, I don’t think it’s something I could handle.” She paused. “What would you play, Harry?”

“I’d learn to play everything I’ve heard you play tonight, and then play it for you over again. I’d play it for everyone here in this ward, just so they could know how you feel. And so you could know how I feel.” Harry stood up, and rested his hand on Luna’s shoulder again. He placed the gurdyroot on top of the piano, and then after some contemplation, tucked a note underneath it. The same one Luna had given him six months ago.

I don’t think I can live with this right now, but I hope when I see you next, things will be different. Hopefully I’ll be able to handle this.

While the note now held different meaning, it was right. Things were different now.