The Lovegood Conundrum

Chapter One

Albus Dumbledore was poring over a dusty copy of The Parselsus Theory: A Comparative Study of Dark versus Black Magic at his desk one Saturday morning when there was a sharp rap on his office door. Pulled from his contemplation of Chapter Twelve: Defence Against the Black Arts, he carefully closed the book and slipped it into a drawer before folding his hands across the desk.

"Enter."

The door opened, admitting into the office the tall, black-cloaked form of his surly Potions Master.

"Ah, Severus. What an unexpected surprise," greeted Dumbledore, smiling genially at the younger man. "And excellent timing! I was just about to pour myself a cup of tea. Would you care to join me?"

Snape waved a hand in dismissal at the offer of refreshments. His face bore a scowl of annoyance which, though not terribly unusual for the Head of Slytherin House, was rather out of place that day, given that it was a weekend and he had (for once) no detentions to supervise.

"A tempting offer but, regrettably, I must decline, Headmaster. I have come merely to alert you to the fact that one of your sixth year students was caught lingering by the gargoyles outside. A Miss Lovegood. And she is quite determined to be admitted. She claims that you personally invited her to tea." Snape rolled his eyes, as though the mere thought of the headmaster sharing tea with a student was ridiculous. "She is most adamant that she sees you."

"Is that so?" queried Dumbledore, immediately intrigued. "I don't recall issuing such an invitation to her."

"As I suspected. Either the girl is suffering from more of her ridiculous delusions, or she is lying for reasons unknown."

The accusation made the venerable headmaster bristle slightly and he frowned at the younger man in disapproval. Luna Lovegood was not a student given to falsehood. Fantasy, perhaps, but not falsehood.

"Must you always be so suspicious of people, Severus?"

"I would prefer to think of it as being cautious, Albus. Something that has stood us all in very good stead in recent years," grumbled Snape, irritated. "But if I may draw your attention back to the matter at hand: Mr Filch spotted Miss Lovegood half an hour ago and proceeded to drag her back to Ravenclaw Tower to explain herself to Filius."

Ignoring Snape's acerbic tone, Dumbledore arched a silvery brow. "Did Argus explain why he took it upon himself to 'drag' her to her Head of House instead of admitting her to my office?"

The Potions Master sniffed disdainfully. "He forgot the password. Again. Might I suggest that you supply him with his own personal password to your office? Something simple, like 'dunderhead'? You must realise by now that he has difficulty remembering the names of all those Muggle sweets you are so fond of."

"Yes, I do realise that, Severus; which is why I will not be issuing him with his own personal password," admitted Dumbledore shamelessly. "Mr Filch's constant interruptions to request the reintroduction of flogging would have a rather detrimental effect on the execution of my duties as headmaster. But let us not digress too much from the matter at hand; you said he was escorting her back to Ravenclaw Tower. Am I to understand that you intercepted Miss Lovegood on her journey back there?"

Snape nodded once. "Just short of Professor Flitwick's office, which I myself had left mere moments earlier. Miss Lovegood was protesting her treatment quite vocally and I had to intercede before Argus 'boxed her ears', if I recall the threat correctly."

The news surprised Dumbledore - though not so much the elderly janitor's threat as the conduct which had so readily elicited it. "Miss Lovegood was protesting?"

"Quite vocally," stressed Snape.

"And where is she now?"

"I have relieved Mr Filch of the burden of Miss Lovegood and she is waiting outside once more by the gargoyle."

"How kind of you to have brought her back when it would have been easier to take her the last few steps to her Head of House," remarked Dumbledore, rather surprised at his Potions Master's sudden compassion.

Snape took a long stride forwards and stopped at the opposite edge of the headmaster's claw-footed desk. His face crumpled into a dark frown and Dumbledore waited patiently for him to continue.

"That," he began in a rather mysterious voice, "is because when Argus first came across her, she did not ask to see you directly. Nor did she request to see you in particular when I arrived."

Now two silvery brows raised in mild confusion.

"I don't quite understand, Severus. You said that she claimed to have an appointment to take tea with me."

"Indeed she did," replied Snape, obviously puzzled himself. "But not until after I had convinced her that you are the headmaster of Hogwarts."

More confused than ever, the ageing wizard furrowed his brows. "Convinced her that I am headmaster? Why should she doubt it?"

"I have no idea, Albus. I may have had an idea if you did not forbid me to perform the occasional spot of Legilimency on students …"

"Severus, you know my opinion on invading students' privacy without genuine need. I will not discuss that subject with you again," said Dumbledore sharply. Snape withdrew slightly from the desk, his face masking his own irritation at the rebuke. "Now, you were about to explain to me why you had to convince Miss Lovegood of my status at this school?"

A brisk nod.

"Indeed, Headmaster," Snape said, his voice a little cooler than before. "It had to be explained to her because, up until that point, Miss Lovegood had been demanding to see the headmistress."

"You mean the deputy headmistress," corrected the headmaster, but his companion shook his head.

"No, the headmistress. Specifically, Headmistress McGonagall."

Surprise rendered the old wizard speechless for a few seconds - a rare event indeed - and Snape took advantage of it to elaborate.

"As you can imagine, I thought she had perhaps suffered a recent injury to the head - though, given that it is Miss Lovegood we are talking about, that would be difficult to tell unless she was bleeding copiously. I was ready to march her straight to the infirmary when she suddenly desisted with her protestations, appearing all at once to accept my reasoning, and claiming to have been temporarily possessed by Wrackspurts - whatever they are. Thereafter, she meekly requested to be taken to your office for the aforementioned cup of tea. Rather peculiar behaviour, is it not, Albus? Even for Miss Lovegood."

Dumbledore could not have agreed more, and it was with more than a touch of concern that he pondered the possible reasons behind Luna Lovegood's strange behaviour.

Had the child indeed suffered an injury to the head, contributing to her confusion? She would not be the first student to misjudge her step and trip in the hallways in her haste to enjoy the Spring sunshine. Or perhaps her present condition was caused by nothing more sinister than a poor night's rest - something which Ravenclaw students in particular were prone to, given their voracious appetites for knowledge. But even if she had been sacrificing sleep for study, why had she been so convinced that Minerva was headmistress? And why now was she claiming a fictional appointment with him?

It was a puzzle to the venerable headmaster, because as imaginative as the young Ravenclaw could be, even this sort of odd behaviour was not within her usual remit.

Well, there seemed little point in pondering her peculiar behaviour when the girl was standing outside ready to give him answers. Wasting no more time with pointless musings, Dumbledore asked Snape to send her up.

"And if you could ask Poppy to join Miss Lovegood and I in twenty minutes time, I would be very much obliged, Severus."

Snape, who was already on his way to the office door, paused and turned to look at him through a thick curtain of greasy hair.

"You do not wish me to remain?" he asked in surprise.

"Miss Lovegood has asked only to speak with myself at present. Your added company may prove more of a hindrance if she feels she cannot speak freely. We do not wish to alarm the girl, do we? As for you; I am certain you have other ways in which you could spend your free time, Severus. Might I suggest a stroll to Hogsmeade? A little sunshine and exercise would do wonders for your pale complexion."

Snape's sallow face was a picture of such discontent that Dumbledore smiled.

"Come now, Severus," he said attempting to soothe the grumpy Potions Master's ego. Blue eyes twinkled furiously over half-moon spectacles as he smiled at the younger man. "I shall inform you in due course if I discover anything even remotely suspicious behind her eccentric behaviour. If, however, all Miss Lovegood really desires is to share a cup of tea and a pleasant chat with her headmaster, then you have nothing more to worry about. Now, send Miss Lovegood up immediately so that I may satisfy my curiosity. And don't forget to forward my request to Poppy."

"As you wish, Headmaster."

Mollified, Snape turned on his heel once more and exited the room.

"Now," muttered Dumbledore to himself after Snape's departure, "tea, I think."

He shifted the silver inkpot to the left of the desk and conjured a silver tray with cups, saucers, and a steaming pot of black tea for himself and his imminent guest. Just as he finished conjuring milk, lemon and sugar, there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Enter."

The door opened, admitting the slight form of Luna Lovegood. Dumbledore smiled kindly as she skipped across the room in her Saturday casuals of flowery top and jeans, her blonde locks bouncing with each merry step. Her slightly protuberant eyes sparkled with something strangely akin to joy when they fastened on his wrinkled features, though why she should be so happy to see him remained, as yet, a mystery. Fawkes trilled sweetly as she passed, and Luna paused to beam at the magnificent phoenix before resuming her short journey to his desk. The innocence of the gesture made Dumbledore smile wider than before, and he found that he was very much looking forward to tea and a chat with the enigmatic young Ravenclaw.

"Good morning, Miss Lovegood. Please, do take a seat," he said warmly, offering her the vacant chair on the opposite side of his desk with a flourish of his hand.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," replied Luna happily. She settled herself comfortably into the armchair and gazed curiously at the portraits on the office walls.

"I understand that you have expressed a desire to share a cup of tea with me," he began, drawing her attention back to him as he poured tea into the blue china cups. "Which is a happy coincidence for me since Professor Snape just refused my offer to indulge in that very pastime. Now that you are come, I need not drink it alone. Tea always tastes better with company, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir. I do. Company seems to give it more flavour; or at least it does when I share it with my father."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at her from across the desk. "Quite so! I hope you will forgive me if I admit to surprise at your visit, Miss Lovegood," he said, guiding the conversation gently towards her motive behind it. "As delighted as I am to be proven wrong in such a pleasant manner, students are not usually willing to substitute a sunny Saturday morning by the lake for a hot beverage with their stuffy old headmaster."

"I don't think you're stuffy, Professor Dumbledore," said Luna in that strangely ethereal voice that was particular to her alone. Her eyes were now glued to his face and she gave him a wispy smile. "I don't think you're old either. Actually, compared to Bathilda Bagshot, you're barely middle-aged. And compared to Nicholas Flamel, you're only a teenager."

It was fortunate that he had finished pouring their tea because, unable to help himself, the headmaster threw back his head and laughed in delight at her response.

"You have made an old man very happy, Miss Lovegood," he chuckled in amusement. "It has been many a long year since anyone considered me a teenager, though I do have to point out that the reference to Mr Flamel may no longer be pertinent. He passed away several years ago."

"I know," said Luna solemnly. She accepted her cup of tea and stared at it blankly. "It's not Gurdyroot," she muttered softly.

"I am sorry, my dear girl. I am quite out of Gurdyroots," explained Dumbledore, having no real idea what Gurdyroots actually were. "But Indian tea is equally as delicious, I find. Particularly with a lump or two of sugar."

He added two lumps to his own cup, stirred, then took a sip to encourage her. With the briefest of shrugs, she took his advice and added sugar (and milk) to her own.

"Oh, you're right, Professor. It is delicious!" Luna beamed at him from across the desk as she carefully nursed her hot beverage. Taking another sip, she set it carefully down in the saucer then folded her hands in her lap; her gaze drifted out the window towards the Quidditch pitch and she appeared to lose herself in momentary thought. Though he was curious to discover the reason behind her visit, Dumbledore allowed her the opportunity to gather her thoughts, using the short silence to study his student carefully.

She did not appear to be suffering from any ailments, as far as he could tell. Her eyes were bright and focused, or as focused as they ever were for her; her conversation so far relevant and surprisingly witty. She neither spoke nor moved as if she had suffered any injury to her person. Of course, it was highly possible that she was suffering from some ailment that could not be detected by the naked eye - something that Poppy could determine better than he when the school nurse arrived. But, given his interaction with her thus far, Luna did not strike him as being ill in any way whatsoever.

So why had she been so adamant in her peculiar demand to speak with the headmistress? And why had she later insisted on having tea with him?

It was a mystery - and if there was one thing that Albus Dumbledore was fond of, it was solving mysteries.

Determining that enough time had elapsed for the child to gather herself, Dumbledore set his cup down and cleared his throat. But Luna, still gazing out the window, spoke before he had the chance. Her voice was soft, almost sing-song and the headmaster had to strain to catch her words.

"Nicholas Flamel, born 1326. Alchemist, opera-lover, and only known creator of the Philosopher's Stone. Died in 1992 at the age of six-hundred-and-sixty-six."

Luna recited the facts almost as if she were reading them from a book. It was a very Ravenclaw trait, and one which drew a smile from the kindly headmaster.

"He is still dead, isn't he, Professor?"

Dumbledore's smile faltered briefly, but resumed its position when Luna's wide eyes fastened on his blue ones.

"The Philosopher's Stone only ever offered immortality to the living, Miss Lovegood. It could never resurrect the dead. Nicholas is, regrettably, most definitely deceased," he assured her. Keeping his voice even, and his gaze locked on her face, Dumbledore attempted to probe the cause of her confusion. "Surely you are aware of this? I believe you studied the history of the Philosopher's Stone with Professor Binns in class, did you not?"

She nodded, and her wand, still sticking from behind her right ear, bobbed up and down in time with her blonde locks. "Oh yes, Professor. I was only asking to make sure it was still true. You see, I knew yesterday that he was dead, but this morning, he may very well have been alive again."

Intrigued, and more than a little concerned, the headmaster arched a brow curiously. "And why might that have been?"

"Because so much has changed since then."

"Indeed? Might I enquire as to what exactly has changed?"

Luna tugged at a lock of hair and pondered the question seriously before replying. "Well, at first I thought nothing had changed; though, if I'm honest, I wasn't looking for any changes, so one or two may have slipped past me before I could register them. But ever since breakfast, they seem to be appearing everywhere. Mostly small changes that are easily dismissed, but there are some big ones too that can't be ignored."

"Ah. Might this have something to do with the fact that you believed Professor McGonagall to be headmistress of Hogwarts earlier today?" suggested Dumbledore pleasantly. "And that you thought we had an appointment to share tea this morning - not that I am complaining, of course. I am enjoying our conversation very much."

"But we do have an appointment to share tea, Professor," insisted Luna, and Dumbledore was surprised at the sudden intensity of her voice. "In fact, it was you who invited me. Don't you remember?"

"I confess I do not," he admitted, chagrined at the dismay written on her face.

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised. After all, I didn't even expect you to be here today."

Her last comment made no sense whatsoever to him but, sensing that they were coming to the crux of the matter, the elderly wizard leaned back in his chair, folded an arm across his midnight-blue robes, and cupped his chin with his fingers.

"It appears that you are in a bit of a quandary, Miss Lovegood. You say I invited you for tea, yet you did not expect to find me here to provide it. Can you tell me why that is?"

He waited patiently as her eyes glazed over in thought for a few seconds. Hoping to put her at ease, Dumbledore offered a few words of comfort. "Luna, you are always free to share your troubles with me, however unusual you think I may find them. I promise to reserve judgement until you have spoken, and I shall endeavour to assist you in any way I can afterwards."

Luna's vision cleared and she focused on his wrinkled face once more. When she spoke, her tone was as carefree and matter-of-fact as always and, if he had not just witnessed it for himself, he would doubt she had ever paused in the first place.

"I know that, Professor Dumbledore. You were always kind. You didn't laugh at me when I told you about Wrackspurts. In fact, I think that's why you invited me to tea in the first place - to find out more about them. I don't think that was the only reason you invited me to tea; though now that I know about the changes, I do understand why you wanted to find out about the 'other things'."

"Wrackspurts? Other things?" asked the thoroughly mystified headmaster.

"Yes sir. 'Wrackspurts, among other things'. That's what you said when you invited me to join you for tea at precisely seven o'clock. I know it's not seven o' clock any more though, Professor, and I'm sorry I'm late. But I fell asleep by the fireplace - except, it wasn't really the fireplace after all; it was my bed."

As much as he was trying to follow her conversation, Dumbledore was becoming increasingly perplexed. "Miss Lovegood, I think it would aid our conversation significantly if you could clarify your remark. When exactly did I issue this invitation?"

She sighed and, to his baffled amusement, offered him the type of patient smile that one usually reserves for the very young, or the very senile.

And then she confounded him with her next words.

"You really don't remember? Oh. Oh well. I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised. After all, you did make the invitation over thirty years ago, Professor."

For the second time in ten minutes, Dumbledore was left temporarily speechless. His young student had just deftly pulled the rug from beneath his feet and he needed a moment to adjust to what he had heard. Attempting to marshal his whirling thoughts, the headmaster picked up his cup and took a slow sip of tea, giving Luna the opportunity to elaborate on her fantastical claim.

"Don't worry, Professor. I'm not upset that you can't remember. Lots of people forget things. For instance, Anthony Goldstein forgot that he asked me to the Yule Ball, and he took Lisa Turpin instead. Maybe it was all the excitement of the Tournament that made him forget. Or perhaps he was attacked by a Quasileth - they're known to feed on the short-term memories of teenage boys, especially before parties, so I don't blame him. I don't blame you either; after all, you did make the appointment over thirty years ago. A lot can happen in that time."

Hooking a slender finger through her cup, Luna took another sip from it, seemingly oblivious to the stir she had caused beyond its china borders.

"What I am a bit confused about, Professor," she announced with a slight frown, "is that you are still here at all. Not that I'm complaining. I think it's wonderful! Much better than any Yule Ball."

"Thank you, my dear girl. I also think it rather splendid, if I do say so myself," remarked Dumbledore wryly. He watched the girl calmly from over the rim of his cup, belying no evidence of his growing turmoil, or the horrible suspicion that was beginning to take shape in the deepest recesses of his mind. "But might I enquire as to where you imagine that I ought be, Miss Lovegood?"

Luna delivered her most intriguing comment yet with the same guileless innocence she had displayed when likening him to a teenager - though the effect it had was not nearly as likely to make him laugh.

"Why, you ought be dead, Professor Dumbledore."

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