"No," Luna shook her head, the sunlight reflecting in her silvery-blue eyes. "I think she transformed from something. Maybe a Doxy. Or maybe a Wrackspurt that gained sentience. Wrackspurts love to hide behind people's ears, making them stiff and rigid, like a wooden board hit by a Petrification Charm. Look at the way she walks—isn't it stiff?"
Leon recalled Umbridge stepping in her high heels, moving forward in small, quick steps with a clicking sound, and suddenly felt that Luna's description was incredibly accurate.
"...You're right."
"Right?" Luna nodded in satisfaction. "So what we need to do is sprinkle some Crumple-Horned Snorkack horn powder around her. Wrackspurts hate that smell the most. But Crumple-Horned Snorkack horn powder isn't easy to buy right now. My dad's production is especially low this year—maybe because the horn powder merchants are hoarding it..."
She began to seriously analyse the supply and demand relationship of the horn powder market. Listening to her spouting nonsense so solemnly, the smile on Leon's face never faded.
Who would understand? As a modern person who transmigrated from the era of the information explosion, his leaps of logic actually couldn't compare to Luna's. It was truly fascinating.
They walked to a corridor overlooking the entrance hall and leaned against the railing to look down. Students came and went below like a colony of busy ants. A few second-year Hufflepuffs passed by, looked up at Leon, and waved at him—clearly, the incident in Defence Against the Dark Arts had spread.
"You're famous," Luna said.
"Probably."
As Leon and Luna strolled along, just listening to the idle chatter of passing students was enough for Luna to piece together most of what had happened in Umbridge's class.
"I heard it all just now," Luna said. "The 'medal of honour' stuff too. Everyone thinks it was amazing."
Leon scratched his head. "Actually, it wasn't that amazing."
"It was." Luna stared at him seriously. "Our fourth years were all saying that it would have been great if someone could have retorted against her like that in class. Zacharias said he was sleeping soundly at the time and didn't have the chance. I don't think that excuse is very sincere, because he sleeps soundly in every class."
"Getting scolded in class, then replaying it in your head afterwards, getting angrier the more you think about it, and ending up completely unable to sleep," Leon commented.
"But I think," Luna tilted her head, the sunlight falling on her eyelashes, reflecting a faint golden halo, "the most amazing part wasn't that you beat her. It's that after saying all those things, you were able to walk out smiling."
Leon froze.
"You know," Luna continued, her tone still flat, "when people are contradicted, they get angry. But after you said those things, even her anger looked particularly pathetic. I think from now on, every time she wants to deduct points from someone, she'll think of you."
"...Do you think that's a good thing or a bad thing?"
"A good thing." Luna blinked. "That way she'll always be thinking about you, and then you'll have the chance to make her mad a few more times. You make her mad once, and everyone is happy once. So you've essentially become everyone's entertainment."
Leon didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "So the meaning of my existence is to make Umbridge mad?"
"And to chat with me," Luna added. "That's also important. Not everyone is willing to listen to me talk about Wrackspurts."
"I think the Wrackspurt stuff is quite interesting."
"Really?" Luna's eyes lit up. "Then do you want to hear about a new species my dad discovered last summer? They have transparent wings and specialise in stealing matching socks from people—"
"Uh, how about we talk while we walk?" Leon looked at the sky. "It's almost time for lunch."
"Okay." Luna nodded, straightening up from the railing.
They continued toward the Great Hall. Sunlight leaked in through the windowpanes, casting mottled shadows on them. Luna's radish earrings swayed back and forth like two tiny orange pendulums.
As they reached the entrance of the Great Hall, Luna suddenly stopped.
"Leon."
"Hmm?"
"Next time you retort against her," Luna looked at him, "could you let me know in advance?"
"Why?"
"I want to find a good spot to watch," Luna said. "Preferably in the front row—the kind where I can clearly see her face change colour. I think when she blushes, she looks exactly like an overripe tomato. The kind that's about to rot."
Leon chuckled. "Are you that interested in her?"
"Because," Luna thought for a moment and gave a very Luna-esque answer, "she is the most severely Wrackspurt-infested human specimen I have ever seen. Studying her will be helpful for my thesis."
"...Thesis?"
"On the Influence of Wrackspurts on Human Behaviour and Preventive Measures." Luna said seriously. "I plan to send it to the Daily Prophet for publication after I graduate. They will definitely be interested."
Leon looked at her large eyes; there wasn't a hint of a joke in them—she really planned to write this thesis.
"The Daily Prophet probably won't publish it," Leon scratched his head.
"Then I'll settle for the next best thing and publish it in my dad's Quibbler." Luna immediately changed her tune.
Her dad's magazine was only the next best thing? So filial.
"...I wish you success."
"Thank you." Luna nodded, then as if she suddenly thought of something, "Oh right, do you want to come with me to ask the kitchen elves if they have pumpkin fizz today? I think to celebrate you making a professor cry from anger for the first time, we should drink something good."
"I didn't make her cry..."
"Almost," Luna said with certainty. "Next time, say a bit more and she'll definitely cry. I bet five Sickles."
"This is bad. Even though it's a bet between us, I actually hope you win." Leon shook his head.
"Deal," he said.
Luna smiled in satisfaction, her smile bright and sparkling like sunlight passing through crystal.
---
Late at night at Hogwarts, the castle sank into an ancient and profound silence.
Leon curled up on the sofa in the Hufflepuff common room, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace for a whole hour. His roommates had gone to sleep early—Justin Finch-Fletchley's snoring sounded like a lost troll beating a drum.
Most people might not be familiar with the name Justin Finch-Fletchley alone. In fact, he was the unlucky bloke who publicly questioned whether Harry was the Heir of Slytherin in their second year, and was then Petrified the next day by the Basilisk controlled by Ginny.
...Encountering a Basilisk was indeed unlucky, but encountering a Basilisk and only being Petrified instead of dying instantly might also be considered a kind of luck.
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