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Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting.
Luna’s hand was steady as she lifted her brush up and down the wall right by the infirmary entrance. Next to her, a bucket of paint levitated, at the most convenient height for her to dip in and refresh the paint on the brush.
Tonight, she chose to leave her message in an unfortunately crowded place.
The closed door didn’t conceal the sounds of anguish coming from inside. Groans and muffled cries reached her ears, devastating in their quietness. This was the Carrows’ doing: the Headmaster was absent today, probably responding to his Master’s calling, and the students had become the Carrows’ means of amusement.
Neville had stepped up to defend a group of third-year Gryffindors, and his crimson –how perfectly Gryffindor– had spilt all across the pristine floors of the Great Hall, filling the air with its metallic scent. He was now taken into hiding by Ginny and the rest of Dumbledore’s Army until he healed.
The third-year children had not been spared by the Carrows’ cruelty, either.
She was outside after hours, risking her own head to spread the message of their resistance, one word at a time.
Her sky blue letters bloomed against the dark wooden panelling, like birds ready to take flight after being oppressed for so long.
Birds.
She paused for a short moment; a little smile, so innocent in the face of the cruelty taking place in this school, curled her lips upwards. She thought of the three who escaped: Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
Were they safe?
Were they seeing the birds fly somewhere, sheltered and well-hidden?
Their names were whispered among the members of Dumbledore’s Army with equal measures of agony and reverence. No one had heard of them for weeks on end, and that was reassuring, oddly enough. It meant they weren’t caught by Death Eaters, not yet, at least.
The students held onto that hope with everything they had.
The door to the infirmary opened just a little bit, and Luna paused her task to listen. She passed the brush on her left hand and pulled her wand from her sleeve in case she needed to cast a quick concealment charm on herself.
The bucket stopped levitating; she caught it with her left hand instead, along with the brush.
One, two, three subtle taps against wood.
The girl waited, almost holding her breath in anticipation.
A four-second pause followed.
Luna counted the seconds mentally.
Their passing did not match her frantic heartbeat.
Then she heard two more taps, and she could breathe again.
Dipping her brush into the bucket with the utmost care, the girl then took both along as she tiptoed inside the infirmary. The room was relatively dark; it was past midnight already, and most of the candles sitting on the injured children’s bedside tables were snuffed out. Those still awake looked at the newcomer with hollow eyes.
Luna still made a point of going to each of them, bringing things she had picked from the Room of Requirements.
She procured a Chocolate Frog from the cross-body bag she was wearing for a first-year Hufflepuff boy who sported a broken arm, a Sugar Quill for a fifth-year Slytherin girl who looked at her warily, as if fearing that the treat was poisoned, and a little book for the fourth-year Ravenclaw boy whose teeth would probably be unable to chew solid foods for a while. The book –sporting the sky blue and bronze colours of their House– looked so bright against the boy’s bruised hands.
“You were so brave today,” she whispered at the latter, who promptly slipped the book under his blanket and acknowledged her with a little smile that turned into a broken sob. “Thank you.”
Luna straightened herself just in time when a hand landed carefully on her right shoulder. She flinched in response; even though she could guess who it was, the flight response had become second nature to her lately.
“Follow me,” came a woman’s whisper behind her, soothing like a balm. “My office.”
And so, the girl followed the infirmary matron down six rows of beds and past a door well-hidden behind a tapestry depicting the human anatomy, into a quaint office lined with shelves holding all sorts of potion vials and various ointments. An anatomically correct skeleton stood on its metal display like the room’s sentinel, and Luna leaned in to observe it closely until Madam Pomfrey interrupted her with a subtle cough.
“You weren’t supposed to be out here tonight,” the matron said kindly. Luna watched, mesmerised, as several bottles and tubes of ointment, along with rolls of bandages, flew off the shelves under Madam Pomfrey’s precise wand movements. All of them slid neatly into a little canvas bag, which the healer pushed carefully towards the girl.
“The Deputies–” she said with disdain, “were rather restless today.”
Luna picked the bag of supplies up and slipped it into her bag.
"I didn’t come all this way to give up now," she replied softly, giving Madam Pomfrey a little smile, full of warmth and gratitude. The matron’s weary face lit up for a short moment before she resumed her solemn expression. “We need to remind the children we are still here for them,” Luna added.
The elderly woman didn't reply at first. She took a long moment to study Luna’s unwavering optimism as if it were something unfamiliar.
“Tell Longbottom to use this ointment on the gash on his back,” she then instructed softly. “That swine, Alecto, often uses poisoned knives.”
A quiet, indignant sniffle followed this advice, and Luna noticed the matron lowering her head, unwilling to let a student see her like this.
“I can’t believe Severus is allowing this cruelty–” she continued, her voice lower now, defeated, heartbroken.
The next sniffle coming from the matron was slightly louder.
Luna paused for a moment before reaching out for Madam Pomfrey’s hand, and the matron shook her head quickly as if ashamed to break down in front of a young student.
“I think,” she began carefully, “that the Wrackspurts have messed too much with his brain. But the Wrackspurts don’t approach bad people, so that’s something to remember.”
Silence followed that statement. Madam Pomfrey lifted her gaze to meet Luna’s. She looked genuinely perplexed by Luna's reasoning, so the girl continued.
“Do you remember the day the Carrows beat a Gryffindor fourth-year right to St. Mungo's?” Luna explained. “The Headmaster sent me on detention to feed the Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest that day. Ginny and Neville had to come along, too. He said they also needed to be punished, and Neville would probably be lost inside the Acromantulas’ lair if left alone.”
Madam Pomfrey nodded knowingly; everyone knew Headmaster Snape held no trust in young Longbottom.
“If Neville had stayed at school that day...” Luna trailed off, leaving the ominous possibility unsaid.
The matron’s eyes filled with tears at this explanation. Then–
“...But I think the most important piece of evidence is the Wrackspurts, if you ask me.”
And so, the unshed tears turned into laughter. Quiet at first, then more lively.
“Bless you, child,” the matron muttered. “I always thought you Ravenclaws were dreamers.”
“That’s why we have that emblem,” Luna replied, before turning to leave. “Because the bird soars higher than us all.”
Outside the infirmary, her sky blue words against the wooden panel were drying up, little birds calling to freedom.
Luna held the paint bucket tighter and made her way towards the next wall.
Dumbledore's Army, Always Recruiting.