"Is there a reason, Mr Potter, Mr Zabini, that the two of you are nine minutes late for my lesson?" Harry hovers in the doorway, tongue stuck in his mouth, and he inwardly curses. Snape's eyes still look dark, but he's standing up and glaring at the two of them.

"Harry had a slight wardrobe malfunction, Professor, caught the back of his robes on the stairs," Blaise says smoothly. He coughs, delicately, and then murmurs, "I was assisting him in repairing the, ah, rip. Didn't really want to come to Potions with his modesty on show." There's a chuckle or two around the classroom, and Harry feels his cheeks burn, but it's a better excuse than the truth. He's just glad Sirius had taught him that spell for hiding hickeys.

"Sorry, sir," Harry says. When Snape meets his gaze, Harry does his best to clear his mind, and says, "Even if it wasn't embarrassing, I'd think it'd be a bit dangerous with potions about, you know. Don't want any Bubotuber pus on my sensitive areas." Snape doesn't wince. Harry thinks a wince would be a bit too close to a normal human response for Snape, but his eyes do narrow slightly, and there's the slightest wrinkle to his nose, just for a second.

"Sit down," Snape says, rolling his eyes, but to Harry's surprise he doesn't take any points off them, and he settles at a desk with Blaise, where they both set out their cauldrons. Hermione looks like she's trying not to laugh as she stops Neville from killing them all, and it's obvious from his mildly put-out expression that he thinks she's laughing at him. They'll make it up to Longbottom soon enough, Harry thinks, and concentrates on his potion.

"Mr Potter," Snape says as Harry gets up to leave, and Harry frowns at him, but he stays as the last of the Gryffindors filter out of the room. Harry stands before Snape's desk, and Snape says, cleanly, "Detention with me on Saturday, at seven."

"What? Why?" Snape meets Harry's gaze.

"Wardrobe malfunction?"

"Wardrobe malfunction," Harry agrees. "Tore the back of my robes, sir, had all my bits on display." Snape remains unconvinced.

"While I have no doubt that your bits were on display, Potter, you will take detention with me at seven o'clock on Saturday. Mr Zabini will be joining you. Get out." Despite himself, Harry can't help but smile a little as he exits the Potions classroom - Snape had known what they'd been doing, and while it's horrifying that Snape knows, it also makes Harry want to laugh. He has a free period now, and so he makes his way meanderingly up to the Great Hall: Cedric waves at him once he enters, and Harry steps over to the Hufflepuff table.

"Nine days, Harry!" Cedric says, clapping his hands together. He has a disconcertingly wide grin on his handsome face. "Are you ready?"

"To die? No," Harry replies, and Cedric laughs, clapping Harry's shoulder affectionately.

"You'll be fine," Cedric says in his ultra-serious, earnest way, and Harry gives him a slightly awkward smile as he makes his way over to the Gryffindor table and sits next to Hermione.

"I promise, Neville, I wasn't laughing at you," Hermione says, and Neville sits still across from her, looking down at the tabletop. They're the only ones sat at this part of the table, and Neville looks sad to say the least. Harry glances up and down, seeing no one in sight, and Harry elects to make a decision.

"Neville," Harry murmurs, leaning forwards slightly and saying seriously, "She was laughing because Blaise and I were in a broom cupboard. There wasn't a wardrobe malfunction." Neville's head shoots up, and he stares at Harry, his eyes wide and his mouth open in a round O of shock. Beside him, Hermione seems surprised that Harry had told the other boy, but he trusts Neville: the other boy isn't exactly popular with his schoolmates, but he's never struck Harry as a bad or cruel boy.

"Oh," Neville says, awkwardly.

"Keep it under your hat, would you?" Harry asks smoothly, and Neville gives a shy, little nod of his head. His face is the face of a boy who isn't used to being entrusted with secrets, and Harry feels the slightest inkling of sympathy. Then, Ginny joins them, and Neville's expression becomes warmer, more contented. He smiles at Ginny like she's his only friend, and Harry makes a mental note to maybe include Neville a bit more, where they can. Or- well, maybe not: he's a nice boy, but he's not exactly an exciting one.

They settle into more usual conversation, chatting as they wait for lunchtime: Ginny's upset about not being able to try out for the Quidditch team, but at least she'll be able to next year. Harry's seen her on a broom, and he has no doubt that she'll win the Seeker position easily, and Ron had been great in front of the Quidditch hoop on the Weasleys' pitch.

"Are you excited for the First Task, Harry?" Ginny asks, and Harry considers the question. Is he excited? He'd made a few dry jokes to Cedric and to the Slytherin lads about being killed, but he's at least reasonably certain he isn't going to die, and a part of him is looking forward to it. The idea of the crowd is daunting, but it's also exciting: it sends a little thrill through him, to think of all those people watching him and Cedric as they face whatever the First Task is made up of.

"I think so, yeah. Scared, but excited," Harry says, and Ginny grins at him. Now that she's gotten over the crush she'd had a few years back, it's great to talk to her - Ginny has a wicked humour, and it's obvious to Harry that Fred and George are her brothers just from the way she acts.

"What do you think it'll be?" she asks, giving him a wink. "A dragon?"

"Okay, now I'm less excited, more scared," Harry says, and she laughs. Neville smiles slightly too, and Hermione chuckles.

"Surely we'd have known if it was going to be dragons," she says. "You can't exactly put them in a cupboard until the task, can you?" Harry grins a little, and he follows Neville's gaze as he looks over Harry's head, meeting the gaze of Luna Lovegood. Luna settles slowly on Harry's other side, and Harry smells the rhubarb from her necklace.

"Hello," Luna says. Her hair is braided behind her head today, and in her hair are flowers with ugly, thorny stems that keep them stuck to the braid. Their petals are a sickly brown, and when Harry inhales, they actually smell quite good - like hard-boiled sweets in a jar, surprisingly sugary.

"Hey," Harry says as the others offer their greetings, and Luna offers him a smile; like Harry, she doesn't really join the conversation as Ginny, Neville and Hermione begin to talk about practical Herbology, and the two of them are mostly silent as the other three begin to talk. Harry enjoys Herbology: the animated, often argumentative plants are polar opposites to the dull, homogenous flowers Aunt Petunia had always wanted Harry to plant in her garden, and while Herbology comes with its share of bruises and odd injuries, Harry enjoys it.

But no one enjoys Herbology like Neville Longbottom.

The Gryffindor is transformed as he speaks, gesticulating with his green-stained, calloused hands. "And it's so amazing, honestly - you'd think the Venomous Tentacula would be a vicious plant, but it can be almost affectionate with the right care and diet!"

"But it's a plant," Hermione says. "I mean- it doesn't have a brain, Neville, it's not like an animal."

"Magical plants don't need brains," Neville says, and on any other subject Harry knows the other boy would never have contradicted Hermione so easily and so smoothly. "These plants have evolved under a magical strain, Hermione: thinking of a Venomous Tentacula like it's not that different to a daisy is like saying nymphs are just like humans, but green and without any clothes on." Ginny laughs, and Neville remembers himself enough to flush slightly pink. "They're not the same," he says again, shrugging his shoulders.

"Do you have any plants at home, Neville?" Harry asks, and he blinks, seeming surprised at the question.

"A few," he says, "But nothing like here. I love the greenhouses here - Professor Sprout has such a good range of plants, and they're all so great. I'd love to plants like this at home." Neville gives a dreamy little sigh, and Harry smiles at him.

"I don't know about the plants," Harry says, "but I wouldn't mind a library like we've got at home. What would you take home if you could, Ginny?"

"My bed," Ginny says decisively, and all of them laugh, before she turns to Luna. "What about you?"

"Me?" Luna asks, raising her thin eyebrows and tilting her head just slightly to the side. Her skin is the colour of porcelain, and her lips are the softest pastel pink Harry's ever seen: she's the polar opposite to Blaise, with her pretty features and her strong hands, her dreamy voice and her deep, blue eyes, but something about her makes Harry's breath catch in his throat. "I think I'd take home the Giant Squid, if I only had the space." The latter is said with such a mournful honesty that Harry momentarily wonders how to react, but then Luna smiles, and he hears Neville and Ginny laugh.

"I'm going to walk some. Would anyone care to join me?" Luna asks as she stands from the table, a half-eaten carrot in her left hand. Harry stares at her, and doesn't actually respond until Hermione shoves him in the back. The question hadn't been specifically directed at him, but Luna meets his gaze as she takes a small bite of her carrot.

"Yeah, sure," he says, and he scrambles to stand. He has another free now, before three lessons in the afternoon, so time is no issue: they walk in silence through the courtyard and out onto the grounds. The grass is wet with dew, but the cold isn't unbearable, and as they walk down the hill, Harry spares the arena a glance.

"I shouldn't be frightened, Harry," Luna says lightly, apparently taking note of his gaze. "I imagine if you are to die, it won't be at least until the Third Task." Harry snorts.

"Cheers, Luna," Harry says, and he looks down at her boots. Unlike Harry's plain, black ones, hers are a silvery blue, and he recognizes the dragonhide. "Are they from a Swedish Short-Snout?"

"Yes," Luna answers. "Dad did an article about the secret societies of cobblers last September." She looks down at her boots, and Harry wonders how much smaller her feet are than his: wizards and witches don't have sizes on their clothes or their shoes, but he'd estimate her feet at possibly a three or a four, and he wears a six. "Do you like them?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry says. "They go with your eyes."

"They look best on me when I'm not wearing anything else," Luna confides, and Harry coughs, but Luna doesn't actually seem like she's being flirtatious. It's just a fact, and she's stated it. "Come this way," she says, and Harry lets her take his hand. Hermione's hands are soft, as are those of Draco and Blaise, but Luna's hands have callouses on the palms and scars around the fingers.

"Do you climb trees a lot?" Harry asks as she leads him into the Forest, and she nods her head absently.

"Oh, yes. I break bones all the time."

"Ditto," Harry says, and she smiles.

"Of course, I break nails, too," she says, and she shakes her head slightly as the breeze catches her hair and the petals of the sugary flowers. "Not to mention bubbles." Luna leads Harry through the Forest paths like she has them memorized, stepping smoothly over this fallen branch here or this ditch there, and when she stops, Harry is quiet. A brook babbles quietly before them, water running in three streams through the clearing, and a willow tree bows over a wooden bench.

"Oh," Harry says quietly, stepping over the book and towards it. The bench is carved of a purple wood Harry doesn't recognize, and it's covered in ornate designs of ivy leaves and red flowers. Harry sits slowly down on it, and when he turns to look, Luna has slipped off her dragonhide boots and is stepping barefoot into the brook, her robes hiked up around her knees and her wand behind her ear.

Harry sees the silver bodies of fish shoot through the water, dozens of them circling her feet before heading further downstream, and Luna smiles her self-contented smile as she makes her way over to Harry, sitting with him on the bench. They sit together as the minutes tick by, and the longer they sit still, the more Harry sees around them. A small, lilac frog clambers onto a rock, letting out a noise that's more like a caw than a ribbit, and all manner of birds with colourful plumage and bright eyes fly past. Most exciting, though, is the unicorn that steps slowly forwards, leaning to drink from the brook before it slowly makes its way off again.

"I come here when I- Oh, look at that." She points, and Harry follows her finger. For a second, he doesn't see anything, but then he realizes: in an ash tree, three bowtruckles are dancing back and forth across a branch together, and Harry laughs. They don't seem to notice Harry and Luna at all, and Harry smiles. "It's ever so good, in the night time. The nymphs will dance then."

"Nymphs?" Harry repeats, glancing at her.

"And in the spring, all sorts of funny things come down the stream: big fish, frogs, toads. Even a feathered boa." Luna sighs, shaking her head. "It hadn't been very happy about all those feathers, I don't think. I thought it looked quite nice."

"A snake with feathers," Harry says. "Sounds good to me." Luna turns to him, and her expression is pensive as she considers his face. Her eyelashes are thick, but they're such a light blonde they're almost silver, and her blue eyes are like water. They seem almost transparently blue. "What?" Harry asks.

"You've ever such a lot of Wrackspurts around your head, you know, Harry," Luna says, and then she kisses him. He leans into the kiss, going slowly, opening his mouth just slightly. Luna's hands settle on Harry's hips as she leans into him, and Harry is grateful for the slight height he's gained over the summer, so that she leans up and into him. The kiss isn't hurried, and nor is it awkward, like kissing Hermione - it's slow, and measured, and Luna's lips taste of... Parsnips? "Do you like my lipgloss?" Harry stares at her, and then he grins.

"Did you make it yourself?"

"My own recipe." Harry dips to kiss Luna again, cupping the side of her cheek, their eyes closed, their noses brushing each other. Luna's hair tickles the side of his face, and Harry finds he likes the sensation. They kiss for what feels like hours, and when Luna finally stands and says they'll be late for class, Harry is reluctant to stand from the bench and leave the curtain of the willow tree.

As they walk, hand in hand, Harry thinks of Transfiguration, and how he'll be sat next to Blaise. A thick, guilty feeling twists in his belly, and he wonders if he should have come down to the romantic little clearing, with its bench and its willow tree.

"I do hope you don't die, Harry," Luna says, and she brings his hand to her mouth, drawing her lips over the backs of his knuckles. The skin tingles. He feels even guiltier.

"I'll try not to, Luna," he promises, and he walks with her up to the courtyard again.