By the Light of the Moon

Disclaimer: All rights to the world of Harry Potter go to J.K. Rowling, etc., etc. There are also random other references to other books, fanfic, TV shows, or movies in this story. All are cited at the end of the chapter.

Many thanks to Austin, my sometimes beta-type-person, for lack of a better word. And to Kelly, for getting me into fanfic in the first place.

Chapter 1: Witch Dreams

The moon is full and bright, backlit by the pink glow of the coming dawn. A wolf's cry shatters the silent night air. All around the clearing, shadows break off from the deeper shadows behind them, weaving through the threads of light cast from the circle of flames until they are single entities once more. The werewolves stiffen as the pack song begins, drifting down as if from on high. As the sound grows nearer, they begin to sway as if in time to the music that would sound like eerie howling to most. At last he enters the clearing. A shiver of apprehension and excitement runs through the waiting watchers. He turns in a circle as if to take them all in, and then bares his teeth, waiting. As the moon slides into position below the horizon, the change begins again, or rather the reversal of the change. One by one, the wolves straighten until they are human once more. He grins an especially feral grin, even for him. "Soon," he says in reply to the unanswered question in everyone's eyes, his voice low and grating. "After a few more wanings of the moon." Then he turns to face her, and grins again. "Soon,"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

She woke up, soaked in sweat. Her breathing harsh, she looked around at the familiar dormitory where she had slept for the past five years, at the blue velvet hangings that cocooned her and hid her from the view of the rest of the world. But she had decided long ago that she would not hide.

She pulled the hangings aside and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Elsa, Emma, and Anne were still asleep, as usual. Getting up, Luna pulled on a sweater over her nightgown and some thick wool socks. Although not as cold as the Slytherin dungeons, the floors of the Ravenclaw dormitories could still get cold in the winter. Sliding out the door, Luna headed for the common room, where she could analyze her dream in peace. Luna did not normally remember her dreams, or at least she had not for a very long time, and whenever she did remember them, they were not the silly and inconsequential dreams that everyone else seemed to have, dreams of showing up for a History of Magic test in only your undergarments, for example.

It had all started when she was nine years old. Her mother, an Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries, had been working some delicate tests in the Death Chamber. The completion of these tests had led her mother, bored while waiting for another Ministry official to check her work, to begin fiddling with dream magic. Luna didn't know exactly what had happened. She had been hiding behind a tier of seats, as the Death Chamber was one of the rooms in the Department of Mysteries where she was not allowed, and she only felt a stream of magic hit her full force before she heard her mother's hasty gasp, which was just as hastily cut off. Dazed and somewhat dizzy from the force of the magic, Luna had crawled out just in time to see her mother fall backwards through the veil on the dais.

Although the rest of that day was a blur, Luna did remember that night, because that was when she'd stopped dreaming. Then, about a week later, she'd had the first, well, she supposed they could be called visions, but they seemed so much more real than anything that could be seen in a crystal ball or a pile of tea leaves. She'd told her father, but no one else, having no one else to tell it to. And the visions continued to come, not with any regularity, but every few months or so, Luna would awake drenched in sweat, with whatever scene she'd just witnessed still running through her head. Sometimes they were happy, sometimes sad. Sometimes they were about people she knew, and sometimes she had no idea who the players were. She'd given up long ago trying to tell others about what she saw, for her father only patted her distractedly on the head, and everyone else took it as yet another example of Luna's craziness.

But never before had the occupants of her visions acknowledged her presence, as she was sure the lead werewolf had done. This was something to think about. But she couldn't do so now, for others were beginning to appear on the stairs leading down from their dormitories. Emma and Anne sat on the opposite end of the couch from Luna, acting as if she didn't exist. Used to this behavior, Luna merely settled deeper against the cushions.

"So, you will never guess what I saw last night as I was coming back to the dormitories." Anne exclaimed, loud enough for the entire common room to hear.

"What were you doing out so late anyway?" Emma asked. "I had to go to bed before you got in; I was so tired from that detention from Slughorn."

Anne grinned slyly. "I'll tell you about that later. Anyway, I saw Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown making out right outside the magic mirror!"

"What?" Emma gasped, obviously enjoying this bit of gossip, though it didn't seem to merit that kind of attention in Luna's opinion. It seemed as though Ron and Lavender made out everywhere: at the kitchen table, outside classrooms, on the Astronomy Tower. "Why can't they just do that in their own common room?" Emma continued.

"They're probably tired of Hermione Granger giving them dirty looks. If you ask me, she just doesn't know what she wants."

For once Luna agreed with her. Hermione Granger did not know what she wanted.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ron awoke groggily. Rubbing his knuckles across his eyes, he sat up and looked around. Light slanted in through the window over Neville's bed. He'd always pitied Neville that spot, always having the light shine into his eyes first thing in the morning, bright enough to shine through even the thick velvet curtains. He'd pitied Neville, yes, but never enough to offer to switch beds with him.

He sighed. Time to face another Monday. He rolled out of bed and hit the floor with a bang.

"Oh, shut up, Harry," he groaned as Harry, well, there was really no other word for it, sniggered at him. "You have the most girly laugh out of everyone I've ever heard, mate, and I'm including Lavender in that statement."

Lavender. He still didn't know what to think about her, really. It had seemed simple enough, three weeks ago, snogging her in the common room after the Quidditch game. He'd done it just to hack off Hermione and Ginny really, and to prove that he wasn't as prude as they made him out to be. And it wasn't as though he didn't enjoy kissing Lavender. Well, he was 16 years old; he would enjoy kissing wax fruit. It was just that she…well, she…she giggled too much. Yes, that was it.

Ron pulled on his robes, stifling another sigh. Forgetting to tie his shoelace, he tripped on his way out the door, falling halfway down the stairs. Dean, Seamus, Harry and Neville's laughter followed him as he stood up and continued on through the portrait hole. It was a bloody fantastic start to what was sure to be a bloody fantastic week.

References:

Witch Dreams is the title of a book by Vivian Vande Velde. This story is in no way connected to it, but the title just seemed to fit. The bit about inconsequential dreams is also based loosely around some of the dialogue of Witch Dreams.

"Well, he was 16 years old; he would enjoy kissing wax fruit." A variation of the words penned by the amazing Cassandra Claire when she has her Draco say "I'm 17 years old; I have erotic thoughts about wax fruit." or something along those lines.