Pre-reading note: Set in second year. To simplify the story without detracting from it (at least in my opinion,) the Duelling Club Parseltongue incident happened prior to Halloween, the exact date unimportant. What is important is that people believed Harry to be an evil dark wizard, then Mrs (Chuck) Norris was petrified with the warning written onto the walls which solidified their opinion of him.

Absolute Loyalty

'I am his sword and shield whether or not he realises it. If he commands it, it shall be done. He is my Commander, I his soldier; he my Master, I his willing servant; he my God, I his Angel of Destruction. Without him my life is nothing, with him my life is everything, by his side I always will be. There is no distance large enough, no ward strong enough, no magic powerful enough to keep me from him if he wishes me at his side. If he were to take on hell with nothing but a wand, I will be there; if he were to take on heaven with an army of undead, I will be there. What I feel for him goes beyond love: it is the infallible knowledge that he will never hurt me nor treat me unfairly, that he will reciprocate my affection and that his happiness is my happiness, his despair my own, that in mind, body and soul we are truly one. So, I ask you this, will you step aside or will you be dead before you reach your wand?'

Her breath shallow; the shadows unrelenting; slowly her mind withdrew.

Seconds, minutes, hours, she did not know; pounding of her heart, beating painfully; cramping of muscles; bruising of bones; spasms of pain as forgotten nerves awoke while others began to sleep; slowly, tears dripped down her cheek as she sobbed on the stone floor.

Hours, minutes, seconds, thirteen, twelve, one. Buzzing blared in her ears, colourful shapes danced across her vision, bittersweet coated her tongue, unseeable bugs crossed her skin, brimstone breezed through her nostrils.

Seconds, milliseconds, microseconds, crawling carefully, mindful of her as she lost control of herself, muscles pulling awkwardly without reason, thoughts jarring and jerking, emotions flaring.

Nanoseconds, centuries, days, each barely holding onto meaning as her teeth chattered and eyes cycled through dilation and contraction.

Moments, memories, myth, each vying without winning.

Seconds, precious seconds, when the buzzing silenced.

Over alert ears picked out the sound, perhaps some miles away or perhaps metres. Slow, light footsteps approaching her. Feet stilling, light breathing became her focus.

Like thunder amongst rain, her ears clearly heard, 'Ouch.'

He avoided the more popular nocturnal areas. Remembering things was something he had to be good at. His current path set him through a more or less abandoned wing of Hogwarts, one that hadn't seen use in many decades as the student body shrunk.

Hidden from the world, it was important to keep on guard. While impossible to be seen, he knew his scent and near inaudible steps could lead a certain cat to him, which admittedly wasn't a problem at the moment, but was still something he had gotten used to.

The school was silent, but he expected no less at around eleven at night. Astronomy Tower had been his origin, his eyes relishing the treat of starlight. It had been the result of insomnia, his conscience heavy with the ill-disguised whispering behind his back.

Approaching a cross-section, he paused, double checking his internal map to make sure he took the right path.

Only, it wasn't silent.

His ears led him down a corridor, one he didn't think anything or anyone ever used if the clean nature was to be believed (it was an easy observation that someone or something kept the entire school looking pristine, so only the well-trampled areas hinted grime.)

A gentle sobbing, so weak it was more a feeling than a sound, directed him. It took him passed old classrooms and a left him outside a broom cupboard. Pressing his ear against the door, the volume increased enough to assure him.

Slowly, his hand rose, escaping the cloak encompassing him, but as it touched the metal handle a jolt ran through him and he couldn't hold back the, 'Ouch,' that escaped as his hand recoiled.

The sobbing halted on the other side.

Idly rubbing away the lingering pain, even if it was barely an annoyance, he quietly offered, 'I'm going to get you out.' It wasn't the case he would try, he would, even if he had to tear the door down with cutting curses, the closest to a damaging spell he knew. 'The handle has been jinxed, but I'll get around it, just give me a minute.'

There wasn't any response, but the sobbing remained on hiatus, so he left it there. Examining his surroundings as he took off his cloak, the only oddity was a nearby wand.

'Looks like your wand's out here, I'll roll it under for you,' he whispered, managing to manoeuvre it through the slight gap beneath the door. Taking a second look and releasing a sigh, he returned to staring at the door, his little magical experience demoralising. Retrieving his own wand, he focused on the memory as he incanted, 'Alohamora.'

There was a click, but no motion. Cringing, he mentally prepared himself as he reached forward, grasping the handle that felt as though it should glow red and twisted while tugging. It jerked open and he relinquished, shaking away the manageable pain.

Looking inside, there was a small girl, or perhaps she only looked so small as she was curled up so tightly. Her eyes stared through him, ignoring the loose strands that were draped in front. It made him think of looking at a caged animal that had given up.

Forcing a smile onto his face, he pocketed his wand and made sure to appear as harmless as possible – with his recent reputation, it would be easy for her to hex first. For nearly a minute he waited, standing at the doorway.

Then, she unfurled slightly, stretching her arms out.

It took him a moment to process it; of all her reactions, he wasn't expecting that she would want to be hugged. Her arms were too wide to be asking for a hand-up though and there was certainly a precedent for sad girls wanting to be hugged around the school.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor beside her, at which point her arms encircled him and pulled tight. It hurt at first, but a little wriggling set that aside. After hesitating, he tentatively looped his arms around her, gently rubbing a figure of eight upon her back as Hermione had done for him as, quite simply, that was the only experience he had with hugging.

His words were lost on her at first. She heard, 'I'm going to get you out,' but it meant no more to her than the tingling in her skin. But, gently, meaning surfaced, probing her meek mind, pulling fragments like hope and deceit together as her shell reformed.

More words trickled through.

'The handle has been jinxed, but I'll get around it, just give me a minute.'

All words she knew but she struggled to understand them together. Carefully, she regrew to a point where it had a vague association, one of hope.

'Looks like your wand's out here, I'll roll it under for you.'

Puzzling it out, her eyes followed the slight change in bleak lighting. Her hands, acting more from curious instinct than coherent thought, snaked out, pouncing on the addition to her enclosure. A slight jolt went through her, pushing pieces into place as a small sphere of night blue formed at the tip. Like an old friend, the wash of magic caressed her, reminding her.

'Alohamora.'

An extract from a book flashed in her mind's eye, half a page of words recounting in an instant and letting her know what the spell did. A spider's web of information lit inside her, simultaneously forcing a dozen related spells to her attention.

'Libertas.'

Not him but her that time as her mouth recalled its own functionality. It was silent, but effective as her mind produced its first thought in what felt like ever.

'Freedom.'

Sudden movement drew her attention to the door as it jerked open. Light flooded in, but her eyes contracted, tempering the influx to tolerable levels. Nothing, then a shadow. Precise adjustment brought it into focus, revealing a fairly small boy.

Something closer to a map unfurled in her mind this time. Stretching back shy of three decades, newspaper articles flashed up, seemingly unrelated but growing in occurrence as an internal counter rose, counting the deaths. Then, nearly a decade ago, that counter paused as a stream of similar articles emerged. Children's books were next, detailing impossible deeds of wishful thinkers, all leading up to a bit beyond a year ago.

That had all been a long stream making up a major road of her internal associations. Beginning a year ago, a newer road had been built, one with foundations in rumours and gossip. Talks of taking on trolls, fearless flying, duels for dishonour, pitiful potioneering, anything and everything in a swerving, illogical path.

In the last couple of months, a third route had formed, that of observations. Images of him sitting at breakfast and exiting classes and studying in the library and wandering around the grounds and practising his flying, all but the last with his two friends.

There was purity in that one, a trodden path through a forest rather than a feat of engineering. In his movement and attitude, there was no hidden malice or subtle arrogance, neither villainous nor righteous, he simply was. From his posture no noble birth and from his appearance no pampered life. If there was one thing she could say about him, it would be that he was extra ordinary rather than extraordinary.

Yet, there he was, meekly standing before her, surrounded by the light and offering her freedom. Her eyes found his, but she wanted to look further, she wanted to find his soul through his eyes.

In those eyes, there were no answers. She wished she could find them, but eyes were just eyes.

Still, a seed of hope took root as she knew of no greater gift than freedom. Her little self-control breaking down, she remembered the feeling of safety when in her mother's embrace and couldn't help but spread her arms in hope.

Surprising her, he carefully joined her on the floor, then turned, giving her the opportunity to grab a hold of him, pulling him so tight to prevent escape, taking comfort in his warmth and tender touch.

The silence had him on edge, a residual dislike for it as it reminded him of the tense time between when the others awoke from snoring and when the latch clicked open.

It hadn't even felt like a minute before he broke. 'I don't much like being locked in cupboards either.'

He doubted she would reply, but hope was what kept him going and companionship rather than pity had been his craving back then, so it may help her.

Sooner than before, he gave in again. 'Hasn't happened since I've come here, but it would happen a lot before then.'

It was more than he had told anyone else, then again not many people asked and it wasn't a pleasant to discuss sort of thing. Even Hermione on one of her learning crusades hadn't got any further than "I don't want to talk about it" and he was very thankful she had let it be.

'I live with my aunt, uncle and cousin; I found out they hate magic, so they hate me and that meant I got a cupboard for a bedroom, right up until my eleventh birthday, right before Hogwarts.'

There was still no reaction from her, but in its own way a little relief came from admitting it was his relatives, not him, were the ones with the problem. So, he continued, the words coming easier and easier.

'I don't much like being locked in cupboards either.'

She hadn't expected that. From what she knew about a "normal" life, being locked away in small spaces wasn't typical – it certainly hadn't happened to her before she attended Hogwarts.

'Hasn't happened since I've come here, but it would happen a lot before then.'

More surprising and further atypical. Even for her, the only one she had known that it happened to was herself, this had been her seventh time in a tad over two months and certainly the longest, with the closest being some six or so hours.

'I live with my aunt, uncle and cousin; I found out they hate magic, so they hate me and that meant I got a cupboard for a bedroom, right up until my birthday before Hogwarts.'

More saddening. She could understand her situation in a way as the other children hadn't had their morals tempered by the death of a loved one, however a pair of adults locking away a child on a daily basis was unforgiveable as they must have known what they were doing was incredibly wrong yet ignored it in favour of their own prejudice.

Then he continued, detailing his life. Everything from his earliest memory, being taught to cook, to how he had killed a man possessed by Voldemort at the end of last year. Sometime during the beginning of his summer, heavy lids dropped, shortly after accompanied by a quiet snore.

'Then, on my birthday-'

He halted, a cute snore emanating. It honestly never occurred to him that it was possible to have a cute snore, having been subjected to impressions of groaning cars or rusty chainsaws for his entire life, but hers was soft and gentle, closer to humming really.

Relaxing his arms and leaning back, he was amused to find her pull him back, leading him to compare himself to a teddy bear. Shifting to thoughts of what to do, he could hardly bring her to Professor McGonagall or any other teacher without having to confess to breaking curfew and his last experience of being caught doing so made it undesirable.

The other thought of returning her to her bed was met by the problem of not knowing where she belonged in more ways than one. He doubted she was a Gryffindor being an unfamiliar face as he did sort of know the other new firsties in his House. She hadn't appeared in any of his lessons, unless he was a lot less observant than he thought possible, and she was much too small to be a third year, so he was pretty confident in thinking she was a firstie.

Slytherin was his first guess, that being the only House he thought capable of torturing, because he knew that's what this truly was, their own members, but then he had to consider the possibility that she was in another House and caught by Slytherins. Except that brought up the problem of why there wasn't anyone looking for her, which unfortunately brought him back to her own House doing this to her. Another thought highlighted how other people were treating him, even his own House-mates, bringing doubt to his Slytherin opinion.

That was still just the first problem. The second was he had no idea where the other Houses stayed and, even if he did, the password to enter would prevent him. Assuming he could get that far, the girls dorms in Gryffindor were charmed, or warded or protected by some other magic, to stop boys from entering and he thought it likely that same protection would be on the others. Just for the heck of thinking of it, he still wouldn't know which was the first year dorm nor which was her bed and it would be incredibly bad to be found out at that point.

After all, it would look like he was stealing a first year girl from her bed in the middle of the night, which really wouldn't do his reputation any good regardless of whether or not he explained himself with her backing him up.

Though, despite its infeasibility, it did give him a very much possible idea.

Gradually moving, he brought her a little away from the wall, letting him hold her better and pull his feet beneath him. Bit by bit, he rose, carrying her with him. Though straining at first, once he was standing, the extra weight wasn't a problem.

She snuggled into him as he released an arm to gather his cloak – a quiet, 'Wingardium Leviosa,' letting him do so easily. With some difficulty, he managed to grab hold of the cloak in his hand that kept her up while re-pocketing his wand and using the now-free hand to cover them both with the cloak.

The journey back was slower than normal with a few breaks being taken before reaching the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

'Wattlebird.'

Jumping, the Fat Lady looked around, though her eyes were quick to droop again as she mumbled, 'Go on in,' the frame swinging to reveal the entrance.

Though a struggle, he managed to get them both calmly through, her gentle breathing undisturbed. Creeping up to his dorm, he carefully climbed onto his bed, closing the drapes behind them before removing the cloak. Laying her down, he had the unique problem of her arms keeping him at her side.

While he wasn't going to do anything unwanted to her while awake, he knew he was prone to moving in his sleep and would rather no accidents occur. As for the other option, he doubted his ability to put off sleep while lying down with nothing to do and a hot-water bottle to keep away the Scottish chill.

Sighing in his somewhat compromising position hovering above her, he looked around for a replacement him, settling on a pillow. Hoping that it wouldn't be enough to disturb her sleep, he removed one of the two pillows beneath her head and slipped it between them. Then, in a single fluid motion, unclasped her grip on him and jerked back.

The tension lasted nearly a minute as a frown took place, incidentally the first emotion he saw from her, while her hands grasped the air, searching for him, before finding the substitute and hugging it, her frown easing away.

Releasing the breath he held, he scooted back to the far end of the bed, sitting with his lower back against the wooden railing. Looking up, it was an odd sight. She hadn't been as small as he first thought, but was still rather petite. Her choice of clothing lacked the formal robes and her muggle jeans, possibly the only modern clothing that seemed to have crossed the magical gap, were complimented by the simple pale blue top that bordered on grey. He couldn't be sure, but in the little time he had actually seen her face, her eyes looked to have been a similar shade, though their red and watery state made it hard to be confident. Finally, her blonde hair lay in disarray over her face and pillow, the longest strands reaching down to her stomach.

She looked so harmless and gentle, it saddened and enraged him that anyone would hurt her.

Breaking away from her, with a slight blush as it occurred to him he had spent the last few minutes staring at a, admitted under pain of embarrassment, pretty girl, he turned his thoughts to what tomorrow would bring.

Stirring from her dreams of three-headed dogs, misbehaving brooms, barking owls and other fantastically unusual occurrences, she became aware of the softness beneath her and the lack of itching which was strange as itching was something she had come to associate with her bed. Thus, it was peculiar and disconcerting.

Flicking open an eye, over the top of the pillow she peculiarly was hugging, she spotted a seated figure on the end of the bed, a book propped up on his knees. She focused on the words, managing to identify "UIDDI" and, beneath it, "ROUGH TH", which prompted her memory to offer Quidditch Through The Ages, a popular book among Quidditch enthusiasts.

What had happened last night replayed, though it didn't explain where or why she was here. Given that he didn't even know her name, let alone House (his actions hadn't contradicted such) then it was unlikely it was her bed and more likely it was his. That would also explain the lack of itching powder or similar "prank".

The weak sunlight projected onto the curtain suggested early morning, not much beyond seven and, as it was the weekend, a significant time before most would rise. That he was awake suggested he was an early riser, unsupported by her never having seen him at even eight in the couple of months she was around, or that he hadn't slept, supported by the same clothes as he wore the night before and that she was (objectively) sleeping alone in his bed.

So, he had brought her back to his bed to let her sleep comfortably when she had fallen asleep in his arms the night before, though it was perhaps more accurate to say she fell asleep with him in her arms if her memories were precise. That had been while listening to his life story, for lack of a better description, and it was a thoroughly unpleasant one.

Still, it was a, well, reckless decision on his part as she analysed her situation. She was in a boy's bed in another House and had no access to any spells that may help, or at least none that she could yet cast that would help – Notice-Me-Not and Disillusionment charms were at the top of her list.

Intent, though, was important and he had intended to be nice, or at least she hoped he did. Right now, that put him before everyone else in the castle, no, the entire world if she excluded her father, though a handful of people she met during their camping trips were close behind.

Opening her other eye, she took in what he looked like when he thought no one was watching.

The glasses perched upon his nose looked old, a number of scratches highlighted by the lighting, though not on the pristine glass – was it a sign he cared for functionality over aesthetics or simply didn't have a choice? His robes, deposited haphazardly on the side of the bed, seemed well cared for and of good quality, yet the oversized clothing he wore clung to his scrawny frame with a sewn up tear here and there.

Then again, she knew he had money and he had greedy relatives who hated him; would it be unreasonable for him to avoid buying nice clothing or new glasses in case they asked questions or decided he didn't need it?

His messy black hair was arranged in a way to hide his scar. She wouldn't like being reminded about the hypothetical death of her parents either. At the same time, she recalled his tale of hair regrowth, and no subsequent attempts at haircutting, which implied a bit of latent metamorphmagus ability. She would keep an eye on its length to see if it changed at all over the year.

Returning down a bit, she inspected his eyes. Her look the night before hadn't revealed his soul, but this time she was simply looking to observe. They appeared a touch strained, agreeing with his lack of sleep, yet the red contrasted with emerald in an interesting way.

His nose wriggled as he went to turn the page and a momentary bob of his eyes had them looking at each other. A wry smile appeared on his face as he quietly said, 'Morning.'

She tilted her head slightly, an odd action when still lying down. Last night, she hadn't spoken, at first out of shame and fear, then later out of interest and an inability to add anything. Now, it would probably be an idea to at least form a working partnership to smuggle her out. 'Thank you.'

His smile eased wider as he replied, 'You're welcome.'

It was the first smile she had gotten from another student in over a month.

'I, er, hope you don't mind, but I brought you up to my bed since I didn't even know what House you were in. Um, did you want a shower before you go? None of my dorm-mates will be up any time soon and I can guard the door to make sure no one walks in on you if you do.'

It was the first nice gesture she had gotten since she arrived. 'I think it's best if I leave as soon as possible so I'm least likely to be caught.'

His lips quirked into a lopsided grin as he pulled up a grey cloak. 'Sneaking out is easy enough,' he explained while draping it over him, removing him from sight. 'So, shower or no shower?'

An interesting item and it would be nice to have a worry-free, cleansing shower after last night or yesterday evening, whichever was the more appropriate term. 'Shower.'

From nothingness his head appeared, the same grin in place as the cloak uncovered him before he held it out for her. 'Doesn't hurt to be careful.'

Sitting up, she gently nodded her agreement while taking it. Smooth, it felt like silk on her fingertips.

'I won't put any locking charms on the door unless you want me to after, well, last night, but feel free to use your own,' then, his eyes widening slightly, hastily added, 'not that I have any plans on peeking, but whatever to make you comfortable.'

It was, well, it was a thoughtful suggestion, something she hadn't received since Professor Flitwick suggested that they, that is the Ravenclaw first years, should move their bookmark as they read if they were sleepy. 'Okay,' she said, the cloak covering her.

'Follow me,' he whispered while slipping between the gap in the curtain.

Though a little sluggish from the sleep, keeping up with him wasn't hard, their journey leaving the room through a side-door and down a small revealed corridor.

'One knock on the door means someone has woken up, two knocks means they're coming this way.'

It was a sensible system. 'Okay.'

Opening the door for her, he whispered, 'Take as long as you want, they're usually only up at ten.'

Aside from the minor incident, which didn't (as far as he could tell) phase her, he thought it was going well as the door slowly closed. While, admittedly, they hadn't talked much, she had thanked him and hadn't freaked out about being moved in her sleep.

It was... a quiet voice. He knew about quiet voices; his own had been like that since loud voices attracted attention and attention led to...

Still, what she had said was gentle too, a calm and neutral tone.

Shaking his head, he wondered why he was thinking so much about the girl. Sure, he felt some connection to her as one victim of bullying to another, but did that explain why he wanted to help and protect her?

Maybe it was that she looked so harmless and innocent that he couldn't bare the thought of her mistreated. Maybe it was that he always wished he had a family: a mother, father and little brothers and/or sisters. Maybe it was that he couldn't stand by and do nothing when bad things were happening to those who didn't deserve them.

Then there were her eyes. A strange, no, unique shade, like the clouds that warned a storm was on its way, still light but with a hint of grey and rays of sunshine making them silver. In a fit of poetic cheesiness, he vowed that, from now on, her cloud would have more than that as a silver lining.

Hot water brushed away the memory of her crawling flesh and doused the noxious fumes tingling in her nose.

Her sleek frame rotated slowly, letting the water pound away at her entire body as she thought.

She thought that it would either be the best or worst day since she attended Hogwarts.

They had done it before, befriending her for the purpose of crushing her harder. But... would he? The stories he told weren't those someone simply makes up – there were details covering years of memories, dark memories. The stories he told weren't those of someone who acted like they did.

No, he had honestly rescued her last night because he was a good, kind person. There would be no, intentional, pain from him.

She had believed that he was the Heir of Slytherin, though not in the same sense as everyone else. Parseltongue was indeed a rare gift and all the writing on it said it was an inherited gift, so the possibility that he was truly descended from Salazar was there.

That being said, she doubted anyone would be stupid enough to petrify a cat and then warn their enemies under a nickname that everyone would associate with them. Headmaster Dumbledore, while arguably senile, wouldn't have let Harry off without reason.

Closing her eyes and letting the droplets cleanse her face, she wondered what she could give back when he gave her freedom.

The door opened, pulling his attention away from thoughts. 'Er, should we get you out now?' he asked.

'Yes,' she quietly replied, hidden from sight.

'Okay, follow me.'

They went back through the dorm, down the stairs, across the sparse common room and out into the school proper. Down the hallway, he took a corner before stepping into an empty classroom, the surfaces spotless as all were.

Taking off the cloak, she looked at his back. Some how, it was easier to imagine talking to him when he wasn't looking at her, when she couldn't see how he reacted to what she said. 'Thank you, for opening the door and for telling me everything and for letting me sleep in your bed.'

'You're welcome,' he said, turning around with a smile on his face. 'Er, you can keep the cloak, if you want to. It won't stop everything, but, well, if they can't find you, they can't bully you. Just, try not to lose it or get it confiscated.'

Incredibly surprised at the gesture, it took her a moment to realise he didn't know what was implied when lending a member of the opposite sex a family heirloom, but she would clarify whether or not he proposed later. She couldn't wish for much better at the moment. 'Ar-are you sure?'

'Yeah, I just use it for sneaking 'round; you need it more than me.'

He accompanied it with a sympathetic smile, gentler than his normal ones yet, for the first time, had her smiling back. 'Thank you,' she quietly said, hoping that her voice didn't reveal how close to tears of joy she was as it seemed one scrawny little boy would, on top of all his other records, be the first person to give her a gift (even if it was more of a loan) since her ninth birthday.

'I, er, hope it helps,' he shyly added, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

She had a couple of doubts about how truly helpful it would be. The first problem was that she couldn't take it back to her room in case it was borrowed without her permission, like some of her other stuff. The second was that the Headmaster gave an eleven year old boy an invisibility cloak so was either trusting to a serious fault, which while odd would explain why Professor Snape was still employed, or had a method of tracking it.

Still, using it for a couple of days to give her enough time to get the Disillusionment charm working should be fine.

With that train of thought at an end, it occurred to her that it was the end of their time together and she desperately wished it wasn't. Part of her felt like, once they separated, she would awaken and the... happiness... would slip through her grip.

If she had to guess, the same thought occurred to him as his smile widened before he said, 'Well, I guess we should, um, be going.'

Her lips down-turning, she metaphorically grabbed her lifeline and asked, 'Could we talk again tonight?'

'Sure, just a bit earlier so I can catch up on my sleep,' he replied with a lopsided grin.

Embarrassed, she felt her cheeks heat up, no doubt displaying a light blush. Wishing she could disappear, it took her a moment to remember she could and brought the cloak around her, side-stepping once it was on. As he continued looking at where she had been, she was confident it was working. 'Thank you, would eight be okay, on your bed?'

His head twisting to, roughly, face her, he replied, 'Yeah, that'd be great.'

'Goodbye,' she softly said, though didn't move.

'Bye.' He too initially remained, though, after a handful of seconds, he started walking out of the room.

Description: About a week after the first petrification on Halloween in his second year, Harry finds a distraught Luna locked up in a cupboard. Through trying to help her then and on subsequent occasions, he unsuspectingly gains more than just a friend or ally.

The story loosely follows canon with an emphasis on Luna, but does diverge significantly at the end of second year and even further by the end of third year, pulling closer to canon for fourth and then finally breaking fully from canon in fifth year. Eventual 'ship will be Harry/Luna and eventually will have Dark-but-Good Harry and Luna, the latter coming forward much sooner. Unsure of length, but initial thoughts put it at 40 chapters / 200k, but very much subject to change as I develop the plot.