“You’re Harry Potter,” A dreamy voice accused. Harry spun about to see who’s spoken. He couldn’t help but grin when he saw who it was. Luna Lovegood was a short, waifish girl with wispy, dirty blonde hair and great big guileless grey eyes. Her facial structure gave her a distinctly elvish sort of look. Radishes dangled from her ears, and she wore a necklace of butterbeer corks around her neck over a simple
“Right you are, sugarplum,” Her father announced cheerfully. “Xenophilius Lovegood.” He pumped Harry’s hand enthusiastically. Xeno wore clothing almost as loud and colorful as Dumbledore, and seemed to have an expression of mild bewilderment permanently etched onto his face.
“What are the Unspeakables like?” Luna wondered, tugging on her butterbeer cork necklace. Harry grinned, recalling a Quibbler article he’d read back around the time he’d started first year.
“Pretty annoyed that you blew my cover. Saul Croaker went on a drunken rant you know, in the Department break room. Said he was madly jealous of your father’s investigative skills, and how frustrating it was to get any good conspiracies running when he was on the case.” “Did he now?” Xeno asked delightedly. “Can I quote you on that?”
“Absolutely,” Harry agreed guilelessly. He sighed exaggeratedly. “Now that my cover is blown, I suppose there’s no use in wearing this costume.” He transfigured his Hogwarts uniform into a fairly accurate emulation of the Unspeakable robes, deftly enchanting them to obscure his form. “Call me… Unspeakable sixty-nine.”