Luna Lovegood had been in Taxon for almost four months. (Which was rather a long time, if you thought about it. She had already missed the first term of her last year at Hogwarts.) And, for four months, she had started every day in the exactly the same way. She woke up, washed and dressed, ate a light breakfast and spent some time wondering if her
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"Oh, Shit!"
Wait. And also not freaking out. Something about breakfast?
"Wait, what?"
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She sat up, brushing down her fortunately conservative striped pyjamas and wondering what sorts of jams she could offer to her guest. She'd never been particularly interested in culinary magical, and, even if she had practiced the right spells, he was a probably a Muggle. She'd have to be careful.
"I'm Luna. Luna Lovegood," she added, conversationally, "Do you know why you're in my bed?"
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Topher, luckily, also believed in pyjamas - plaid flannel pants and an old t-shirt.
"I'm Topher. Topher Brink. And no. Well, yes, kind of. But no, not yours particularly or me particularly."
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(It was her bedroom, after all. She was the hostess.)
"Oh. I rather hoped you would. I'm afraid I don't remember meeting you, either."
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