For verseblack ;
Title: Image projected
Summary: Luna like the portraits in Dumbledore's office. She is most interested in Phineas.
a/n: I don't know where the title came from. Apologies for the occasional digression about related topics. It's Phineas reflectign after all.

The most curious student I ever came across? Well, I find everyone I've met here rather peculiar, especially the ones who walked in and out of here for as long as Dumbledore was headmaster. None of them was more or less strange than the ones I've spoken to in this office in the days before I was a portrait. But I'll give you the most recent example. It was the event that baffled me the most as far as this week goes.

She is a Ravenclaw and a Prefect. She has been here many times already, wearing a ridiculous necklace of some sort or something unusual in her hair. She would step inside, a scroll of parchment in her hand, and be immediately distracted by one of the instruments, or by the books on one of the shelves. She also observed us, looked at our frames and the detail of what is painted on the canvas besides us. And that is where she seemed to have the most interest for the frame where I reside. She took more and more to standing in front of me and looking me over, humming softly as her hand reached out, about to touch flowers in the vase, and then draw back again, right before her fingers touched them. Of course, our portraits look very realistic. I know it must be rather a shock to reach out a hand and merely feel paint and silk, or linen, or in my case, a typical kind of woven material of which only the females of my lineage seem to know exactly how it is made.

This girl, however, seemed to know it too, even if she was nowhere to be found on the tapestry. Yes, I've been to my other portrait once at night, simply to look that up. The portraits there were right to laugh at me and call me a fool. What interest could I possibly have in a student which I hardly knew, one of thousands and thousands of others I've seen in all these years? But to be honest, she became the first one in a long while who has intrigued me, who has given me more thought than anyone else. Whenever she was here, waiting for ten or twenty minutes before laying something on the desk and leaving again, she always hummed a melody. And for the rest of the day after she had left, I would simply not get the music out of my head. The one from a few weeks ago, it's still somewhere in my memory. This is rather odd indeed. The last time I've heard a woman sing was when I was still alive, standing on the staircase of the old house. I still know how her voice sounded, but I can't recall her face any more, or her name. I only know that this girl, even if she had half as much musical talent, still reminded me of that voice. Perhaps it was the melody. Yes, that had to be it. A beautiful old song it was too. There isn't much music any more that ever reaches my ears and keeps me listening. Hardly anyone knows the wondrous ballads and hymns that every wizard knew by heart only a century ago.
And this simple Ravenclaw student, it was as if she'd picked up the sounds from the castle walls and just imitated them without knowing exactly what she was doing.

For the next few seeks she kept coming here, and I suddenly noticed she hardly carried messages or packages any more. What she did have was a question. Always a question, and it was almost always for me. It woke up the other portraits sometimes and they observed us while we talked for half a minute. It always ended in a smile from me, and I wasn't sure whether I liked the fact that she somehow always managed to make me smile and talk to her, and sometimes even laugh. Any other student would have gotten hardly more than a snide remark from me.

"I used to think all the portraits were as old as the founders," she said once. And she wouldn't wait for an answer, but simply ask me if I'd ever seen a unicorn. Once she even asked me if I still had my wand here, and could I do spells with it? Yes, of course I have my trusted wand with me. No wizard would go without it. Whoever has painted me and the portraits of my time has been asked numerous times to give us our wands as well. Mine is here still, complete with the tiny bit of gold on the knob, and the thin silver green thread woven around it. Wands like that aren't made any more, not even by Ollivander. Oh yes, they will have the same quality still, but nowadays there is hardly any need of a wand maker to incorporate symbols of a wizard's status and reputation on the wand that chose him. She admired mine though, just as my wife and children have always admired it. Perhaps, if she'd hear those stories, she would laugh and shake her head. She seemed the type to wave away all that pretentious nonsense, just Like I have done for as long as I can think.

Good heavens, what was I thinking? It was perhaps the melody. I remember she was humming it again, only this time there were sometimes words she tried to put to the music. "Luna," she said in a soft sing-song voice, "Luna Lovegood in the portrait gallery."

That was her name then. I had to admit, it suited her perfectly.
I watched her hand, which came close to the painting again, almost touching the top of my chair and pulling away. Then it was back again, reaching out for my arm, perhaps to feel the velvet decorations of my robe. I shook my head firmly. This nonsense had to stop, I had to keep myself together.

At last she put her hands in her pockets and turned away. She was out of the door before I fully realised that she was gone. All I could do was put my wand back in the pocket inside my robe and give the others the usual laugh, the one I always reserved for the ridiculous spectacles I've lately seen in this room. "Very good, Phineas," I said to myself, "You've become normal again." I hoped I could stay this way the next time she cam here.

Then came the last day, the most unusual day of this week so far. She was there again, with a crown of flowers on her head. They wereer almost dried out, about to fall apart, and I suddenly suspected she was the type of girl who would cry for the mere loss of them.

This time she looked at me longer than ever. She stayed in front of my portrait, sighed a few times and then shook her head.

"Is something wrong?" I heard myself say at last. "Is there anything you wish the headmaster to know?"

"Oh," she said, looking at her hands and then at the wall under the frame. "I-I don't know sir," she stammered. "Alright, I do have a question then." She looked up again. "Can I come into your painting?" she asked.

I heard several gasps of shock from he other portraits. Some of them looked tentatively at me, obviously holding their breaths. I decided to stay silent. "Sir?" she asked a bit later, "If you don't mind, I've heard it's possible for people to project themselves in paintings, and-and I'd just like to try it out."

I found my usual expressionless pose again, the one that showed hardly any interest in my surroundings and made me look as if I wouldn't hear much else than the tinkling of all the magical objects in this office.

"Do what you want, miss Lovoegood," I sighed. I hoped it would neither encourage her, nor keep her from doing it. This was an excellent way for her to make her own decision without anyone accusing me of edging her on.

And I was sure she was merely back to her former thoughts, trying to decide on yes or no. For she frowned now and closed her eyes. I wasn't quite sure what to expect from this, until I heard a loud popping sound and a transparent figure appeared next to me. It looked as if it had been painted on the canvas and had hardly had time to dry. But without a doubt, it was the girl who had been standing in front of me minute ago. And indeed, I now heard and saw a body falling to the floor. It stayed there, curled up as if fast asleep, and I couldn't stop looking from this figure to the one standing in my frame.

The girl in front of my chair beamed at me and then laughed out loud. Again the other portraits gasped. One in particular looked sharply at me.

"Phineas," she said sharply, "You have to warn her."

"Please, Dilys," I said, giving her a thin smile, "the girl is clever enough. She'll know how to handle this."

"But this is dangerous," she called out. "She is risking her life. If you let this go on, you'll have her killed."

I shrugged. "She'll find out," I said. And I trusted in that back then, trusted myself too for as long as all the nonsensical thoughts were out of my head.

Dilys merely shook her head and walked to the other side of her frame.
"Never in my life," she mumbled. "Crazier than all the mad witches of old together. Ah, professional healer and Hogwarts Headmaster, it does make for such a fine combination of character.

Meanwhile the girl had started humming again, and she pulled out her wand. I saw her dusting off the walls, sweeping the floor and the small table. She walked around as if she was at home here.
"It works, sir," she said at last, putting a hand on the arm of my chair, "it does. You can do magic here as well."

"Thank you for testing it," I said. Was it deception or was the air in this room really trembling? there was magic here, or some other powerful energy that I'd harldy seen here before. The few other times the surroundings had tingled like this were when Dumbledore was angry, or perhaps once last year when Severus Snape had outwitted the man in logic and reason and was the first in years to storm out of this room and startle the gargoyles outside.

I sighed, looked at the flowers on her hair. They looked fresher at once, as if they were filled with new life. But the girl wasn't the same any more. There were lines on her face at once, and she bowed her head. Finally she was resting on the arm of my chair and I heard Dilys' warnings in my head again. Yes, usually, I would have still ignored them and let this foolish girl learn her own lesson. But as the sleeping form of Luna on the ground was starting to look paler and paler, I realized I couldn't take that risks. Not while Dumbledore ruled this school, not while he took so many foolish risks himself, putting the lives of nearly all his friends and admirers at stake.

I put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at me. "Lovegood," I said, in the same manner I would address a boy or girl of my own house, "Go back."
She looked back at me and pouted.

"Why?" she said.

"Can't you find that out yourself?" I sighed.

"But it's so fantastic here," she whispered. "Mister Nigellus, I am so glad I can finally touch this chair, and the velvet curtains, and smell the flowers..."

"Are you tired?" I interrupted. She nodded slowly. "But that's nothing," she said. "I've hardly slept last night anyway. Why should I go already?"

I could hardly believe my ears. My assumption wasn't true by far then, and Dilys was most certainly furious now, seeing everything played out exactly the way she had feared.

"Because now isn't the time to go to your portrait gallery." I said impatiently, and I was surprised at the tone of urgency in my voice. Normally I shouldn't have cared less, especially since this wasn't one from my own house. Indeed, if she had been in my house, Severus would have certainly talked this nonsense and all her other dreams out of her head long before her first year had ended.

"OH for Merlin's sake Phineas," Dilys hissed at once, "if you can do magic at all, then banish her out of here!"

Suddenly I felt a strange kind of fury, and wasn't sure who to blame for this. Was this girl so stubborn? Was she so stupid herself, or was it old Flitwick's fault for trusting too much in the independence of his students? Surely he should know that not everyone from his house was as clever and well-read as Rowena herself?

I took hold of her with both hands now and shook her.

"Look into the room will you," I barked, "there's a body lying there. That is your very own body, my friend. You are not in it any more. Do you realise at all what happens if you leave it here?"

But the silly dreamer only burst into tears. Perhaps she realised at last that she didn't belong here at all. I tried not to pity her. I shouldn't in fact. She'd had her wish come true and found the answers she probably wanted to find. But no, she naturally wasn't content with just that.

"I want to see the other frames," she said, "the landscapes, the unicorns and dancing flowers..." Oh this was hopeless.

I had hardly heard the door open and close. The first sound I heard apart from our two voices was a very welcome voice shouting an incantation. Thank goodness, someone had arrived at last. It wasn't Albus Dumbledore, but I trusted Minerva McGonagall enough to put a suitable end to this situation.

And indeed, moments later, the figure slipped away from my chair. Her head wasn't on my shoulder any more. I tried to brush the tears away, and found they stayed where they were. Somehow they had merged with the paint. It should annoy me of course, but there was a more important scene going on on the floor near the wall.

The still form lying there lifted her head, and then coughed and gasped for air.

"Oh thank the stars," Dilys said hoarsely, "she survived." Then she turned to me. "I have warned you for this," she said. "And that isn't the last thing I'll say about it either, Phineas."

What could I do? Bow my head? turn away from her and close my ears? She was right ,of course she was right and so I decided to save that as the very last thing I'd possibly say to her today. She stayed furious, watching with me how Minerva stood up again with her arms around the girl, trying to steady both of them. "Really now," Dilys continued. "If I had my way with the Ministry, I would report the whole situation to them and..."

"Enough," Minerva's voice cut in. "Silence, both of you."
She knew of course that I hadn't said a word since the girl had come to life again. It was a simple side-effect of how shocked she must have felt, how we all must have felt when we saw the soul, or whatever it was that had been in my painting, restored back to its body again.

I decided to sink back in my chair and put a hand under my chin, observing the room while she put the girl on one of Dumbledore's chairs and looked at her.

"I'd like to know one thing only, Lovegood," she said, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. "What on earth possessed you to do this?"
The girl only bowed her head slightly.

"I wanted to see the paintings from inside," she said softly, "to explore all those landscapes. I've read about this in a book and I just wanted to know how it felt."

There was silence after that, and it seemed to give her confidence.
"There are so many wonderful paintings, professor," she said, and she sounded almost like herself again. "I've heard there's even a painting of...of Avalon ,and one of king Arthur's castle."

I tried my best not to laugh. This had to be the worst educated child of her house. That, or her body alone had aged and was hosting a child's soul that refused to grow up with it.
If she had looked a bit better in our library, she would have found out that there was time enough in her life to visit those places, and see them for the real things they were.

Suddenly Professor Dippett, of all people, sat up straight and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, professor," he said, and without waiting for an answer, he continued, saying exactly what I'd expect any of them to say. Of course they all wanted to put the blame on me. One cold say much about the unity of this gallery of people, but none of them was or will ever be a true friend or ally of mine, like the ones I've known while I truly lived here. In fact, they're hardly good friends of each other as well. We are all serving the current Hogwarts staff, an serving them for our own good.

I realised that in full again when I found Minerva's eyes on me, almost as piercing as Albus' could have been, and I bowed my head slightly.

"Professor," I said before she could ask me anything. "I had nothing to do with it. The girl cast her own spells, I only granted her wish."

I could hear her take a deep breath.

"Very unlike you," she said slowly.

"Unlike me indeed," I said. "I know it is my usual duty to keep anyone in this building from making foolish mistakes."

Minerva merely sighed and turned to the girl in the chair, who looked rather small and frightened at once. "I'm sorry, professor," she said softly. I could hardly make it out among all the whispers from the others on the wall.

But the lecture I expected, or perhaps had silently hoped for, didn't come at all. Instead Minerva helped the girl out of her chair with another sigh. "Come," she said. "To madam Pomfrey."

Then she opened the door. "And let none of these portraits see you here again," she said sternly, "Unless professor Dumbledore himself is here as well."

Then she walked out and gave us a small nod before she closed the door.

"Come on," I heard her say. Then the gargoyles moved aside, and the hurried footsteps faded away.

Apparently, Luna has kept her promise to McGonagall. She hasn't been here here since that Wednesday, and to my utter annoyance I sometimes find myself missing her.