Luna stared at Neville, backing away from him slowly. "That's . . . fine. Carry on—really."
"I didn't mean it that way!" Neville exclaimed, straightening up and dusting off his hands. "Luna, truly, I'm not gong to hurt the mandrakes. I just feel like murdering the pot-jumping bastards!"
Luna stopped backing away and tilted her head. "You look rather murderous, but I suppose frustration can take one like that, sexual frustration, especially."
"Sexual frustration?"
"You've been very upset about the Carrows lately," Luna said, tilting her head—her gaze falling to Neville's shirtless chest—"and this detention can't be helping you not worry about them. What they're doing to the Second Years—"
"Luna," Neville interrupted, tossing his spade onto the workbench, "what do the Carrows have to do with sexual frustration?"
"You've been so busy trying to prevent pot-jumping and minding Second Years that you haven't been able to meet Hannah for sex," Luna replied, matter-of-factly. "At least, I assume it's for sex that you've been meeting her."
Neville gaped at Luna but said nothing. It was for sex that he'd been meeting Hannah, but a bloke couldn't just come out and say so.
"Well, all right then," Luna said, approaching the workbench. "You'd best go now. I'll re-pot while you—"
"If you're caught," Neville said, stopping when Luna placed a finger to his lips.
"You scared me just now, you know. Please go have sex, Neville?"
It was a strange request from a girl, but Neville decided that it was the least he could do for Luna for having startled her—and for once he was tired of rooting around . . . in the dirt.
