Morning sunlight spilled through the tall, enchanted windows of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, painting silver lines across dusty desks.
Professor Lupin stood at the front, his voice calm but steady as he lectured about werewolves — how they shift under the full moon, how wolfsbane potion can keep their mind intact.
Most students were wide-eyed, hanging on every word. I, however, noticed Luna doodling moons and little creatures with long necks on the edge of her parchment instead of notes about werewolf bites.
When Lupin turned toward the board to draw a lunar cycle, Luna leaned closer, her whisper like a soft ripple of wind.
"Dionida… do you know what's more interesting than werewolves?"
I blinked, half-smiling. "What could possibly be more interesting than someone who transforms every full moon?"
Her eyes glimmered with that familiar dreamy sparkle.
"Mooncalves," she said simply.
"Mooncalves?"
She nodded, lowering her voice. "They're shy creatures. Silvery fur, big round eyes. They come out only during a full moon and dance on moonlit fields. If you're lucky enough to see one, it's supposed to bring good fortune — or at least, a beautiful memory."
Professor Lupin's chalk squeaked as he drew a claw mark. I tried to focus, but Luna's whispering painted softer images in my mind — glowing shapes twirling in silver grass.
"They sound… peaceful," I murmured.
"Oh, they are. Much gentler than werewolves, I imagine." She tilted her head. "Do you think we could find one?"
I glanced toward the professor, then back at her. "You mean at night?"
Luna gave that small, knowing smile of hers. "Of course. The moon will be full tomorrow. We could bring breadcrumbs, maybe a bit of honey. Mooncalves love that."
I sighed — half with amusement, half with anticipation. "You're impossible."
"And yet you're agreeing," she whispered, grin widening.
I shook my head, trying not to laugh as Lupin turned back around. But there was no use pretending. When Luna Lovegood decided on an adventure, resistance was as futile as stopping the tide.
After lunch, we sat under the courtyard's enchanted willow, sharing a small notebook filled with sketches of the creatures we'd already found — thestrals, unicorns, puffskeins.
Luna added a new title with neat, curling letters:
> The Mooncalf Expedition.
My cat lounged in the sun beside us, purring while nibbling at a fallen quill.
Luna squinted at the light. "We'll need cloaks. And patience. They spook easily."
"Should we tell anyone?" I asked.
"Tell someone and we'll be lectured," she replied serenely. "Besides, it's not like we're sneaking into the Forbidden Forest again."
I arched an eyebrow. "We are, aren't we?"
She gave a small shrug. "Only a little bit."
Her calmness was infuriatingly charming.
That evening in the Ravenclaw dormitory, the fire crackled low as we packed: a lantern with a dim charm (so it wouldn't scare them), a pouch of honey crumbs from the kitchens, and Luna's worn copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
I caught her humming softly as she brushed her hair. "Do you think we'll really see one?" I asked.
Her reflection met mine in the mirror, eyes bright as moonlight.
"If the moon chooses to show us, yes."
It wasn't superstition in her tone — it was faith, pure and simple.
She slipped on her blue-silver cloak, fastened it with a small raven pin, and turned to me.
"Ready?"
"Always," I said.
Outside, the castle slept. The moon hung high — round and glowing, bathing the grounds in ghostly light.
We crept down the staircases, ducking behind suits of armor, hearts pounding with the thrill of mischief.
When we reached the doors, Luna pressed a finger to her lips.
"Quietly now. The stars are listening."
The forest beyond the lawn shimmered faintly, dew catching moonlight.
We slipped beneath the trees — the air cool and alive, the grass whispering underfoot.
Luna stopped suddenly, holding out a hand.
"Look," she breathed.
There — between the shadows — something moved.
A small herd of delicate, silvery creatures stepped into the clearing. Their eyes were large and luminous, their fur like soft starlight.
Mooncalves.
Luna's breath caught. "Oh… they're real."
I could only nod, awestruck. One of them tilted its head toward us, curious but unafraid.
Luna knelt slowly, opening the pouch of honey crumbs and scattering them on the grass. The creatures approached, cautious, graceful.
When the first mooncalf sniffed her hand, she laughed softly — a sound so gentle the forest itself seemed to listen.
We sat there, surrounded by glowing bodies and soft hums, the moon above us like a guardian.
For a while, there were no words — only wonder.
Then Luna whispered, "I think they like us."
I turned to her, smiling. "Or maybe they just see us like we see them — something gentle in the dark."
She leaned her head against my shoulder, eyes following the mooncalves as they began to dance — slow, rhythmic steps that left faint glowing trails in the grass.
We stayed until dawn painted the edges of the forest pink.
The forest was still breathing softly when we decided to go back.
The mooncalves had long retreated into the mist, their faint footprints glowing in silver patches of dew. The air smelled like wet moss and starlight.
Luna brushed her cloak off and gave a dreamy sigh.
"That was wonderful," she whispered. "They move as if the moon itself were teaching them to dance."
I smiled, tucking a stray leaf out of her hair. "You say that like you've seen the moon teach before."
"Maybe I have," she said lightly. "You just have to look at it long enough."
We laughed quietly, our voices swallowed by the early morning fog. The castle towers were distant shadows on the horizon — almost reachable if we didn't trip over roots or our own exhaustion.
But before we could step out of the forest, a low voice cut through the silence.
"Miss Lovegood. Miss Dionida."
We froze.
Luna turned first, her expression perfectly calm, as if getting caught after sneaking into the Forbidden Forest before dawn was an ordinary event.