Luna let herself lean into Harry while he propped her up, their shoulders against each other, his arm around her, as they shuffled out into the hallway and bit back their giggles until they were safely out of earshot from the classroom.

The moment they finally turned a corner and their escape was successfully in-progress, she dissolved into peals of laughter. It was— nice, indulging in an emergency which was actually something so cheerfully, utterly banal. Considering how they'd once helped classmates off the battlefield with hands slippery with each others' blood, this was gloriously low-stakes. When they reached the nearest staircase, she reluctantly disentangled herself from Harry (although she caught his hand and squeezed it affectionately), and then led the way, hopping onto a banister to smoothly slide down it.

"We're truant children," she said in a hushed voice, her voice turning mock-stern and severe on those last two words, reminiscent of a particular Transfiguration teacher. "Your head of house will never forgive us if she catches us."