One of the canaries cheeps, and Luna doesn't reply for a long time. "Meaningful," she finally murmurs. "That's a very good word." "And anyway, everyone simply can't try to become a witch. If you aren't born with magic, then you aren't born with it. It's very sad, all of the Muggles in the world not appreciating the beauty of it, persecuting the few of us they find, struggling along on their own without anything to aid them besides their own two hands and wits. There are people, too, born to perfectly capable wizarding parents who don't have even the slightest flicker of magic about them. We call them Squibs, and I think it would be very sad to be one. To grow up in the wizarding world and not be able to do even the simplest summoning spell. It's a bit of a shame that so many of my classmates don't appreciate what they have in their hands. It's a whole world of anything."

A smile, another cheep. "Are you calling me strange?" Her tone is joking, eyes full of mirth, as Luna knows damn well that she's one of the wonkier twigs in the broomstick. "Thank you," she adds, twirling a piece of hair around a finger. "Though I think it would be better to say that the best abilities come from those who know how to be themselves."