LUNA-

Nargles. It's the first and last thing I think of every single day of my life. In fact, I'm fairly certain that my first word was Nargles. The truth? You want the truth? Well, I suppose since my father decided to send me to you, I can tell you some of it. But only some, okay?

It started first year, because that's when everything that's going to happen starts to come together. It's also when it starts to fall apart. The girls took my clothes from me, and hid them throughout the school. Hogwarts, of course. Oh, you went there? I guess that makes sense, it just seems like you were too special for that. Maybe you went to the one in France.

Anyway, you want to know why I tried to kill myself. And why I pretended like I was chasing made up creatures instead of trying to leap from the Astronomy Tower. Well, I know there is no such thing as Nargles. I do. And I am doing a little better, since after that people stopped taking my things. It's only that I think they stopped because they can't see me.

I know they can see me. It's a defense mechanism, I'm sorry. I meant that I feel like they can't see me. That I'm invisible to them because they choose to ignore me. I don't exist to them. But who would be friends with Loony?

Right, the point. I really don't see how that was off topic, but okay. Then I met Harry Potter. He's rather nice, for such a well known wizard. My father likes him. He was nice to me, but distant. I suppose it had something to do with the monster he fought that year. Second year. That was better. Neville seemed to understand me. He is an outcast too. I understand him.

Do you know why nargles is what I constantly think of? Because they were and are an escape to me. A fairy world, like the kind in Muggle books that rarely go wrong and are quickly fixed when they do. A children's book. Nargles. Nothing goes wrong, even when it does.

I suppose the truth is that I don't want to tell you the truth. I can't trust you. I'm sorry. It has nothing to do with you, it's just bad memories and experiences. I'm afraid if I keep talking about "why," I'll forget about the experience of needing something I couldn't find and just reduce it to pain. To a mistake. I don't feel like what I did was too bad. I know that my father would miss me, but somewhere in my brain it doesn't click all the time. That'd be the wrackspurts. Those are real, you know. I didn't make them up. My father told me it was the wrackspurts, or maybe a rouge dementor that made me feel so sad and empty.

I don't feel that way anymore. The Healers at St. Mungo's are really good at removing wrackspurts. Oh, and you have a few too many, so you might want to go see them soon.