Just a random one-shot that I had to write down.
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, there would probably be more Draco than Harry in the books.
People were probably staring. How odd they were thinking, How odd that a grown woman in a coat and pants is kneeling in the sand, by the water, in mid January! How strange. Something's probably wrong with her head.
But that didn't bother her; she was use to the staring. Her fingers didn't even feel the chill as they dipped into the salty water, coming up with handfuls of soft, mucky sand. She smiled, the wind whipping her blond hair around her face as she carved a shape into the sand.
She had her own ideas about the world. Crazy, some would call them. Loony. But how did they know she hadn't been right about everything all along? They wouldn't, their heads too deep in books about structure and formulas and the science behind everything to really see the world.
"Sweetheart," her father had said one summer day, when she had told him how cruel they were at school, the names they called her. "They're just jealous," he reassured her.
"Jealous of what?" little her had asked, eyes wide.
"Because you can see the world for what it is, you can see the beauty and mystery in everything, you aren't blinded by facts and lessons. They are. They are blind to the world; and they are jealous that they will never be able to fully appreciate the wonders of life," at his statement she had instantly brightened, though she didn't fully understand his words. Now she did.
The Battle. Some wanted to pretend it never happened; to just be able to dive headfirst back into daily life, back into work and able to start patching together what was left of their families. Others would obsess over it, boasting about who they had killed or telling their tales with wide eyes and dramatic pauses.
She was neither; because she could See what had happened. She could See the death and the bloodlust, could hear the agonized cries of mothers over dead sons and see tears that ran trails down dirty faces over a life that had passed, that was gone forever. She could See smiles of hope, could hear a flicker of laughter and joyous shouts, could see passionate kisses set aflame by the end of it all, the end of the hiding and the torture and the secrets.
Finished she smiled at the little golden castle that sat in front of her, all droopy and squished together. The tide was already slowly working on reaching the sandcastle, on breaking down her fortress she had spent so long making. But she had expected this, and knew she would come down the next day and make another.
"It's beautiful," she stood, her fingers entwined with his, both of them staring at the tiny golden kingdom. "The nargles will love it," he commented. She looked up at him and smiled.
"Do you think so? I know it must be ever so hard for them to have to make their own homes, so I hope they enjoy it," her tone was light, her eyes shining brightly. He grinned.
"Luna, I don't think anyone else puts half as much effort as you do into where the nargles sleep. And for that, I'm sure they'll be thrilled," they had begun to walk away, hand-in-hand, leaving the tiny castle behind.