A/N: Luna and none of HP belongs me to me, unfortunately. I'd be filthy rich by now and so not writing whimsical oneshots. The title isn't mine, either -- it's a lyric from the song "Flume" by Bon Iver.


I Am My Mother's Only One

There is a most distracting speck of dust dancing in the air in front of me. My eyes follow it eagerly, noting its pattern, and my own arms rise of their own volition, as I dance with the dust and the wind. Maybe it will lift me up and let me float away to where the nazmirus live in their tree tops, bursting with light and the sweet melody of freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom. Rocking and rolling and wrapping me up in her arms as she tells me that she's my Mother now and I will never, ever have to go without a warm kiss against my forehead as I get tucked into bed…

Whispers strike against the bubble of my world. Go away! Don't you see that I'm dancing with those purer than you? With the bright metallic sunlight and the cold, lofty Mother wind? But they can't – won't – stop. Like bees struggling to break out of their jar, they insistently strike against my aura until it shatters, and my essence spills into the room. I look at it, wishing that I could gather it again, but that's silly. An essence can never be captured. I blink, and am once again in the Real World, the world where the disenchanted live. The whispers sting me, as they do often, and I remember that I am used to them. They are to help my future arthritis, after all. Besides, I know more than they. I live in a world where there is no black and white and grey and mudblood and pureblood. I live in the world where everything is a splash of colour, and there are no people to ruin it.

Only Mother and Me. She and Me and Us and no Them. There are no secrets. No fear.

I blink again. A secret smile curves my lips, and I look at the whisperers directly, who cannot bear to look at Me. I wish it was because they knew I have the knowledge, but I know better than to hope for enlightenment, especially now. My feet take me to them because they always seem to have a mind of their own, and I follow them willingly and blindly wherever they lead. Maybe I should send them a present. It wouldn't do for them to be annoyed with me, after all, for while I am stuck in this Real World, they are my wings as I cannot fly and I refuse to get on a broomstick. The feeling is too fleeting, and it requires too much concentration, one of life's finer qualities that I do not possess.

I blink, and I am suddenly in front of the three Bee people, my lips still smiling, my blue eyes still twinkling and I know not what I say as my mouth opens. "With all the malice staining your soul, you'll never amount to much, you know. They tell us that you should always be open-minded, and good luck will come your way." The Bee people look perplexed and one of them rolls his eyes. He slowly repeats, "They?" These Bee people are obviously very stupid and not enlightened at all. My face takes on my 'are-you-sure-you're-not-missing-a-few-marbles-look' and I say, "Yes, They."

I no longer have time for them because that speck of dirt is dancing away to my right and I have to follow it. Without a backwards glance, I softly bid them goodbye and walk after this dot of dirt, hoping that it'll lead me to some elusive truth.