Oh please don't turn me into a man
Cause I don't want to see my skin fold
Oh please won't you keep me as I am
Oh people look so lonely when they're old, when they're old
Umbrellahead – Mystery Jets
I didn't cheer that day. It seemed wrong to cheer over something like someone's death. But it didn't seem right not to cheer either. It was the end of a long war after all, but I felt almost empty inside for some reason. A reason I don't understand as of yet. Maybe it'll become clear someday.
I slowly pushed my way through the rejoicing crowd towards the body. It was as if my feet were moving on their own accord. I wanted to stop, but a whole other part of me wouldn't allow it. So as I stumbled out of the giddy mass I fell to my knees by the head of the deceased.
I had never seen him up so close. I saw the face of the person who had killed millions and couldn't help but think this wasn't the real him. It couldn't be. This, after all, wasn't his real face, or eyes, I thought after closing his eyes much like I had done with Dobby not so long ago. He had been handsome hadn't he? And his eyes had been deep blue, hadn't they? So I found myself shedding silent tears for a person I never should have. A person who had ruined many lives including mine. I was crying for a dark wizard. The most feared dark wizard of all time. I was crying for Voldemort.
But as I sat there, leaning over his body and looking at his face, I realized I wasn't crying for Voldemort. No, I was crying for Tom Riddle. A tragically lonely boy who had nobody. He had to live his life much like I will have to live mine now, seeing as both of my parents are dead. So I sympathized. And I cried for both of us.
"Luna? What are you doing?" asked someone from behind me
I knew it was Harry. Nobody else would have the guts to talk to me right now. I was, in fact, curled over the dead body of a murderer, crying my eyes out.
"I'm crying Harry." I said thinking the question was rather silly "Nobody else was going to cry for him, so I thought I would."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the while truth either. But how could I tell him the whole reason for my mourning, if I didn't understand it myself?
"Your too kind for your own good Luna." he said, turning his back and walking towards his friends
That night as I lay in my bed in my fathers, now mine, shack I thought of the early Tom Riddle. I never had met him, but I really wanted to. I couldn't help but wonder what he was really like, how he really treated his friends and loved ones, or if he really could in the first place.
I fell asleep thinking about a dark wizard I would never know.