A Prophecy Undone: Luna Lovegood and the Sorcerer's Stone
Author's Note: It has been a while since I wrote fanfiction regularly…partly because I find it harder to be inspired to write new stories, when I'm usually a person who likes sticking close to canon. So when I had the idea to write an AU fic casting Luna as 'The Chosen One' it was too fun an opportunity to pass up. I hope you like it!
*A special note for this chapter—I intended for this to be an almost direct translation of the first chapter from Sorcerer's Stone. The entire story isn't going to be written this way, it's just a way of contrasting one story with another.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series, any of the characters, or anything like that. If I did I would be very rich and probably would have better things to do with my time than write fanfiction :)!
Chapter One: The Girl Who Lived
Mrs. Beatrice Fry, of number twelve, Lake Street, was a perfectly normal sort of woman. She wasn't the sort that anybody would expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious. The fact that she was, and knew a great deal more about strange and mysterious things than any of her neighbors could imagine, was something she had learned to keep quiet over a great many years.
Mr. Fry was a smallish sort of man, who might once have been rosy but had turned pale and gray after far too many years of being stuck in a small office. He did something with computers—only he really knew what, for sure. He had thin brown hair and nervous disposition, which made him seem rather mousy overall. Mrs. Fry might once have been very pretty, but her white-blonde hair had faded to yellow at some point in her life, and she had grown a little stout over the years. The Frys had a little boy named Kevin and in their opinion there had never been a more delicate child anywhere.
The Frys had everything they wanted, for the most part. But they also had a secret, because Mrs. Fry had once been denied something that she wanted very much. She didn't think she could bear it if anybody ever found out about her lovely younger sister. It had been hard enough growing up with her and watching the way she charmed anybody she met. Aurelia Lovegood lived a life that was as different from Mrs. Fry's as it was possible. The Frys knew that Aurelia had just had a little girl, too (and what of the boy's father? Mrs. Fry didn't even want to know). This was another reason Mrs. Fry tried her hardest to keep her sister away—she didn't want her delicate little boy getting mixed up in such harmful ideas.
When Mr. and Mrs. Fry woke up on the bright, sunny Wednesday our story starts, there was nothing about the clear blue sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Fry stood in the closet debating for a solid fifteen minutes over what he should wear for the big meeting with his boss that day, and Mrs. Fry picked through her copy of Caring for Infant Children, searching for whatever ailment had young Kevin screaming his face bright red in his high chair.
None of them noticed a small, brown owl flutter past the window.
At ten to eight, Mr. Fry picked up his briefcase, nodded at his wife and patted Kevin on the head, causing Mrs. Fry to chastise him for being too rowdy with the boy. "Poor thing," he said, secretly relieved to be leaving the house. He got into the car and backed out of number twelve's drive.
It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar—a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Fry didn't realize what he had seen—then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Lake Street, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? Feeling his head swimming, he wondered for a moment if he shouldn't turn right back around and head home. But then again, if he was really sick he didn't want to risk giving something to the baby. He blinked, shaking his head, and forced himself not to look in the mirror to watch the cat as he drove away. The last thing he needed was some delusion in his head of a cat reading maps and staring at road signs. As he drove into town he was able to settle firmly back onto thinking of the meeting he would be having with his boss that day.
But on the edge of town he began to wonder if it was a delusion or something else entirely. He couldn't help but notice a large number of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Though he didn't usually mind people who went around looking peculiar—to each their own, even though those sorts of people made him nervous—he was reminded of his wife's old crowd. He didn't know much about them, of course, but it seemed just the sort of thing that people like her sister would be involved in.
If his office had had windows, he might have found himself increasingly more distracted as the day went on. He didn't see the owls that swooped past in broad daylight, though people in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never even seen an owl even at nighttime. But Mr. Fry had a normal, owl-free morning. He filled out several forms, answered a couple of phone calls, and sailed through the meeting with his boss without too much difficulty.
He'd almost forgotten about the strange events when he got out to grab lunch at the local café. There were more people in cloaks standing around. He felt even more uneasy than usual, and from where he stood he could hear them whispering excitedly among themselves. As much as he was certain he didn't want to hear what they were saying he feigned dropping a handful of change, so he could listen to them as he bent to pick it up.
"Aurelia Lovegood, that's right, that's what I heard—"
"—yes, her little girl, Luna I think her name was—"
Mr. Fry stopped dead. He was almost shaking. He looked at the whisperers, wishing he could say something to them, but thought better of it.
He walked back to his building, feeling as if he were about to faint as he made his way back up to his office. Ignoring the memos that had mysteriously appeared in his inbox since he left, he grabbed the telephone and dialed his home number.
"Hello? Hello?" Mrs. Fry's voice came at him over the line.
"Dear? It's me. It's Henry. Er…how's Kevin?"
He listened to her describe every cough, change in temperature, and so on for five minutes, hemming and agreeing with her when necessary. It wasn't until she paused for breath that he interjected.
"There have been a lot of strange things happening today, dear. I…ah, I thought I heard your sister's name when I was out walking on the street. Just wondering if you might have heard anything about her lately."
"My sister?" said Mrs. Fry incredulously. "I…she…no, I haven't heard anything about her."
"Hmm…well, I suppose it was my imagination then. Funny thing, people in robes and owls flying around all over the place. I was just wondering if it might have been her crowd."
"Well, I don't know anything about her crowd," snapped Mrs. Fry. "Oh, would you listen to that! Kevin's crying again, I better let you go."
He heard the click of the phone followed by a dial tone. He should have figured not to bring it up to his sister—talk of her sister always made her so angry. He didn't know much about her past other than that she was a…a something or other, and that Beatrice should have been but wasn't. She'd told him the name once…was it a Squabble, or a Squid…? No, that couldn't be right.
When he pulled up into his driveway the first thing he saw was the tabby cat he'd seen earlier. He wanted to bring it up to his wife but thought better of it, and so kept the subject on Kevin, and doctors, and baby food once he walked in the door.
Mrs. Fry had felt herself growing more and more agitated since her husband's phone call that morning. It didn't help that every channel was making reports on the 'odd occurrences' that seemed to be taking place all over the nation.
She had finally gotten Kevin settled down to sleep and sank into her favorite chair with a sigh. "I tried calling Aurelia," she said. Mr. Fry said nothing, waiting for her to speak again. It took several minutes but she finally did. "When I heard the four o'clock report I decided to try. She kept a phone, you know, just so I could get in touch if I needed her. Of course, none of her sort use…I mean…oh well, you know."
"So…is she well?" said Mr. Fry tentatively.
"Never could get in touch with her. I suppose that's best," said Mrs. Fry. "Means she's given up on me I suppose. After all, what use does a woman like her have with a…with a…"
She never finished her sentence, and after that didn't seem inclined to talk. They went to bed without saying another word on the subject, and Mr. Fry couldn't even bring himself to take one more look outside to see if that cat was still there. As he lay in bed, he turned things over in his head. Although he knew about his wife's past, and their…eccentricities, he didn't really think it was something he had to worry about.
Not that there was anything wrong with people like that…it was their life to live, after all. But he couldn't help but feel there was something inherently dangerous about a life like that. He was grateful that his wife had managed to get out of all of that nonsense. And though he was sure that Aurelia was probably a perfectly nice woman, little Kevin was already so delicate—he couldn't imagine the poor boy being able to withstand having those kind of people mucking about. His last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep were that he was worrying over nothing—after all, there was no way that those kind of people would be able to interfere in his life.
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Fry might have been able to coax himself into sleep, but the cat outside was still as alert as it had been that morning. It was prowling through the Frys weedy garden, stopping every so often underneath a rose bush to look out at the street as if waiting for something.
As the time approached midnight, a man appeared on the corner across from the garden that the cat was prowling, so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he just popped out of the ground.
This was exactly the sort of man that the people who lived on Lake Street probably thought of as dangerous. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He wore long robes, a shimmery blue cloak that swept the ground, and silver slippers with the sort of curled toes that appeared in storybooks about elves and goblins. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he could probably be considered the most dangerous thing on Lake Street. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the bottom of the rose bush. For seem reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."
The street was fairly dark. He toyed with the small silver object that he pulled out of his cloak for only a moment before putting it back, muttering, "No use, dark enough out here already." He crossed the road, coming to stand beside the cat in the Frys garden.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, a scarlet one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat move so stiffly."
"You'd be stiff if you'd been confined to this miniscule yard all day," said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? Why, I myself spent an hour at the Potters, and I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She gestured towards a neighbor's house, where she'd patiently listened to the last two broadcasts. "Flocks of owls…shooting stars…well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. A flying motorcycle over London…you know that had to have been Sirius Black. That boy was reckless enough in school…"
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for twelve years."
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors. If that one in there wasn't married to a Squib, what might he have thought? A fine thing it would be if on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a Cherry Sour?"
"A what?"
"A cherry sour. They're a kind of Muggle sweet. I'm not as fond of them as I am of lemon drops, but they'll do in a pinch."
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for muggle candy. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone—"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this You-Know-Who nonsense—for twelve years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two candies, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who'. I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."
"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half-admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know—oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too—well—noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Alice Longbottom said I was almost as handsome as Frank when I was that age."
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting in a mossy, unkempt garden all day, for neither as a cat nor a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another cherry sour and did no answer.
"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up at the at Aurelia Lovegood's house. That…that she was killed."
Dumbledore nodded gravely and Professor McGonagall sighed, shaking her head sadly.
"Aurelia…I only just got a chance to know her, but she was trying to help in her own way. She was a lovely, Albus. Simply lovely."
Dumbledore nodded. "Intelligent. I wish sometimes that I had let her join our efforts sooner. She seemed so reserved, I wasn't sure of her intentions…not until now."
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill Aurelia's daughter, Luna. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Luna Lovegood, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I do not now how, or why. There were others of course…you know that both the Potters and the Longbottoms have been in hiding for over a year."
"Yes. We have all heard the rumors that Voldemort was hunting them," said McGonagall. "Could this have happened with any child?"
He was shaking his head even before she finished her statement. "Again, I cannot tell. But I think that it would take a great deal of love to destroy so great a hate. Even I did not know that Aurelia Lovegood was capable of such a love." Dumbledore glanced down at a golden watch that he pulled from pocket. It was very old, the face swirling with strange symbols. It must have made sense to Dumbledore though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "I suppose you intend to leave her here?" she said disapprovingly. "The man doesn't seem too bad, but I don't know about the squib."
"She will be safe here, that it was is important. I have written her a letter, to be shared with her when she is older. I trust that her aunt will know what to do with her. She spent a great part of her life around magic before she decided to live among the muggles."
McGonagall was silent. "Before…before all this, I might have argued against it. This past year…oh, Dumbledore, this girl will be famous. A legend! There will be books written about Luna—every child in this world will know her name."
"That is true, and part of the reason I find it necessary she have a chance to grow here, away from it all. She must be ready for it, when her time comes."
The pair was silent for a long moment, until the night was punctuated by the sputtering of an old car. McGonagall looked up the street, then down it, and it wasn't until she noticed Dumbledore staring straight up into the air that she followed his gaze. A bright blue car was descending from high up in the air, coming to a stop in the driveway of number twelve.
The man that got out of the car seemed far too big to fit in such a small space. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man, and at least five times as wide. He looked too big to allowed, and so wild—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard his most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. One eye was covered with a thick leather patch that was almost the size of a saucer, and the dangerousness of his look was amplified by a series of scars that covered half of his face.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get the vehicle?"
"Arthur Weasley, keeps all sorts of gadgets in that barn of his. I've got her, sir."
"No problems?"
"No sir. House was almost destroyed, but Arthur heard the ruckus and had her fished out before any harm could come to her. Found her all nice and snug in the crib with Molly Weasley's youngest…finally had a little girl, had you heard that?"
"Bet she's thanking her stars for that," said McGonagall under her breath. The other continued on as if they hadn't heard her, and she joined them in bending forward over a bundle of knitted blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under wispy white curls, they could see a crescent shaped cut, in just the shape of the moon that currently illuminated the sky.
"Is that where—" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore, "She'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give him here, Hagrid—we'd better get this over with."
Dumbledore took Luna in his arms and turned towards the Frys house.
Hagrid watched as he sat the baby on the step, sniffing. "Mrs. Lovegood weren't never that nice to me, but it ain't right to see a l'il girl without her mum or dad." He wiped the tears away from his eyes, as Professor McGonagall gingerly patted him on the arm.
For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook as he began to sob, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations. I believe the Potters plan to celebrate their first night out since going into hiding with a row down at the Three Broomsticks, if you care to join me."
"I migh', Professor," said Hagrid. "I gotta take this ol' heap back to Arthur Weasley. Maybe I'll see yer around."
He got into the car and the motor roared to life—it was a wonder it didn't wake the entire neighborhood. He flew upwards, disappearing at about twenty feet in the air. Dumbledore and McGonagall listened as the sound faded away.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. She nodded in reply.
Dumbledore turned and walked down the street. He paused in the middle of the darkness, frowning. Withdrawing a wand from his robes, he flicked it, causing a dozen or so trees to change into lampposts, casting the street in a luminescent glow. "Much better," he said to himself, turning so that he could see the small bundle laying on the Frys step. "Good luck, Luna," he murmured. Then turning on his heel and swishing his cloak, he was gone.
The night was still over Lake Street. It was a nice and tidy street, now lined with lampposts, which was one of several astonishing things that had happened there that day. Luna Lovegood woke up briefly without crying, blinking large blue eyes as she stared in wonder at the world around her. Then they closed again and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, and not knowing the way her life might have been had but a few things happened differently…not knowing she would be woken by her uncle stumbling over her as he made his way to work or that she would spend the next few weeks being kept in a room by herself because her crying was upsetting her cousin Kevin…She couldn't know that at this moment people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Luna Lovegood—the girl who lived!"