Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. Everything else is mine.
The day was hot. The sun shone brightly down on the green fields and trees. The air was still and dry but for a slight breeze. It blew lightly through a large oak tree, rustling the foliage as it went. It circled the branches, plucking leaves here and there, the first leaves to fall. It moved away from the tree.
The channel of air swooped through the overgrown grass of an untended field, collecting the summer's last remnants of petals and pollen. As it skimmed the grass it neared a slight hill. A figure lay on the low summit, stretched out on the ground. It was a young girl. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and gentle. A serene smile was on her lips and her blond hair was splayed out above her head.
She stirred slightly as the breeze tickled her face and her hand suddenly reached out and grabbed one of the passing leaves. Her eyes opened.
She sat up slowly and examined the deep green oak leaf in her hand. She could see the slight crinkle of brown around its edges. She sighed quietly, her smile becoming ever so slightly wistful. She watched the breeze carry on without her leaf. It glided on with its remaining collection of autumnal beauty.
Autumn is the season to end summer, she thought to herself, but it also celebrates the life of its predecessor. This made her feel better.
She lifted the leaf to her face and breathed in, deeply. It smelled of fresh growth still, although she could also smell the slight dryness of its withering. She could also smell the petals and pollen it had flown briefly with. She smelled the bark and sap of the tree it had grown off and resided on before it was snatched away.
Like me, she thought sadly, the autumn snatches me from my home too.
She rose slowly and slowly began the walk home. The thin and light summer dress fluttered around her as she moved and she revelled in the feel of it. Soon it would be too cold to wear such a thing. She looked down at her bare feet. The grass was up at her knees. It felt soft and lush under her toes. It was in fact drier than usual because of the weather, and rather bristly, but to her it felt like the best feeling in the world. It was home and she wouldn't have quite so many opportunities to do this from tomorrow on. Thistles were hidden in the grass but she didn't care. Even when she stood on one she didn't mind. Pain is a sensation just like pleasure and it is a part of life. You can distance yourself from it. You'll still feel it, but you don't try to reject it, or stave it off. Embrace it as part of your existence, recognise it for what it is – a warning from your body about trivial physical wound – take note of the warning and then dismiss it.
She walked slowly but purposefully, unafraid of thorns and insects. She knew exactly where they all were in any case. She hadn't stood on the thistle on purpose. She hadn't looked for a thistle to stand on. But she hadn't stepped around it, despite her awareness. It was all part of the experience.
Part of home.
She knew where everything was, here. Sometimes she felt like she was part of the land, and it was part of her. It was her land, in every way that mattered. She knew its inhabitants, its trees, its earth, its grass, its flowers. Its thoughts. Or so she felt. She could feel the wind changing and the smell where it had gone and what it had seen or felt. These were just skills learned. Anyone could do this if they just paid attention. Just let their senses take over and…
She hopped over the low wall without thinking about it and continued on.
… expand your awareness.
She could see her house now, looming up beyond a slight rise. It was a tall black cylinder, sticking out of the surrounding countryside like a sore thumb. A moon hung behind it, ghostly and pale in the bright sunlight. Home.
She did not know how her parents had created the moon illusion, if that was what it was, or why. When she thought about it at all she had suspected it might have something to do with her name or vice versa. Sometimes she thought it might have something to do with 'moon madness'. Her father had a theory about that. It had always been there though and was a comforting sight. It would be a long time before she saw it again.
Outside the house were three signs. The first one read: The Quibbler. Editor: X. Lovegood. Then there was Pick Your Own Mistletoe and Keep Off the Dirigible Plums.
She opened the front door and looked around the small kitchen. On the walls flowers and birds and insects had been painted in beautiful reds and blues and yellows. She felt her eyes fill up with tears. She remembered painting them, years ago.
It had been a warm summer day, much like this one. She had been planning to go outside and play in the field. Her mother had made her a picnic to take with her. But her plans had been upset by sudden rain. She remembered how sad and disappointed she had been. Her mother had hugged her while she cried her childish tears. "Don't worry," she had whispered to her daughter. "We'll make our own sunshine. Do you want to do that?" She had taken out the paints and they had begun creating their very own fields and forests on the plain walls.
In school there would be no such reminders of her mother. The only things she could take with her were small things, portable things. It wasn't the same.
She wiped the tears away and began making herself some tea from the gurdyroots she dug up just yesterday. Daddy might want some. He sounded busy upstairs; she could here the sound of his printing press. That was odd, though. His magazine next issue wasn't due to be published for another few days.
She shrugged to herself and started boiling the kettle. After she had chopped up the gurdyroots, she called to her father.
"Daddy?" she called up the stairs. It would be difficult for him to hear her over the noise but he had told her not to come up earlier. He said he had a surprise for her. "Daddy, do you want some tea?"
"Is it gurdyroot?" he shouted down over the noise of the press.
"Yep!"
"Thank you, my dear. Yes please."
She dumped the ground roots into the teapot and poured the boiled water in after it. She added a few lumps of sugar into her cup and poured it in. She inhaled the infusion deeply. She used not to like it when she was younger but there was something special about it. It smelled of the earth and the grass and the sky. Of Life. Of Death. Of nature. Of magic. She took her first sip. Usually she did not put sugar in. She liked to experience the complete clarity of mind that the roots brought, but today she wanted comfort. The sweetness dulled the reality of the drink.
When Daddy finally came down, dinner was made. She had just cooked the remaining freshwater plimpies from yesterday. Her father's eyebrows rose.
"Plimpies again, darling?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining, wonderfully nutritious, but I wasn't aware you were particularly fond of them?"
She smiled at him. "I'm not. But I won't get them at Hogwarts. Might as well have them one last time."
"Don't be like that Luna," he scolded gently. "You'll have a great time."
She forced another smile and set the table.
"What were you doing, just now?" she asked him after they had begun eating. "With the printing press. The next issue isn't for another few days, is it?" He suddenly beamed at her.
"Indeed, indeed," he said, "but I decided if I worked at it all of today I could get it done." He quickly upstairs and came down with a copy of The Quibbler. He handed it to her eagerly. It was a new issue.
"Why?" she asked, curious.
"I thought you might like something to read on the train tomorrow, as you already finished the last one a while ago. That one has an especially interesting essay on various recent sightings of the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack."
She hugged him tightly. "I don't want to go," she whispered into his stomach. "Please don't make me go. I want to stay here with you."
"I'm sorry, Luna," he replied sadly, stroking her hair. "But it's for the best. You'll be happy there, I'm sure of it. You need friends your own age."
"What if I don't make friends? It's never worked before."
"Why wouldn't anyone want to be your friend? You are a beautiful, smart, kind individual. People will see that."
"OK. If you say so," she answered. She moved back to her seat. She finished her dinner quickly and asked to be excused. She needed to finish packing, she said.
The tears began falling as soon as she closed the door to her room. She wanted to stay and be happy and home. But if this was what she needed to do than she would do it.
She got ready for bed and turned off the light, trying to stifle the sobs. Things would be better in the morning. Her mother always said that. Things would look better in the morning. She had to believe that.
She wished she could ignore this pain as well as the physical pain. Just push it away. It was all part of the experience. She probably needed more practice.
It's all part of the experience.
It's all part of the experience.
It's all part of the experience.
It's all part of the experience.
It's all part of the experience. It's all part of the experience. It's all part of the experience. It's all part of the experience.
It will all look better in the morning…
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Author's Note: Please review and tell me what you think. This idea is just to show what (I think) it would be like to be Luna. I haven't done with my other story, Fredfile, but i suddenly just really wanted to write about this. There may be other chapters. Sorry if this is a bit gloomy but she's very worried about school. Probably with good reason too, from the little we hear about in canon.
In case this wasn't clear she is going into her first year at Hogwarts the next day.
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