"She was quite an extraordinary witch, but she did like to experiment...and one day, one of her spells went badly wrong. I was nine."
This was the excuse Luna often gave to anyone who curiously asked her what had become of her mother. She did not know, truthfully, how believable this was, as she was fully aware that her mind worked differently to those around her, but the topic was so sensitive that no one ever dared to venture further. Luna sat on her circular bed in her circular room, gazing at her ambitious artwork on the ceiling, and pondering whether she would ever tell those friends that gazed back down at her the real truth…
A nine year old Luna skipped merrily down the stairs to the main room. Her father was busily frying bacon in a pan near the window and in deep conversation with a beautiful woman seated at the rickety wooden table. She had delicate features and big blue eyes highlighted by her wavy white-blonde hair, and she spoke in the same sing-song voice Luna had acquired. Luna's mother laughed daintily at Xenophilius as he warbled on about an infestation of Nargles he had once come across on his travels. Luna was not phased by this somewhat odd conversation – in fact, she listened in with as much interest as her mother was displaying.
And that was Luna's last truly peaceful memory.
"I think I'll go to Diagon Alley today. Yes. I'm in need of some new robes, you see; better look smart for my hearing at the Ministry. First impressions are everything, Luna, dear." Luna's mother, Alana, informed the child.
At the mention of the word 'hearing', Xenophilius' face paled slightly, and his hands began to tremble, causing the plates to rattle noisily. "I… I still say you don't turn up, Alana. They have no grounds, after all! It's not your fault you're part…" his voice trailed off as Alana stopped him with a serious glare, signalling their daughter.
She whispered softly, "Not in front of Luna, Xenophilius…"