A/N: Written as a reserve for the Montrose Magpies Seeker for QLFC Round 8.

Prompt: Beater 1, sekdaniels, Pride of Portree-Headcanon: Luna Lovegood is an "old soul" and it gives her insights into things she shouldn't know about, but it doesn't stop her from feeling unusual or separate. She just can't bring herself to lie to her friends or herself, even to fit in.

For the purposes of this story, Luna was born several months later.

Word Count: 1051

"I am Death," the man in front of her uttered, his voice rough yet bland.

Little Flumen laughed and retorted, "And I am Fear!" Gruff laughter echoed across the river bank. "Don't mess with me; I have three older brothers."

Death laughed in response. "You are a funny girl. I am used to people crying about the end of their lives; it has been a long time since I've been met with amusement instead. But really, I am Death. Now, tell me, how did you die at such a young age?"

Flumen crossed her arms over her chest in the way her mother had always said ladies shouldn't and glared at the man. "If you're Death, shouldn't you know that already?"

"I do, but I want to hear it from you."

Flumen shuffled on the spot, making patterns in the coarse sand with her bare toes. She had been so angry when her father had decided to send her three brothers to learn magic, only to tell her that proper ladies stayed at home. She knew she was a witch, too, and she was too stubborn to just accept her father's word. She had punctured a hole in one of the rice-bags Cadmius had been carrying — luck had been with her for once, so no one had realised what she was attempting — so that once Mother and Father left for their daily stroll in the gardens, she was able to jump out and follow the rice trail. She had run, knowing that was the only way she could hope to catch up with her brothers, who had left at dawn. She had been too busy enjoying her run to catch her balance when her foot slipped on a mossy rock, and she had fallen face-first into the raging river she had failed to hear or see.

She could remember it still; the helplessness, the fear, the way the water choked her down. Luna still considered that memory — her first death — to be the most terrifying one, though she no longer woke up gasping from the memories as she had in her first few lives.

As Flumen, she had won Death over and had made a friend for eternity, but being friends with Death didn't stop the cycle of reincarnation. She only had the 'gift' to remember bits from her previous lives.

It had been difficult at first, coming back too soon and dealing with souls she'd had relations with in her previous lifetimes. It grew easier, however, as the centuries went by.

The girl hummed under her breath as she picked another daisy from where she sat in the Hogwarts grounds and added it to the flower garland nestled in her lap. Helena had always liked flower crowns as a child, Luna thought, and then mused about how weird it was that her daughter from another lifetime was now her House's ghost.

Then, her thoughts turned to Harry — given how quickly she had been reborn, the memory of her previous life was still the most vivid. Having her son from another lifetime and a friend of four years not even bat his eye at the mention of Nargles and Blibbering Humdingers — creatures that were commonplace in some of her past lives, even if they had faded from memory now — pleased her to no end.

Luna looked at the now-complete flower garland in her hand. The petals were a mixture of pure white and vivid yellow that would look good in Ginny's hair. In all her lives as a witch, Luna had always been knowledge-hungry, never more so than as Rowena Ravenclaw. Back then, it had been seen as a strength. Nowadays, people laughed at the facts she had collected over the centuries, but she didn't hesitate to share them. After all, knowledge shared was knowledge expanded.

With a sigh, she stood up and gazed across at the setting sun. She loved her friends in this life, but she still missed Death. Her lips tugged up in a wry smile at the irony of that thought as her feet led her back to the castle, her Head Girl badge glinting in the last rays of the sun.

"Hello, Hermione," she greeted when she met the bushy-haired girl on the way up to the Entrance Hall, smiling as the girl returned the greeting in an exhausted tone. Luna took in her furrowed brow and the wrackspurts zooming around her head. Luna knew Hermione didn't believe most of what Luna said — even now, after the story of the Deathly Hallows had been proven true — but Luna didn't hold it against her. "What has been bothering you? Your wrackspurt infestation has never been so prominent."

Hermione grimaced at the mention of wrackspurts and shook her head. "It's nothing," she muttered. "I just have a load of homework to do."

Even if Luna couldn't see Alethea, she would have known it was a lie, but she didn't push. Whatever the problem was, Hermione would have to come to terms with it in her own time, with or without Luna's help. One of the main things Luna had learned throughout her past lives was that, sometimes, people had to deal with things on their own. "Professor Flitwick is retiring at the end of year," she said.

Hermione looked surprised but relieved at the change of subject. "Really? I hadn't heard that. It will be a shame to see him go."

"It hasn't been announced yet. He just has that air about him. They're thinking of replacing him with a vampire, you know."

Hermione's face scrunched up. "I doubt that, Luna. You need to stop believing everything you… hear."

Luna tilted her head. "A life without belief sounds dreadfully dull, don't you think?"

From the look on Hermione's face, the older girl very much disagreed. "There's a difference between beliefs based on facts and beliefs based on nothing but conjecture."

It hurt that, after all this time, Hermione still wasn't willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Still, Luna had managed to distract her from her melancholy; the wrackspurts had even thinned out slightly.

Besides, Professor Flitwick was going to retire, and he was going to be replaced by a vampire. Well, that or someone who resembled one. The demiguises weren't yet certain about that point.