QUIDDITCH LEAGUE FANFICTION COMPETITION: ROUND 2 ENTRY FOR CHASER 2 OF CHUDLEY CANNONS
TASK: Chaser 2: Cancer (June 21-July 22). Cancers are highly intuitive, and their psychic abilities manifest in tangible spaces. These crabs are highly sensitive to their environments, as well as extremely self-protective. Write about a character(s) who has the power to read something about people, i.e. minds/emotions/moods/colours etc. OR write about a character(s) who is highly intuitive when it comes to others and is great at solving others' problems but is always obtuse when it's something concerning them.
PROMPTS:
(characteristic trait) that of a Saggitarius
(song) Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi
(emotion) regret
She says, we've got to hold on to what we've got
It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not
We've got each other and that's a lot for love
We'll give it a shot
Word Count (Microsoft Word): 1344
Pandora knew the moment the spell left the tip of her long pale wand, she was not going to survive. The magic that slid through her fingers felt wrong, slimy almost, and despite how much she wanted to move the tip of that wand away from her head, she could only stare at her ever curious daughter with regret.
"Don't loo-" She breathed, but never got to finish her sentence. The bright blue light collided with her temple, and Pandora could only watch her daughter's face, suddenly speckled with dewdrops of red, as she crumpled to the floor of the kitchen.
"MAMA!" Luna cried as the tall blonde woman shuddered on the floor.
They'd met at Hogwarts, during her Sixth Year. She'd been laying on the edge of the docks, her fingers dangling into the Black Lake, gently smiling as tiny minnows nibbled her fingers. He had appeared behind her, sucking on the nib of a quill and staining his tongue black, as he absentmindedly looked over what must have been notes from his NEWT classes. She could tell he wasn't entirely focused, the thoughts bubbling in the forefront of his mind bounced between his Potions notes and a curious creature with curled horns and then suddenly his thoughts were quiet but dominated by the visage of the blonde goddess in front of him. Robes fanned across long pale legs, a head of sun caressed hair tumbling across the wood of the dock, long fingers swirling in the dark water.
It was her. It had taken a moment to realize, but he was seeing her.
She turned her head to look at him, a pink flush across the teenager's cheeks, and she blinked slowly as she pushed herself to her knees. The long quill slipped from between his lips, and she had crawled towards him to pick it up. His thoughts went numb, his brown eyes hovering over her features and lingering on the hint of breast he could see through the loose blue tie and undone buttons of her shirt.
She rose from her knees like a swan, graceful limbs and long neck, and then pressed the nib of the quill between his lips. Teeth sank down on the end, and he blinked slowly at her.
"You dropped your quill."
That was the first thing she'd ever said to him.
It snowed the day Xenophilius presented her with a bouquet of sunflowers, asking if she would be his girlfriend. He did it quietly, after breakfast, within hearing range on only their friends, Arthur Weasley, and Molly Prewett. Molly cooed as she buried her nose in the bright yellow flowers and nodded. Xenophilius had never looked happier. Arthur took that moment to invite the pair to his wedding with Molly that coming winter. Molly's mind filled with loving thoughts of a white gown trimmed with lace and drifting snowflakes.
She smiled and leaned into the man she would come to love.
Bill Weasley was tiny when he was born. Squalling, red-faced… beautiful.
She loved him the instant Molly let her hold him. "Precious," she cooed at the first Weasley child. Molly beamed, pride across her face as she sat across from her younger blonde friend in the Burrow. A grandfather clock chimed noon by the kitchen, and Molly bustled away to bring them sandwiches and tea. The Burrow was small and cozy, a two-story home that suited the redheaded couple and their recently grown family. She remembered laughing and teasing the whole afternoon with her neighbor, and leaving at dusk to return to her long-time boyfriend, who had been writing articles for his magazine 'TheQuibbler' all afternoon.
Or so she'd thought.
She'd landed her broom in their front garden, gazing at the hundreds of floating fairy lights that hovered above her lush garden of sunflowers, lilacs, and roses. The lights had bounced and then twirled around her, floating around the back of the tower-like home. She had followed without thought and was breathless when she rounded the corner.
Xenophilius was seated on the ground in terrible yellow robes, grinning ear to ear, and his thoughts entirely focused on what she looked like in the light; windblown, sensual, and every bit the goddess he'd thought her when they'd first met on the docks at Hogwarts.
He stumbled as he stood, taking her hands in his.
"Pandora," He whispered, pressing kisses to her knuckles. He started to stutter through a speech, talking about how they'd met, how proud of her he was for following her career dreams, how happy he was when they'd moved in together.
"Yes." She said before he had even asked the question.
Xenophilius is entirely in love with their daughter. Tiny, quiet, perfect Luna. Pandora has never loved anything more than the little person in her arms, and she knows her husband feels the same. His mind whispers thoughts about how proud he is; the tiny flawless piece of her and him all bundled in the star-light eyes and gold hair and teeny toes and grasping fingers.
Realty hits Xenophilius first.
"How are we going to do this? We need-"
"Everything I need," She stares at him with a gentle smile, shifting their daughter to press a kiss to Luna's cheek. "Is right in this house. We have each other, Xeno. That's all we need."
Xeno nods, but the lingering worries still float in his mind.
Luna is four, and running around the garden with her arms spread like wings, a sunflower in her hair. She watches from where she kneels at the garden bed, hands covered in dirt, her wand tucked behind her ear. Sweet Luna looks just like her; the same hair and eyes, the same adventurous spirit. She likes to paddle in the creek, and bother their poor owl. She tries to climb their crab apple trees, and once Luna had trotted up with a pair of perfect Dirgible plums and announced that they would make great earrings. She remembers the stunned look on her daughter's face when she turns to set down Luna's breakfast, the pair of plums dangling from her ears. Xeno runs his hands through her hair and looks amused at the new accessory.
Luna is a full-time job, but she doesn't care, because, despite her love of spell-crafting, she loves her daughter more. She loves the honest thoughts that float like butterflies through Luna's mind, she loves her daughter's laughter, she loves that Luna loves nothing more than to be with her. She is Luna's best friend.
Luna is nine when Pandora realizes that her daughter has inherited a version of her family's gifts. Pandora hears the thoughts of others, but Luna, sweet Luna, she sees people's colors. They'd don't go out much, towns are too loud and too busy, and headaches are something the Lovegood girls suffer from. Xenophilius does most of the shopping. Even the Weasley's are too loud now, all nine of them are always busy and vibrant.
She's good at spells though; maybe she can make a spell that helps them with their gifts. Luna can have friends, she's already a bit floaty, but Ginevra Weasley would be a good friend for her little moon. She tries for months with no results, all the while Xeno writes his articles for the Quibbler, which is getting less and less popular by the month, and Luna watches her mother work. She's doing it for Luna, she thinks before she lifts her wand to her temple, hoping and hoping that this will work and Luna won't be so isolated anymore.
Luna holds her father's hand. She's ten years old now, still not quite ready for her biggest adventure, and always a daydreamer. It's better in her thoughts some times; the colors she sees, her gift, isn't too bad when she doesn't focus on reality.
She's holding a trio of sunflowers. Her father urges her towards the simple headstone with a hand on her back.
Pandora Lovegood
Mother
Wife
July 19, 1951 – October 7, 1990