Warning for childhood trauma and character death.
Love's precipice waits for no one
The box is opened
Peace be to the world
Which calls for love alone.
In war lies the hope
Go seeker of death
For he will hunt his own predator
And the eclipse will blot out his light.
The Lovegood family knew no prophecies. (That didn't mean there wasn't one.) Pandora Lovegood was a gifted little witch, one of the few who could surpass Severus Snape and the legendary Marauders and think nothing of it because she didn't do it. Perhaps it was due to her narrowed focus, but regardless, she was a Slytherin girl who danced to the side of the ongoing war. Yet just because you were on the side of it didn't mean you went safely ignored.
After all, she was a Muggleborn.
That made her a target, or it would have. Voldemort cared not for people who stayed out of the way. Perhaps she could be swayed into the dark like so many others. The boy was too late and too useless. According to the senior Crabbe, he was always one step from a Trip Jinx too many.
They were, at the time, an afterthought.
Severus Snape, when he heard the prophecy, did not think once of them when he listened at the Hog's Head, not of the youthful Slytherin rival who loved to make a spell and make fun of its puffs of smoke. He had bigger and better things now. So he didn't think of the Muggleborn, or the past, barring one shock of red hair. If he had remembered, he would have acted much sooner.
Dumbledore was much the same.
He does not recognize the family, one among millions, until it is much too late.
It is five years after a prophecy in an ugly war world when Voldemort makes a vague guess and memories are suddenly recalled.
Luna Lovegood is four years old and the winning Knights of Walpurgis are greedy and brazen. This is not a house with a Fidelius charm, but with enough spells to keep a little girl safe in her garden and keep the Death Eaters uninterested. Until today.
They were dismantled with ease. And the little girl felt it, as she had been told to feel it. As she had been taught to feel the world around her change. Her mother did what she could for a toddler.
That said, they do not go gentle.
Pandora is a gifted witch, and Xenophillius a powerful illusionist. Parlor tricks to Voldemort, but then, he doesn't expect parlor tricks and neither do his Knights. And each blow is deadly. Voldemort didn't seek an all-out battle. He looked for an assassination. He failed.
Little Luna, however is buried in a closet, frozen in a Petrification spell. She can only watch through a crack in the doorway. She sees it all. Her father's last words are loud and clear.
"You will not harm my daughter."
His last words are met with laughter and squeals of pain. Lucius Malfoy will never walk without a cane. Macnair will never hold a scythe. Rookwood will be tormented by screams when ever he holds a wand.
Pandora is worse. Even before her husband's body falls, she's dancing to the tune of of a high speed chase and the knights are cars. Crash, crash.
Luna watches death around her mother, watches her defy the Dark Lord until the last.
Then a snake hisses near her ear, and fear races up her stomach and spine and playtime is over. Voldemort turns, triumph in his fragmented soul and blasts the door open. He sees a target, not a child, and does not pay attention.
Pandora's final strike is true and full of a mother's wrath. No matter how many bodies die and no matter how many possessions, his form will always falter, his blood will always boil. A mother's magic is the darkest of magics and the lightest as well.
Still, it cannot save her from death. And Voldemort takes pride in that.
A shot of green light, so simple and clean, and all but one Lovegood is gone. What happened to the rest? Isn't that obvious?
Luna can only watch, eternally scared. The self-proclaimed master of death turns in the direction of the closet. He smiles and speaks.
Her world is awash with the green of grass and the color of lightning storms. Death is near her, soft footsteps and gentle cheek touches, melting the jinx from her limbs. Death holds her and soothes the silent screaming. It smiles.
Then, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the broken half-blood, begins to scream.
His followers see nothing, but Tom feels every millimeter of his very self shatter. He howls, louder than the crying girl. She is aware and up and moving and she tuns, forehead bleeding raw and fists flying towards nothing she can see.
She runs and runs to the messy house not too far away and lands in front of Arthur Weasley's wand.
The rest, as they say, is history.
A/N: Look, another one. The next one might not be for a bit, but there will be another story fairly soon. Please read and review!
Challenges: Diversity Writing Challenge (Magic) B28. Write an angsty piece, and One Series Bingo (Magic) 113 - Write about death.