Spring Air

i linger in the doorway

of alarm clock screaming monsters calling my name

let me stay

where the wind will whisper to me

where the raindrops as they're falling tell a story

in my field of paper flowers

and candy clouds of lullaby

i lie inside myself for hours

and watch my purple sky fly over me

don't say i'm out of touch

with this rampant chaos - your reality

i know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge

the nightmare i built my own world to escape

in my field of paper flowers

and candy clouds of lullaby

i lie inside myself for hours

and watch my purple sky fly over me

swallowed up in the sound of my screaming

cannot cease for the fear of silent nights

oh how i long for the deep sleep dreaming

the goddess of imaginary light IMAGINARY, by Evanescence

"Remus," Luna says, kneeling beside my bed. "Remus, I had another dream." I wake slowly, already knowing what she's going to say. "Was it the war again?" I ask with as much sympathy as I can gather. But Luna shakes her head, tears filling her eyes and overflowing down her cheeks. She doesn't bother to wipe them away. "I saw the future, Remus." I reach out a hand and rest it on her hands, noting how still and calm she is. "What will happen?" I find myself asking.

"The reunion. in two weeks time. Fifty years since the end of the war, exactly. The remaining Death Eaters will make a final assault there." "We're all a bit old for that, Luna," I say, trying to smile. She chokes back a sob. "Pansy Parkinson. Vincent Crabbe. You know as well as I do what they are capable of, Remus. You and Hermione and Ginny. Remus, I'll be the only one left!" I sigh and try to meet her eyes, but she stubbornly looks away.

Some would call our relationship a sort of marriage, but the only reason we live together is so I have someone to help me at full moon. But at all other times, I look after her like a father. Ginny lives not too far away, and Hermione is well within apparating distance.

Eventually, I calm Luna down and she goes back to bed, a frail figure in a white dressing gown and long white hair. But I find myself unable to sleep; perhaps it is the air. Spring air, fresh and sweet. How can Luna dream of death at a time like this?

Whatever may happen, it is better to forget her words. I will not dwell on them. I have learnt, over the years, not to let my mind slip into pity and rememberance. Because then I remember Draco, and Ron, and Harry, and Arthur, and Sirius. and James and Lily. and everyone who has suffered since then.

If you know the story, you may find it odd that I count Harry Potter amongst the victims. "Surely," you would say, "Surely he was a villain, switching to the dark side, betrayal of the worst kind, spurning his love?"

But I would reply, "Yes, Harry did all of that. But then he destroyed Voldemort (I am not afraid of his name) and in doing so he sealed his death by both sides. Was that not a true Gryffindor? Was that not true bravery? Was that not true love?"

What would you say to that?

When I am gone, I will join the masses in the graveyards. I will be buried next to my friends, together again.

Beside my grave, there will lie the graves of James and Lily Potter, their son Harry Potter, his lover Draco Malfoy, and the memorial stone of Sirius Black. Ronald Weasley, and his parents Molly and Arthur, will be there, as will everyone who I ever cared for.

That is all I want from life, now: to die in spring.

And my last breath will be of the sweet spring air.