Disclaimer: I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.
There's nothing more beautiful in the morning than waking up and seeing the dark clouded skies through the window. The sky had a certain power when it was covered in clouds, and it made us realize that we were really much smaller than we thought we were; there was really something there, beyond us, beyond our imagination.
When I was younger, I used to hate seeing the clouds. Unlike my shy twin brother, I wanted to run outside and play all day under the friendly gaze of the sun. I wanted to run around, cause havoc, see my mother laugh at my actions. Her laugh had a certain tinkling quality about it, and I remember my father would look up from his work to smile at her fondly whenever he heard it.
But you see, all that changed when my mother, ever the dabbler in strange and unknown magic, disappeared one day. My father tried to look after my brother and I as best as he could, but I could see the strain my mother's disappearance caused in his life.
There was no more laughter in the house, and my brother, already shy, became reclusive. He hardly talked to anyone. I didn't want to play outside anymore. My father always muttered to himself, and more than once I thought he was still talking to my mother. It escalated until he could no longer remember who we were, instead asking himself, "Who are they, Luna?"
One year later, when I was fifteen, my father was diagnosed as clinically insane and sent to St Mungo's. He always repeated the same words—She's in the mirror, she's in the mirror—until the words themselves lost their meaning.
My brother and I went to live with our godfather, Neville Longbottom, who had one son with his wife Hannah. He tried his best to make us feel at home, and his son Frank was friendly enough, but it just didn't feel right. They never tried to take over our parents' place, but that was still how it felt like. My brother and I just smiled and let them try their best to make us feel comfortable, but that was the end of it.
In summer, we'd have quite a bit of moisture, but really it wasn't too bad. Moisture meant humid, and humid meant a storm was coming. Unlike my brother, who hated the rumble of thunder, I had learned to look forward to it.
Whenever I saw clouds covering the sky, I'd remember my childhood. My mother used to tell me that thunder was the sound of the angels bowling. So whenever I heard the loud roars beyond the clouds in the sky, I'd always thought that it was her way of telling us that wherever she was, she was happy, and she was always looking over us.
And I'd comfort my brother whenever I saw him hunched in his bed, quaking and whimpering as the land shivered and the timbers quivered at the force of the thunderstorm. I'd tell him it was just our mother, bowling with the other angels.
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AN:
Written for Thoughts Like Raindrops's Weather Challenge.
Let me just say that this didn't fill the minimum-word count criteria. I know. Fail.
The 'she's in the mirror, she's in the mirror' can be fully understood if you read His Reflections In The Mirror.
Review your thoughts and opinions.
