A/N: I started this a while ago and just got around to finishing it. This is AU, exploring what would've happened if Harry chose to die during the final battle. It's quite abstract, and it's ok if it doesn't make sense to you. It doesn't quite make sense to me! But please let me know what you think and PLEASE do not favorite without reviewing!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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"Oh, come on. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn't you? They were just lurking out of sight, that's all. You heard them."
The Boy-Who-Lived is no longer, but in her imagination, he always saves her, even after all this time.
She can remember being afraid, being dirty and cold and tortured down in that dungeon. She remembers being scared about her father, hoping he was still alive, hoping he was alright. She would think about Hogwarts, Ginny, Neville, the D.A. And when she finally got out of there, he saved her, seeing the sunlight again, for the first time in months. So bright it almost blinded her.
But Harry is gone. That fateful morning, with Hagrid carrying him in his arms, she can remember praying, hoping, that it was just a trick, a joke, a misunderstanding - that Harry would leap up and defeat the Dark Lord just like she knew he always would. In the end. But he made the choice, that morning, to board the train, to go on - it's not the way it was supposed to go, in her head.
She doesn't like sleeping - she prefers to stay up and watch the sun rise every morning, just to remind herself that no, she's not still being tortured in a dungeon, she is alive. She is real.
So it is with trepidation she climbs into her four-poster bed in Ravenclaw Tower every night, knowing that the Sandman will probably never visit her again.
It is a night in early November, the sixth month that Harry is dead, and she is staring up at the ceiling sometime around two in the morning, when her blue curtains are pushed back slightly by something she can't see. Without even looking, she knows it's him, someway, he's here, he is with her somehow -
Her eyes fill with tears, unbidden. She looks up and there he is, black hair and green eyes, cold and dead but so Harry in every way. He wears the clothes he died in, but Death has been good to him - there are no lines marring his perfect face, and there is a hint of a smile as he stares at her.
"Harry," she whispers quietly, and he reaches out for her hand, slowly, slowly. She becomes cold from touching him, but it is so still and quiet that it is perfect, perfectly perfect. Luna, he whispers, and she is somehow whole again.
The bed should dip with him as he sits down on its side, but it does not. His cold hands her cheeks, her nose, her lips - she is shivering and shaking, her teeth chattering. He smirks at her, and she can't help but smile back.
"You've kept me waiting a long time."
I know, he says to her, a frown marring his face for the first time. I'm sorry.
He sits with her until the morning light, until the sun starts to peek through her bed curtains, just as blinding as the day she first saw it again. He is gone once more, and she is no longer cold.
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Please, please, please! DO NOT FAVORITE WITHOUT REVIEWING! Love you guys xoxo