Word count: 1525
Written for:
QLFC round 3 - Your team name (Wanderers) is your prompt. Word count range: 1501-1750.
Hogwarts Herbology Assignment - Write about a character regretting someone's death. Extra prompts: (setting) a forest clearing, (word) dead, (genre) angst. Greek myth reference: Asphodel Meadows
Hogwarts Chocolate Frog Card Club - Challenge: Write about being on the run.
Hogwarts A Very Potter Birthday April Event - The Dragon Song: (Lyric Prompt) "I'm pretty useless without friends." Bonus pairing: Luna/Draco.
Your Beautiful World
When the beautiful world around you has never seemed more sinister, you know you've reached the bottom.
But few people can tell the difference.
The Muggle world looks the same as always from the outside. There are no mushroom clouds, no corpses hanging from the trees, no peasants straining under a wizarding rule. Each July afternoon is a July afternoon, with children jumping through sprinklers on their lawns and sparklers exploding into the night.
This is all a deception. The world is destroyed, yes, but it cannot be proven or reversed because no one realizes it has happened.
"Voldemort works in mysterious ways," you mutter.
It's true.
There were deaths - many, many deaths - but the Muggles attributed this to an earthquake here, a hurricane there. According to the Daily Mail, there was an undocumented land mine in the ground that exploded in the Scottish highlands. No one was hurt, but an ancient castle that no one remembered was found as rubble.
The Muggles took this in stride.
Only now, when half the population is working for Voldemort, are you positive that he has expanded his grasp on the world. You were never sure, before, if the end of Hogwarts meant a greater threat. It was a nightmare, but perhaps the nightmare could be controlled. It seems now that what Voldemort wants most of all is satisfaction. He will use his curses and armies to punish every soul who he thinks is inferior, but there will be no massive overthrow of government until he catches the few defiant survivors.
They call themselves the Wanderers - the forgotten people of the Asphodel Meadows, the ones who escaped when Harry died, the ones who live to see Voldemort's reign.
That's where you come in.
Your name is Hermione Granger, and if you can do nothing else to save the world, you will wander so well he can never catch you.
You meet Luna in the woods, at dawn, when no one bothers to set up surveillance. There are spells at night to find people like you, but they only kick in after sunset, when you are long gone and hidden.
You look at her before you speak, a selfish glance at the friend who may die tomorrow. She does the same to you. Words mean less now, when all words you could ever think to say have been spoken. Spells are fairly useless as well. The new Trace ensures that no witch or wizard can perform magic without Voldemort knowing, and tracking the spell. His servants use curses without fear. You are defenseless.
It is laughable, really, that you began as a Muggle and will die like a Muggle.
You are tired of looking at Luna now, because her face shows the same scars and sadness as yours, and it's too painful to think about your losses. You gaze at the ground, soaking up her silent company.
"Any news?" you finally ask, your voice dry. You're not used to speaking, and it shows up whenever you try. Your constant hunger and thirst don't help the situation.
"Lee," says Luna. "He found George Weasley and was talking to him for the first time since Fred-"
She cuts off, her eyes unfocused. She is probably picturing the battle, like you.
"...Since Fred died. But they were caught. They were testing out magical hiding spells, but they failed."
You feel a lump in your throat. You can't breathe. "Did they get away?"
"They're dead," she says softly.
No. Oh god, no.
You should have seen this coming, but because of the way Luna presented the story, you thought there was a chance. Maybe there was good news of other Wanderers to hear this time.
You should have known better.
You feel tears welling up in your eyes, and you dig your fingernails into your palms, trying to draw blood. You don't succeed, but the pressure is distraction enough to keep you from picturing your friends dying in a flash of green light.
That thought alone makes you start picturing your friends dying in a flash of green light.
"Luna," you say, your voice cracking.
"Should I have kept it to myself?" she asks. "I thought you would want to know. It's terrible news, but it's better that you have it. That way they can't trick you if you get caught. And I would want to know if it was me." She stares at you, and you see the dirt on her skin, the circles under her eyes. It's been hard for her to meet you.
"Thanks for telling me," you say. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't react so badly, but I knew them, Luna. I spoke to them hundreds of times."
She bites her lip. "I think to myself that I can't believe it. But really, I can. I know that one by one we're dwindling down, and eventually we'll all be gone. Like Lee and George and everyone else." Luna pauses, and looks at you sadly. "I'm a good hider, but eventually they'll find me - especially after they get you. I'm pretty useless without friends."
"Luna," you repeat. You have to keep your voice to a whisper, but it's quite loud for a whisper, and if you weren't deathly afraid of seeing another friend hurt, you'd shout.
"It's true. Hermione, I-"
"No!" you exclaim. The echo resonates through the clearing, and Luna grabs your arm.
"Hermione," she says patiently. "Please. Be quiet. You'll get us killed."
"You're not hopeless. We're going to be okay." You tell yourself this every day to counteract your pessimism. How else would you fight to survive? How else could you find the energy to steal, lie, and walk for hours just to feed yourself?
"Maybe not you. But I don't have the same experience with Muggles. And frankly, I don't want to live in a world without my friends. Draco-"
"What the hell does Draco have to do with this?"
"Hermione, he's still alive. I haven't heard a thing about him, and you know that Voldemort wants us to know when one of us dies."
You accept her words as fact. It's always too easy to learn about the latest killing, so the killers must be helping to spread the news. "But why do you care about him? He's on their side. Luna, he wanted to kill Dumbledore."
"But he didn't."
"But he tried to!"
Angrily, you kick a rock, which rolls down a slope and lands in a stream a few meters away. The splash is overly loud and hangs in the air, so that you're wincing for what seems like ages after the rock first landed.
You regret it, but Luna has to know that what she's saying makes no sense.
Finally, the water is still, so you turn back to her. "You can't trust him," you whisper.
She shakes her head, adamant. "That was years ago. He wasn't fighting us at the battle, and he's not with Voldemort; he's in hiding like the rest of us-"
Realization dawns on you. "You have a thing for him."
"I do not have a crush," says Luna stoutly, but her eyes give her away, and you want to slap her.
"Luna," you say, shocked.
"I care about him, and at this point I thought even you would understand that we survivors need to stick together." She looks defiantly at you, daring you to say something more. You've rarely seen this side of her before.
"Fine." You shake your head. "Whatever. Just don't try to bring him here to me. I won't talk to him."
There is no more news to tell, so you say your goodbyes, focusing on Luna's face once more as if you'll never see it again. She leaves, walking carefully back into the forest where she came. Who knows where she's headed now?
You return to the old hidden barn in the woods where you've been sleeping for the past week. You've been up all night, and the conversation with Luna was exhausting. But you still can't get her words out of your mind.
He's in hiding like the rest of us...
We survivors need to stick together...
Guilt rises in your stomach. You feel sick. What if Luna never comes back, thinking that you meant to reject her when you rejected Draco? Does he really deserve to be condemned?
Then you picture him, and all you can see is his cold sneer when he called you a Mudblood. You think of the newspapers he shoved in your face, and the way he mocked your friends. It's for the best.
As rays of midday light pour through the cracks in the barn roof, you lie awake. You want to warn Luna about Draco, but you know she is long gone and would ignore your warnings even if she heard them.
"I'll try and convince her next time," you say to yourself. It's a comforting thought. You finally fall asleep, your fears eased.
Six days later, you hear that Luna and Draco died together at the hands of Voldemort himself.
You used to think that life was the worst it could possibly be.
You were wrong.