phe·nom
noun; slang
a phenomenon, especially a young prodigy: a twelve-year-old tennis phenom.

Luna couldn't remember when she realized the games and adventures she pretended to have were real. If she had to pin-point her sharpest memory, she'd pick the first time she saw her mother perform magic. Now, she was positive she'd seen her parents perform magic before, but nothing like the magic her mother played with. And her mother did like to play with magics best left alone-or so the neighbors told her after the funeral.

But the magic Luna witnessed wasn't just swishes of a wand or swirls of color; it was...well, alive. When she would hide behind a desk or a flower pot, she could actually feel the way the magic breathed against her skin and cloaked her in a warm embrace. Her mother used chalk to draw symbols of all kinds and she dropped colored stones everywhere. Every time her mother finished working on whatever it was she was doing, the air around her never changed. It stayed as heavy and thick with ambient magic as when she began and that, Luna thought, must have been when the magic began to cling tight.

She was four or five when she followed one of her mother's "expeditions" into their forest of a backyard. One second there was dirt beneath her toes and the next there was hard stone. Instead of seeing trees and feeling the wind play through her hair, Luna saw mountains of jewels and rivers of gold emerging from rock. She tilted her head back to stare up and up and was in awe at how it twisted all around her. She remembered reaching out to touch it-even though she knew it was too high up to feel it-and felt her fingers tangle in the softest thread she had ever felt. Her young eyes watched what looked like the magic her mummy played with reached out to her; it wrapped around her from the roots of her hair and down to splash against her toes.

That was definitely one of her favorite memories. But so was the delightful tea party she interrupted when she was eight and a half years old. This time, she wandered on her own. She found the soft, slivers of thread on her own and latched onto it with everything she had. She had shut her eyes tight when she felt herself tumble forward and her feet once again met cold stone. She briefly wondered if she'd see the man with big, warm coat again, but she was even more surprised to see tall, glowing adults.

And they did glow! They glowed almost like the fireflies back home did: soft pulses of light that fluttered around. The lady with the nice hair reminded her of her mummy; she had a kind smile and warm eyes. She guessed the other man who called her "little moon" must have been the lady's husband; he felt like a nice person too.

But the mean-looking one...the one who stared at her much like her father did when he caught her sneaking to her room with cookies, he actually didn't feel so mean. There was a nearly identical, yet younger looking version of himself seated next to him. Now that one looked funny!

Like a fish out of water, Luna thought to herself with a giggle. Oh, she remembered their faces well before she heard the jingle of bells that signaled it was time to go back home.

In truth, she almost wished she didn't go home that day. She wished she ignored the bells and stayed to enjoy the tea with the nice people who knew her name. Sighing, Luna placed the bouquet of odd flowers onto the grave. She watched as the dandelions that grew nearby were met with a sharp gust of wind. Her gaze followed the floating seed heads and a part of her wanted to follow them so badly, but she couldn't. There were more pressing matters to attend to. Her father was going to take her to Diagon Alley today to shop for school supplies and Luna really wanted to visit Gringotts.

She was determined to know if the gem she found all those years ago was actually real.