Part 8

Luna knelt in between the stacks. The library was quiet. Students avoided it on Sundays. She took out the leather bound book, and held it with two hands close to her chest. She breathed deeply. Her fingers shook.

With care, she opened the cover to the front page. She began to write down words: Ian?

Yes Luna?

I'm going to put you away.

Why?

Because it's for the best. I...

She paused. She did not know how to explain it. The words did not come to her. Still, she knew it had to end. It was over. She could not look at it the same way after the night before. She rubbed the side of her face. She wore a bright colourful layered skirt, with lace around the edges. Her shirt was a bright pink. A number of beaded necklaces hung off her neck.

She continued: Ian?

Yes?

Do you have a favourite poet?

What? Like the blokes we used to study in school?

Yes.

I never liked them to be honest. There was a lad we used to do shows with, John Cooper Clarke. I always liked his poems.

Which was your favourite?

Probably 'Evidently Chickentown', I think.

Do you know any others?

Not really. It's the only one that comes to mind.

Okay. Luna's heart raced. Do you know a boy named Nott? Theodore Nott?

Sure. He was the only other person to talk to me in the book. Do you know him?

Yes.

Tell him I said hi.

Okay.

The pit of her stomach pulled her towards the ground. She tried to smile, but the muscles refused to move. She chewed on the end of her pen.

Good-bye Ian.

Good-bye Luna.

She closed the book.

A soft wave of comfort crossed over her. Like stepping back on land after days at sea. She felt a little more sure of herself, and of the world around her. She passed her fingers through her hair.

She pulled out the book of Wordsworth's collected poems. With the leather bound book in her hand, she returned it to its place against the stack. Then, Luna snatched it back up. It did not seem right next to Wordsworth. She looked at the rest of the Romantics. After a moment, she decided to fit it next to John Keats. Two poets who died young. Ian would find a kindred soul in Keats.

Luna stood up, brushed off her skirt, and left the library.

Part 9

Luna rolled a joint at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, not to catch a glimpse of a centaur, but to be alone. She sat on a bright red quilt. A cold wind passed along the grass. It would soon be winter. Her back rested on a large round boulder, that hid her from sight of the school. She wore a long colourful skirt, a white tank-top, and a denim jacket. Sewn onto the back of the jacket was a large black Radiohead patch. Her long white hair was loose around her shoulders; the blue streak dangled before her eyes. Slowly, she brought the joint to her lips, and lit the tip. Sitting back, she exhaled turning upwards, watching the cloudy sky.

A noise stirred behind her. She stayed calm. Her mind was too exhausted to react. The spliff continued to burn between her fingers; she made no effort to hide it. She did not care if she was caught. She did not care about anything at that moment.

"Luna," Colin spoke softly. He walked gingerly around the boulder; his right arm brushed alongside the rock. In his left hand, he held his Canon SLR tightly. Colin wore a black zipped up hoodie, and wide blue jeans. Over his shoulder, a camera bag hung loosely. "Hey," he greeted. Cautiously, he gave her a wave.

Luna continued to stare into the sky. She took another hit. Her face was stoic; she showed no acknowledgement of him. She wanted to be alone; the last thing she wanted to see was Colin's stupid face. He stepped forward. She ignored him.

With a sigh, Colin moved in front of her. Bowing his head, he said "I wanted to apologize for what happened." Her face looked irritated. "I, uh," he began to rustle in his camera bag. "I wanted to give you something, in good faith." He took out an envelope, and handed it to Luna. "It's the picture I took of you, and the negatives from the reel, so I can't make any more copies." Luna opened the envelope. A line of film was bunched together. She brought it up to the light, and looked at the images as the light passed through them. Most of the pictures were focused on the barren autumn trees in the Forbidden Forest. "I'm sorry I didn't give you it when you asked for it, but I did not want to lose all the photos I took. I know that's selfish of me. They don't matter to you, but they're all I have. Still, now that I've developed them, it's okay. I don't need to make any more. I don't want you to think I'd do anything wrong with it."

Luna took out the photo from the envelope. The shot was a portrait. Spare trees lined the edges. In the middle, on a bright red quilt, she sat with her legs crossed. A brown leather bound book rested on her lap. The bright light reflected off the boulder behind her, making her white hair glow. An innocent smile painted her face. Luna rubbed her thumb over the picture. She stared at it for a minute in silence. "It's pretty," she admitted.

"I know. I could not resist the shot. I thought you looked so cool and pretty, I had to capture the moment. You look almost angelic in it. An angel with a leopard print shirt, reading while smoking a joint. How cool is that?" he spoke matter of fact. The words held no personal connotation; they formed his objective evaluation of the picture.

"But, that's a lie. I'm not angelic at all."

Colin nodded. "That's true. It's a kind of fantasy isn't it?" He looked at the camera in his hand. "Everything this camera captures is a lie, really. The pictures always look like real life, but they're copies; copies I created, hoping to capture something special. Something that's not there in real life."

"I think that's a nice way to put it," Luna commented.

"Perhaps we're not all that different," Colin admitted. "You look for the fantastical out in the world. I look for the fantastical through the lens of my camera. Neither are any more real than the other.

Luna smiled. "You may be right." She held the photo close to her chest. "Still, it's not cool to take a girl's photo without asking first."

"I never intend to do it again," Colin insisted.

"Good. Do you have the other photos from the reel?" Luna asked.

Colin shook his head. "No. I left them back at my dorm. I'll bring them sometime, if you want to see them though."

"I would," Luna said. The bone-dry leaves rustled as a cold wind passed through the trees. Colin shivered as it cut through him. "Why don't you sit down? The wind's not that bad on the quilt," she spoke. She placed the photo face down onto the red quilt. Colin hesitantly sat on one of the corners, making sure his muddy shoes did not touch it. Leaning back, Luna took a hit from the joint. She offered to pass it to him, but he waved her off. Shrugging, she inhaled once more. The smoke crawled out of her mouth while she stared at the sun. "In the end, did you find any make-believe beasts in your photos?" she asked.

"Only this one," he pointed at the picture laying face down on the quilt.

Luna laughed.

Maybe she did not always need to be understood. So long as she was herself, and able to enjoy herself like that, it did not matter if she was understood or not. She could not escape the world: not from other people, from loneliness, from her emotions. But, maybe, she could learn to enjoy herself along with them. Would that be enough?

...

Author's Notes:

I hope you liked this chapter. It is the end of the second story. I had a lot of fun writing it. Luna's such a cool character. I've started to write a new story called Beach House starring her, Hermione, Nott, and Rolf Scamander. The first chapter is already up. Hopefully the next one will be up soon. I'll also posted the next chapter in my story The Study Group. It was probably one of the best chapters. Check it out, if you like.

Thanks xXMizz Alec VolturiXx for your reviews. You're my most dependable reviewer. I can always count on your nice words. Even with this story, that everyone else seems to have abandoned. Thanks. I appreciate it.

Please Leave a Review.

Thanks. BJ.