Disclaimer: The only thing I claim possession of is my Brumble Winkler.
Daddy thinks I've forgotten. He says I should have forgotten about her by now. But I watch him, just like I do everyone else. I see him staring at her photograph on his desk, where he writes all his brilliant articles for The Quibbler. I know he dreams about her as well. Daddy talks in his sleep. They're just quiet murmurs and near incoherent words and sentences. But it only happens when he dreams of her.
I know all this because I dream of her, too. I haven't forgotten her yet. I can still imagine her soft, blonde hair framing her face. It's lighter than mine. And I can still see her deep, blue eyes, like the waters of the English Channel. Her pale skin, paler than mine, like the moon's glowing light. And her light, airy voice that always drifted and mingled with the clouds and stars. She looked like an angel in her glass coffin at the funeral. I didn't cry then, but Daddy did. It was much harder on him than it was on me. He thought I lost her memory. But I kept it safe in the music box. The lullaby music box I fell asleep to every night.
Ginevra asks me about her frequently. "Luna, what was your mother like?" she'll ask sometimes. I know she doesn't mean to hurt me. She knows that bringing up the topic doesn't disturb me. "She was like a pleasant spring morning, like the dew on our lawn after a storm, like the sweet call of a Brumble Winkler at dusk," I'll respond. And even though I know she doesn't understand, she nods as if she does and I accept it.
I dreamt about it last night. I never call them nightmares, for anything with her image in it could never be considered anything negative. And even though it scares me, and I wake up clutching my blanket, I like those dreams. It's as if I can see her again.
She was an idealist, a dreamer. "Curiosity killed the cat," Daddy would sometimes say to himself, chuckling and trying to dismiss the tears. He's right. She was curious. And sometimes I wonder, 'Why did she have to choose that particular spell?' But I knew it was only time for destiny to do its part. When she asked me to hold her wand still, because her hand was shaking uncontrollably. When she went over her notes for the final time to make sure all of her calculations were correct. When she said the incantation. When she rose into the air, eyes wide in shock for a single moment. And when she fell back down to meet the reality of her mistake. I didn't know what had happened. "Daddy, you have to carry her to bed," I told him, quite convinced she had simply been lulled into a dream. But she never did wake up. Instead of temporarily changing her form into a ghost's, she had killed herself altogether.
And up until recently, hope that she would someday return was barely there, lingering on the horizon far away. And up until I heard her voice, I thought those words, "Never let go," would be her last. But I heard. I knew Harry heard something, too. And Neville did, as well.
She didn't speak. She was... singing, rather. And then I knew it was no ordinary veil. It was a mysterious veil, hence kept in the Deparment of Mysteries. Ginervra, Ronald and Hermione hadn't realized it, but we had heard our heart's desires. Harry, he was reassured by his parents. And Neville, he heard them say his name and recognize him. And I... I heard her sing my lullaby.
A/N: Reviews would be much appreciated. This is my first fanfic, and I'm a bit hesitant about it. Comments, flames, suggestions are all welcome.
