Author's note: Writing in quotations is Luna's diary on the day indicated. Unquoted text is the Luna from the prologue.
"11:35 Monday September 1, 1997
It's funny that we document everything. Today magical and technological advances have allowed everyone from governments to single persons to record their actions on paper, film, memory cards, or in the depths of their very own pensive. Ginny told me about diaries, traditionally a muggle practice, but apparently a good outlet for thoughts, feelings, opinions, and excellent practise for handwriting. Although it seems dangerous to put all of those things in one place, Ginny assures me that she never goes near diaries, so I assume most others have the same respect for something so private.
So, here are some of my thoughts, feelings, and opinions (although those three words basically mean the same thing in this context, so they, and the explanation that goes with them, provide good handwriting practice) in my new diary. I thought today would be an excellent time to start, since with the exception of last term and the year before, I have always ridden the train alone, and that provides a good deal of time to write about my expedition to Sweden...
'Hi, Luna. mind if we join you?'
Neville had opened my compartment door and was heading a small crowd of people. Dressed in normal muggle attire (namely, Weasley sweaters), Ginny, Hermione, Neville, and Ronald
lingered outside my compartment until Hermione and Ronald handed Ginny their belongings, said 'Hi, Luna!', and headed towards the prefects compartment. It was strange that Harry was absent; I never would have taken him for a dropout. I suppose everyone has to surprise you somehow.
'God morgon, det spelar ingen roll vilken,' I said to Neville, who took it as a good thing and sat down. Ginny followed awkwardly.
Apparently, Harry had been on a quest of sort for something to do with Godric Griffyndor, or at least it sounded like it. Ginny was in a fair panic after he left the funeral, terrified that he might find it, and also not to pleased that he ended their relationship for it. Oh what AM I saying, this was meant for my life not for prodding in others'."
I remember that day, even though my writing stopped there. Every detail etched in my mind clearly, as if to retain some valuable secret.
After I put away my writing Hermione and Ron came back and as they hurried down the train corridor, The Daily Pophet in Hermione's hand, I could see the anguish in Hermione's eyes. Ron chased after and caught her as she nearly ran out of the back of the train. I silently noted their game and smiled calmly, happy for their passion. Not until long after did I realise the severity of that day.
Her emotions cascaded into Ron's arms and as her breathing grew tremendously, Ron's hands reached her hair, calming her slowly with his patience and warm words. Each sharp intake of breath and grief was felt in the swelling crowd, flooring each student to an incomprehensible level of compassion. Tears tore at the eyes of the strongest rumour and cooled the cheeks of the relentless gossip that had for so long haunted a student's daily life.
Through what could and couldn't be felt, one thing remained certain; this, whatever this was, had marked a new chapter in all of our lives. The consistancy of suspense thickened hartily as the number of Hermione's breaths grew.
She stepped back from him, by this time every compartment emptied and watched the scene eagerly, and as she slowly lifted her hand to Ron, each second filled with tension, and with threats to burst and overflow with anxiety. As Ron unfolded The Daily Prophet, the colour drained from his face. He grabbed her in a new found sympathy and gallant manner. Heavy breaths rose and fell with their hopes and dreams.
The paper lay on the floor, yet hardly forgotten. Read silently the crowd heard these words over endlessly in their minds; a house was attacked the night before, a muggle house. The brazen font lay mocking the emotion promoted by the words' very meaning, as a blatant lie surfaced in the harsh reality of The Prophet's words; a war had started with each person involved beyond repair, yet with out any conviction.
Hermione was shaking, hardly supported by Ron, who was making an awful attempt to comfort her. She was torn in two that day; every fight, every loveless moment gave way to the solid mix of pain and passion. All of the confrontations, the laughs, the humiliation, all of it stopped when Hermione ran down that isle.
I looked up from my copy of The Quibbler to see Neville and Ginny's faces pressed against what window they could still see through. The dominant expression seen amongst the crowd out side of our door was one of sympathy and curiosity. I nudged my way slowly through a dense population of tears and breaths, and as I began to see the emotion stored in the crowd, I thrust my fist down my knapsack to produce the proper medicine and marched right toward Hermione and Ron. My actions were a little out of line, yet my heart was straight on. Ginny followed me, and Neville after her, as a small pain formed in my heart. Offering Hermione my chocolate is one of the best things I've ever done. I truly cannot think of any thing better that I have accomplished. Everything else had been for my benefit somehow, I never thought of my life like that before then, but as I fell to embrace her, I kept some of her pain for myself, forever binding us through loss and love.