writing mood
She was never one to cry. She did not find tears and emotions to be weakness, on the contrary she believed that, like Dumbledore, the ability to feel and love was what made humans human after all. She hardly thought anyone to be a lesser person if they broke down and sobbed for good reason. But she was usually so dotty, yet oddly composed that seeing her in such a state of disarray was almost indecent.
But there she was, on the ground of the common room, hands clenched tightly into fists, knuckles white, bawling like a child. The tears streamed down her ivory cheeks rapidly, quickly replaced by new ones when they would evaporate. She did not bother herself with wiping them from her face.
The Ravenclaws gathered around her like carnivores to bleeding prey, though they were more curious than murderous. She had a tendency of rapidly changing her mood, though she was rarely sulky. If anyone had the right to be sulky, it was her. She was teased to no end, her possessions hidden and cursed with eyebrows that constantly seemed to be in a state of shock. But she held her head up high, ignored the statements or simply did not comprehend them due to the fact that she had her nose buried in the newest edition of The Quibbler.
She let out a wail of despair that pierced the still silence of the common room after midnight and seemed to taint it. If screams could bleed, hers would run red.
No one attempted to comfort her. They were too shocked by this sudden outburst to do so, though very few of them would dare sully their reputation by pitying the Lovegood girl.
She was loony, batty and rather odd, though kind. She was not easily upset though she would issue a harsh reprimand to anyone who slighted The Quibbler, for her father was the editor, but normally she was a subdued girl. She had friends, not many but enough to keep her satisfied. Harry, Ron and Hermione had never returned after Dumbledore's murder. It was rumored that they were attempting revenge on Snape and the Dark Lord's followers. She did not know whether or not this was fact or fiction and she was not particularly interested.
She still had Ginny, the girl who would fight off all of those who dared tease her for her Butterbeer caps necklace. Ginny was not a force to be reckoned with, especially after Harry's disappearance. She issued more Bat Bogey curses than could be counted, especially if someone dared slight her love.
The awake Ravenclaws, and there were many of them, seeing as it was a week before N.E.W.T.S, formed a circle around her and closed every gap, just observing her slack-jawed. She suddenly did not seem entirely strange, they did not look upon her with a quirked eyebrow and a snide remark for they saw the girl beneath the radish earrings. She was human and her cries were painful.
Her throat hurt, but she did not care. She wanted to lash out at the bystanders, knock them off of their feet and scream at them for just standing there, eyes wide and stupid-looking. She wanted to cry until she dehydrated and died, nothing left but a withered corpse and memories of better days. But it did not matter what she wanted. Nothing mattered anymore.
He was dead.
They did not even have the decency to tell her in person, to quietly usher her out of the common room and break the news to her slowly and tactfully. No, they sent her and owl, a bloody owl!
The parchment was still wrinkled inside her sweaty palm as she pounded the carpeting with her fists. She read it four times before she was sure that she wasn't unprecedentedly attacked by a swarm of Dutch Verwarrings. Her father had just printed a special edition Quibbler on them four months ago.
She would have preferred the Verwarrings to this reality. But after balancing a quill on her nose and standing on one foot she was certain that she was not simply victim to a Verwarring attack. The parchment was not lying.
For a full three minutes and nineteen seconds everyone just stood there, unmoving, until a small second year piped in and declared that they should call in Professor Flitwick. Within the blink of an eye he was there, attempting to comfort the inconsolable Luna.
In the end he had to wrench the slip of paper from her hand forcefully before reading it. He paled and reread the sheet once again, hoping that the slightly runny ink was distorting the message.
No such luck.
"Oh, dear. Miss Lovegood?" He looked down at her nervously, biting his fingernails before dropping the note. "Come here, we'll take you to the Headmistress's chambers. I'm quite sure that we can spare you for a few days." His voice was panicked and shrill, causing general confusion and worry amongst the students as their small head of house briskly rushed Luna out of the room.
A brave first year picked up the parchment and gasped slightly. "Who's Neville Longbottom?" He asked in a thick cockney accent.
A tall brunette was the first to answer. "Loony's boyfriend." She snickered slightly, puckering her thin lips.
The first year turned a revolting shade of puce before handing the paper to a student beside him, who took the liberty of reading it aloud.
"Dear Miss Luna Aysel Lovegood,
We sincerely regret to inform you that a Mister Neville Frances Longbottom has passed away at the hour of eleven and thirty-seven minutes. It was his wish that we contact you.
Our sincerest condolences,
The Ministry of Magic officials
"There's some loopy signatures at the bottom, but I can't quite read them." The student said, squinting in a lame attempt to decipher the names at the base of the sheet.
No one spoke.
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"Miss Lovegood, it is my direction to escort you back to your homestead with your father. The Ministry of Magic informed us of Mr. Longbottom's...unfortunate situation moments after yourself." McGonagall eyes were quite red, though their puffiness did not so much as rival Luna's.
"Unfortunate situation? You make it sound like he was simply victim of the Venomous Barbles! Neville is...he's...well..." She let out an embittered sob as she resolved to burying her head into her tearstained robes.
McGonagall attempted to compose herself. "Of course it comes off as a bit cruel, Lovegood. You and I know how the Ministry can handle these circumstances." Luna was unsure whether she simply imagined it but she was almost positive that her professor sounded incredibly morose at this point in time.
"He wasn't supposed to die, Professor." Luna, in a lapse of memory, had forgotten that McGonagall was now the Headmistress. The Headmistress did not seem to take notice. "And if it is the last thing I do I will revenge him." In all the years that the transfiguration teacher had taught Luna, she had never heard her sound more lucid nor serious.
She was unsure whether or not her decision was influenced by either grief or simply the fact that she had the utmost faith that Luna was the most likely candidate to do the operation that she and Dumbledore had been planning for near three years before his passing, after Sirius Black's infamous escape from Hogwarts. She agreed with the Headmaster that hate and anger could only fuel someone for a brief stint of time, and this knowledge made her second guess her decision. But, even more powerful than grief and hatred, was love. And that could, forgive the hackneyed expression, move mountains.
"There is something that can be done." Little did McGonagall know that this mere sentence would change the course of history and, ultimately, the world.
it started off as a oneshot but then i decided that i need to start a new long story, so i did! havent read many luna-centered stories, and i decided to start one myself