I finished When It's Over? I dunno, I LOVED my ending, though I didn't even expect it...you know how when you write and you kinda have completely no control over what you write? Haha, maybe I'm psycho...I'm makin' a third Seeing What Should Not Be Seen, though perhaps I'll change the title up a bit, it's a tad long.

THANK YOUS to Taintless, JadedNihilist (for reviewing and being my beta) and Officer 1BDI! I LOVE Y'ALL!

The funeral was simply a formality, a necessary evil that Luna felt obliged to attend. She could not stand the looks, the whispers, and the pitying talk. She preferred being teased to this misery.

It seemed that everyone was there, but she could care less. Hermione, Ron and Harry took time off from their exceedingly busy schedules to return to Hogwarts for the funeral, but for the first time in her life she was not interested in any of them. She suffered through the eulogies, the tears, the fierce handshakes and tight embraces. She went through the motions, though she rarely spoke.

Mrs. Longbottom approached her after the service; the hideous hat that was her trademark perched on her head, though the bird was black for mourning. "Oh, Luna!" Without any warning she threw her arms around the poor, delicate looking girl, sobbing to no end into her cheap black robes. "It's...it's just so...so hard. My little Neville, never had his father's talent, but he had his own way." She stifled a gasp, lifting her great head from out of the crook of her almost granddaughter-inlaw's shoulder.

"I'll miss him too," She replied quietly, looking up at her with a small smile. The tears were gone and Luna doubted that they would return any time soon. She had not cried since the

eve she received the hideously tactless greeting card, which she could recite word for word by now. She turned from the woman after stating some incredibly touching words and patting her gingerly on the shoulder.

As she walked away she murmured, "Don't worry. It's far from over." And she stalked into the freshly grown green

grass.

The weather seemed to mock them terribly, haunting her with its vibrant blue skies and beautiful sunshine. She felt overheated in her robes but refused to unbutton them out of respect. This was her last day of serenity, of normalcy. This was the last day that she could mourn like

a child who had just lost a great love, one more day before she had to grow up.

When Neville had died her innocence had died with him. She would always be "Loony Lovegood," but perhaps there was something in her that would never return.

Her long blond hair flowed, unrestrained, into the sky, dancing with the warm wind. She could smell the freshly mowed grass, not the stench of death that most would have anticipated. She was never one for any of that. Her life motto was, "Forever an optimist."

She was wandless, she knew that in these times such a decision was slightly ridiculous, being unprotected in a graveyard while traveling on her own through the graves peacefully. She refused to besmirch this day of agony and rest with arming herself. She trusted that the fates would be kind enough to grant her amnesty for today.

She did not know where she was headed, but she knew that she could not go back to the swarms of people mourning him. It was too painful, and she needed to stay strong. She had to be strong for him, for herself. Neville would have never wanted her to wither and die without him, nor would he have wanted her to risk her own life for vengeance.

'You don't always get what you want,' she thought. She couldn't help but think, leaning over and picking a wilting flower and investigating it, making sure that it was not infested with nargles, as those types of plants, including mistletoe, often were.

"Luna!" She had anticipated this. Someone had followed her, intruded on her unpleasant walk. How rude of them.

She turned around slowly, in no rush to hear any more apologies. She was mourning widow, though they never married, nor were they even engaged. That did not ease her pain whatsoever. The person behind her seemed to deem this silence as an acceptable response and continued to speak.

"I missed you at the service." It took Luna a while to identify the woman before her, doubled over with a cramp, wheezing. She had a long scar tracing past her left eye, apparently having pierced the cornea for the eye seemed to be utterly useless. Her hair was cropped to her neck, and wearing black robes, proper for mourning. Hermione?

"I just left. Rather stuffy," She stated dully staring over her shoulder and into space. This was not wholly unexpected from Hermoine.

Hermione did not bother with apologies or condolences; she just spoke to Luna as an equal. This was a strange occurrence indeed. She mused with a vague smile. "Ron, Harry and I just returned after we...heard. How has school been going?" She seemed determined to avoid the subject that was evidently on her mind.

"N.E.W.T.s, and a summer fever caused by Yuracs, the usual. But somehow I have the impression that you did not just chase me over here to inquire after my schooling, seeing as you had dropped out." Hermione had the grace to blush. Luna was rather brilliant at speaking uncomfortable truths.

"You're quite right, Luna. I just didn't want to upset you." Luna did not seem upset, though. If anything she looked as strange and distant as ever. "We miss him too, of course not nearly as much as you must. The person responsible will pay for this." Hermione seemed more bitter than Luna had ever seen her, and this did incur a bit of curiosity.

"Oh, I know," She responded, looking down at the grass with sudden interest. "Do you mind? I would just like a few moments to marvel at all of this." It was not complete fable. She did want to, in a way, smell the roses for the last time, figuratively and literally. She did not want to talk about him. Not yet. She

was not sure that she would ever want to.

Hermione nodded curtly before turning around and back towards the funeral. Luna called after her retreating figure, "Tell Ronald and Harry that I say 'hello'," before turning back to the task at hand.

Everything seemed to be put into perspective: death, life, and pain were all relative terms. Who is to determine the breaking point? Who is it that truly can decide any of that? And who was it that took Neville's, her Neville's life?

She knew that it must have been dreadful, there must have been blood or some type of gore, for the Ministry refused her request to see the body and he was buried with a closed casket. Even McGonagall, who seemed rather satisfied in releasing the information to her, was extremely hesitant in revealing the particulars of his demise.

"Not that it really matters anyway," She said aloud glancing over her shoulder hastily before kneeling to the ground. The dew was absorbed through her robes and onto her skin, and despite the warmness in the air it was chilling her to the bone.

She blinked back tears, feeling them resurface as she glanced up into the sky. Neville had never been a romantic; he had been a klutzy and lovable boyfriend who was nothing but good to her. She loved him more than she had ever thought that she could love anyone else.

Theirs was the kind of love recited in old fairy tales and epic love stories that touch all ages, a love so pure and chaste that they never felt the need to consummate their relationship before marriage. They were not driven by their hormones, but by something deeper. This connection made it all the more painful to lose him.

She had awoken at sunrise this morning, when the dawn was stained in vibrant purples and reds. The funeral began only hours later. She fell asleep at sunset, reveling in the poetics. It was far too beautiful to be a day to commemorate the death of her love. No one came searching for her after Hermione, and she enjoyed the peace.

She did not know how far she traveled, only that she had been asleep on Melinda Warren's grave as the sun sank into the west most part of the sky, enveloping the world in darkness.

It must have been after midnight when she felt someone seize her by the shoulders and shake her ruggedly. "It's time." She knew the meaning of their words and, without consent, side-long apparated them to the safest location.

When they arrived she was unsurprised to find McGonagall standing beside her, a look of the utmost severity plastered on her face. "Are you sure that you want to do this?" Ridiculous question, let's move on. "There is still time to change your mind." Try again next time. Seeing that her attempts were ill in effect, the Professor became desperate. "Someone else, anyone else, is perfectly capa-" Luna could not think of this and raised a shaky hand in refusal, her usually vacant

eyes sharp and clear.

"No. This is mine. This is my justice."

'Revenge,' a voice in her head could not help but point out.

'Is there a difference?' That was what she was going to figure out.

Okay, kudos to anyone who found a Charmed reference in this little chappie!