A/N: Do you ever sit at home and read Unbroken and think to yourself - "hmm, I don't know. There just doesn't seem to be enough going on for my liking"?
Me too.
This is Luna's story.
Unbroken - Luna's Story
When the Prophet ran an advertisement for an Impossible Job on behalf of the Auror office, Luna Lovegood read it while eating a triangle of buttered toast, sat cross legged on top of a washing machine in a Muggle laundrette.
The laundrette in question occupied the ground floor of the building where she lived and she found that among the hustle and bustle of inner city London, it was here that she found a space in which she could really think. A rumbling washing machine will do that for a girl.
This early in the morning the only person around was old Mrs Beauchance who was approaching eighty seven years old and had cataracts, meaning even her milk bottle thick glasses couldn't make out the moving pictures on the newspaper.
But the advert.
It wasn't like Luna didn't have a job already, but she was discovering (to her great disappointment) that her career as an artist didn't pay quite all the bills. The Impossible Job was to be for six months and paid rather well to the person who was willing to take on the challenge.
As someone who refused to believe in the impossible, Luna decided to send an owl to Neville and ask for his advice.
Two weeks later she was being shown into a large, airy room deep within the Ministry after signing all sorts of disclaimers and forms and agreements that ensured she would not leak secrets to the press. Or anyone else, for that matter.
Auror Watson was less than a year from retirement and had been given the job of organising the archives within the Auror department. After discovering the scale of the job he had promptly arranged for it to be contracted out. He was a portly man with an impressive moustache and a growing bald patch at the back of his head.
For her first day in the job Luna had worn her best purple dress and nicest orange tights (the ones with no holes at all) and her favourite radish earrings, the ones she had made while still in school. She'd brushed and braided her hair and even worn her tortoiseshell glasses - the ones she didn't really need but helped decipher particularly flowery handwriting.
"The last time the archives were sorted was 1973," Auror Watson said as he threw open the door.
"And since then?" Luna asked.
"Well, it's in some sort of order," Auror Watson said, fidgeting from one foot to the other. "In the sense that when we get new stuff, we extend the room backwards and shift all the boxes back with it. Then stack the new boxes in front."
"And you've been doing this..."
"Since 1973, yes."
"Ah."
"So," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking onto his heels, "if you need me I'll be in my office."
And he shut the door behind him on his way out.
The guidelines Luna had been given were thus:
Do not throw anything away.
Where possible, track down the owners of the stuff and return it to them.
Where the owners are dead, unlocatable or incarcerated, track down next of kin and offer it to them.
Re-label each box with its contents and copy this onto a masterlist for the department.
Do not throw anything away.
As guidelines went, they were fairly loose.
As the weeks rolled on, Luna developed a method to her logging. She would open a box, cast a Wingardium Leviosa on the contents and suspend them midair while a Quick Quotes Quill took her dictation of the contents. She would read the card included by the Auror who originally worked the case to see who the possessions belonged to and another Quick Copy Quill (a WWW product) penned a letter to the owners, ready to be sent by a Ministry owl to their last known address.
As methods went, it was fairly successful.
Luna worked with a wireless and frequent visits from her friends for company.
About a month into the job she had finished off the boxes from the seventies and had started work on the boxes from the early eighties. By now her methodology was sound and she worked with a lightness that came from deep job satisfaction.
Case number 7213 had several boxes attached to it and many of the contents had been shrunk. This in itself was not unusual. She cast her levitation charm and hummed along to a song on the wireless as she plucked the Auror's case card from midair and cast a quick eye over the items before scanning the details of the case.
Luna's heart thudded hard in her chest, flew to her throat then dropped to her stomach. Her fingers were suddenly too insubstantial to hold onto the card and it fluttered to the floor as a cry of distress escaped from her lips. Her hands quickly came to cover them.
Even from the floor she could quite clearly, thanks to her tortoiseshell glasses, read the words printed on the card.
Potter Murders
Godric's Hollow
October 1981
Guidance notes: This is part of the 'present time' thread of the story.
It's not finished.
That is all.