Luna lies collapsed on the cold grass watching the seemingly never ending streaks of light shoot across the sky; a symphony for the eyes. She does not need to strain to see the display above her, for she is splayed on her back, ready as ever to feast on the delights life provides her with. She has no time for the social constraints that suffocate many of the others around her, she does not even think of them.
It would all be perfect if it was not for the persistent throbbing of her left leg. Each glittering meteor that streaks across the velvet sky is punctuated by an explosive force inside her body. The meteors come often and so too does the pain.
The surprising thing is that the feeling does not distract her from what she came to do. As the poison completes its journey, spreading its deathly tentacles through the maze of her body, she relishes the sight before her very eyes. Luna has always lived for the present. She is aware that death is imminent, but she is able to put it out of mind and savour the last thing she will ever be aware of on this mortal plain. It is impossible to recall anyone else who would not be defeated and consumed by the thought of dying; this is what makes Luna so special. She truly understands living because she does not dwell on death and until now she has not needed to.
A few hours ago, Luna had fought her way to this solitary spot to obtain the best vantage of this spectacular spectacle. It is lucky that it is one she enjoys frequenting or it may have taken longer to discover her body in the coming days.
The venom of death has spread to her heart.
She breathes uneasily, each inhalation becoming rustier, as if she has lost all knowledge of how to do it. She fights valiantly to pin open her heavy eyelids. With each passing second another weight is put upon them and the struggle becomes increasingly more difficult. These are the only outward signs of what is coming, but inside her a war is raging. Her body sends out all opposition possible to counter the foreign substance attacking it, unaware of the futility.
She thinks it is a beautiful place to die. She lost the sense of sight when she lost the battle with her eyes and so she finds the time to consider what is happening to her. It is unfortunate that she is doomed to lose both the battle and the war. One usually gets one or the other. It is a pity that her diagnosis was wrong.
The defeat of her eyelids has left her unable to find distraction in the shower of lights that she knows is there. Instead, she lies on the sodden grass as the nightly dew clings to her, and feels the frozen moonbeams on her skin.
And when she finally lets go, for it was inevitable, the lights which spin and dive and glide across the sky increase tenfold. It is not irony, rather the tears of the heavens mourning their loss.
It is a great loss.
The sun lounges in a lowly position in the sky; Lunaís leg has become increasingly tender all day. She is at home, catching up on her correspondence, when it occurs to her to check her extended copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
She is twenty six years old and still on the lookout for the elusive Nargle. One of her fellow magizoologists, Rolf Scamander, a man who is a few years her senior and very well regarded within the community, has written to her with news of them. She is hastily scribbling a reply, her usual composure disturbed by excitement. Luna is suggesting a meeting to pool their findings.
The letter is sent off with her owl and turns her attention to discovering what it was that bit her. She retrieves a well thumbed book from a shelf above her desk and carries it over to a large armchair where she sits, her legs folded up beneath her. She is quite sure that it is not a basilisk that is behind the puncture marks on her leg, but there is not much other choice.
She continues flicking through the book and is relieved when she comes across the Snaphering Slyther. It is the creature that is depicted on the robes of Slytherin house. Despite their reputations, Slytherins wear the badge of a harmless animal, its fangs are designed as a warning and it truly has got a bark worse than its bite. She will be fine to continue onto her destination this evening, she decides. It is rumoured to be the most extraordinary meteor shower of a lifetime.
It is definitely going to be the meteor shower of Lunaís lifetime.
The metal chain squeaks in protest as Luna sits down. She hasnít been on a swing in years, but it is hard to bypass the opportunity to launch herself up into the cloudy blue sky. She is a lot heavier than the usual customer this swing gets and its shrieks become louder the higher Luna gets.
She should really be going straight home to file the information she has gained on her latest expedition, but it can be filed any time and she may never get another moment like this. This is a difference Luna knows the importance of.
She is attracting attention from the little children and their parents. The parents shake their heads at this outrageous behaviour; this girl is making an unbelievable racket and an exhibition of herself, yet she doesnít seem to care a jot. The children stare in amazement. They have never heard the swing make such a noise, this in itself is stare-worthy, but what they find most shocking is the fact that such a big person is on the swing. This girl is tall like their parents, but she is not serious like their parents and she is laughing.
Old people do not laugh at the silly noises of swings. They laugh at swings.
Luna sees the looks the adults give her and concentrates on the faces of the children. She flies and the swing aids her for a time, before pulling her back to earth when she is ready to fly for herself. It is perfectly timed.
She cannot swing for long as her leg twinges when she uses it to push off the ground, but she makes the most of every time she sails through the air. When she leaves the seat she smiles at the children and waves at their parents; the children smile back and the parents look away. It is a shame that not everyone is like Luna.
She would have been a good mother.
It is early morning and the sun is just beginning to rise in its empty sky. Luna is already awake and waiting for its arrival, like a straggler to breakfast. She is tracking the movements of a group of Glumbumbles in Northern England and they are at their most active at dawn. For some people this would be a problem, but not for Luna.
She is gloriously awake and watches from her hidden spot behind a cluster of bushes as they tussle with each other and forage for their first meal of the day. The sun rises gently as Luna observes the creatures before her, occasionally noting something down on a scrap of paper she has by her side. The last thing she wants to do is disrupt the group with unnecessary shuffling.
Luna is so absorbed in the scene before her that she does not notice the creature that crawls towards. The first she is aware of it is when it plunges its pointed fangs into the soft skin on her calf. She flinches and turns to inspect her wound and the thing that delivered it, but the creature is stealthy and she only catches its retreating tail shooting into the undergrowth.
An antiseptic solution is produced from her small medical kit and she treats and dresses the wound with the help of her wand. There has been no pain since the initial prick and so Luna assumes that she is relatively safe and turns her attention back to the creatures she is documenting. They have gone and she hasnít yet had time to sketch them.
It doesnít matter very much as she has the mind of an artist, so she settles herself into a more comfortable position and conjures up a picture of them in her mindís eye. All in all it has been a productive morning.
Here lies Luna Lovegood,
A free woman.
May we all live our lives like she did; to the fullest.
I'm not too sure that I gave Luna an adequate death, but I hope you enjoyed it! All CC is welcome and I would appreciate all your thoughts on how you thought the chronology of the piece worked. I decided to take a risk on it XD.