(no subject)
she's not a girl who misses much
luna lovegood gen, 446 words, pg
for skweejee_me. ♥
[i'm not in many HP communities, but if any of y'all could tell me about any places where i could post this, i'd really appreciate it. :)]
it's not that luna doesn't realize that people talk about her. oh, she knows it, she's known it since she was a first year; she can hear the things that they say, tittering as she walks by. she sees the looks they give her and the lopsided smirks she receives when she's caught staring inadvertently in someone's direction.
no, she realizes it- it's just much more fun to pretend that she doesn't. it's almost like being a very large fly on the wall: she seems so caught up in her own world that no one can see that she's really listening. if they noticed, she tells herself, they wouldn't say these things. not in earshot. right?
(she doesn't answer her own question; it's easier that way.)
and furthermore, she continues, it's better like this. this way, she knows what's going on. this way, she can keep up with what people are saying. if they don't think she's paying attention, they'll have nothing to hide.
so she walks along, floating away in her own pseudo-dreamworld. it's become a game she plays with herself, about how far she can push the envelope. she's read the quibbler all her life -her father is the editor, after all- but now she shares its vital information with anyone who will listen. she punches holes in radishes and hangs them on her ears and laughs (on the inside, of course) when parvati patil and lavender brown giggle pointedly in her direction.
reactions, she's learned, are fun to watch. what's even more fun is to create them.
there are times, though, when she can't let herself stay lost and dreaming. there are times when she has to add the hard edge back into her voice, when she has to walk straight and be serious, when everything is far too real, too close for comfort.
her whole life, she's never dodged bullets. and when it matters most--
--she twists her wand upwards, willing the spell with all her might; it hits the desired target but she doesn't have time to watch anymore, because she's moved on to the next target, and the next, and the next. jets of red and green and blue light ricochet off the walls around her, only just missing her. one whizzes just past her ear, slightly singeing her hair. she doesn't have time to mourn over it, though, because there are bigger things going on, and even if she doesn't understand all of it, she'll fight for what's right. she's fighting back, she's fighting back for the friends that have fought alongside her this whole time--
--when it matters most, bullets are the least of her worries.
luna lovegood gen, 446 words, pg
for skweejee_me. ♥
[i'm not in many HP communities, but if any of y'all could tell me about any places where i could post this, i'd really appreciate it. :)]
it's not that luna doesn't realize that people talk about her. oh, she knows it, she's known it since she was a first year; she can hear the things that they say, tittering as she walks by. she sees the looks they give her and the lopsided smirks she receives when she's caught staring inadvertently in someone's direction.
no, she realizes it- it's just much more fun to pretend that she doesn't. it's almost like being a very large fly on the wall: she seems so caught up in her own world that no one can see that she's really listening. if they noticed, she tells herself, they wouldn't say these things. not in earshot. right?
(she doesn't answer her own question; it's easier that way.)
and furthermore, she continues, it's better like this. this way, she knows what's going on. this way, she can keep up with what people are saying. if they don't think she's paying attention, they'll have nothing to hide.
so she walks along, floating away in her own pseudo-dreamworld. it's become a game she plays with herself, about how far she can push the envelope. she's read the quibbler all her life -her father is the editor, after all- but now she shares its vital information with anyone who will listen. she punches holes in radishes and hangs them on her ears and laughs (on the inside, of course) when parvati patil and lavender brown giggle pointedly in her direction.
reactions, she's learned, are fun to watch. what's even more fun is to create them.
there are times, though, when she can't let herself stay lost and dreaming. there are times when she has to add the hard edge back into her voice, when she has to walk straight and be serious, when everything is far too real, too close for comfort.
her whole life, she's never dodged bullets. and when it matters most--
--she twists her wand upwards, willing the spell with all her might; it hits the desired target but she doesn't have time to watch anymore, because she's moved on to the next target, and the next, and the next. jets of red and green and blue light ricochet off the walls around her, only just missing her. one whizzes just past her ear, slightly singeing her hair. she doesn't have time to mourn over it, though, because there are bigger things going on, and even if she doesn't understand all of it, she'll fight for what's right. she's fighting back, she's fighting back for the friends that have fought alongside her this whole time--
--when it matters most, bullets are the least of her worries.