Open. Luna in the Hospital Wing.
A soft melody drifts through the white spaces of the hospital wing, barely enough of a whisper to wake even light sleepers. It is Luna's own creation, and her high voice holds the tune well, humming of butterflies and hurricanes and times brighter than the here and now.
Luna has sat for a while now in the hospital wing, waiting to visit Neville Longbottom. She is thankful that he is still alive behind the closed curtains, even if he is grievously injured. She has passed the time by reading Quibbler back-issues and flapping away the Ouijitas that drift in through the half-open window, residue from the dark spells that plagued Hogwarts so very recently.
She follows the footsteps with her ears as Pomfrey shuffles past, making her rounds. She'll have to go soon, she supposes, but even amongst illness and death Luna is enjoying her surroundings. She doesn't wish to leave for the hollow gloom of the Ravenclaw Common Room. At least here, people feign cheerfulness.
Luna thinks that if, perhaps, she has a little more time she will count the blue stripes on the curtains. She likes blue stripes.
Counting helps her keep her mind off the attack at Hogwarts, stops her dwelling on the darkness and the screaming and the heartwrenching moment when she had found out her Headmaster - her idol! - was dead. Her own injuries were no more than a fractured wrist and a few burns; she left her own hospital bed swiftly. Now she wanders Hogwarts and counts clouds (thirty-two) and ghosts (four) and ducks (none).
"One," she whispers. This is not the end of the world. This is not. "Two."
Luna has sat for a while now in the hospital wing, waiting to visit Neville Longbottom. She is thankful that he is still alive behind the closed curtains, even if he is grievously injured. She has passed the time by reading Quibbler back-issues and flapping away the Ouijitas that drift in through the half-open window, residue from the dark spells that plagued Hogwarts so very recently.
She follows the footsteps with her ears as Pomfrey shuffles past, making her rounds. She'll have to go soon, she supposes, but even amongst illness and death Luna is enjoying her surroundings. She doesn't wish to leave for the hollow gloom of the Ravenclaw Common Room. At least here, people feign cheerfulness.
Luna thinks that if, perhaps, she has a little more time she will count the blue stripes on the curtains. She likes blue stripes.
Counting helps her keep her mind off the attack at Hogwarts, stops her dwelling on the darkness and the screaming and the heartwrenching moment when she had found out her Headmaster - her idol! - was dead. Her own injuries were no more than a fractured wrist and a few burns; she left her own hospital bed swiftly. Now she wanders Hogwarts and counts clouds (thirty-two) and ghosts (four) and ducks (none).
"One," she whispers. This is not the end of the world. This is not. "Two."