(no subject)
I don't know why, but I can write again! Hurrah!
This is a 30minutefics challenge, so written in half an hour and therefore unbeta'd and pretty rough. The challenge was to write a death scene for your favourite or least favourite character in HP, but I couldn't cope with the idea of writing Remus's death, so I chose Luna. I decided to give her a peaceful death, in the end, as it kinda fitted. If I had more time, I would have made her more IC - there are one or two bits I'm not happy with. Overall, though, I hope I've created an atmosphere.
Title: Death, the Next Great Adventure
Author: Me, nellie_darlin
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jo's.
Pairing/Characters: Luna Lovegood, Luna/Neville mentioned once
Rating: G
Length: 1,180 words
Genre: genfic
Summary: Luna Lovegood was prepared.
Warnings: Saccharine sweet ending. Dodgy beliefs in afterlifes. Possibly OOC Luna. Written in 30 (ok, 40) minutes.
Luna Lovegood was prepared.
She knew what was coming. She’d known for a while now: felt the darkness encroaching, felt the shortness of breath in the mornings, the stiffness of her joints as she pottered around her flat. Three months ago she had asked the Headmaster if she could move out of the rooms at the top of the Astronomy Tower, and into accommodation that required fewer stairs. He had gallantly told her that he could refuse her nothing, and she now inhabited a small suite of rooms on the third floor, by the statue of Gwynedd the Glorious. She rather liked that.
It wasn’t that she wanted to die. She liked her quiet life, she liked the routine of lessons and meals and conversations with the other teachers. She liked her comfortable armchair by the fire in the staff-room (although it was getting harder to get in and out of it). She liked the way the portraits greeted her as she moved slowly around the school, and she liked the mug of hot chocolate that appeared on her bedside table every night before bed. The students were tolerant of her, although she was well aware of the whispers and furtive corkscrew motions they made at their temples. It didn’t hurt her. She had long decided that it was everyone else who was mad, not her. And besides, the students of Hogwarts had grown to love their batty but surprisingly wise old Charms teacher, and the teasing was mostly affectionate. For every student who laughed at her and called her that old nickname - Loony Luna Lovegood, Loony Luna Lovegood - there were five who smiled at her in the corridors, who brought her newspaper clippings about Snorkack sightings and armies of Heliopaths, who worked steadily in her lessons and always handed in work on time.
It wasn’t that she wanted to die. But she knew death was not far off, and she wasn’t scared. She was ninety, after all, and although that was not that old for a witch, she felt old. Death held no fear for her. How could it, when death would reunite her with so many old friends? How could it, when death would mean seeing her mother and father again?
To Luna, death was not cold. Death was warmth, and rest, and a respite from the aches and pains that tortured her old body. That old scar, sustained in the final battle when Voldemort was defeated, still twinged from time to time. Her eyesight had long been poor, forcing her to wear large, pink-framed glasses for almost thirty years now, but now it was almost gone. Her hearing was weak, her hands were cramped with arthritis, and the students had started to tire her. The end of term was a week away, and she had already handed in her notice. She would retire then, set her affairs in order, and then - then she would die.
~*~
No one knew she was dying. It didn’t occur to her to tell them. Even if it had occurred to her, who’s to say she would have told them? It would have meant fuss, and bother, and over something that really meant very little. Death was nothing to Luna, and she had never understood the fuss people made of it. It was sad for someone to die before their time - like that man, Harry’s godfather, oh what was his name? - and it was terrible for those left behind. But now it came to it, she was more curious than afraid.
It was a Tuesday, and July, and the students were gone. Hogwarts was quiet again. Luna had gone down for supper, and had eaten some fruit. Her appetite had gone some time in her eighties, and she had eaten very little since then. Then she had returned to her rooms, and set everything in order. Her will she placed in a prominent position on her desk, having tidied the papers away earlier that evening. Then she opened the window, and sat for a moment, feeling the warm, fragrant breeze on her face. In Death, she knew, it would be forever summer. She was looking forward to it. Would they allow her to plant some rose-bushes there? Probably not the biting ones, although they were very pretty. But the normal ones? Pink, she’d plant, and the yellow with the deep orange blush that she had named Ginevra.
The sun was setting. The light shone through the casement into her little sitting room, and gilded the edges of the books in their cases. For a moment, the light caught the mirror, and Luna was blinded by a flash of pure gold. For a moment, Luna felt like she was floating, floating in gold and warmth and supreme contentedness. Then the light faded, and Luna returned to her sitting room and the present. She smiled. It was time.
She left her sitting room, looking round it one last time. She felt no regrets. She had loved it here, but it was time to go. Walking slowly, she opened her bedroom window, smelling the scent of the rosebushes planted below. She was certain - there would be roses in Death. Death was happiness, after all, and happiness was roses.
Her hand was steady as she drew back the curtains of her bed, and as she unbuttoned her robes. She pulled on her favourite nightdress - silk, soft and comforting against her skin - and dressing gown - red and gold and incredibly warm. She climbed into bed, settling the covers around herself, and shifting until she was comfortable. Peace flooded her, and she felt incredibly happy. In a moment, she would see her parents again; she would see Harry, Ginny, Ronald; she would see - oh joys! - her husband Neville, probably kneeling in a flowerbed, earth under his nails and staining the knees of his trousers. They would be young again, untroubled by age and rheumatism, free to do whatever they wanted. They would be warm, and safe, and nothing would trouble them.
As Luna started to slip away, the sun shone through the casement onto her bed, and her confused eyes saw not a beam of light, but a dancing, flaming creature of red and gold and fiery orange. It was a Heliopath.
Luna felt herself rise from the bed, and she marvelled at how easy it was to move. Smiling, she reached out for the creature, and let it lead her away. With each step she was stronger. With each step, her feet were more certain. She found herself walking on soft grass, and wondered if the gardener had used Algernon Verdant’s Vibrant Lawn Feed. She would suggest it, although the grass had little need of it.
She walked on, her stick abandoned, her back straight, towards the cluster of people gathered to greet her. One in particular stepped forward, a young man with mousy brown hair and a round, cheerful face. He handed her a rose, a deep cream rose with a yellow blush, and she smiled.
“It’s a Luna,” she said, happily. “My rose.”
This is a 30minutefics challenge, so written in half an hour and therefore unbeta'd and pretty rough. The challenge was to write a death scene for your favourite or least favourite character in HP, but I couldn't cope with the idea of writing Remus's death, so I chose Luna. I decided to give her a peaceful death, in the end, as it kinda fitted. If I had more time, I would have made her more IC - there are one or two bits I'm not happy with. Overall, though, I hope I've created an atmosphere.
Title: Death, the Next Great Adventure
Author: Me, nellie_darlin
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jo's.
Pairing/Characters: Luna Lovegood, Luna/Neville mentioned once
Rating: G
Length: 1,180 words
Genre: genfic
Summary: Luna Lovegood was prepared.
Warnings: Saccharine sweet ending. Dodgy beliefs in afterlifes. Possibly OOC Luna. Written in 30 (ok, 40) minutes.
Luna Lovegood was prepared.
She knew what was coming. She’d known for a while now: felt the darkness encroaching, felt the shortness of breath in the mornings, the stiffness of her joints as she pottered around her flat. Three months ago she had asked the Headmaster if she could move out of the rooms at the top of the Astronomy Tower, and into accommodation that required fewer stairs. He had gallantly told her that he could refuse her nothing, and she now inhabited a small suite of rooms on the third floor, by the statue of Gwynedd the Glorious. She rather liked that.
It wasn’t that she wanted to die. She liked her quiet life, she liked the routine of lessons and meals and conversations with the other teachers. She liked her comfortable armchair by the fire in the staff-room (although it was getting harder to get in and out of it). She liked the way the portraits greeted her as she moved slowly around the school, and she liked the mug of hot chocolate that appeared on her bedside table every night before bed. The students were tolerant of her, although she was well aware of the whispers and furtive corkscrew motions they made at their temples. It didn’t hurt her. She had long decided that it was everyone else who was mad, not her. And besides, the students of Hogwarts had grown to love their batty but surprisingly wise old Charms teacher, and the teasing was mostly affectionate. For every student who laughed at her and called her that old nickname - Loony Luna Lovegood, Loony Luna Lovegood - there were five who smiled at her in the corridors, who brought her newspaper clippings about Snorkack sightings and armies of Heliopaths, who worked steadily in her lessons and always handed in work on time.
It wasn’t that she wanted to die. But she knew death was not far off, and she wasn’t scared. She was ninety, after all, and although that was not that old for a witch, she felt old. Death held no fear for her. How could it, when death would reunite her with so many old friends? How could it, when death would mean seeing her mother and father again?
To Luna, death was not cold. Death was warmth, and rest, and a respite from the aches and pains that tortured her old body. That old scar, sustained in the final battle when Voldemort was defeated, still twinged from time to time. Her eyesight had long been poor, forcing her to wear large, pink-framed glasses for almost thirty years now, but now it was almost gone. Her hearing was weak, her hands were cramped with arthritis, and the students had started to tire her. The end of term was a week away, and she had already handed in her notice. She would retire then, set her affairs in order, and then - then she would die.
~*~
No one knew she was dying. It didn’t occur to her to tell them. Even if it had occurred to her, who’s to say she would have told them? It would have meant fuss, and bother, and over something that really meant very little. Death was nothing to Luna, and she had never understood the fuss people made of it. It was sad for someone to die before their time - like that man, Harry’s godfather, oh what was his name? - and it was terrible for those left behind. But now it came to it, she was more curious than afraid.
It was a Tuesday, and July, and the students were gone. Hogwarts was quiet again. Luna had gone down for supper, and had eaten some fruit. Her appetite had gone some time in her eighties, and she had eaten very little since then. Then she had returned to her rooms, and set everything in order. Her will she placed in a prominent position on her desk, having tidied the papers away earlier that evening. Then she opened the window, and sat for a moment, feeling the warm, fragrant breeze on her face. In Death, she knew, it would be forever summer. She was looking forward to it. Would they allow her to plant some rose-bushes there? Probably not the biting ones, although they were very pretty. But the normal ones? Pink, she’d plant, and the yellow with the deep orange blush that she had named Ginevra.
The sun was setting. The light shone through the casement into her little sitting room, and gilded the edges of the books in their cases. For a moment, the light caught the mirror, and Luna was blinded by a flash of pure gold. For a moment, Luna felt like she was floating, floating in gold and warmth and supreme contentedness. Then the light faded, and Luna returned to her sitting room and the present. She smiled. It was time.
She left her sitting room, looking round it one last time. She felt no regrets. She had loved it here, but it was time to go. Walking slowly, she opened her bedroom window, smelling the scent of the rosebushes planted below. She was certain - there would be roses in Death. Death was happiness, after all, and happiness was roses.
Her hand was steady as she drew back the curtains of her bed, and as she unbuttoned her robes. She pulled on her favourite nightdress - silk, soft and comforting against her skin - and dressing gown - red and gold and incredibly warm. She climbed into bed, settling the covers around herself, and shifting until she was comfortable. Peace flooded her, and she felt incredibly happy. In a moment, she would see her parents again; she would see Harry, Ginny, Ronald; she would see - oh joys! - her husband Neville, probably kneeling in a flowerbed, earth under his nails and staining the knees of his trousers. They would be young again, untroubled by age and rheumatism, free to do whatever they wanted. They would be warm, and safe, and nothing would trouble them.
As Luna started to slip away, the sun shone through the casement onto her bed, and her confused eyes saw not a beam of light, but a dancing, flaming creature of red and gold and fiery orange. It was a Heliopath.
Luna felt herself rise from the bed, and she marvelled at how easy it was to move. Smiling, she reached out for the creature, and let it lead her away. With each step she was stronger. With each step, her feet were more certain. She found herself walking on soft grass, and wondered if the gardener had used Algernon Verdant’s Vibrant Lawn Feed. She would suggest it, although the grass had little need of it.
She walked on, her stick abandoned, her back straight, towards the cluster of people gathered to greet her. One in particular stepped forward, a young man with mousy brown hair and a round, cheerful face. He handed her a rose, a deep cream rose with a yellow blush, and she smiled.
“It’s a Luna,” she said, happily. “My rose.”