A/N: This chapter is only here to stop anyone wondering why I have a story posted with no chapters in it. (o_O, right?) It's not really ready yet, so after I have some time I'll be adding a Neville-y bit about the Sorcerer's Stone year. (Luna obviously can't tell about that, you know?) Anyway, enjoy what's here! And review if you can, please.
Mum and Dad tell me not to listen to them, but all of our neighbors’ kids—especially the ones my age—have started calling me Looney Lovegood. “Looney, Looney Lovegood believes in make-believe creatures everyone else knows don’t exist,” they say. I tell them that Muggles think things like unicorns and dragons don’t exist when we know that they do, but they just say that I’m making excuses.
Mum and Dad are right about the Gotys and Furry Kernies, and I’ll prove it to them someday. Each of us has got our own methods of trying: Dad publishes articles in The Quibbler, Mum experiments, and now I’ll tell them all about the creatures. I don’t care if they don’t believe me at first—they’ll come around eventually. I know they will. They’ve got to.
I’m Mum and Dad’s only child, and I’m already turning nine next week. I’ve got to help them somehow, now that I’m old enough to try.
I should have told Mum not to try this one—she wanted to prove once and for all that at least one of the creatures I told my friends about was real. I should have tried harder to tell her that I didn’t mind, that it was alright that they made fun of me… That it was alright that they took my things and wrote “Looney” on them, and that they pretended to believe me just so that they could scare me. I should have tried harder, because I really was okay with all that happening! I’m not hurt at all—or at least, not physically. I’m not even hurt at all by what they did.
What hurts is the explosion.
I wasn’t in it or anything, no. I’m still alright physically. I was in the kitchen with Dad, helping him make dinner. It was Mum’s favorite, spaghetti with Plimpy-shaped meatballs. She said she only had to add one more ingredient to her potion, but she was exciting to be eating soon… And she picked up the wrong thing.
The explosion knocked both Dad and me of our feet. The plates, freshly laden with pasta and sauce, were blown off the counter and shattered on the floor. The instant we got back on our feet, Dad ran to Mum’s laboratory and I followed.
We were too late. The lab was a mess: there was shattered glass everywhere, and the cauldron she had been working in had split into three pieces, each covered in potion. And there was Mum, lying there next to the cauldron. There was glass in her hair, and her eyes were closed. Dad picked her up, and she opened her eyes.
“Luna, dear… I’m… Sorry.”
Those were her last words. She died there, in Dad’s arms.
That night was the first night I’d cried since I’d known I didn’t have to cry to get attention. Dad and I both cried, all through the night. I’m not sure if we slept, but I know we were crying through the whole night.
It’s been almost a week since Mum died. Her funeral was today. I cried again, but Dad managed to get a hold of himself. Only the neighbors came—all of the rest of our family lives to far away to make it. The Weasleys came though, even though they don’t live too near us. They were all quite nice. The youngest one—Ginny, who’s my age—brought me a teddy bear and stayed by my side until they had to go. The other Weasleys didn’t talk to me much, but it was alright. Ginny didn’t call me “Looney” once the whole time she was there.
I got my letter from Hogwarts today. We’ve just been to Diagon Alley to get my school things. I’m very excited—not only will I be able to learn more, I might be able to prove to someone that things like Crumple-Horned Snorkacks exist. And I’ll see Ginny again—she ought to be going to Hogwarts, unless the Weasleys moved to another country and nobody noticed.
To celebrate my finally going to a real—and very large—school, we’re eating whatever I want today for dinner. I would have picked pasta, but… We haven’t eaten anything like that in almost two years now. But the other day, I was looking for a snack and checked our freezer. I found a box that I’d never seen before, which is very strange.
Inside is spaghetti with Plimpy-shaped meatballs.
My first night at Hogwarts… How exciting everything has been! I’m going to write Dad a letter as soon as I can find a quill. (I’m sure they were all right on top of my trunk just now, though…) Anyway, the first thing we did after getting off the Hogwarts Express was meet Hagrid, the gamekeeper. He seemed nice, so I sat in his boat so we could cross the lake. I was the only one who sat there by choice—the others just ran out of room. As we approached the castle, I saw the older students being taken to the school by carriage. The horses pulling them were dark and winged. But when I pointed them out to the boy sitting next to me, he had no idea what I was talking about. He was one of my neighbors, so I thought he was just playing a trick on me. I thought I might have heard him say, “Looney Lovegood strikes again,” but it was too quietly for me to hear the words clearly. Anyway, I decided to ask Hagrid instead. I thought I’d get better answers from a staff member.
“You can see ‘em, then, can you?” he said when I asked him what they were.
“Yes,” I replied, “can’t everyone?”
“No,” Hagrid answered, shaking his head. “Only those who have seen death.” That explained why my neighbor hadn’t been able to see them. As far as I knew, all of the neighborhood kids had lived happy, death-free lives, even up to now.
When we got into the castle, we were sorted into four different houses. Ginny and I won’t be spending too much time together, as she is in Gryffindor while I am in Ravenclaw. The food we had afterward was nice too. There was even spaghetti with (normal-shaped) meatballs…
I’m really worried about Ginny. She showed me something—I think because I’m probably the only person who’d believe what she was about to tell me. It was a diary—but not just any old diary, no. When you wrote into this one… It wrote back. Tom Riddle is this diary’s mysterious personality. We wrote him, and he wrote back. He seemed very nice… But my neighbors used to be nice to me too. I know now that people can change for the worse as well as for the better. I’ll keep an eye out for danger from this “Tom Riddle.”
It’s the end of the year now. Horrible things have been happening. Attacks—people being petrified—have been occurring. And on the day the second warning was painted, I saw Ginny with that same paint on her sleeve. Why? And now… I think she must have known something, because the monster in the Chamber of Secrets has taken her away! Please, please let someone rescue her… I don’t want such a nice person dying.
Thank goodness! I mean that quite literally. Ginny has been saved by someone who must be a source of good power. Harry Potter: the Boy Who Lived, the boy who saved my friend Ginny’s life. I wonder, what would the world be like without people like him? Would it be full of people like the ones that always call me Looney instead of Luna? What would the world be like without Harry himself? Would it be full of evil?
A/N: So, like I said, there it is for now. And in case you forgot what it said at the top, please review!
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