Prologue: Part 1
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling & BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon.
Warnings/Spoilers: Somewhat graphic cannon character death.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.Prologue: Part 1
She is an early bloomer, as these sorts of things go, she learns later. But that is hardly important to her because even at eleven she can feel the changing times like tide rising and a part of her always knew this day would come. Has been aware that she is different from even the other magical children her age on a very fundamental level – of what she can hear, see, and feel. Has been feeling
so much for so long.
She has Potential
her mother had once whispered years ago – those silver eyes, identical to her own, solemn and impossibly deep with pain and secrets; secrets Luna always knew never
to ask about. Knew sometimes history was just spilt blood (it’s always about the blood
) and the sting of the past never truly forgotten - and to live at all was to pretend. Pretend to forget. Pretend it didn’t hurt to smile and laugh. Pretend so hard until the world bent around you, cocooned in lies repeated so many times they feel like truth on the tongue.
Because they both had played this game, would smile bright and laugh too loud. Because back then, as the mother tucked in her little girl they knew what the night would bring – what it brought every night.
Dreams, nightmares really. Women, girls truly. Living but mostly dying. And always fighting.
Death was their gift. And Luna watched them give it night after night as she grew.
But she grew too comfortable perhaps, got over her fear and developed a fascination and sort of imaginary friendship with certain girls. Luna, did not expect the Powers next move to be so cruel. With her nights full of Death they decided to take her day. And she had not prepared herself for them to drive the point of her destiny home by having her Mother slip away in her arms when she was nine years old. A simple accident while experimenting with the Floo (for the Mother had gotten complacent too, become trusting of this wand magic that never quite fit right with the bit of wildness buried within her) while she was forced to watch, so utterly helpless.
And Luna did not understand then. How could this be her Gift? How could this be anyone’s Gift?
Their eyes connected and with half of the face she knew far better than her own burnt she could still easily read from the eyes how scared and desperate her mother was, Mommy so strong and smart who always held her – who always smiled and sang whenever she was frightened. Luna held her hand and started to sing for her now, hoping so hard it would help.
But that coldness reached for her anyway, she could see the panic in that gaze, and although Mommy was fighting it as hard as she could. (Oh, please. Please. Please. No, not Mommy.
) Her hand slackened in Luna’s grip.
And this was a fight they couldn’t win.
Luna stopped singing, closed her eyes and very carefully laid down, cuddling against her mother’s body, ignoring the blood and smell of burnt flesh. As she lay there in the stillness it was not silent, at least not within her head. For the Powers might take but the women would shelter their own – as well they could – to lessen the blow to this child, that was destined to receive so many more. And all of those of whom she dreamt rose up before her mind’s eye.
So many, some hollow eyed and still covered in blood from their last stands, placed their hands upon her. And although there was sadness, anger at the world, and a wish to comfort one faced with loss so young, in each touch….there was a feeling of heavy inevitability. This was always going to happen. There was no escaping it.
It had been in her Mother’s blood. It was in hers as well.
And with each touch in her mind, and each hour that went by as they stayed with her as she lay there long after her Mother’s body had started to cool Luna began to feel understanding seep into her. She would not hide from it as her Mother had, would not fight this precious blood passed down – now spread out like a rain puddle surrounding them on the floor, soaking through her clothing. If Death was the inevitability either way, she would be as she was. Wholly. If her Potential became more, if she was Chosen, she would use that Gift.
Death was inescapable, those voices resonated more by the very magnitude of their presence than any actual words. But…it was their Gift. And again she saw flashes of them fighting – horrible horrible things and had the understanding in her mind of the stakes they were up against. The always present Dark, The Evil.
Death was their Gift. And they would always die
but they would go in a blaze, a clash of steal so sharp and bright, they would go happily with eye’s wide open and a feral smile if they knew they would take down their Evil with them. Keep the balance tilted safely on the side of Light.
Slowly, slowly Luna began to understand.
Began to accept this Gift, this Death.