An Ironic Title

Chapter 6: Reality

I was somewhat annoyed when Dad and I were called back from our safari, hunting for Crumple-Horned Snorcacks (we were quite close to finding one, actually), to attend a simple, tame will-reading that Dumbledore didn't even need to hunt for. Harry left it right on his desk, no clues to find it or a prize or anything! What's the fun in that? However, I must confess, this is quite a nice party with all of these important Ministry officials and Headmaster Dumbledore and other students here. It's quite wonderful, though I wonder why Harry hasn't shown up for it, because I know he can't be dead.

It's actually quite obvious that he isn't when you think about it, and I guess that's why I'm a Ravenclaw, we're famed for our brains and all of Harry's other friends are Gryffindors, though Neville does show some promise. No wonder they think he's really gone, Hermione especially, she never was much one for common sense, doesn't even believe in Snorcacks! It's quite obvious that he did a spell of some sort right before he killed You-Know-Who, perhaps a Switching Spell, so perhaps he's in Ronald's body now or maybe Dumbledore's. No, probably not Dumbledore's now that I think about it, he seemed a tad bit angry with the old man. Something about a prophecy about killing You-Know-Who and him living with his Muggle relatives for ten years. But I can't understand why he's mad at Dumbledore about all this, the man was trying to do what he thought best, he seems like a nice old wizard, nearly as smart as me. I wonder if he believes in Snorcacks. Maybe I'll ask him some time, but now he's up in the school, he was honoring Harry's final request and staying away from his funeral. Why, when I finally die, I'll invite anyone who wants to come and see me, it won't matter who they are as long as they don't hurt my dead body in any way. That gamekeeper, Hagrid, looks like he might be able to do something like that, but Ronald likes him and he breeds those beautiful thestrals, so I guess I can forgive him.

Then again, Harry might not have used a spell at all; he never really seemed talented at Transfiguration, though what he taught us in the DA was pretty good - Defense Against the Dark Arts and all that. I wonder what he has set up for next year, that is, if he ever reveals that he's actually alive. No, it might have been a Humdinger's doing, they were always talented shape-shifters. Perhaps one kind Humdinger decided to change into Harry and help get rid of that horrid prophecy hanging over him, though, as I've heard Humdingers are quite temperamental and usually don't help humans. Perhaps it was a dare from one of its friends; I've read that they're always doing strange things like that. Yes, that's what must have happened. I smile to myself, pleased at my deduction; I'll tell the others later, that'll really make their day.

"Hey, Luna," says a voice to the side of me and I look to see Neville coming up to me, wiping his dirt-encrusted hands on his robes.

"What were you doing?" I ask, nodding my head to acknowledge him and gesturing at his dirty hands and sweaty brow.

"Oh, planting flowers over by the monument with Professor Sprout," he answers. "You know, the one the Ministry made for him." He rolls his eyes and I can't say I can blame him. It is quite cheesy-looking.

I nod. "Yes, I know."

"Yeah." He sits down next to me, inadvertently straightening his dirty robes. Why is he so nervous around me? I wonder.

"Why did they make a monument for him?" I finally ask, gazing at Neville raptly. Dad always said that that was what he liked about me; he said that it reminded him of mum, she would always do that. Dad says that that's where I get my eyes . . . and my looks. Then why hasn't a guy ever spared me a glance? Not even Ronald.

However, Neville fidgets and drops his gaze, so that he doesn't have to look into my blue eyes. Finally, he says, "Well, to show respect for his death."

I laugh softly and Neville gapes at me. "But he isn't dead!" I clarify.

"Luna, he's . . . he's right in the casket," he replies shakily.

"That's a Humdinger."

"A . . . what? Luna, what are you going on about?"

I sigh. Sometimes Gryffindors can be such thickheads! "A Humdinger," I repeat. "It's a shape-shifter; it's quite obvious that it became Harry."

"But Luna, it was Harry's job to defeat You-Know-Who not the Humdinger's," says Neville patiently, acting, in my opinion, as if he's a psychiatrist talking to a lunatic who might leap upon him at any moment.

"Yes, the Humdinger took that off of his back. Quite nice of him, actually, they're not always that kind to humans. I guess it's because he's the Boy-Who-Lived. . . . ." Yes, that must be it. The Humdingers must have had a meeting of some sort and decided to help Harry. If only I had been invited; I should have told them to not go quite so far, so all of Harry's other friends didn't think he was dead.

"But what about the will? He wrote out his will, Luna."

There must not be much hope for poor Neville, after all. "He changed into Harry and wrote it out," I explain. So Harry isn't really angry with Dumbledore at all. I thought not, he really is a kind old man.

It is Neville's turn to sigh. "Luna, Humdingers aren't real. Harry's body is right in the casket, it's not a shape-shifter, he's gone, Luna, gone. Don't you understand?" His voice is pleading and I take pity on him.

"Yes, I understand," I lie. Poor, confused Neville. He must not know any better.

Neville smiles, relieved. It's funny, I've never really noticed how his eyes crinkle when he smiles or the dimples on his cheeks or the way his black hair falls over his sweaty, chubby face right now despite his attempts to push it back. "Good, great," he says nervously, then begins playing with a stray thread on his robes. He's nervous again for some reason. "Do you . . . do you want to come and pay your . . . your respects?"

"My respects?" I ask. What on Earth does 'paying your respects,' mean. I didn't know you had to pay to get in here! How much is it? Hopefully, it isn't too much, the Quibbler hasn't been doing too well lately.

"You know . . . to say goodbye?" he clarifies, his voice slightly croaky.

"Oh, of course!" I say, leaping up and startling him so that he nearly falls out of his chair, then going up to the casket, leading Neville close behind me. It is quite pretty, too. Did the Ministry pay for it, just like they paid for the monument to be built? They probably did, they're always trying to get attention like that.

Neville and I are at the casket now and I gaze down at Harry's face, his bright green eyes that were so lively during DA meetings and his raven-black hair that was always in his face while he was flying. He seems so different now, so . . . at peace.

And I guess he is, because he's accomplished what he set out to do. I wonder what the Humdinger's name is that gave his life for Harry and a tear rolls down my cheek for that wonderful creature. Neville sees it and grips my hand tightly in his, the other reaching cautiously around my shoulders. I let him, too upset to notice or care. And, while I stand there grieving for the nameless Humdinger, there is a fog that seems to obscure my sight for a moment, and, instead of the dead body of Harry before me in that pretty, bejeweled casket, there is the veil that I saw in the Department of Mysteries. There are happy voices coming from behind it, a woman's, two men's, and what sounds like a teenage boy - Harry. . . .

Oh! I think. There is a soft breeze that tickles my ear and it whispers, Duh! before leaving again.

Of course, how could I have been so stupid? I berate myself. It wasn't the Humdinger at all, it was him! All he did was go behind the veil, the easiest way of all! I should have known! And those voices . . . they must have been his parents and Stubby Boardman, I think he was Harry's godfather. Oh, yes, now I remember, Harry was plunging toward the veil a few weeks ago in the Department of Mysteries because Stubby (I think he called him Sirius), fell through the veil and that Remus man stopped him. Remus probably wishes that it was a Humdinger, I decide, he was very distraught when Dumbledore read the will, but Harry doesn't. Harry's happy now, he's with his parents and he's alive there, the easiest, simplest way of all. I hope that he's seen Mum, he told me that he'd say 'hi,' to her from me. Harry must be so happy, he must think that he's so clever when that's the easiest way of all and a smile spreads across my face as I gaze down at Harry's inert form. Yes, the easiest way, yet it was pretty hard to get there.