Love. Lose. Live.

I. Luna Diane Lovegood loved Ronald Billius Weasley

Luna Diane Lovegood was born a dreamer, a thinker, a mastermind child with castles in every cloud that crossed the sky as she lay in her family's ratty backyard waiting for the ladybugs to crawl over her pale, lightly freckle spattered skin. The local Muggle town mostly left her clan alone, as they did the Weasleys, both families with eccentric father figures. As an only child Luna was left to build her castles alone, quietly chatting with the butterflies and imaginary comrades.

And when the rain would fall down,
I'd just stare out my window.

When she was six Luna realized that the reason there was almost constantly rain during the afternoon was because she lived in England. The large tears that flew from the heavens would have crying races as they streamed down the wobbly windows of the Lovegood manor. Of all the windows Luna had ever seen she loved the ones her father had added to the house the most, they disoriented the mundane world out of doors and gave her patron satellite a mysterious smile.

Dreaming of what could be,

Her mother often told her that magic was the very foundation of dreams, and Luna learned as she grew that her mother was completely right. Mothers are always that way; they almost always know something of vague wisdom, even if they don't mean to. It was her mother who had taught her not to stare out the window when it rained, but to dance in the rain as though no one was ever watching, as though no one would ever care about the way the droplets flooded from the both the sky and her eyes.

And if I'd end up happy,
I would pray.

When her mother died Luna cursed Prince Charming. The draught scared away all the buzzing ladybugs and fried the grass patch she used to nap upon. Her father skirted his lone daughter's wrath. Fathers don't ever know what to say in positions of teetering sanity. If you know what it feels like to loose someone then you can easily indulge in that grief and know how it is that Luna longed to shatter Cinderella's glass slipper dreams. If you've never lost someone then you cannot possibly know how it feels.

Trying hard to reach out,

As Luna lay in the grass for the last time she faintly tried to lift her hand to swat away the childhood night memories. Weakly though the only things she was aware of were the images of family photographs waving frantically at her. Photo albums with wrinkled edges from all the worship sessions at Christmas and on Mother's Day when it became blazingly apparent that something, someone, was quite, intolerably, absent.

Vaguely Luna was aware that she was lying in the midst of a war with dangerous amounts of blood pooling its way out of the body from an assortment of wounds all along her beaten frame. Croaking she tried to call to someone, Hermione with her potions and spells, Ginny with her flying hands, but all she could manage was to whisper, "Ron."

What an intolerably silly thing to call upon. Its not like Ron could here her. Ron was one of the lucky ones, he died before his soul mate, and all he had to do was wait on the other side of eternity for his Luna to join him. But, now, that's the strange, obtuse nature of magic, and Luna distinctly heard Ron say, calmly, gently, "I'm here my moon goddess."

"I'm ready," sighed Luna wheezily, numbly squeezing Ron's hand, but the fact was that he was quite suddenly not there. Magic is very rude as well as incomprehensible. The pain in her side doubled as she slipped in and out of consciousness like a child on a merry-go-round as the palominos in their flower garlanded rose up and down the gilded poles.

So I pray,
I could breakaway.

Luna closed her eyes and waited patiently for death. She stood for eternity on its doorstep, basking in the shadow of the last great adventure. Her breathing was dangerously shallow, but even and fairly steady, or as steady as the breathing of someone soon to be dead could be. Her locks fanned out around her crown like the fingers of the sun tickling around the moon in an eclipse, a small smile played at the corner of her lips, and her hands tugged gently at the lonely blades of grass underneath her. Her body was ready, but her mind was too stupid to let herself die. Or maybe that was backward and her body was too stupid for her mind.

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly,
I'll do what it takes 'til I touch the sky,

There were times during school that Luna had laughed at the boys like Roger Davies and Oliver Wood whom thought if they pushed their brooms hard enough they would fly. But Luna had always known that you couldn't fly until you fell. So she waited for that perfect boy to come along and catch her on the way down.

I'll make a wish.

Ginny had given her a birthday cupcake on that special day at the end of January, there were sprinkles and Luna had wished passionately to get that chance to jump off that cliff. She wasn't afraid like Hermione, or too willing like Ginny. She was just ready.

Take a chance.

So maybe her wish hadn't come true in the way she was hoping, but it'd come true. The first battle came in her fifth year; just days after the cupcake wrapper had been emptied. People had gasped when they saw her as she heard news of the group of sixth years leaving the sanctuary of Hogwarts to fight. It hadn't taken a genius to realize that he would be among their number. He was just stupid enough to take his life out of his control and thrust it into the care of the enemies. Luna had been unaware of how quickly she could run, silent tears making their way down her chin as she barreled through the hoards of students hugging away best friends like cowards.

She saw him standing nervously by his fearless leader, fearless her arse, thought Luna shooting Harry a worried glance as he leaned against the wall apparently calm until you looked at the white knuckled grip he had on his wand. There wasn't time to waste on Harry as she flung her arms around the shocked form of Ron Weasley and pressed her lips against his, wondering vaguely if he was strong enough to hold her up.

Oh, he caught her all right. Isn't it ironic how once you find yourself you have to let part of yourself go? That's what you have to do for the ones you love. You have to let them leave. You have to watch as they lower your mother into the ground. You have to watch as the only boy you've ever loved walks out the door with only a glance over his shoulder and a forlorn wave is all you can do as encouragement.

But I won't forget all the ones that I love.

Luna held on to Ginny as they watched Ron turn his back. "What if he doesn't come back?" wondered Ginny, innocent as a doe, as she spoke into Luna's collarbone. "Then we don't forget him," replied Luna wisely, wondering who it was exactly she was channeling in this sentiment.

I'll make a wish,
Take a chance,
Make a change,
And breakaway.

When Ron returned it was with much fumbling and blushing that they found each other. As Luna remembered she could feel the way Ron had stroked her hair before he'd left for that one battle just before her birthday. They'd been together for the most dangerous year. Her cold skin longed for the way the fire had danced along her body, warming her that night as she lay next to her beloved for the one last time, limbs a tangle of faded jeans and mismatched socks.

Wanna feel the warm breeze.

A shiver tore up her spine as she felt the cutting wind of her worst memory. Hermione had come into her dormitory far too early for even the Head Girl. Wild red capillaries spread through her eyes and there was dirt under her fingernails, dust on her knees, scabs and scars painted on her bones and a rasp to her voice as she roused Luna from her latest nightmare. Closing her eyes Luna concentrated on keeping the winds of memory at bay and staying in the moment, in the lazy autumn breeze.

It didn't work. It was as futile as telling the Fates exactly what they could do. So Luna watched helplessly as she saw herself looking for the first time on the lost boy she had loved--still loved--would always love. He looked so cold lying there, his soul long gone and body limp on the infirmary bed. This was war though and Pomfrey's replacement needed the bed for a body that had a chance at holding its soul inside. Welcome to the fastest good-bye in the world. Just one last kiss.

The scarlet steam engine had waited for her like a faithful friend when she was just scarcely ready to be a witch. It had always been a friend, speeding her away from the well-trodden patches where her mother had instructed her on the exact method for dancing in the rain and skating in the mud. But one day Luna had looked upon that train and seen the paint on it as blood, as the red rusty hair of a lost love, as chapped lips, and bloodshot eyes holding in tears so she didn't shame the ghost of Ron. If only he'd had a ghost, but he would never choose the spirit path, he was too much of a free one.

Hermione may have wanted to go to the funeral, but Luna hung back miserably. She sat on the Hogsmeade platform, pale legs dangling whimsically over the edge, hoping uselessly that the next train would be for a place beyond this mundane existent of whites one moment only to be hidden by death's sorrowful black. What gave magic the right to give her the best damn thing, person, in the world and yank him away like a puppeteer? Magic was a bastard, and so was love. In that moment, sitting there on the creaking platform as the wind picked up speed, Luna made a choice. Her tears had to stop, she couldn't feel sorry for herself. Everyone had lost; no body was gaining anything in this war. Hermione and Draco broken to bits by lies and blood. Suicides, divorce, remorse, the rates of tragedy were up in the wizerding world. Luna didn't want to join the statistics.

Okay, laughed Luna painfully, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth as she scoffed at her 'liberation', the only thing she'd liberated herself from was the opportunity to mourn. Had she mourned for her mother? No, she'd burned the family library. She hadn't mourned for Ron. And its not like she hadn't stood up at the top of the Astronomy Tower one night toying with the ideal of letting gravity win. That night had been last Tuesday as the last battle drew closer. Echoes of sharpening blades had screamed from Hermione's room, war chants had been mumbled under Ginny's breath for weeks, and Penny had been in a frenzy to have all the last wills signed and locked away before the eve of the end. Luna admitted that the stress had gotten to her, standing there wrapped in a familiar Gryffindor duvet. "What am I doing up here?" she's asked herself.

"Being an idiot," replied the part of her mind that constantly channeled Ron from the other side and the great beyond and all those other metaphysical voids Hermione had carefully explain the impossibility of.

The other side, the depressed, choked up half snapped back fiercely, "I don't want to be here."

"And I do?" pointed out Ron swiftly, gesticulating wildly to the transparent body he seemed to be inhabiting her mind.

Finally Luna had spoken out into the frigid night, her breath climbing toward the clouded over stars, "No, but I wish you were."

It took all over her strength to prop herself up against the tree at her back. Panting she threw her head back and concentrated solely on inhaling the sweet air of the forest and then letting it go free and she pushed it back through her nostrils. One of her eyes was nearly swollen shut, but from what she could make out all that was left if this last great joke were the scuffles and the crying. No one cried when they fought, but everyone howled when their guilt caught up with their instinct. Luna had killed so many men since his abandonment it was almost funny. Quiet, dreamy little Luna Lovegood had grown up. Everything that had once been so gorgeous, the simple delights, now all reflected grim newsprint color scheme. It shocked her when she started to laugh into the night.

She startled birds right out of her tree. The lucky pricks flew off into the night, rudely awoken by the lunatic at the base of their home. "Don't worry little guys," she wheezed, "I'll be dead soon." How acceptance had come to her was a mystery. Maybe it had something to do with living through the proverbially darkest hour. "I'm just waiting for my wings," she said to no one in particular as the birds had all escaped the bounds of her insanity.

When the rain started to wash away the blood streaked through her hair she started laughing more, but now the birds looked curiously at her as the giggles sang into the night like sweet honey. This was not a mental patient escaped, but she was a moon goddess. Yes, her blood pooled the grass holiday colors, but her mirthful vision cast about their home was something to marvel at. Maybe she had just become so overwhelmingly bitter that the only option left was to sweeten up. Luna let the cool water mend her broken spirit like some two-year-old nursery deserter. "I miss you Mum," she gushed suddenly. That was all it took, and such is the obscure whim of magic that with grudging allowance comes reward. Hermione stepped cautiously out of a bush cluster, wand high, ears cocked to the musical laughter pervading the forest.

"Luna?" she asked guardedly.

Luna shut-up gradually, looking Hermione up and down, wondering positively if she was just another illusion, a memory. "You're real," she finally observed.

"Of course," replied Hermione unquestioningly, doing something with her wand that was assuredly very brilliant. As she scooped Luna off the ground Hermione noticed the collection of feather they were leaving in their wake. "Have you grown wings?"

Luna nodded drunkenly, trying to recall how to walk. "I was learning to say good-bye."

"To who?"

"Shit."

Two days latter Luna sat on the ledge of the infirmary window, nursing a foul potion at her leisure. It was strange, but at the gash on her side began to mend red was beginning to return to the world around her. First it was just blood, but then it was Ginny's hair, the socks Dobby loaned her, and the leaves as they mockingly fell from the trees, leaving the birds exposed. Looking back on the darkest conversation of her life she wondered if she really had wings. Was flying a metaphor, or was it really just jumping off this window ledge and missing the ground? Once she might have had to try to find out, but today she knew that not all pleasure was found in experimentation.

Taking a sip she winced at the bitter flavor. Sometimes she sat in her window and thought despondently that life sucked, but each hour it got better. She's been delicately planning her first excursion out into the rain. It was time to do something different. It was time to love again. Heck, it was just plain time.

Contrary to every cliché Luna had known the sun did not break through the clouds as she wandered out into the rain. She could feel eyes on her as she took shuffling steps, arms wrapped tightly around her in a hug. A small smile spread up her face as she felt the first rain puddle down on her. All around her she could hear her mother's laughter enveloping her. Tears mixed bitterly with the rain as she bid her mother a good-bye. After years of not mourning it was only now, after the world around her had shattered, that she was able to let go of the hand she'd been clutching so tightly.

"I'll never forget you." Was all she could say to the lover as he clung to the winds.

And it hurt to give that up. It cut into her gut to let go of the only man who'd ever loved her. Her insides wept silently as she walked back into the castle, wet to the bone, sniffling, but not from the cold. The trademark golden hair was plastered over her skeletal features and her body shook as she kept herself from breaking away and running after Ron's essence with a blade to her wrist. But she couldn't allow herself to do that because she had wings that were going to guide her into the future...or at least into the next week. Right now she didn't want to love anymore, she didn't want to live anywhere but in her clouds, but tomorrow was another story, another time, but the same ache.

Luna Diane Lovegood had loved and lost. Only then did she begin to live.