“Dear, sit still!” coughed my aging grandmother, “I want to tell you a story.”


Mother had said Grandma Lana was ill. Of what, she did not know. For her part, Grandma Lana was unaware of how sick she really was. To be truthful, I do not think she even realized that she was sick. Sometimes she would get pains in her shoulder, other times she would be so tired that I would yawn. Occasionally she would wake up at three in the morning from terrible nightmares that plagued her dreams. She started claiming she had visions that foretold her own death. Mom always pushed me from the room before I could hear the whole dream, but I got the gist.


It was always so hard to watch Grandma Lana, who was one of my best friends when I was little, deteriorate so quickly. She would always tell me stories that she would never quite finish. She would place me on the hearthrug, and then sit in her favorite armchair with her back to the fire, and tell me tales of when she went to Hogwarts.


Her stories always started the same way, and today was no exception:


“This story is entirely truthful. I haven’t buttered it up so I’m a hero, and I’m not proud of some of the things I did when I was a stupid teenager like you. So listen up girl, and listen up good.”


She was a rather blunt woman, known to hurt other people’s feelings. Therefore, I had never surprised to hear she had given several people a particularly hard time. She had even given me a hard time on several occasions.


“When I was a young, pretty thing like you, I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she began in that gravelly voice. She smiled as she closed her eyes, and settled back into that worn velvet armchair, savoring yet another not-so-memorable memory.


The soft firelight flickering across her wizened skin brought out the age Grandma had once tried so hard to avoid. She didn’t wear make-up to cover her swiftly yellowing skin anymore. She no longer spent hours with an age defying cream trying to smooth her wrinkles; from the finest wrinkles to the gaping crevices, from the long crow’s feet at her eyes to the smile lines on her cheeks.


“I was a Muggleborn when I first went to that great establishment. I felt rather small and lonesome next to the imposing stone walls of Hogwarts Castle,” she continued. “I think, at that time, I would have done anything to be friends with anyone, just so I wouldn’t have to be alone in that big school. That’s probably why I became friends with Luna Lovegood, my best and only friend until fourth year. She probably was one of the closest, most supportive friends I ever had.”


“Our friendship started on the night of the sorting ceremony. I stood right in front of her in a single file line, what with her last name being Lovegood, and mine being Lindenburg. I remember she was just staring off into space; sometimes she would tell the person behind her a crazy fact. At the time, I had listened with all my heart; sure she knew what she was talking about. It wasn’t until years later I realized that it probably wasn’t true. That was the thing I remember about her the most; she was always speaking her mind, and she was so bluntly truthful that it was hard to listen to her most of the time. I stood in front of her, and she seemed rather funny, if a bit strange. I decided right then and there she would make a perfect new best friend.”


“I turned around and said ‘My name is Lana, what’s yours?’ She smiled at me with her big smile and wide dreamy eyes, then said ‘Luna. Did you know a Rumple-haired Crashdorf has three toes?’ Thankfully, I didn’t have time to answer because we were ushered into the great hall only a few moments afterwards.”


“She and I were both sorted into Ravenclaw and became fast friends,” she paused as a wheezing cough was uttered from her frail body. After she was done, she ran her fingers through her white hair that had once been meticulously charmed black. That was when we knew that she was sick; she had stopped caring about her appearance.


When I was younger, I would watch her prepare for work. “In government positions, image is almost as important as the actual work you do,” she would tell me. Shortly after that, Mum started trying to get her to quit the job she loved so much. That’s when the nightmares started. She quit her job a few months afterwards.


She coughed again before trudging on. “I never did have to answer her question about the Rumple-haired Crashdorf, and for three years things went on just as usual. Her occasional outbursts of ludicrous trivia were almost non-existent when we were with each other, which was all the time. We did our homework together, laughed with each other, and just lived. She and I stayed out of trouble. Actually, that’s a lie; we just never got in enough trouble that we couldn’t get out of it.”


“This went on until our third year, when I began to grow up. Luna still behaved like a nine-year old while I had matured to an age three years above my physical one.
I still enjoyed hanging around with her, but I was hearing whispers in the halls, about Loony Lovegood. Who was this Loony? I found myself asking. Not my Luna? It couldn’t be! She wasn’t loony. She was just different.”


“I told myself that day and night, but I couldn’t convince myself. I found the whispers unbearable, and the words scrawled on the bathroom stalls torturous. One day I found myself wondering if she was worth ruining my chance at an image. I wondered if I could possibly gain an image if I stopped hanging out with her.”


“Now Jemina, I was a stupid, stupid girl, understand?” she sputtered. “If I catch one word of you treating your friends like I treated Luna,” she did not even need to finish the statement. Just imagining what she would do if I did, was punishment in itself. Besides, I didn’t want to treat Sistine like that.


“I’m not proud that I helped hurt one of the best friends I ever had. She didn’t deserve the things I did to her; like stealing her things, and giving them to the other girls that I stupidly replaced her with. Once I had disbelievingly looked at the bathroom walls but soon I too began carving Loony Lovegood onto the stalls. It wasn’t fair that she was made fun of, or that I made fun of her.”


My grandma rubbed her eyes; I pretended not to notice she was crying. “I’m sure she’s okay, Grandma,” I crooned softly before I stood up sweeping her old body into a hug. My grandma finished wiping her eyes and gently pushed me away.


“I wouldn’t know, she never had the chance to tell me, when I saw her last, fifty years ago. I think she would’ve forgiven me, and said I hadn’t done her any wrong. But I did do wrong Jemina, I did everything wrong.”


The fire was just embers now, and even then they were burning out, leaving the room quite dark. ----