Age nine:

“Look, Mum,” I exclaimed, pointing to her cauldron. “It’s purple!”

“Yes, dear; that’s my newest concoction. I added in a fairy wing for luck,” my mother answered me, putting more vials into the ever growing potion. She turned to throw a smile at me; she knew I liked watching her create things. I grinned, and she turned back to the potion, her blonde hair following her like a cloak. I fingered my blonde hair fondly, smiling at how similar it was to hers.

I glanced at the cauldron again, wondering what this new experiment would do. The last one had changed our cat seven different colours, when it accidentally spilt on him. I was secretly hoping this one would make bubbles. I loved bubbles; they fascinated me. They floated, were different colours at the same time, and were always perfectly round. The floating was the coolest part, though. I had once asked Mum if people could float, but she had said not with-out the aid of magic. I was still upset that bubbles had the ability to float, and humans didn’t. I thought flying through the sky, seeing all below would be the coolest thing ever!

As I continued to watch from my place near the wall, the cauldron began to shake and bubble more. It turned an unpleasant shade of red, and suddenly, I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the noises it made, the colour, or us being so close to it.

“Mum,” I pleaded, asking her in one word to abandon this experiment, to dump it in the sink.

My mother didn’t hear my faint whine, so she continued on with her project. She took out her wand and started casting a spell on the potion. Her potions always went along with some new spell that she liked to experiment with. Usually, I loved to see the magic, but not today. Just as she finished the spell, I moved forward to tug on her long purple robe, but I was a second too late. The cauldron exploded, and I was blasted backwards by the force of it, hitting the wall. I saw my mother fall sideways slowly, softly to the ground. Her blonde hair fell around her, fluttering in the wind the cauldron had released. She had been nearest to the caldron when the spell and potion had backfired; it had exploded right in front of her.

- - - - - - -
Age eleven:

There was a tree that I had run to when my mother died. Today I ran to the same tree; today marked two and a half years since her death. I climbed the tree as high as I could.

High in the tree, I could see forever. I could see the village below, my house on the hill, and the puffy white clouds that dotted the sky. To my disappointment, I could also see the small, round bubbles that floated upwards and away; little kids in the village were playing with them. I hated those bubbles. How come they got to go upwards, when my mother had to go down?

Big, perfectly round bubbles overflowed the cauldron and floated away. My mother fell down and didn’t get back up. Even when bubbles landed on and around her, with all the colours of the rainbow dancing inside them, not even then did she move. Most of the bubbles popped and disappeared; disappeared to where ever it was a bubble goes. One bubble, however, close to me didn’t disappear like the others. I reached over and popped it.

As a bubble drifted close to the tree, I reached out to pop it, to make it and the cheerful colours inside it vanish. I reached out a bit too far though, and I fell out of my perch. I crashed through the branches; I heard the sound of the wind, whistling in my ears. I was surprised I was falling fast; I didn’t realise how far up I had climbed. As I fell, I thought of those stupid bubbles that floated upwards; I thought of my Mum falling downwards. I was already crying as the ground rushed up, and suddenly I hit it, crunched against it. My body folded as I smashed into the ground, and my scream pierced the silence around me.

I laid there on the ground for a long time. I didn’t care about my arm, oddly bent, or my head, slowly pounding; it could be eternity before I cared. All I wanted was to understand why. Why did my mother leave my life? Why did I hear her voice in the morning, whispering softly in our special field? Why when I ran out to find her, hug her, she wasn’t there? Why was she gone?

- - - - - - -
Age twelve:

Upon returning to Hogwarts for my second year, I was relieved to know I would be traveling up to the school in a carriage instead of a boat. After all, my dad had informed me that Califds, a small, water loving creature, were know to lurk in lakes, just waiting to chomp holes in a boat that was passing by.

Upon reaching the carriages, however, an odd sight greeted me. The carriage had some odd horse pulling it; it was black and bony, tall and thin. That was odd. No one had ever said that the carriages were pulled by something. The, horse,-well it looked like a horse- was staring at me with large, calm, black eyes. I glanced around me. All the other students were talking, climbing into the carriages, paying no attention to the horses that stood, patiently watching them…

I stared at this odd creature and glanced around again before slowly putting my hand out and patting it gently on the neck. It felt a bit cold, but smooth and strong.

“What are you doing?” a voice behind me asked. I jumped, and turned to find Ginny Weasley standing behind me, her eyebrows furrowed. I looked from the horse to her, and back again.

“I’m making a friend,” I told her, stroking the horse-thing again. It seemed to like the feel of a human hand on its neck. “You want to try petting it? I’m sure it would let you.”

“Luna, stop it,” she breathed, backing up. She looked a bit frightened, and she tugged on her fiery red hair in a nervous way. “Luna, there is nothing there, so stop petting the air. Please Luna!” she begged, finally walking up to me and pulling on my arm.

“Ginny, don’t you see it? It’s a black, bony horse, pulling the carriage.” I pointed to where it stood. It snorted, and shook out its mane; I smiled in spite of it. It wasn’t as scary as it looked. I turned to Ginny, who had let go of my arm, yet was still staring at me. Her eyes were wide and fearful. I sighed; I guess she really couldn’t see it. I would just have to ask Dumbledore about it later. Ginny seemed relieved when I dropped my arm and climbed in to the compartment. She clambered in after me, and for the ride to the castle she kept the conversation focused on the summer holidays, the feast, and quidditch.

That school term, any time I saw her in the corridors or talked to her at meals, she never mentioned the strange horses. I supposed she didn’t like the abnormal. I found out later from Dumbledore that those horses were called Thestrals; people who had seen death were the only ones who could see them.

- - - - - -
Age fourteen:

For the past two years, I had spent more and more time with the Thestrals. I wasn’t afraid of them; they were actually kind of nice once one got over how big they were.

I wasn’t much afraid of Death Eaters or Voldemort either. My biggest fear was that my Mother had forgotten me. What if she had gone up to heaven, and started a new life? Not on purpose, but what if that was just what happened in heaven? I would be down here, always wanting and missing her voice and her love, but she wouldn’t even know I existed.

I worried about this for along time. Then, in my fourth year, I went to the department of Mysteries to rescue Sirius. It turned out that that trip rescued me instead.

When we got to the Department of Mysteries, we stumbled upon a room, with a black veil was fluttering in the breeze under an archway. Walking closer to it, I heard a faint voice whispering; whispering my name.

Luna.

I almost turned and ran, but I knew that voice, I did! It was my mothers. I suddenly wanted to reach out and find her, pull her from the depth of the veil, hug her, make sure she was real.

I’m here Luna. I’m here. You’re safe, Luna, came the whisper.

Hermione was saying something, pleading with us to walk away. Harry stood next to me, looking just as mesmerized by the soft breeze touching the curtain as I was. I would have bet anything that he was hearing his father and mother’s voices, too. I walked a bit forward; I was going to see if she was there, in some form or another.

No, you live in the present; I live in your memory. There, I am alive.

The breeze from the veil became stronger, while my mother’s voice became softer. Hermione’s voice was louder in the background. No, don’t leave, I thought. Please.

Luna- love you forever

The last whisper I heard before turning back to the door was that. Bye, Mum, I thought. Harry turned too, back to the challenge we were there for. But now, I was not alone. My mother was watching over me.

--- --- --- --- ---
Age fifteen:

Grandmother sat on the couch next to me, reading the Daily Prophet. I sat next to her, with my legs tucked underneath me. I held her soft hand while she moved her lips, silently forming words. Her profile revealed a heart shaped face like my mothers, but the hair framing it was a moon-gray instead of a blonde-white. The eyes were the same, though; warm and inviting, comforting and loving.

“Anything about Cornelius’ army of heliopaths, Grandma?” I asked, leaning over my legs to try and read a section of the paper.

“No, dear. Just the usual about the new minister and where You-know-who might be.” She patted my hand, and brought the paper closer to her face. I shook my head; she hadn’t said Voldemort’s name. If Harry and Dumbledore could say it, then I thought the rest of the world should get on with it. I bet my Mum would have said Voldemort’s name; Dad told me she wasn’t one to beat around the bush.

I glanced over at a person who meant the world to me. Her stomach was rising and falling with each breath she took. Mine was the opposite of hers; when she breathed in, I breathed out. I held my breath for a second, and waited until she was breathing out to let my breath go. Now we were insigne, our chests rising and falling at the same time.

In this moment of time, the world seemed to be falling apart; people were mysteriously disappearing, wizards were murdering Muggles and magical folks, and people were running and hiding from ones who used to be counted as friends. But even though the world appeared to be deteriorating, my Grandmother was right next to me, holding my hand, and taking each breath with me.

- - - - - -
Age seventeen:

It was early in the morning, and I was standing with my back to the lake. Hogwarts and the mountains were in my view, clear in the distance. I smiled as the sun rose over the backdrop, warm and golden.

Golden. We are running, running away from the evil golden light that chases after us. The glass prophecies are smashing behind us and glass is falling everywhere. White ghostly figures arise from the glass, talking, screaming, crying. Ginny and I lose the others; they turn one way, and we turn the other. I turn again, and clutch my wand as a Death Eater swoops down. He is laughing.

Laughing. I’m laughing, laughing so hard that I let out a scream of joy. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Hermione are laughing too. I have the image of Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco leaving the compartment; they have stunned expressions on their faces, not quite registering that Harry just insulted them.

Insulted. A group of girls walk away, laughing at my hair, at my earrings, at the nick name they just made up for me: Looney Lovegood. I turn to see Ginny standing against the wall, looking disgusted at the girls retreating backs. She walks up and puts her arm around me, saying comforting things. Her arm is warm, and so is her smile.

Golden. Laughter. Smiles. I stood there and lifted my face upwards. I lifted it up to the sun, the clouds, and to the beautiful sunrise.

Not every sunrise was golden, and I knew that. Not just the literal sunrises, but the ones hidden in life, too. Like how falling hurts, but as long as you fell with all your strength, you could always get back up again. The sunrise of how people arrived and left this world, but each brought something different to it. What they brought was not always what it seemed, though.

For instance, Harry Potter was viewed as the savior of the wizarding community, the one who defeated Voldemort, the one who brought peace; but not to me. To me, Harry was the one who stopped me from missing out on friendship. He gave me true friendship, and loyalty. He stood with me and saw the thestrals; he didn’t deny it. Harry accepted life, even though he was set up for a seemingly impossible task.

Then there was my mother. She brought to me a world of colour, laughter, and lessons. She taught me to believe in odd and unusual creatures, and to run barefooted in a field when it was dawn. She also taught me not to be afraid.

And then there was a literal sunrise, my last sunrise at Hogwarts, beautiful and warm.

As I glanced about the grounds, I noticed that bubbles were rising from the wand of a student who was standing near the castle. I laughed to myself as the bubbles floated skywards, remembering how I used to despise them, just because they had been present at my mother’s death. But, it was obvious to see now that it was childish to hate the bubbles. My mother’s death had come from bad luck, and bad timing, not from bubbles. Bubbles were innocent. They were colorful, unknowing of harm, and weightless.

And people didn’t fly, or float. I now understood that people rose. They rose up to challenges, they rose up to problems, and they rose up to life. My mother rose, rose in spirit and in life. Bubbles and her were alike; light, colourful, bringers of joy. She and the bubbles were floating somewhere above my head in golden sunrise.

The dawn was almost over, so I looked up and saw the dot-the-sky-clouds, white and puffy. Those clouds were there with the sun, witnessing all the spirits, emotions, failures and triumphs, laughter and tears that were on earth. They were accepting and welcoming life; as I held out my arms and embraced my past and future, so was I.