A piece written and inspired by an Australian band, The Sick Puppies, who wrote a song “All the Same” and made a video based on the Juan Mann video.
The italicized lyrics are from the song, “All The Same”. Juan Mann set out to give the world Free Hugs when, incredibly, he was stopped by police. So, he petitioned for Free Hugs to be legal. He wanted to make a difference in a world that was all the same.
It hurts her inside. It’s a confusing her, the hurt, full of anger and resentment, entirely of herself. Why can’t she be like other people? Why can’t she speak for a strong full minute without receiving an odd stare?
All around her, she observes conforming, and it scares her. So many people around her are so similar in their appearance, and sadly, a lot of them are more than similar underneath. Most of them are the same.
Not because they’ve morphed into other people on the outside, she considers, twirling her blonde hair. It’s more as if they’re all suffering the same pain underneath. They’re all wishing that they were different people, in a different place where they could truly express themselves. She twirls her hair more, and chews on the end slightly. Of course, not everyone is like this. Some, she thinks, would think that it is the strong of mind who are the leaders, the followers.
But, she thinks, it is these people who are the threat. They’re different, unique and special. The only reason, she determines, that they sink into the background is because they’re odd. In the world that they all live in, despair, darkness and similarity, change and difference is the minority, while clustering together and acceptance is the key majority.
Perhaps if there were no threat, if there were no danger, would these people be together? Would they walk through the halls, and sneer at her for being different? Or would they join her, and dance as freely as they could? Would they suppress who they are, for the sake of it?
Her sky blue eyes roam the corridor. To her left, there are boys. To her right, there are girls. All around her is the same as people melt into one another on the surface. She looks at the group on the right, waiting outside a classroom door, and she sees two uneven parts. There are the girls who are laughing heartily, at her it seems, and then there’s the other girl. She’s in Harry’s year, the year above her, and her name is Hannah Abbott. She watches the girls as they point at Luna’s hair, at her earrings, cruelly, and make crude jokes that bounce off Luna, rolling over her like water off a duck’s back. She doesn’t care about the taunting any more. She respects herself and who she is “ just because someone doesn’t like her, doesn’t mean that those who tease her are better. On the contrary, she decides as she stares dispassionately at the cluster of giggling girls, it is she that is above them. After all, she has the courage to be different. She can’t deny it doesn’t hurt though, when she flaunts her wealth and people mock her indifferently.
She stares at Hannah, observing the way her straight blonde hair is kinked in places, a sad imitation of Megan Jones, the girl who is in the hysterics at Luna’s knot on the top of her head. Luna fiddles with the piece that’s fallen down, and she frowns more and more as she looks Hannah up and down. Perhaps the reason Hannah’s not laughing is because what Megan is laughing at isn’t all that funny. Or perhaps, Luna thinks, the reason she’s not laughing is because I’m studying her so intently.
Luna’s eyes flicker back and forth over Hannah, and linger on the skirt hem, which has shoddily been hemmed up a couple of inches to reveal pale legs, where Megan’s skirt is perfectly tailored, shoving off trim, taut legs. While Megan’s hair graces her shoulders in elegant ringlets that brush against dark, curly eyelashes, Hannah’s hair hangs limply, freed from its usual pony tails, and what appears to be dark circles under her eyes is in fact makeup, and on first looking, Luna sees the haunted eyes beneath the black smudges in a poor imitation of Megan’s natural grace.
Hannah stares at Luna, observing the way she’s standing, so tall and confident and sure of herself, one hip cocked and one hand traveling up to her shoulder to play with hair that has fallen out of her interesting, albeit a little weird hair do. Hannah side glances at Megan, and sees her glaring at her. Quickly, seeing that Megan is no longer paying attention to Luna, the other girls, including Susan, whom Hannah had once considered a lovely friend with her long curly red hair, and stare at her, waiting to see what move Megan makes next.
‘Don’t you think her hair is ridiculous, Hannah?’ prompts Megan, smiling as if she knew what Hannah was going to say.
Hannah ducks her head and puts her hands self consciously on her hips as Megan nods approvingly at her stance. ‘It looks different,’ says Hannah quietly.
Megan purses her lips, and Hannah sneaks a look out the corner of her eye at Luna to see her standing in the middle of the corridor as boys file into their class. She’s standing there, waiting, staring at Hannah with her brilliantly blue eyes. Hannah raises her brown eyes to Megan’s green eyes and awaits the approval that will never come.
‘Different how?’ presses Megan, egging Hannah on and playing with her effortless ringlets. The girls around her giggle nervously, and Hannah wants to die.
She giggles shrilly and then says, quietly, ‘Just different, I suppose.’
‘I think it looks weird,’ says Megan, sneering in Luna’s direction. She raises her chin and rolling her neck so her heavy lidded eyes look down on Luna from a position of superiority. ‘Do you hear that, Looney Lovegood? Even Hannah thinks your hair is odd. And, well, look at Hannah’s hair.’
Hannah feels like she’s stabbed inside as a cold fear grabs at her chest and slams into her with the harsh reality of rejection. Her limbs shake and she gulps. A dread overwhelms her as she just smiles and picks up her bag and follows the giggling Megan into class.
At the door, she is stopped by Luna. She can see Luna staring at her, staring at the thick makeup that makes her squint slightly, staring at the itchy tendrils that rake their ends against her cheek in obvious mutiny. ‘What do you want?’ she asks nervously, looking around, scared, incase Megan is watching. It would not do well to be seen with Luna.
‘Do you like me?’ asks Luna bluntly, calmly.
‘Well,’ says Hannah skitterishly, fingering the strap on her bag loaded with not only her, but Megan’s books, ‘You do dress a little weirdly, you know.’
Luna ignores her answer. ‘But do you like me?’
Hannah considers. Luna’s a nice girl. And, she discovers as she looks deeper within herself, searching for ever possible reason why not to like Luna, she sees that there is nothing there, nothing stopping her from liking Luna.
‘It’s not that I don’t like you…’ Hannah starts, stalling, waiting for her brain to come up with something so that she can hurry in through the door before someone notices her absence.
‘So why don’t you, Hannah?’ Luna asks suddenly, chopping her off and putting her hand on her arm. Hannah desperately searches for an answer, but she can’t. The truth is, she admires Luna. She admires the way she can stand there, and take people’s slander as if it were nothing more than a poke on the shoulder. People’s criticism kills Hannah, it physically hurts her inside.
‘Is it because you’re Megan Jones’ friend, and not mine?’ inquires Luna, fully knowing the answer.
She can see the struggle that Hannah is having with herself. She can see the pressure she’s putting her under, and she’s hoping that perhaps, just maybe, that she will be able to crack her right open, and let the true Hannah immerge out of this façade, this fake and this image of incomplete adaptation.
‘Yes,’ Hannah whispers. ‘She’ll get angry and ask me questions if she sees me with you. I have to go.’ She barged through the door with a queer expression on her face, and Luna saw, somewhat sadly, that she looked like she was in the verge of tears.
To fix the twist in you. You’ve shown me eventually what you’ll do.
Hannah lies in bed, turning and thinking of the Ravenclaw. Emotions roll over her as her breathing hitches and shallows, just like it does when Megan stares at her with disapproving eyes. As much as Hannah tries to stop it, Megan’s face floats in front of her face and she can she the disapproval in her eyes. Luna’s face swims in front of Megan’s, and compared to Luna’s, Megan’s face is warped, fake, an image, whereas Luna’s contains truth, honesty and purpose.
Hannah is scared. She scared of being herself, of being outlawed. Any hint of personality, any hint of the old Hannah, and indeed the old Susan, and she’s shot down with a sneer, or a sideways glance with a curled lip. She meets Susan’s face with questioning eyes on these instances, and Susan’s face is accepting. While Hannah still retains part of who she is, Susan is gone, lost, the same. All the same, all of them are the same.
Again, Luna flashes in front of her. It was the Ravenclaw’s eyes that were so piercing, so vivid. So real, and so herself.
Wrong of right, if I close my eyes it’s all the same.
The next week, the same day, Hannah meets Luna in the halls again, this time armed with determination. Throughout the week, she’s seen Megan through different eyes, through stronger eyes. She’s been under her wing for too long, it seems, because today of all days seems like a repeat of the previous week as the boys are on the left, the girls on the right, and Susan looks on dispassionately as Luna struggles with odd objects in her pockets.
Suddenly, Luna looks up, and Hannah is jolted. She’s scared, her breathing quickens, and she feels the premature beat of her heart against the front of her chest as she prepares herself for slaughter.
‘Hannah, look at her. She keeps following you around. She’s so silly, isn’t she?’ Megan poses the challenge to Hannah, and Hannah clenches her fists and urges herself to speak, to voice her opinion, to say something that contains even a glimmer of truth, of herself.
‘She’s not silly.’ She exhales, and waits for the pressure to build up behind her eyes as the fear of rejection literally washes over her arms and legs as adrenaline surges its way through her body, making her shake. She doesn’t know if the other girls can see it, but Megan can see it. As much as the other girls try to be like her, Megan is still Megan, and Megan can still see that she’s pretending. She’s not this brave, she’s not this bold.
‘She’s not silly? Hannah, look at her. Look at her hair. Look at her shoes. Look, Hannah. They’re so dirty and so… well. Anyone could tell, just by looking at them that they obviously weren’t very expensive.’
‘Does it matter?’ Hannah asks, gasping and biting back the need to flee as the words escape her mouth and she sees Megan glare.
‘Well of course it matters, Hannah. It matters, because clearly… she doesn’t belong.’
Hannah swallows. It’s now, or never. She steps out of her own shoes and practically feels her feet sigh with relief as her sock clad toes massage the ground gratefully. One foot at a time, she slips the shoes over her heels and hands them to Megan, who recoils.
‘I guess I don’t belong, Megan.’
Megan’s face is shocked as she lets the shoes fall to the ground and bounce on the stone floor. She stares at them, and then up at Hannah, whose face is scrubbed clean and shining both with nervous sweat and glowing pride. Hannah is proud of herself. She slowly walks over to Luna and stands next to her, rigidly, waiting for the feeling to return.
But as Megan sneers at her and stares out through half lidded eyes, judicial and arrogant, she says, ‘You’ll come running back.’
Luna whispers to her companion as she trembles, fighting the instinctive urge, ‘I’ll take you for who you are, if you take me for everything.’
Hannah can feel the fight on either side of her. Half of her longs to run and pick up her shoes, slipping them onto her feel and continuing into the classroom with Luna, but on the other hand, she considers Luna’s words.
Luna can see Hannah working her thoughts, rolling them in her mind, tasting each one of them on the tip of her tongue before suddenly, impulsively, she spits them out and says, ‘You’re going to be late, Megan.’
Megan’s eyes fly open in anger and she stamps her foot slightly before turning on her heel and disappearing into the class. Luna slips off her shoes and offers them to Hannah.
‘You seem to be missing a pair,’ she says kindly, pressing them into Hannah’s hands. Hannah’s hands trembles as she clutches at the leather slip-ons, brushing her fingers over the soft leather and whispering a small ‘Thank you’ as she ducks her head and follows Megan through the door.
Except, Luna notices, this time she takes a different path to her seat. Instead of watching her wind through the desks to the right side where Megan lolls, fully expecting her to sit down and join her, Hannah turns sharply to the left and sits next to the wall, reaching down under the desk to slip on her shoes and curl her toes freely underneath the leather.
A/N: Watch the struggle for change in the world.
Megan Jones according to the Lexicon, one of the “invisible” Hufflepuff girls. Following that link will give you background on her.
I'll take you for who you are
If you take me for everything.