Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Perspective
Why did it have to be her? Why this girl? Why /now/, when he needed her most?
But Harry imagined he would never cease to need her.
It all seemed so unfair. If there was one person that Harry knew who seemed untouchable by Death—it was Luna. It was that way she lived, without fear or hesitation, that everyone—including Voldemort himself—wished they could live. He truly had never met anyone like her, and he doubted that he ever would again.
The others weren’t taking it so well, either. Ginny sat to one side, far from the rest of them, sobbing. None of the others dared approach her. They all supposed she wanted to be alone just now.
Hermione had a quiet sadness about her. She sat next to Ron, who had his hand resting on her back, patting gently. Silent tears slid down her flushed cheeks, landing in her lap. Quiet sniffling sounds emitted from her every so often.
Ron was not crying, but he had a very pained look on his face. He gave Harry a meaningful look. Harry looked away, unable to meet his friend’s eyes.
Neville was silently pacing back and forth, a few feet from Harry.
"I can’t believe she’s gone," he muttered, looking at Harry. “I mean, she’s really….really…d—" He seemed unable to continue.
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but found he couldn’t. No matter how he tried to force the words, they wouldn’t come. He was afraid of how he might sound, were he even able to speak.
His throat seemed to be tightening painfully, almost as if trying to cut off his supply of oxygen. He swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. This feeling was nothing new to him. It was the same one he’d had when he’d carried Cedric’s body back from the graveyard. The same one he had when he tried to follow Sirius through the veil. The same one he had when he watched, powerless, as Dumbledore met his death.
But this time, this time…he wondered if it would ever go away.
Luna had brought one of those things to his life—one of those things that you always knew could never last. One of those things that brightens your day, only to have the sun set on you, anyway. You always know the dark is coming, yet you’re still never quite prepared for it.
He only hoped that she’d left him enough light to last him until he saw her again.
But Harry imagined he would never cease to need her.
It all seemed so unfair. If there was one person that Harry knew who seemed untouchable by Death—it was Luna. It was that way she lived, without fear or hesitation, that everyone—including Voldemort himself—wished they could live. He truly had never met anyone like her, and he doubted that he ever would again.
The others weren’t taking it so well, either. Ginny sat to one side, far from the rest of them, sobbing. None of the others dared approach her. They all supposed she wanted to be alone just now.
Hermione had a quiet sadness about her. She sat next to Ron, who had his hand resting on her back, patting gently. Silent tears slid down her flushed cheeks, landing in her lap. Quiet sniffling sounds emitted from her every so often.
Ron was not crying, but he had a very pained look on his face. He gave Harry a meaningful look. Harry looked away, unable to meet his friend’s eyes.
Neville was silently pacing back and forth, a few feet from Harry.
"I can’t believe she’s gone," he muttered, looking at Harry. “I mean, she’s really….really…d—" He seemed unable to continue.
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but found he couldn’t. No matter how he tried to force the words, they wouldn’t come. He was afraid of how he might sound, were he even able to speak.
His throat seemed to be tightening painfully, almost as if trying to cut off his supply of oxygen. He swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. This feeling was nothing new to him. It was the same one he’d had when he’d carried Cedric’s body back from the graveyard. The same one he had when he tried to follow Sirius through the veil. The same one he had when he watched, powerless, as Dumbledore met his death.
But this time, this time…he wondered if it would ever go away.
Luna had brought one of those things to his life—one of those things that you always knew could never last. One of those things that brightens your day, only to have the sun set on you, anyway. You always know the dark is coming, yet you’re still never quite prepared for it.
He only hoped that she’d left him enough light to last him until he saw her again.
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