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Brutus.
Fates, we will know your pleasures:
That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time
And drawing days out, that men stand upon.
Act 3, scene i, Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare
The choppy waves of the Mediterranean crashed on the sand as Theodore Nott cried out for a woman not there. Luna had met Isdora Nott once when she was younger and thought her tragically beautiful. Hermione’s voice screamed behind her, almost louder than Theodore's, but Luna kept her focus. Harry wanted it to be clean, and returning a lost soul to the sea seemed as unsullied as a death could be. But the man’s cries for his dead mother were pained, his choked gasping as he fought against the waves.
His cries were what haunted her.
Pansy was never meant to make it out of the cabin. Luna hated that Neville had to watch the only person he loved burn. But she had run, and that had angered Harry. Then she had lied, which only made it worse. Luna knew Neville would intervene as soon as the smell hit them. So, she reassured him that she would take away Pansy’s pain. And the smell. No one deserved to smell their beloved’s body burn. She wondered if Harry knew what it would actually be like, burning a person alive. She watched him closely, and, though he tried to hide it from the others, she saw the way his nostrils flared every time the wind forced the smell of burnt flesh towards them. Despite Luna’s proficient spell, Pansy still screamed.
Screams and cries and the smell of flesh blended together.
Ron hadn’t known that she was the one to enter his mind and find out where Lavender was hidden. Harry suspected that Ron had helped hide her, but Luna confirmed it for him. As they descended on the wolf, she thought that under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed observing Lavender’s movements during the full moon. She had appreciated how viscerally desemated the wolf’s victims had been. There was a striking brutality to it all that Luna appreciated. Especially since the men deserved it. So many more men deserved it, too. Lavender earned her respect, and she showed it in her last minutes by making sure her death was as clean as possible. She had only ever seen Nagini decapitated and didn’t expect as much blood as what poured from Lavender’s severed neck. Maybe it was because she had just shifted back into her human form. Luna postulated that maybe werewolves carried more blood in their system, and that’s why it seemed to flood the cave. She couldn’t help but focus on the blood. It helped her avoid acknowledging Ron’s broken sobs at what he had done.
Cries, screams, the smell, and blood. It began to swirl around in her head. Blending together like a deranged cocktail of the atrocities she took part in.
Hermione’s light brown eyes pleaded with her. They all thought Hermione was strong, calculating, but Luna understood what her true motivation was. Love made fools of women. She knew that. So did Hermione. And as they stared at each other in that cramped bathroom, that’s exactly who they were. Two women in love with people incapable of loving them back. Hermione’s freedom from that love could only come one way, and Luna had already seen it happen. The potions were an act of mercy. The way Hermione had killed herself in Luna’s vision had been far more violent. This was a better way.
Luna had gone to the DMLE the next morning and reported that Hermione’s Muggle neighbors had turned in a complaint about her. She accompanied Harry, Viktor, and Neville to the scene. She wished her vision had shown her how Viktor would react. She would rather have been somewhere else than to have to watch the man crash into the too-small tub and drag out the naked corpse of her childhood friend, and try to revive her on the floor. Neville immediately left the flat, not wanting to see her that way. Luna focused on Harry that time too, gauging his reaction. His jaw ticked, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a tear in his eye, but he never allowed it to fall. He waited until the funeral to put on his performance for everyone, yet she was exceptionally curious about how he truly felt about his best friend’s death.
Cries, screams, smells, blood, water.
Her senses were overwhelmed as the memories invaded her soul until something new broke through.
Dark green tiles of the Ministry Atrium, rumble of the recently completed unity statue scattered across them. And standing there atop the rubble, which now began to show the bodies of the dead amongst the ruined stone, stood the Boy Who Lived. The boy whom she had fought beside for half of her life, whom she helped uplift in the hopes of restoring greatness and light to the Wizarding world. The boy whom she promised to protect because she loved someone who couldn’t love her back.
How disappointing it was, seeing him stand there having ruined everything.
Cries, screams, smells, blood, water. It echoed around his form, flowed from beneath the rubble. He was the cause of all of it—would be the cause of the devastation to come.
Luna woke with a start and sat up in her bed. Sweat dotted her forehead, and her sheets were wet from where she had perspired in her sleep. Everything still lingered on the periphery of her mind, and even though she squeezed her eyes shut to shove it all away, it persisted.
She had been seeing the different images of him at the Ministry for the last year, and with her entire soul, she wished they were just nightmares and not the prophecies that she knew them to be. Maybe if she were braver like Hermione, she would end everything herself, but she needed to stay for Gin.
She hated Harry Potter. He was arrogant and prideful, and when he did wrong in the name of the greater good, everyone praised him. To everyone else, he had been a sad orphan who had the weight of the world on his shoulders. But Neville was an orphan, and so was she. No one showed either of them any favoritism. No one oohed and aahed anytime she excelled at her studies or fought Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries when she was fourteen.
And now he would tear the world apart because of his vanity. Why couldn’t he have died in 1981 like he was supposed to? Why couldn’t he have died at the final battle like he was supposed to?
If only he and everyone else knew the truth. That his miraculous victory over Voldemort was a farce.
She didn’t care how people framed it. No one died and came back the same. She could see it in his aura. It was different—wrong, like it wasn’t whole anymore. After Hermione explained horcruxes, Luna wondered if Harry had left behind a piece of his soul in the Forbidden Forest. There had been late-night trips to the spot where he had fallen with a hope of finding something, anything to explain it. The truth of Voldemort’s death was a closely held secret between her and one other person, but the actuality of Harry’s death and resurrection was a tale that no one alive was capable of sharing.
For three years, she had hope his luck would finally catch up to him, but it never did. Every time he did something worse, the Minister waved it away as a necessary act. Luna had gone along with him because if she didn’t, he would have kept Ginny from her. He would have found some way to turn her best friend against her, not understanding the consequences of doing so.
She stumbled from her bed to the shower, seeking relief from the pain throbbing in her head. One day, she would have to answer for her crimes in front of the gods that the Wizarding world no longer worshipped, but she knew still existed. But it wouldn’t be today. Today, she would take a shower, plaster on the soft smile and quiet demeanor she had carried for most of her life to keep people from digging in deeply into her abilities.
It took her mother’s accidental death to make her understand that people didn’t like what they couldn’t understand. She had tried to explain to the Aurors who came to the house that her mother’s death was inevitable. She had seen it. They accused her of murdering her mother. As if a seven-year-old could kill a powerful witch. That was the day she stopped trying to explain to people.
Instead, she learned to master her magic quietly. Harry had noticed it first during the Dumbledore’s Army meetings. Asked her to protect Gin while he left for the Horcrux hunt. And she had. She had fought side-by-side with Ginny every day as the Carrows targeted them until the day she had been snatched at King’s Cross and taken to Malfoy Manor.
She closed her eyes and let the shower wash over her, trying to keep those memories suppressed. No one had protected her at the manor. No one had made her time there more comfortable or safer.
Most of the time, she stayed isolated from the other prisoners so the guards could do as they pleased with her. Despite everything that happened in that dark, dank cell, it taught her two invaluable lessons—how to perform wandless magic and how not to break.
Luna came out of the manor a different person, just as Harry had returned from the forest a different person.
She summoned a pain potion for her head, sighing as relief spread through her body after drinking it, and finished washing up. The DV had a strategy meeting at Grimmauld Place, which meant she would be able to see Ginny.
Towel drying her long hair, she readied herself for the day. She had long abandoned the radish earrings and colorful frocks since those were not conducive to being an assassin. Now her wardrobe consisted of simple black trousers and dark shirts, the only remnant of the girl she once was being the multicolored trainers she wore when not on a mission.
No one had access to the floo at Grimmauld Place, so she had to apparate to the public access point at Holloway Road and walk to the townhouse. Islington was a lovely neighborhood; she really wished Gin was able to get out and see it from beyond the windows of her prison.
Luna waited on the bench across from the entrance until Neville slid into the seat next to her.
“Hiya, Lu.”
“Hello, Neville.” She tilted her head at the dark townhouse that stuck out from the others sandwiching it. “I guess it’s just us now.”
The man next to her sighed, “Yeah,” before eyeing her warily. In a too bright tone, he nodded towards a nearby blooming shrub. “Feumaidh sinn a bhith faiceallach.”
“Tha fios agam.” Luna smiled and bent to sniff the flowers.
“Is dòcha nach bi e comasach dhomh a toirt a-mach.”
“Tha fios agam.”
“An urrainn dhut a dhèanamh?” He stood and held his hand out to her.
“Gheibh sinn a-mach a dh’aithghearr,” she answered with a warm smile, accepting his hand and strolling to the door.
If Harry viewed this memory, he would assume they were talking about the flowers instead of more important things. She and Neville often spoke Gaelic to each other. It was safer that way.
Not much had changed at Grimmauld Place since the Order had taken over. Molly Weasley used to come and try to defeat the dust and decay, but the house seemed to reflect its former and present inhabitants’ souls too much, and the rot won.
They silently marched to Harry’s study. They found him sitting in a chair too close to the fireplace, fisting a tumbler of amber liquid despite it only being ten in the morning.
“Wondered how long you two were going to sit outside,” he sneered.
“Just taking in the spring blooms, mate,” Neville answered, sitting down at the round table that had seven chairs.
They had all once been occupied, but time had torn their group apart. Or maybe they weren’t really ever as united as they deluded themselves.
Luna sank into her designated chair, summoning a teaset and preparing a Chamomile. The three didn’t speak for several minutes—Harry brooding, Neville scratching at the wood of the table top, and Luna steeping the tea.
She learned long ago that if she were patient, people would show their hand.
Finally, Harry drained his fire whiskey and stomped over to the table. The glass landed on the wood with a thud. He didn’t sit, only bracing his weight on his knuckles.
“Kings owled this morning. Viktor has transferred back to the Bulgarian Ministry. He cited the need to be with his family as the cause.” He sucked on his teeth before continuing. “None of the Weasleys know where Ron is. Robards and I personally interviewed each of them, except for Bill. I suspect that he Obliviated the others; he would have been the only one who knew the brand would need to be physically removed in order for the tracking rune to be nullified. He’s being held at the Ministry for further questioning.”
“Why?” Neville asked. The challenge in his tone was a tad too high; Luna knocked his boot with her trainer in warning. “I mean, I know you want to know where Ron is, but is interrogating our best Curse Breaker really the best option?”
“I don’t just want to know where Ron is,” Harry snapped. “I’m bringing him in for questioning about Lavender. We needed Marcus Flint’s information, and I want to know if she said anything to him before she killed him.”
Luna stirred her tea. “I interviewed Ronald about that seven months ago, didn’t I?” She kept her voice light, as if she had forgotten about the session with Ron where she tore through his mind.
“You must’ve missed something!” Harry began pacing around the room, carrying on a conversation with himself more than them. “Everyone is incompetent; nothing is getting done. And now that Hermione is….Nothing is right. It’s all messed up.”
“Maybe I can go speak to the Headmaster at Uagadou again about Zabini. She may have grown tired of harboring him now that his other friends have been brought to justice.”
Harry ignored her and made use of the bar cart. “We need to find a way to make Bill talk.” Taking a long drink, he closed his eyes for a moment and then seemed to formulate an idea. “Nev, go collect Fleur. Maybe his wife can talk some sense into him.”
The man next to her was about to refuse, she could tell. With a swift kick to the shin, she gave a look to communicate they would deal with it later. Neville slowly stood from his chair and nodded. “I’ll stop by Shell Cottage and talk to her.” He didn’t bother saying goodbye or waiting to be dismissed.
He had stopped being Harry’s man several months ago. Luna had asked him to stay and help her, but she knew his patience was rapidly waning.
She waited a few beats before broaching the only topic she cared about. “I’d thought to check in with Gin today, if that’s alright with you.”
Harry dismissed her with a wave. “Sure, yeah, for the love of Godric, try to fix her brain while you’re here. She’s been up rambling at night again. I’m going to have to get a healer to stay with her full-time.”
Impulsively, she offered, “She could come stay with me for a bit. You know I don’t need to sleep much, so she wouldn’t be a bother to me.”
Harry’s green eyes bore into hers. “Ginny does not leave this house. She is my wife and belongs by my side.”
“Of course,” she cooed. “If you would like me to come stay here, I can arrange that as well.”
“Just go have your tea party or whatever,” he barked.
She floated from the room unbothered by his sour mood. She only tolerated him because it was what needed to be done. The stairs leading to the second floor were creaking, which she was glad for. It meant no one could sneak up here unless they knew exactly which floorboards to avoid.
Gin was in the attic, her new favorite hiding place. Luna couldn’t see her when she first entered, but she knew she was there, lurking somewhere in the shadows.
“Good morning, lovey. I brought cake.”
From her shoulder bag, she produced a small pink box that contained three petit fours from the bakery down the street. There was movement behind her, but she kept her eyes trained on the small bistro table in front of her, casting a Scourgify on the tablecloth and summoning two small plates and a tea set from the corner cabinet.
She removed the miniature cakes from the box and set them on the plates before waving her wand and warming the water in the teapot to a boil.
“The flowers in the park across the street have blossomed. It’s quite lovely. I saw a few families strolling along. Would you like me to open the window and let some fresh air in?”
“No.” The answer was sharp, Gin’s voice too raspy. She probably hadn’t drunk anything in hours.
“Ok,” she said softly. “Would you like to eat something?”
Emerging from a dark corner, Ginny Potter shuffled to the table. Even with her dirty nightgown and matted hair, she was still the most beautiful creature Luna had ever seen. But there was a darkness that followed her now—a shadow that clung to her shoulders and never left.
It had always been there, but the final battle made it grow. Nothing Luna attempted over the years freed Gin from the shadow, so she did the only thing that seemed to help.
Patting the chair next to her, she smiled brightly and poured the tea. “Have you slept lately, lovey?”
“Can’t,” Gin murmured, taking the tea and cradling it to her chest. Her ashen skin, once sun-kissed from spending all of her time outdoors, was translucent in places.
“Would you like me to help you?”
“Please,” whispered Gin. She laid her head on the table in offering, and Luna smoothed the errant strands back before lightly pressing her fingers to the witch’s temple.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you lately.”
“That’s why I have my beloved. She can never leave me. We are a part of each other.”
“I know, but she’s so very tired, and I think you are too. Can I sing for you so you both can rest?”
“Will you sing ‘La Vie en Rose’?”
“Of course.”
Her fingers trailed through Gin’s light auburn locks, carefully detangling the knots. She moved them over to the small daybed she had conjured the last time she visited. “Sleep, lovey. I’ll stay as long as I can.”
Her fingers drifted over the protruding rib bones of her best friend, thickly swallowing back the sob that threatened. A tear slipped from her lashline, but she dared not move.
Gin wrapped her arms around her waist, muttering sleepily, “Love you, Lu.”
“Love you, Gin.”
The older witch stood from her desk and escorted Luna to the door. “The Minister will see you now.”
“Thank you, Mathilda,” Luna said presently. It took more resolve than usual to maintain the mask after her visit to Grimmauld yesterday.
The decision to come here to speak to Kingsley directly wasn’t a part of her original plan, but she was desperate after seeing Gin’s condition.
She was running out of time. Had too many deaths on her head already that she already knew she would answer for one day, and she couldn’t let Gin’s be one of them. But this would have to play it just right. If he found out about her Seer abilities, it wouldn’t end well for her. The British wizarding world had never fully understood the Sight, and now was not the time to try to enlighten them.
Kingsley stood from his desk to greet her with a tight smile. “Luna. Nice of you to stop by. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”
Waving him off, she sat, lest he see how unsteady she was feeling. “Not long at all. Mathilda and I had a lovely chat about the Wrackspurt problem in the lifts.”
He hummed. “Yes, I’ll have to get Macmillan to look into that when he has some free time.”
Luna knew he was simply placating her. People rarely believed her about the invisible creatures, but she always attributed it to their third eye not being fully open.
Her fingers interlaced together as she shifted in her seat, straightening her back to seem more authoritative than she typically allowed. “I wouldn’t dare take too much of your valuable time, but I believe the matter is of some urgency.” She paused to make sure he was fully paying attention.
“Go on,” he urged.
“I had a meeting with Harry yesterday at Grimmauld Place, and I am deeply concerned about Ginny’s well-being. I would like to ask you to insist that Harry take her to St. Mungo's.”
Kingsley bristled. “That seems like a personal family matter, and decidedly not the business of the Minister of Magic.”
She kept her voice soft; yelling would get her nowhere with him. “You are correct. Normally, this would be a private matter, and I wouldn’t dream of asking for you to intervene. However, Harry hasn’t allowed any of the Weasleys to see Gin since Ron disappeared almost a year ago, and he also refuses to allow anyone to take her from the house.”
“I’m sure he has legitimate security concerns regarding her traveling outside of Grimmauld. From his reports, he believes there are still multiple Death Eater spies in the Ministry and in the wizarding community at large.”
“Those are fabricated,” she snapped before thinking better of it.
The Minister seemed momentarily shocked by her lapse in decorum, but he steeled his face into a scrutinizing scowl. “Are you accusing Harry of false reporting?”
“Not exactly,” she quickly corrected. “What I’m saying is that Harry has become increasingly paranoid in the past eighteen months, and it has clouded his judgment.”
“And your evidence for this?” he pressed.
She sucked in a breath and did the one thing she vowed not to do three years ago, amongst the rubble of Hogwarts. She betrayed Harry Potter’s trust. “Pansy Parkinson openly confessed in front of the entire Deus Vult, and Harry still executed her. He reported it as an accidental death, but he cast Fiendfyre and didn’t control it.”
Kingsley stared back at her, seemingly unmoved. So, she continued.
“I made Theodore Nott hallucinate his dead mother under Harry’s orders. He walked into the sea because that is where Harry wanted him to go.”
Still, the man across from her said nothing.
“He forced Ron to execute Lavender Brown extrajudicially despite her being incapacitated and in her nonlethal form.”
Hand held up, Kingsley stopped her. “All of these incidents were with individuals who had known Death Eaters ties or who we had overwhelming evidence of wrongdoing. None of this proves that Harry is acting out of the ordinary.”
She played the only card she had left. “Did you ever ask Hermione why she wanted a transfer or why she had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the Magical Creatures division?”
He instantly stiffened. “Hermione made it clear that she no longer had the desire to be in the field. And I will not have you defaming a woman who is unable to defend herself.” He shuffled some random papers on his desk. “If you have nothing else—”
The mask fell as Luna rose from her chair. “Hermione Granger was one of the best people I knew, and Harry Potter used her up until there was nothing left but an empty broken shell of a human, and now you are going to sit there on your lazy ass and let him do it again.”
Scoffing, she added, “If you think for a second that his ambition stops with DV and the Auror department, you are deluding yourself. Harry will bring this institution to its knees and destroy our world in the process.”
She didn’t wait for him to kick her out; she already knew this had only made things irrevocably worse.
The coin burned in her palm.
It had been four days since she had tried to convince Kingsley that Harry needed to be brought to heel.
Meet at Church. Lead on Zabini.
The church in the small village of Blackbrook was one of their safe houses used during domestic missions, so the idea that Harry wanted to meet there for a lead on Blaise was a poor attempt at trickery on his part. However, this did provide an opportunity. Maybe if she could distract him long enough, Nev would have long enough to get Gin to safety. There wouldn’t be time to meet beforehand, so she sent her patronus with a simple directive.
Get Ginny out.
Lacing up her combat boots and securing her hair into two plaits, she slid her wand into her pocket and apparated to Blackbrook.
Landing in the snow-covered walkway, she peered up at the moon and drew in a slow breath. Maybe the goddess would impart some of her strength on Luna tonight. Ice crunched beneath her boots as she trekked to the wooden doors, and the wards rippled against her skin once she passed the threshold.
Harry leaned against the altar of the sanctuary with his hands hanging at his sides. To anyone else, it would have come across as a relaxed state, but his wand was in his right hand, and the cursed dagger would be sheathed in a hidden holster at his left thigh.
“Hello, Harry,” she greeted in her usual soft voice.
“Hiya, Lu.”
“Neville not here yet?”
“I didn’t call him.” He straightened up and began walking towards her. “Kingsley said you had a meeting with him. Disclosed some things you shouldn’t have.” He pulled the dagger and paused five feet in front of her.
She hummed and slid her left foot back slightly, her wand appearing in her right hand. “It’s truly a shame it’s come to this.”
He cast without warning, but she managed to block it. This wasn’t the DA or a friendly duel. It was years of built-up hatred and betrayal between them. They were no longer idealistic thirteen-year-olds who believed they could conquer the world through hope and love.
This was dirty hexes and jinxes and Cruciatus curses. Luna tried to hold her own against him, but Harry had always been the better dueler with his Seeker reflexes. A slicing hex caught her in the shoulder, and she stumbled back. He was on her instantly, digging the curse blade into the wound.
She screamed and writhed beneath him—tried to fight him off, but he let his full weight press down on her chest as he spat on her face.
“You’ve betrayed me, Lu, my most loyal friend. After all these years.”
“I wasn’t the one who betrayed our values, Harry.” She headbutted him, forcing him to roll off her. She tried to stand, but the poison from the dagger was already running its course through her veins.
“You told us we were building a better world. But all you’ve done is destroy us. Hermione killed herself. You made Neville help you hunt Pansy down, forced Ron to execute Lavender. And what about Gin? No one even knows what you’ve done to her.”
He fisted her hair and pulled her away from the floor before punching her in the face. She felt her cheek shatter when he hit her again. It didn’t matter, though. She knew she wasn’t getting out of this church alive. The only thing that mattered was that Neville got Ginny away.
Harry yelled, “I haven’t done anything to Gin,” before dropping her head and letting it slam against the cold stone of the church floor. “She did that to herself.”
“But why has she done it to herself?” she snapped back. “Why have any of us done the irreparable harm in the last three years?”
“I gave up everything for the wizarding world. My parents, my childhood, my life. For what? So I can continue sacrificing my existence for everyone else?” His boot connected with her ribs, the bone cracking from the force. “It was all bullshit. Every lie they fed me since I was eleven years old was bullshit! All I was to them was fucking bait. Now they will all see the greatness I’m capable of.”
He grabbed her injured arm, Luna crying out from the blistering pain, and dragged her to the overturned stoup. She heard him whisper an extension charm before hauling her upper body over the edge. Two reflections—one full of hatred and the other bloody and broken—stared back at them. “You were supposed to be my friend and rebuild the world with me. You stand there and judge me when you have done just as terrible things in my name.”
Her head was forced into the water. She kicked her feet out wildly, trying to fight back with the last of her fading strength against him. Managing to land an elbow to his side, he let her up briefly.
Vomiting up the water she swallowed, she weakly rasped, “I never did any of it for you. It was all for her.”
The dagger glinted in the moonlight that leaked through the stained glass. It was almost beautiful in its lethality. Almost as damning as the rage that burned behind Harry’s eyes.
As the blade pierced her stomach, he bit out, “Ginny is mine. My wife. My family.” Each new word was punctuated with a new wound.
Luna couldn’t help but think about the others. If the pain she took away really helped at all in their last moments. Because it wasn’t the pain of her organs and flesh ripping that made her scream for it to stop. It was knowing that this was it.
It was knowing that she wouldn’t get to see Gin again.
The only reprieve she had was the hope that she had distracted Harry long enough for Neville to get Ginny out of Grimmauld. If he could get her back to the Weasleys, they would be able to protect her.
As consciousness left her, and her body jolted from the dagger jerking away after each plunge, she prayed for the gods to be merciful in their judgment.
My original intention for Luna was a more strict version of Joan of Arc, the faithful servant who is betrayed by those she trusted in the end. But as goes with some things that are pre-plotted, I started listening to the song “Brutus” by The Butress, and I began thinking about what if Luna was the betrayer.
Her story is still rooted in Joan of Arc's narrative. Joan is a tragic figure of a young girl who was either an actual psychic or a brilliant battle strategist. Regardless of where her abilities lay, her end was devastating. Imagine the utter misery of knowing that you were loyal to your king, country, and faith, just to have said king be persuaded by other ambitious (and jealous) men that you are a fraud and should be left to be executed by your enemies.
Brutus is an interesting character in what teenage Cassie would call the worst play she was forced to read in Sophomore English. Therefore, I will not be attempting a literary analysis of a character from a play I read almost twenty-five years ago and very rarely thought about again.
The little information I do remember from Julius Caesar is that Brutus is a loyal person. He simply isn’t faithful to Caesar because he believes him to be a dictator. Thus, the murderous plot is formulated to save Rome from the clutches of an egomaniac. Luna’s character arc is similar to this. She is staunchly loyal—just not to Harry.
Luna’s unyielding loyalty to Ginny is not something I planned on writing. In fact, when I first started this series, Luna’s motivation for her actions was her loyalty to the cause and Harry. She was originally intended to be more of a fanatic than what ends up on the page. However, as I wrote the dream sequence, I thought about whether her belief in a better world would justify the means by which she brings about that world. I realized that motivation didn’t feel authentic to her. I wanted Luna to be haunted by what she had done because she wouldn’t have done those things unless she found it absolutely necessary.
There was a video that circulated on tiktok last year where the interviewer asked women if they would kill for their children. A lot of the women were hesitant and said no. I distinctly remember thinking, “Of course my answer would be yes.” Does that make me psychotic? Possibly. But it’s a level of devotion that I believe is more authentic than the delusion of a cause. Fanaticism with ideology has always been more indicative of men seeking power and status than women fighting for what they believe is morally true and right. In this story, Luna’s love for Ginny is what drives her actions and is meant to convey the depths to which a woman is willing to delve for those she loves.
Make no mistake, Luna is an Angel of Death in this series. She bears responsibility for Pansy, Lavender, and Hermione’s deaths, and I make no excuses for her in this story, nor does she make excuses for her actions. She knows she will face the judgment of the gods she believes in when she dies.
I want to take a moment to talk about Luna’s characterization in canon and fanfic. In the books, Luna is treated as a strange girl who is either bullied or brushed aside by her peers. This is solidified in the movies by the portrayal of the character as a waifish, soft-spoken, manic pixie dream girl. I don’t fault the young actress who played the part, but it didn’t do the interpretation of Luna’s character any favors. However, what I was always drawn to when reading about Luna is her otherness. She is viewed as strange because the others have simply not ascended to the same high plane that she has. Think of the thestrals. The students who hadn’t witnessed death wouldn’t be able to see them. Therefore, they assume the creatures are another of Luna’s made-up hallucinations instead of the truth. I wish more people thought of that scene between Harry and Luna with the thestrals as a sign that Luna is othered not because she is crazy, but because she is more than the other students.
Yet, I fear that she hasn’t fared any better in most of the fanfictions I’ve read. Like Lavender, she is often a one-note side character, or worse, infantilized. So, just as with Lavender, I come to ao3 to beg for more stories featuring Luna as the powerful witch that we all know that she is. Or make her a shopkeeper who plays Dungeons and Dragons on the weekends. Let her be weird, or normal, or extraordinary. But make her something other than a helpless little girl or the comic relief in the story.