Disclaimer: Luna Lovegood is property of J.K. Rowling. This poem is property of me. Steal not.


In her Fifth Year
-the year she was fifteen, but felt fifteen hundred
she laid curses on her books
& clothes & wand & ornamental statues shaped as feathers.
They were stolen to be hidden
to give her Housemates a laugh
but the thieves ran screaming -
they haven't stopped.

She is a great believer in unseen.
Like thestrals. When a first year she'd seen them, the
she was confused and doubtful of her mind.
But she patted them, their breaths touched her
and she got used to being different.

They call her Loony
but she knows everything they won't -
like: the smell of the Forbidden Forest before dawn,
where dead things go,
how to cut the moon in half,
the fact they'll all be dead within a year
or wishing they were.