Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or anything else belonging to JK Rowling. Everything but the plot belongs to her and her publishers alone. I am not earning any type of profit on this. No copyright infringement is intended.


    People like Fleur Delacour were butterflies. Even Ginny Weasley, and sometimes Hermione Granger, could be butterflies. They would flap their wings and fly away forever, leaving everyone else wondering. Butterflies bathed in rainbows. They were beautiful, and they were sought after. They twinkled along flower petals and blades of grass. Graceful, quiet, mysterious.

    Everyone loved butterflies.

    Luna Lovegood, however, was a moth. When she flew, her wings didn't flap wonderfully; they jerked violently, and sent her up and down, down and up, up and down. She was made of brown and pale yellow and dirty white. Moths strayed far from rainbows. People swatted at her, tried to be rid of her, hated her. Her father always taught her that hate was nothing more than ignorance; a misunderstanding. People just didn't understand.

    Luna found the wings of a dead moth lying on the stone steps of the castle. She picked them up to look at them closely. The powder left on her fingers was, undoubtedly, glittering, shimmering, sparkling.

    Luna Lovegood was a moth. Anyone who took a second glance would see that her wings were made of gold.