through the dark

notes: for wevi (my best enemy) because i've owed her this for a long time and because she's wonderful. but this is more of a luna-centered piece than an actual dean/luna piece. i'm not completely satisfied about the ending, but whatever. i hope you like it anyway.
summary: you are still living, still breathing / dean&luna, slowly colliding / for wevi.

When you are seven, your Mother tells you your first story of Hogwarts. Of smart Ravenclaw's and brave Gryffindor's; of loyal Hufflepuff's and cunning Slytherin's. Of ghosts and late night Astronomy classes; of house elves and talking paintings and the smart Headmaster.

And you were absolutely sure that, even at the small age of seven, Hogwarts would be your perfect place.


When you are nine, you watch your Mother die. You see her body being flung to the ground, white and drained of life. You hear your Father coming in; see him hold the body, murmuring how impossible that situation could be.

And you, at nine, are still not completely sure of what just happened. Why your Father was on the ground. Why your Mother wasn't waking up.

And you don't get it until a few days later.


When you are eleven, you finally arrive at the Hogwarts that you've been ever so eager to get to.

And it's just as astounding as you thought it would be.


When you are fourteen, you meet the famous Harry Potter.

And from there, everything is fast, fast, fast and dangerous for so many accounts and flying spells that you just barely miss.

But, hey, what's life without a little adventure, you think. Because surely, this can't last for too long.


You realize you're wrong a few months later.


When you are fifteen, you first meet him.

Dean Thomas is tall, a year older than yourself and somewhat quiet, though you know he is worth something, just by what you've observed.


When you are sixteen, you are captured by the Death Eaters and you are absolutely terrified of what might happen.

But when you see that you are not along in this imprisonment, you think that it won't be that bad.


When you are sixteen, you have your first kiss with a boy who has dark skin and equally dark hair at Shell Cottage.

And you think that it's absolutely wonderful.


When you are freshly seventeen, you see death flying in the form of spells and armies fighting each other and bodies lying on the ground, motionless and pale, some eyes closed while some not. You recognize some, and some you don't, but they all still make you upset.

And if you're being honest, you're surprised that you aren't among those causalities, that instead you are still living, still breathing.

(But you're glad you did, because you have the boy with the sketchbook waiting for you in the Great Hall and you think that this might just be worth living for, considering everything that you've lost.)


When you are seventeen, you tell the boy with the sketchbook you love him.

And he tells it back.

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