Title: A Bit Odd
Author: Crippled Butterfly ([email protected])
Rating: PG for one swear-word.
Description: 'Oh... well...I think they think I'm a bit odd, you know. Some people call me "Loony" Lovegood, actually.' Angsty Luna fic, set near the end of OoTP.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. The text in quotation marks is from Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix, which is J.K. Rowlings' and therefore, not mine. Luna and Harry and any other chars mentioned aren't mine either.
Author's Note: Just an idea I had to get written down. A bit shorter than I'd have liked it to be, but I thought if I tried to make it any longer I'd ruin it. Sorry. Any feedback, excluding flames, is appreciated.
~
A Bit Odd, by Crippled Butterfly
'... Well, have a nice holiday, Harry.'
'Yeah.. yeah, you too.'
I turn and walk down the corridor toward Ravenclaw. I can hear my footsteps echoing. My thoughts are echoing, too.
'... I think they think I'm a bit odd, you know...'
'... They think I'm a bit odd, you know...'
'... They think I'm a bit odd...'
'... A bit odd...'
I don't think I'm odd, really, not at all.
Apparently, though, I'm in the minority on that.
People have always told me they thought I was strange... some of them in kinder ways than others (Like Ginny Weasley), some not bothering to be kind at all (Like that fifth-year girl, Padma Patil, who came up with the delightful and endearing name "Loony Lovegood").
What was that muggle poem Mother used to tell me? Oh yes, now I remember it. It goes something like...
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.
Muggles... Now, they are a bit odd. That poem doesn't make a bit of sense. You can always go to St. Mungo's to have broken bones mended.
But you can't go to St. Mungo's when you're hurting inside. Unless you're hurting because you accidently consumed a beaker of bubotuber pus, of course (I really must watch what I'm drinking in future).
But then, Muggles always seem to have strange sayings. Mother used to love Muggles, she taught me some of their funny little rhymes. My favourite was always that one I told those people - you know who I mean, Ginny's lot - on the train, at the beginning of the year...
'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.'
Their reactions were as usual - The way everyone acts when "Loony" is at it again, being her strange self.
I used to never care about being told I was strange, odd. Mother always told me I was a thousand times better than any of them, that nothing was as important as my being myself, being unique.
I used to be able to believe that.
I still act as though I don't even notice the funny looks and sniggers directed my way. But now something has changed.. I do notice now, and I do care. Ignoring everyone isn't as easy as it was when I was small.
I finally enter the Ravenclaw common room, and ignore the whispering knot of second-years, looking not-quite-furtively in my direction and laughing loudly at something, presumably me. Bitches.
But I'm used to whispers.
I'm used to giggling.
I'm used to people pointing at my earrings, and the way I keep my wand behind my ear for safe-keeping.
And, sadly... I'm used to the feeling of being hurt on the inside. And not being able to have it fixed.
I'm also used to reading upside-down...
I think.. Maybe I am just a little bit odd, after all.
-fin-
Author: Crippled Butterfly ([email protected])
Rating: PG for one swear-word.
Description: 'Oh... well...I think they think I'm a bit odd, you know. Some people call me "Loony" Lovegood, actually.' Angsty Luna fic, set near the end of OoTP.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. The text in quotation marks is from Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix, which is J.K. Rowlings' and therefore, not mine. Luna and Harry and any other chars mentioned aren't mine either.
Author's Note: Just an idea I had to get written down. A bit shorter than I'd have liked it to be, but I thought if I tried to make it any longer I'd ruin it. Sorry. Any feedback, excluding flames, is appreciated.
~
A Bit Odd, by Crippled Butterfly
'... Well, have a nice holiday, Harry.'
'Yeah.. yeah, you too.'
I turn and walk down the corridor toward Ravenclaw. I can hear my footsteps echoing. My thoughts are echoing, too.
'... I think they think I'm a bit odd, you know...'
'... They think I'm a bit odd, you know...'
'... They think I'm a bit odd...'
'... A bit odd...'
I don't think I'm odd, really, not at all.
Apparently, though, I'm in the minority on that.
People have always told me they thought I was strange... some of them in kinder ways than others (Like Ginny Weasley), some not bothering to be kind at all (Like that fifth-year girl, Padma Patil, who came up with the delightful and endearing name "Loony Lovegood").
What was that muggle poem Mother used to tell me? Oh yes, now I remember it. It goes something like...
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.
Muggles... Now, they are a bit odd. That poem doesn't make a bit of sense. You can always go to St. Mungo's to have broken bones mended.
But you can't go to St. Mungo's when you're hurting inside. Unless you're hurting because you accidently consumed a beaker of bubotuber pus, of course (I really must watch what I'm drinking in future).
But then, Muggles always seem to have strange sayings. Mother used to love Muggles, she taught me some of their funny little rhymes. My favourite was always that one I told those people - you know who I mean, Ginny's lot - on the train, at the beginning of the year...
'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.'
Their reactions were as usual - The way everyone acts when "Loony" is at it again, being her strange self.
I used to never care about being told I was strange, odd. Mother always told me I was a thousand times better than any of them, that nothing was as important as my being myself, being unique.
I used to be able to believe that.
I still act as though I don't even notice the funny looks and sniggers directed my way. But now something has changed.. I do notice now, and I do care. Ignoring everyone isn't as easy as it was when I was small.
I finally enter the Ravenclaw common room, and ignore the whispering knot of second-years, looking not-quite-furtively in my direction and laughing loudly at something, presumably me. Bitches.
But I'm used to whispers.
I'm used to giggling.
I'm used to people pointing at my earrings, and the way I keep my wand behind my ear for safe-keeping.
And, sadly... I'm used to the feeling of being hurt on the inside. And not being able to have it fixed.
I'm also used to reading upside-down...
I think.. Maybe I am just a little bit odd, after all.
-fin-