Luna(tic) (Marauders Era)

15. Presence and Absence

Luna woke Sunday morning alone. She rose early and padded to the bathroom on silent feet, careful not to wake Kendra and Pandora, who were both still fast asleep in their beds, Kendra's curls an explosion on the pillow and the tail of Pandora's braid the only visible bit of her as she burrowed deep beneath the covers, apparently intent on enjoying every bit of sleep she could get.

Luna's gaze, as she paused in the bathroom door, slid over each of them and caught on her own empty bed. She never knew, on mornings like this, whether the tug on her face was the start of a smile or the edge of a frown. And just like always, Luna didn't stick around to find out.

She simply closed the bathroom door and went about her morning routine. She brushed her hair. She brushed her teeth and she got dressed. It was only in this last step that any interruption occurred. Because Luna never could resist looking at her scars on mornings like this, when the full moon was hiding just beyond the horizon and the itching beneath their shiny, red surface pulsed in the rhythm of her heart.

There were eight of them in total. Eight traces down her chest like claw marks. Eight lines like battle scars from some strange, foreign weapon. Eight wounds Luna had had for as long as she could remember. And maybe longer. Because Luna didn't remember a time when they'd been fresh.

Her mother said they'd been given to her by a beast. The same one that had killed her father. The same one that had killed Sam. It was the only information Luna had about them. Her mother didn't like to talk about it. Didn't like to answer questions about the scars. Or her husband. Or Sam.

Luna had learned not to press, but the curiosity had always been there, especially on days like today, when they were so red and angry and itchy. Days when she couldn't help but stare at them, trace her fingers over them, following the line of the thickest and longest from her right collar bone down across to just under the edge of her left side ribs.

She sighed now, her fingers reaching the trailing end of that longest mark. It was an effort of sheer will not to scratch at them, but Luna made her hands come away, made herself pull on her uniform, and walk out of the room, all evidence of those old wounds hidden beneath the fabric. Itching them only ever made it worse and they already burned like all the fires of Hell. It was, Luna sometimes thought, a way for the world to stay in balance. A way to punish her for the twisted joy of this day she could spend alone. But she could. And however guilty Luna always felt for it, she couldn't deny that there was joy in it.

It was why Luna was up early. Why she went down to breakfast without waiting for her roommates. Why she sat there in the hall and watched it fill up, letting her eyes rove where they would, not caring who sat near her or glanced her way. Not keeping one eye on the space by her side where her best friend usually was. Not thinking about all the reasons why she was always pushed off to the side. Why she was always different. Separate. Isolated.

Because today, she didn't have to be. Today, Luna was normal. Today, she was exactly as alone as everyone else. Which meant that today, she didn't have to be lonely.

Of course, it wasn't always this way. There were months when Luna woke alone and thought her ribs would shatter from the pain of it. When the empty space at her side kept drawing her eyes. When Sam's absence seemed as much a presence as he usually was: invisible to everyone but Luna. Because too often, the full moon fell on a school day and back home, the invisible walls around Luna were so old they might as well have been solid. And since no one else could see Sam, no one else knew that the walls were fallen. A day without him at school was just a day when those walls didn't even manage to offer her the scant protection of a friend she could count on.

But sometimes, during the summer and when the moon rose full over the weekend, Luna could go down to the park and just... exist. She could walk down crowded streets and passed oblivious people and not worry where Sam was supposed to fit in this world that had never room for him. She could go out on errands with her mother and not worry she might look in the wrong place or speak where someone might overhear her. She could just... live.