InsaneJournal

Introspective: Paintings
Date and Time: September 2007
Characters: Luna Lovegood
Location: London
Private/Public: Private
Rating: PG
Warnings: Grief, Mentions of character death
Summary: Luna attempts many paintings of Simon, but to no avail.
Completion: Complete


What is it that makes paintings come to life? Why could the fat lady whose name no one even remembered could grace the halls of Hogwarts? Why can one speak to Professor Dumbledore through a painting, as if he never died?

Why is it that no matter how hard I try he never shows up?

She was standing, alone, dying, suffocating, drowning in a sea of discarded canvases. A sea, an ocean, of swirling oil paints on white paper. Oil colors mixed with the distant taste of alcohol pervading in the room. Engulfing, destroying, overpowering her fragile mind.

Every brushstroke she made was useless. Every carefully picked out color, every perfect detail. She was no artist. She could never be one. Every line brought her closer to happiness. Every finished work brought her closer to dismay.

The likeness of Simon shined at on her on every canvas. Every painting, one more detailed, more perfected, more like the real thing than the next, fallen on the floor, every painting smiling up at her with his glory, his charm, his happiness. Every painting useless.

“Nothing will bring him back, Luna.” Her father’s words still rung in her ears, but she couldn’t give up. She couldn’t. They were partners, weren’t they? He was her partner, her life long friend and companion, wasn’t he? No matter what, he’d never leave her, right? Wasn’t that right, Simon? Oh come on, answer me, please Simon, won’t please you just answer me?

“You’re alive, Luna. He wouldn’t want you to die. He would still want you to live. Live for the both of you, Luna! Remember, remember, they’re the behind the veil. They’ll come, remember, remember Luna, remember.” She grimly remembered what her father said. A hand fluttered to her heart. The shivering hand, coated with colors so thickly that she could hardly see the pale sickly gauntness that her previous pink fervor had degraded to, felt nothing. There was nothing, not even a heaving chest.

The oil and alcohol that surrounded her, the images that crept at her feet, with just a match they could all burn in a haze. She could burn with it. She could join him. Everything could be back to where it was supposed to be. All order could be restored. It could be a just an instant. An instant. Just… just…

She pulled out her wand.

“Incendio.”