Still in shock, Xenophilius Lovegood sat in the living room of his home, tears falling freely down his cheeks. All this had happened so quickly. Just an hour ago, his wife had been vibrantly alive, and now, all that vivacity was gone, snuffed out like a candle. Marisa Lovegood lay peacefully on her bed, after the Healers had told him sadly that “there’s nothing left to do.” It had to be a dream, it had to be. He believed in Nargles and Snorlacks, in Tin Nosed Gretches and Ministry plots, but Xenophilius simply couldn’t accept this to be true. And what about little Luna? She was only nine, just a child. How would she be able to cope with this?

As if out of nowhere, the girl in question emerged from her bedroom. She had always been a quiet child, but Xenophilius had always found her to be very perceptive, even at a young age.

“You look sad, Daddy,” Luna murmured. She reached out her hand, and touched it gently to mine. “Are you sad because of Mommy?”

“Yes, darling,” Xenophilius told her, trying to wipe his tears. “I’m crying I will miss your mother terribly.”

Luna seemed to consider this for a moment. “I’ll miss her too,” she finally decided. “I’ll miss her reading to me every night, and her brushing out my hair when it got tangled. I’ll miss her laughing, too.” Then, Luna looked out of the window of the house. “Come on, Daddy, I have something to show you.”

Xenophilius was a bit surprised, but he followed his daughter to the door. “Look!” she said simply. So he did. Raindrops were falling, not a storm, but just a shower. They fell lightly, and made a light chorus as they hit the ground. “Mommy always told me that when it rains, it means that heaven’s crying. She used to talk to me about heaven sometimes. So you shouldn’t be sad, Daddy.” Marisa had been a muggle born raised in a Christian home, so she had a different view of religion than many other witches.

With that, Luna slipped out of her father’s hand. Dressed in a airy blue dress and bare feet, Luna twirled about on the grass, spreading out her arms to catch more of the rain. The drops seemed to dance around her small form, forming a ballet of girl and nature. “See?” she exclaimed. “She’s sending us a message. We should cry, but then, we should be happy. She’s sad, because she doesn’t want us to be sad.”

Out there, Xenophilius thought that Luna looked like a fairy, or perhaps, more accurately, an angel. “You’re right,” Xenophilius finally said, opening up his arms to let his daughter run into them. “We shouldn’t be sad.”

Luna smiled brightly up at him. “She would like that,” Luna assured him. As father and daughter walked inside hand in hand, the rain slowed, and came to a stop. And years later, Xenophilius could have sworn that just as he was about to go inside, he heard a very familiar laugh ring softly through the air.