Notes: This is a story I came up with while listening to "Return to Innocence" by
Enigma.
Time-frame: This takes place eight years after Hogwarts, not HBP-compliant, I think.
Pairings: Ron/Luna, past Harry/Hermione.
Warning: Character death at the beginning (first two chapters). :( This is from John's point of
view (who he is, you'll find out right away).
Chapter One - The Crash
I didn't enjoy our Muggle trips too much. But my grandparents always insisted that I know of the Muggle culture. Mother wouldn't deny them anything, after all, they let us live with them. Not that they wouldn't, but Mother was a single mother. And they were slightly old fashioned, so they didn't approve of me not having a father. But I had one. Father was simply missing. I knew he'd come one day, Mother always said so.
It all went wrong during Christmas. We were going back home, after spending all day at Aunt Geraldine's, my grandmother's sister. I liked her big house and her small dog, Robbie. There were also Aunt Geraldine's grandchildren, but most were babies. They annoyed me to no end.
Grandpa was driving and it was dark outside. I remember he and grandmother were talking in the front, while Mother was looking out the window, sitting next to me in the back of the car. I was feeling rather tired, having had to put up with crying babies all day long.
"He's out there, all alone," I heard Mother say softly. When I looked up into her eyes, I could tell she was thinking of Father. She always did during Christmas and New Year holidays. However, she was worse in Halloween.
It was rather unsettling knowing that my birthday was also a day that my mother didn't like, for other reasons. She would smile all day, but once in her room, she would cry herself to sleep. I knew, because our rooms were next to each other, and I could sometimes hear her sobs.
Mother was rather proud and would not let me comfort her those days, because she thought my birthday should be a happy day. I knew it was because of all of the things that had happened to her and her two friends during her years at Hogwarts.
"Mother, do you think Santa will bring Father home this year?" I asked. I believed in Santa. Faithfully, actually. And Mother, despite being logical, never told me he didn't exist. At that moment, I could tell I hit a soft spot, for her eyes watered and she sniffed.
"I don't know, John," she said softly, wiping at her eyes. "I hope Santa does, though."
There was no way I could hold it against Father for making her sad. She would never allow me. I made the mistake of bad-mouthing him previously that year, on my birthday. She told me the truth then. Father had isolated himself only a few weeks after Mother became pregnant. He didn't know, and neither did she, back then. And she simply left the wizarding world to raise me. So I couldn't really blame one, I had to blame both, according to her.
Mother took it upon herself to teach me about Father after that. Both from books and from her experiences. She had a couple of albums with moving pictures. Most were of her with Father and Uncle. She said those two always drove her crazy, in a good way. Uncle was very funny, while Father was caring but incredibly stubborn and impulsive.
Suddenly, Grandpa cursed. There was a bright light coming from outside, from the front. He turned the wheel as fast as he could and the car was out of control. I really can't remember much, except that Mother threw her arms around me and whispered something I could not hear above all the yelling. There was a loud sound, like an explosion, like metal bending and glasses breaking.
And then I knew no more.