Muggle Lives Matter

She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, although much of it stained her robes leaving a streak of fresh red down the center aisle of the Grand Dining Hall as she dragged her legs, crawling towards her wand. The wand lay several steps from her fingertips. Behind it, she could see the blue hue of the moonlight shine down from the windows to touch the cheek of Professor McGonagall as she lay on the floor struggling to continue to breathe. With her neck shaking from the staccato of her inhalations and her tears creating a seam running sideways to the floor, Professor McGonagall’s eyes were torn with hope and sadness as she watched her student creeping closer towards her wand. Professor McGonagall held her stomach in the hopes to keep her blood from seeping between her fingers, continuously spinning a puddle beneath her. Her eyes anchored on the tense face of her student as she tried to rip her thoughts from the tall large man behind her, his face half covered underneath a red bandana, holding a worldly, un-wizardly, device in his hand as he casually stalked the student inching her way towards where her wand lay.

Above them, the floating candles were lit dim to a sad setting. It was as if the candles could feel the turmoil and fear that climbed the walls of Hogwarts. Outside, thunder and rain spoke with a crashing bang and endless pattering on the glass windows. Just outside the dining hall, as if climbing the long corridors and stairwells, the sound of children screaming, defensive spells chiming, and forever yelling drifted all around the school. The students, they cried for help. Between their screams were the lacings of sparks and explosions; dust unfurling, stone breaking, and glass shattering. They were running. They weren’t prepared.

Professor McGonagall could hear them. She could hear them crying. She could hear their sadness. She couldn’t help but feel that it was her fault. She should have prepared them better. Even further, deeper within the marrow of her thoughts, she knew she welcomed in the terror that besieged her school. She should’ve done more to protect the students. Instead, with the fear not to seem compassionate, she turned a blind eye at the mistreatment that surrounded her world and continued to leave the doors open to what would eventually destroy everything around her.

She turned her thoughts back to her student and watched the young girl as she crept closer towards her and the wooden wand that lay between them.

“. . . keep going,” Professor McGonagall said, “. . . keep going, Luna. For Hogwarts.”

With her fingertips gripping the floor of the Grand Dining Hall, Luna Lovegood could still hear the heavy breathing of the man that followed behind her. She could feel it like she could feel a smile. It was like he enjoyed watching her struggle: the continuous pain, the blood on the floor, the school walls carrying the shrieking of her classmates. With her mind focused on the wand in front of her, she could hear the soft tender exhalation of a slight chuckle and knew that, definitely without a doubt, that he was smiling.

She ignored it, and for a split second she could see words leaving Professor McGonagall’s lips continuously telling her to keep going, like some sad desperate spectator cheering in the hopes to delay the inevitable.

The thunder rose. The crash of the skies created light and, for a fleeting moment, a flash of amber illuminated the dining hall walls and then it was dark again. Under the patter of the heavy hitting rain on the windows, in the cold, Luna could almost feel the closeness of the wand to her fingertips. As she came closer, interlaced within the sound of the rain, Luna could hear the distinct sound of a metal hammer being cranked back as the man who followed behind her, prepared his sawed-off shotgun.

“. . . go,” Professor McGonagall whispered, “. . . Luna please . . . please save us.”

With baited breath, Luna lunged herself forward towards her wand, gripped it in her hand and turned to face him. She spoke the incantation, but before she could finish, a light ignited from the front end of the shotgun, the force of which threw her entire body back down to the ground. With closed eyes, the pain screamed in her thoughts, sending signals screeching all throughout her nervous system. The searing pain climbed up her forearm. She released her eyes from her lids and immediately began to whimper.

In front of her, where her hand should’ve been, was only a puddle of red, floating shards of bone and cartilage. Like little tiny canoes, she could see the splinters of her wand floating along the surface of her blood.

Behind her, she could hear the man reloading. In front of her, she could see Professor McGonagall’s face shatter into tears as her open mouth couldn’t contain her anguish. The man finished reloading, prepared his weapon, and kicked Luna onto her back. Luna held her handless forearm over her chest, above the V of her vest, and over her Ravenclaw embroidered tie. She watched the eyes of a man who lacked sensibility, then stared down the barrel of the metal weapon that would take her life.

Time slowed. The rain slowed. Professor McGonagall’s cries went silent as the breath in Luna’s lungs slowly rose to her lips. She could hear the grip of the man squeezing the handle. She could hear him slowly applying pressure onto the trigger. But, before he could fully pull the trigger backward, he spoke to her three words.

“. . . Muggle Lives Matter.”