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When Neville was a boy, he always had to wear an iron bracelet. He was never allowed to take it off, couldn’t have even if he wanted to due to the magic and the small lock holding the thing together.
He would sit weeping in the shade of the ancestral Longbottom home and the strange, but kind eyes watching from the shadows in the woods beyond could so nothing for him except hope that he’d be happy one day.
He talked to them about his parents who he knew only as the shells left behind. He told them about his family and the coldness that seeped into him.
He told them when he ached from the abuse doled out by the uncaring adults in his life and the owners of the eyes ached with him, wishing more than anything that they could take him away from that awful place, that they could punish those that had hurt him through actions or words.
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When Draco was young, he’d walk amongst the peacocks on the Malfoy’s expansive lawn and he would feel eyes on his back. He felt the pressure of his upbringing so keenly and he would slip to the edge of the property where he could simply exist.
Just past the edge of the property he would see shadows dancing between the trees. He’d sit there, entranced, for hours on end.
Once or twice, he woke up at the property edge to the feeling of fingers caressing over his still soft cheeks.
And then, his mother saw him slip off and settle in to watch the shadows dancing in the woods. She snatched her baby up into her arms and brought him up into the manor with tears sliding down her cheeks.
She set him on her bed and went to dig through the antique jewelry box that lived atop her chest of drawers. Eventually she found what she was looking for: a heart shaped locket made of silver.
She slipped it around his neck and fastened it, then pressed her hand to the back of Draco’s head, bringing him in so that their foreheads touched.
“Draco, baby, listen carefully. Never go without this locket. Especially not to the woods. The shadows will snatch you up and I’ll never see you again.”
Draco had never heard his mother’s voice waver like that. Draco had never seen his mother cry either.
Draco wore the locket and he never went back to the woods.
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During Hermione’s early years, when the world around her got to be too much and strange things would happen that isolated her from her peers, she would sit in the back garden which was caged in by a wrought iron fence through which she could see the most wondrous things. She was a clever little thing even then and enjoyed the attention lavished on her by the beautiful creatures that spoke to her from beyond the fence.
They would croon such sweet words to her, praise her cleverness and her wild curls. They loved her, they said, they would do anything for her. They wished they could be with her, but they would wish for her happiness and hoped it would be enough.
After going to Hogwarts, Hermione didn’t see her friends beyond the fence again. She thought perhaps they had been her childish imagination running wild.
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Ron, poor Ron, the last son, the final disappointment before lovely little Ginny burst onto the scene. Always overlooked, always underestimated. The envy of none except, perhaps, for the twins.
One day he snuck away from the Burrow and came upon a field where a little girl with the most beautiful blonde hair was stood speaking to some tall, otherworldly creature. He watched with rapt attention as they sang and danced in the meadow, spinning in glorious circles of blonde hair and shimmering light.
“RON!” He heard his mother’s voice echoing out to him from the direction of the Burrow, disturbing the scene he was watching unfold, “COME HOME!”
He turned back to the figures in the meadow and made eye contact with the creature, the woman. She had the most beautiful eyes, a sharp but kind smile. She reached out towards him, beckoning to him.
“RONALD WEASLEY!”
Ron turned and ran the whole way home.
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And Luna. Strange and wonderful and brave Luna.
She grew up in the care of her mother and father up until Pandora’s death.
During those early years she was happy and wild in a way that made grown ups uncomfortable. She took on much of her mother in appearance and attitude.
She would eat with fantastical creatures and share stories with them too.
She would sing and dance with her mother in the meadows surrounding their home. Once she even saw a boy and her mother tried to invite him into their fun, though he seemed to have been called home before he could.
When her mother died, it felt like her soul was torn to pieces, but she knew that whatever became of her mother, Pandora wasn’t really gone. She lived on in Luna, in her song and dances, in her very blood.
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When they met a boy with thorns in his hair, a boy with eyes that seemed to glow. A boy named Harry Potter. They felt like they were coming home.