When Luna was a child, people said she had the Sight. Her mother called it a gift, until her infant spent 2 hours screaming because a stranger was orphaned.

Would be orphaned.

"You can't change things, Luna," her father said. "Know them, and keep them close, but remember, that they happen, that you know they'll happen, isn't your fault."

She'd been five, then, and her mother had passed on that morning from a heart attack. She'd spent the past month crying.

The wizarding children in Ottery St. Catchpole homeschooled together, and Ginny once asked her, in private, if it was true she could see things.

"Yes," Luna said, "people I love." She didn't mention that meant seeing bad things. She didn't mention the darkness, and spiders crawling over a body in the night, and taunts, and teasing, and hunger, and not being able to fix it.

She didn't mention never thinking thestrals didn't exist.

When she got to Hogwarts, and the Ravenclaws called her a freak, Luna shrugged -- she'd been called a freak for 11 years, in her dreams. She let them steal her things, and pull her hair, and trip her, and it was nothing to being called the Heir. It was nothing to dementors, and a werewolf, Sirius Black, and a rodent she'd known all her life was almost a man. It was nothing to dragons, to friends drowning, to Voldemort.

Always, lurking in the back of her mind, Voldemort was coming.

He comes now, too, and she sees it, and she can't do a thing except practice her curses, and keep on loving as hard as she can.

When Luna was a child, people said she had the Sight, and she does.

She sees Harry.