Silent Conversations
It started at meals.
Luna had never been one to gorge herself on feasts the way Ron did, but she always ate with quiet appreciation, smiling dreamily as she picked at whatever caught her fancy. Lately, however, her plate remained nearly empty. She pushed food around with her fork, made half-hearted attempts to eat, then abandoned it entirely, claiming she had already eaten or that she simply wasn’t hungry.
“Luna, you hardly ate anything at breakfast,” Hermione commented one morning, glancing at the barely touched toast on Luna’s plate.
“Oh, I had something in the dormitory earlier,” Luna replied airily, tucking a strand of pale hair behind her ear. “The house-elves bring me the most wonderful fruit.”
Ginny, sitting across from her, narrowed her eyes. “House-elves don’t bring food to individual students,” she said skeptically.
Luna only smiled. “They do when you know how to ask.”
The conversation drifted elsewhere, but Hermione wasn’t convinced.
----
The changes weren’t just about food. Luna had always been indifferent to appearances, barely noticing if her socks didn’t match or if her hair was slightly tangled. But now, Ginny had walked in on her standing in front of the mirror in the Ravenclaw dormitory, staring at her reflection for long minutes at a time.
She wasn’t admiring herself. She was scrutinizing.
One afternoon, Ginny found Luna standing by the window, looking out onto the Hogwarts grounds, her arms folded tightly across her stomach.
“Hey, Loony,” Ginny greeted, using the nickname with affection. “What’re you thinking about?”
Luna turned, her usual dreamy expression in place. “Did you know that veela descend from water spirits? That’s why they’re so mesmerizing.”
Ginny frowned. “Okay, but… what does that have to do with anything?”
Luna hesitated, then looked away. “They’re very beautiful,” she murmured. “It must be nice to have that kind of presence.”
Ginny didn’t know what to say to that. Luna had never cared about looking like anyone else before.
Later that evening, Ginny voiced her concerns to Hermione in the Gryffindor common room.
“I think something’s going on with her,” Hermione admitted. “She’s lost weight. She’s barely eating.”
“She’s also been exercising like crazy,” Ginny added. “I’ve seen her running in the mornings. And not just jogging—full-on sprinting around the Quidditch pitch.”
Hermione’s frown deepened. “Luna? Running? She hates running.”
Ginny nodded. “Exactly.”
--
Luna knew they were watching her. She could feel Hermione’s piercing gaze and Ginny’s concerned glances, but she couldn’t let them know what was happening inside her head.
The voice had started out small—just a whisper of doubt whenever she caught her reflection.
You’re too soft. Too strange. Too much.
At first, she ignored it. But it didn’t go away.
It told her that control was the only way to feel okay. That if she could make herself smaller, lighter, she might feel lighter in other ways too.
So she skipped meals. She exercised when no one was watching. And when she felt weak, she told herself it was working.
That she was winning.
Even when her robes felt looser and her head sometimes spun when she stood up too fast, she clung to the control like a lifeline.
--
It happened in Charms.
Professor Flitwick was demonstrating a series of advanced spells, and Luna had been struggling to focus. The room felt too warm, the edges of her vision blurred, and suddenly, the world tilted.
For a moment, she thought she was floating.
Then, the next thing she knew, Ginny was gripping her arm.
“Luna?” Ginny’s voice was urgent, worried.
Luna blinked. The room slowly came back into focus.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, shaking off Ginny’s hand.
“No, you’re not.”
Professor Flitwick, too short to see over the desks, had missed the moment entirely, but Hermione had not. She was already making her way toward Luna.
“You nearly fainted,” Hermione said. “Luna, this isn’t nothing.”
Luna gave them a breezy smile, even as her legs still felt weak beneath her. “It’s nothing serious,” she assured them. “I just forgot to drink enough water.”
She ignored the way their eyes darkened with doubt.
She ignored the way her heart pounded—not from fear, but from the terrifying possibility that they might actually see through her.
She couldn’t let that happen.
She wouldn’t let them take this away from her.
Not yet.