The Weight of Words
Luna had always believed in the power of words. Words could shape reality. Words could bring comfort, magic, or meaning where there was none before. But lately, words felt heavier—too heavy to hold, too heavy to speak.
She had been so careful. So precise. Yet somehow, Hermione had seen through her.
Luna told herself that it didn’t matter. That she could handle this. That she could still maintain the illusion.
But illusions only worked if people believed in them.
And Hermione wasn’t the only one beginning to doubt.
--
“You haven’t been eating.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an accusation. It was a fact.
Luna glanced up from her Charms textbook, her quill poised between her fingers. Across from her in the library, Ginny Weasley sat with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in concern.
“I do eat,” Luna replied, tilting her head. “Just not as much as before.”
Ginny exhaled sharply. “That’s the problem, Luna.”
Luna tapped her quill against the parchment, pretending to consider this. “Well, appetites change, don’t they? Like the tides.”
“Luna.” Ginny’s voice was softer now, but no less firm. “I know you. You used to talk about pudding and butterbeer and how the Great Hall’s food was infused with ‘house-elf magic.’ Now you just... sit there. Like eating is some kind of burden.”
Luna looked down at her parchment, tracing the loops of her handwriting.
Ginny pressed on. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you running all the time. You disappear before breakfast. You spend hours in the Room of Requirement doing Merlin knows what. You’re exhausted, Luna.”
Luna’s grip on her quill tightened. “I like running.”
Ginny sighed. “It’s not about the running. It’s about why.”
Luna swallowed, willing her heartbeat to slow. “I just want to be healthy.”
Ginny’s eyes flashed. “Luna, this isn’t healthy.”
A sharp pang of irritation flared inside her. Why couldn’t they just let it go? She was fine. She was fine.
“You’re imagining things,” Luna said lightly, forcing a small smile. “It’s sweet that you care, though.”
Ginny didn’t smile back. “Of course I care. But if you think I’m going to drop this just because you won’t admit something’s wrong, you don’t know me very well.”
Luna’s breath caught for a fraction of a second. Ginny had always been persistent, but this was different. This was pressure.
She didn’t like it.
“Don’t worry, Ginny,” Luna said, standing and gathering her things. “I’ll be just fine.”
And before Ginny could respond, Luna walked away.
--
She found herself at the Black Lake, sitting by the shore, staring at her reflection in the water. The setting sun cast a golden hue over the surface, making the ripples look like veins of molten light.
She reached down, her fingers brushing the cold water. Her reflection wavered, distorted.
Did she look different? Smaller? Sharper?
Draco Malfoy’s voice echoed in her mind. You look like a bloody skeleton.
She exhaled, pressing her hands to her temples.
She hated that it had affected her. She hated that Hermione and Ginny’s words wouldn’t leave her alone.
Because deep down, she knew.
She knew they were right.
And yet, the thought of letting go—of eating freely again, of stopping the endless movement—terrified her.
It was control. And without control, what was left?
The thought made her stomach twist.
“Luna?”
She stiffened, quickly wiping her face before turning. Hermione stood a few feet away, her expression unreadable.
Luna forced a smile. “Hello, Hermione.”
Hermione hesitated before stepping closer, sitting down beside her. “Ginny told me you walked out on her earlier.”
Luna hummed. “I suppose I did.”
There was a pause. Then, Hermione said, “Do you remember what you told me last night?”
Luna glanced at her.
“You said you just wanted to be in control of something.” Hermione’s voice was quiet.
Luna looked back at the water. “Did I?”
Hermione sighed. “You don’t have to do this alone, Luna.”
Luna’s fingers dug into the grass.
“I don’t need help,” she murmured.
“I think you do.”
Luna squeezed her eyes shut. She felt exposed, raw, as if Hermione’s words had peeled back all the layers she had carefully wrapped around herself.
For a brief, reckless moment, she wanted to tell her.
She wanted to say that she didn’t know how to stop. That the hunger, the emptiness, felt safe in a way nothing else did. That sometimes, she was afraid of disappearing, but more afraid of what would happen if she didn’t.
But the words wouldn’t come.
So instead, she whispered, “I don’t know how.”
Hermione didn’t flinch. “Then let us help you figure it out.”
Luna’s throat tightened.
She wanted to believe her.
But believing meant trusting.
And trusting meant letting go.
She wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet.
So she just stared at her reflection in the water, wondering if the girl staring back would ever feel whole again.