The Space Between Words
Luna had always loved silence.
Silence in the forest, where the rustling leaves whispered secrets only she could understand. Silence in the Ravenclaw common room late at night, when the world seemed to breathe with her. Silence beneath the sky, where the stars spoke in quiet twinkles.
But this silence—the one that settled between her and her friends, thick with unspoken words and fragile hope—felt different.
It was not the comforting quiet she had once embraced.
It was waiting.
And she wasn’t sure if she was ready to fill it.
--
Hermione was the one who finally broke it.
They were walking together along the Black Lake, the air crisp with the promise of winter. Hermione had insisted that fresh air would be good for her, and Luna hadn’t had the energy to argue.
They walked in near silence for a while. Then, softly, Hermione spoke.
“I know what it feels like to be trapped inside your own head.”
Luna glanced at her, startled. She had expected another attempt at persuasion, a logical argument about food and health and consequences. But Hermione’s voice wasn’t clinical. It wasn’t full of research-backed facts or lectures.
It was… personal.
Luna hesitated. “You do?”
Hermione gave a small, sad smile. “I’ve never told anyone this, but third year… with the Time Turner, with everything happening with exams, with Harry, with Buckbeak… I stopped sleeping. I told myself it was fine. That I could handle it. That I had to handle it. But eventually, it got to the point where I wasn’t eating much either. I didn’t even realize it at first. I was too focused on controlling everything else.”
Luna studied Hermione’s face, searching for any trace of pity or expectation. But there was only honesty.
“I don’t know exactly what you’re going through,” Hermione admitted, “but I know what it’s like to feel like you can’t stop. Like if you do, everything will fall apart.”
Luna swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the hem of her sleeves.
She could keep pretending. She could keep brushing it off, keep pushing everyone away.
But Hermione wasn’t demanding answers.
She was simply offering space.
And for the first time, Luna wanted to step into it.
She took a shaky breath. “It’s not really about food.”
Hermione nodded, waiting.
“It’s about control,” Luna murmured. “About having something that’s just mine. Something I can decide.” She hesitated, then added, “When my mum died, I didn’t get to choose. One moment she was there, and the next, she wasn’t. And I think… I think I’ve been trying to find ways to make sure nothing ever takes me by surprise like that again.”
Her voice was quiet, but the words felt deafening. She had never said them aloud before.
She expected Hermione to immediately start analyzing, to offer solutions, to suggest strategies. But she didn’t.
Instead, she simply said, “That makes sense.”
Luna blinked. “It does?”
Hermione gave her a soft smile. “Yes. It does.”
And just like that, Luna felt something shift inside her.
--
Luna wasn’t cured overnight.
She still struggled. There were still days where she stared at her plate, heart pounding, thoughts spiraling.
But there were also days where she took small steps forward.
She let Ginny drag her down to breakfast, even if all she ate was a few bites of toast.
She let Neville sit with her by the greenhouses without feeling like she had to fill the silence.
She let Hermione’s words settle inside her, a quiet reminder that she didn’t have to go through this alone.
And maybe—just maybe—she was beginning to believe it.