Unraveling the Thread
Healing was not a straight path.
Luna had always liked the idea of cycles—the phases of the moon, the ebb and flow of the tide, the way seasons shifted and returned. Change was natural. But she had imagined that once she took a step forward, she wouldn’t have to look back.
She was wrong.
Recovery was a tangled web, an unraveling thread that sometimes tightened around her before she could slip free.
And Luna was still learning how to navigate it.
--
Some days were good.
She let Ginny braid her hair in the Gryffindor common room, where the warmth of the fire made everything feel a little less heavy. She laughed at one of Neville’s jokes without forcing it. She ate an entire apple at lunch without second-guessing herself.
Other days… weren’t.
She would sit at dinner, watching her friends eat with ease, and wonder why it still felt so difficult.
She would catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror and feel that familiar, suffocating need to be lighter.
And sometimes, she listened to it.
She skipped meals. She counted things that didn’t need to be counted. She slipped back into the habits that had once felt like safety.
But this time, it wasn’t unnoticed.
--
It was Ginny who confronted her first.
They were in the girls’ dormitory, just the two of them, when Ginny finally snapped.
“I thought you were trying, Luna!” Ginny’s voice was sharp, frustration bubbling over. “I see you skipping meals again. I see you pretending. Don’t you want to get better?”
Luna flinched. She was trying. Wasn’t she?
Ginny sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don’t understand.” Her voice was quieter now, but no less hurt. “We’re all here for you, but it feels like you don’t even care.”
Luna opened her mouth, then closed it.
Because how could she explain that she did care? That she wanted to get better, but the thought of letting go of this control terrified her?
That sometimes, she didn’t know how to want recovery?
The silence stretched between them.
Then Ginny whispered, “I just don’t want to lose you.”
Luna’s breath caught.
Ginny’s eyes were wet, her usual fire dimmed by worry.
Luna hated that she had caused that.
She looked down at her hands. “I don’t want to be lost.”
Ginny’s shoulders relaxed just a little. “Then let us help you.”
Luna swallowed hard. “I’m trying,” she said, and for once, she wasn’t just saying it to make Ginny feel better.
She meant it.
--
That night, an owl delivered a letter.
It was from her father.
Luna, my starlight,
I hope you’re well. I saw a Crumple-Horned Snorkack in the woods today—actually saw one this time, not just a rustling! It made me think of you.
I know school must be busy, but I just wanted to remind you that you are extraordinary. You always have been. And you don’t have to do anything or change anything to deserve love.
You just do.
Love,
Dad
Luna read it three times.
She pressed it to her chest and breathed.
She wanted to believe him.
Maybe—just maybe—she could start trying.
--
There were still relapses.
She still had days where she retreated inward, where the weight of expectation, of recovery, of failure felt unbearable.
But now, there were also hands reaching for her when she fell.
Ginny, who didn’t let her push people away.
Hermione, who reminded her that healing wasn’t linear.
Neville, who never made her feel like she had to be anyone but herself.
And Luna, who was learning—slowly, messily—that she deserved that help.
That she wanted it.
That she wasn’t alone.