It was strange how quickly something abnormal could become normal.
Just a few weeks ago, the idea of Luna Lovegood following him to meals, study sessions, and quiet reading corners had filled Ethan with quiet dread. Now, it barely registered. Familiar, if slightly off-key.
In the library, it had become routine.
Ethan sat at the same table near the back, the one with a window seat where sunlight spilled in when it wasn't raining and gave the illusion of warmth. His books were open in organized stacks. Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic. He rotated between them methodically, taking neat notes, checking citations, drafting essay structures before committing them to parchment.
Across from him, Luna twirled her quill like it was a conductor's wand.
She wasn't disruptive. Just… Luna. She paused often, staring at the ceiling as if something were swimming across the stone. When she read, she mouthed the words soundlessly, and sometimes blinked in patterns Ethan didn't entirely understand. He had stopped trying to.
Today, she was asking for help with DADA again. There was a small mountain of first-year notes in front of her, far less tidy than Ethan's own, but she had clearly tried.
"This one," she said, tilting her parchment toward him. "I don't understand the difference between a Hinkypunk and a Will-o'-the-Wisp."
Ethan leaned over. "They're similar," he said. "But Hinkypunks are physical creatures. Mischievous, smoky things that carry lanterns to lead travelers astray, especially into bogs. Will-o'-the-Wisps are more like magical phenomena. Lights with no solid form. They can be malicious or harmless depending on the region."
Luna blinked at him. "Do you think they're cousins?"
"I… don't think magical taxonomy works that way."
She nodded solemnly. "Still. It's a nice thought."
Ethan let that one go. There were bigger hills to die on than the family trees of creatures.
A soft rustle caught his attention, and he glanced up. Across the room, Hermione Granger sat alone at another table, surrounded by piles of books that dwarfed even Ethan's. She was scribbling furiously, jaw set with that near-permanent look of focus she wore like armor. Still, sometimes he caught her watching from the corner of her eye. Not suspicious, just curious. Hermione had a way of measuring people from afar before choosing how to approach them.
He returned to his own work, brushing the stray ink smudge from his notes. Next to him, Luna was sketching something on the edge of her parchment, what appeared to be a floating pumpkin with wings.
He sighed quietly. Not in frustration, just… acceptance.
He knew what it looked like.
They sat together in most common spaces now. They ate meals within a seat or two of each other. They spoke in quiet tones, shared study materials, then walked in the same direction. They were a pair, in the eyes of others.
The whispering had started.
Nothing malicious. Just curiosity. First-years and second-years asking if they were friends or something more. A few older Ravenclaws had started teasing him when Luna wasn't around, gentle and amused. Ravenclaw House wasn't known for drama, but it wasn't immune to gossip either. Ethan had overheard someone call them "an odd couple" once. He hadn't corrected it.
It wasn't true, of course. Luna was… Luna. There was no romance between them. He didn't even think she saw relationships in that way. Her world seemed made of other things. Dreamlogic. Wonder. Silence. She wasn't interested in being anyone's girlfriend, just in being herself. And Ethan?
Ethan didnt see themselves as a couple.
He and Luna were… loosely friends. That was all. And even that was fragile, strange.
"I like this spot," Luna said suddenly, her eyes tracing the sunlight on the windowsill. "It's quiet, but not lonely."
Ethan glanced up. "It's the warmest table."
"Oh," she said. "That too."
They lapsed back into silence.
The library air was still, only disturbed by the occasional whisper, the shuffle of parchment, or the turning of pages. A few students passed by their table, casting a glance before continuing on their way.
He wondered if Luna noticed. She didn't react.
She rarely did.
As the sun shifted lower and the golden light of afternoon deepened into something richer, Ethan closed his book and stretched his fingers. "That's enough for now," he murmured.
Luna didn't protest. She carefully tucked her notes away into a bag that looked like it had been hand-painted with stars and clouds. "Do you think ghosts get library cards?" she asked as they stood.
"I doubt it," Ethan replied without hesitation. "What would they use them for?"
"Passing through walls into the Restricted Section, probably."
As they exited into the corridor, the soft echoes of conversation followed them like fading footsteps. Ethan was getting used to it, he realized. Not just Luna, but this year in general. Things were different than the story, but some things were still the same.
He still worried about his mother. Still hadn't seen a sign of what he feared. But the year wasn't over yet. And he wasn't foolish enough to believe this peace would last forever.
Some days later, Ethan sat at his usual table on the Ravenclaw common room, ink bottle uncorked beside his elbow, his quill dancing across his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. Across from him, Luna Lovegood was completing her own schoolwork, humming lightly and sketching on the border of her parchment again. Ethan hadn't looked at what she was drawing. It was probably safer not to.
Ethan had even stopped thinking of it as a disruption. She rarely asked questions anymore, and when she did, they were quick and abstract, not about schoolwork but about ideas. Thoughts she seemed to collect like seashells. But during the time he helped her, the questions came with no off switch.
The only issue, really, was the Room of Requirement.
He hadn't gone back in ages. Luna's presence, constant as it was, had quietly blocked off the opportunity. He didn't trust anyone else with that room, especially with that Horcrux lying dormant in there. And explaining the Room to her was impossible. What would he even say? That he had discovered a sentient space of infinite utility and didn't want to share it? She'd follow him without question. That was the problem.
"Your mum," she said softly, her head still bowed. "She's been doing alright?"
Ethan blinked, eyes lifting from his page. He hadn't expected her to bring up his mother, especially not out of nowhere. This was only one of the few times she brought her up at all. He studied Luna's expression, but she wasn't looking at him. She was drawing again, this time a cloud with legs.
He hesitated. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I think so. Why?"
Luna's quill paused mid-stroke. "Oh, well, she seemed tired."
That gave Ethan pause.
He sat still for a moment, mind turning over Luna's words. It wasn't a strange observation on its own, his mother had been working hard lately, and teaching at Hogwarts wasn't exactly a restful profession, but it was the way Luna said it. As if she had seen something deeper, something Ethan had missed.
He nodded once, careful not to react too much. "I'll ask her if she alright." he said.
Luna didn't reply. She just returned to her drawings, silent once more.
Ethan leaned back slightly in his chair, gazing at the starlight-filtered ceiling. His mother… had she really seemed different? She had been more lively in class lately, more passionate in her lectures, more clever with how she taught spells. Students loved her. Even the Slytherins were impressed, which was saying something. But had she seemed tired underneath it all?
He'd promised himself he would keep watch over her. But lately, things had been so quiet. No Chamber of Secrets, no petrifications, no messages scrawled in blood on the walls. It was easy to start believing that he had broken the story and Hogwarts was a normal place where nothing goes wrong.
He set down his quill, rubbing his temple. He'd stay behind after the next DADA class. Ask her, properly, how she was doing. He hoped that she wouldnt keep things from him that is happening to her. But he was just a young child, her son. Why would she confide in him her worries and troubles?
He glanced back at Luna, who was now quietly folding a piece of parchment into what looked like a paper bird with far too many wings.
Later, when the common room began to thin out and students retreated to their dormitories, Ethan stayed up just a bit longer. He didn't read. He didn't write.
He just sat, watching the last embers of firelight flicker against the stone walls.
Luna had long since gone to bed without a word. Her strange little paper bird lay forgotten on the table between them. It didn't fly, didn't move, but something about the way it folded in on itself reminded Ethan of wings held tight in fear.
He wondered what Luna had seen that he hadn't.
And he began to worry again, not just in the way one worried about a parent working long hours or pushing themselves too hard, but in that creeping, uncertain way that suggested something deeper had already started to change.
Something he had missed. But for how long?