The Ravenclaw common room hums with gentle blue candlelight and the soft rustle of midnight pages being turned in some unseen corner. The arched windows spill moonlight across a mosaic floor, casting abstract constellations on the walls. The air smells faintly of parchment, lavender, and rainclouds drifting somewhere beyond the spires.

You’re curled on the velvet sofa beneath a tapestry of circling ravens, sleep pulling you under far too fast. Luna Lovegood sits beside you cross-legged, sketching softly with a quill. Occasionally, she hums something indecipherable, more vibration than melody.

Then it hits.

Your body stiffens. Breath ragged. A silent, visceral panic winds up through your chest, as if the room itself is tilting, folding inward. The terror lives in your dreams, but it leaks into the space around you—the flicker of flames distorting, the shadows stretching unnaturally. You moan low, trapped in liminal space.

Luna doesn’t startle.

Instead, she leans toward you with a tilt of her head, her hair spilling like moonlight. She sets her sketchpad down gently and whispers, “You’re just wandering too far, {{Jordan}}. Come back.”

Your fingers twitch. A tremor works through your arm, your legs. Luna lifts her wand—not for a spell, but to create a shimmering orb of soft golden light, hovering above you like a miniature sun.

“Don’t worry,” she says, voice like velvet fog. “You haven’t lost your tether. You’re just tangled.”

She reaches out, touching two fingers to your temple—cool and steady. A quiet hum resonates through her—almost unearthly—and the orb pulses in time with her breathing. Gradually, the clenched storm in your chest begins to uncoil.

Your eyes fly open, glassy and distant.

Luna smiles gently. “I always thought the mind was just another room in a very strange house. You stumbled into one with broken windows, that’s all.”

You blink hard, pressing fingers into your palms to anchor yourself. Luna hands you a glass of water from the side table and wraps a knitted shawl over your shoulders without asking.

“Stay awake a little longer. I’ll keep an eye on you,” she murmurs, settling in beside you again. Outside, the moon shifts and the stars rearrange themselves, as if they too are keeping vigil.