The Hollow Beneath Hogwarts

1. Talking To The Moon

No matter what she tried, sleep refused to come.

Hermione Granger had exhausted every possible remedy she could think of over the last few weeks. Sleeping draughts. Calming teas. Exercise until her muscles ached. Reading until the words blurred together on the page. Music. Meditation. Warm baths. Counting backwards from one hundred. Absolutely nothing worked.

So instead, she lay awake in the narrow little cot tucked into Ginny's room at The Burrow, staring into the darkness while the house breathed around her.

Above her head came a loud, guttural snore that sounded less like a human being and more like some enormous wounded beast trapped in the attic. Ron.

Of course Ron could sleep.

The thought came bitterly before she could stop it, and guilt followed immediately after. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Ron was grieving too. They all were.

But still... he slept.

Hermione turned her head slightly against the pillow, listening once more to the sounds in the room around her.

Luna slept peacefully near the window, soft breaths rising and falling in an almost comforting rhythm. Ginny was different.

Ginny always cried.

Every single night, without fail.

The routine had become painfully familiar. The three of them would climb the stairs together after midnight conversations downstairs had finally dried up. Ginny would pull on her pyjamas in silence, brush her teeth mechanically, avoid everyone's eyes, then climb into bed with a quiet goodnight before turning to face the wall.

Then they would wait.

Ten minutes, sometimes fifteen, after Ginny believed Hermione and Luna had fallen asleep, the silence would crack apart.

First came the shaky breaths.

Then the muffled sniffles.

Then the sobbing.

Quiet at first, as though she were trying desperately not to be heard, but heartbreak had a way of spilling out no matter how tightly someone tried to contain it. Ginny would cry until exhaustion finally dragged her under, leaving behind only uneven breathing and the lingering ache that settled heavily over the room.

And every single night, Hermione's heart shattered for her best friend all over again.

Fred was gone.

The words still didn't feel real, even inside her own head.

Gone.

Just like that.

One minute he had been laughing — loud and reckless and alive — and the next...

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to hurt.

The Burrow no longer felt like the warm, chaotic home she had once adored. Now it felt suffocating. Grief clung to the walls like dampness. It lingered in every creaking floorboard, every abandoned joke, every silence where Fred's voice should have been.

Mrs Weasley barely smiled anymore.

George looked hollow.

Percy cried when he thought nobody could see him.

And Ginny...

Merlin, Ginny was breaking apart piece by piece.

Hermione didn't know how much more of this she could survive.

That thought alone filled her with shame.

Because where else was she supposed to go?

Her parents didn't remember her. Harry was drowning in his own pain. Ron barely spoke unless spoken to first. The entire wizarding world was trying to stitch itself back together after the war, but Hermione felt as though she had been left behind in the rubble.