The Hollow Beneath Hogwarts

2. Light up, as if you have a choice

The following morning, silence settled heavily over the kitchen like a storm cloud that refused to move.

Not the comfortable kind of silence either.

Not the peaceful quiet that sometimes came with tiredness.

This silence was raw.

Painful.

Every scrape of cutlery against plates sounded too loud. Every clink of a teacup against the table seemed to echo through the room.

The Burrow itself felt different now.

Smaller somehow.

As though grief had shrunk the walls inward.

Mrs Weasley moved around the kitchen mechanically, setting plates down in front of everyone with trembling hands. A few weeks ago she would have filled the room with chatter and warmth, fussing over whether everyone had enough to eat while forcing second and third helpings onto their plates.

Now she barely spoke at all.

The grief had hollowed her out.

She still fussed over her family because she didn't know how not to, but even that seemed automatic now, like muscle memory keeping her moving while her heart struggled to catch up with reality.

Hermione watched quietly as Mrs Weasley adjusted Ginny's collar absentmindedly before brushing imaginary crumbs from George's sleeve.

George didn't react.

He barely reacted to anything anymore.

The sight of it twisted painfully in Hermione's chest.

Ron came downstairs last, yawning loudly as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. His hair stuck out wildly in every direction, and for one fleeting second he looked so painfully normal that Hermione's throat tightened.

Then he missed the final stair completely.

"Whoa—"

Ron pitched forward with a curse, arms flailing uselessly.

Luna glanced up calmly from her tea and flicked her wand almost lazily.

Ron froze mid-fall.

"Merlin," he groaned dramatically as Luna lowered him gently onto his feet. "Thought the bloody staircase moved."

Luna blinked serenely at him over the rim of her cup.

"Possibly," she agreed thoughtfully. "Although I was actually going to say it might be a loose floorboard."

Ron snorted softly.

"Nargles, though, yeah?"

"Well," Luna replied with complete seriousness, "you're certainly free to believe that if it comforts you."

For the briefest moment, something dangerously close to laughter flickered around the table.

Not real laughter.

Not yet.

But enough to remind them all what it sounded like.

Harry felt his lips twitch slightly before the feeling disappeared almost immediately beneath the familiar heaviness sitting in his chest.

Arthur Weasley cleared his throat gently from the head of the table.

Every morning lately, he tried to keep conversation alive.

Every morning, he failed.

But he kept trying anyway.

"So," he said carefully, forcing brightness into his tired voice, "what's everyone doing today?"