He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and The Boy Who Lived
The school was, as expected, quiet, following the dramatic announcement in the Great Hall this morning. Owls could be seen going back and forth between the castle and the outside world all day, instead of just at breakfast. Classes were cancelled and students gathered in groups to comfort one another or to piece through the events of the previous day. Rumours as usual spread like wildfire. Nothing was close to the truth.
Voldemort had not been inside the castle. He had not managed to get a spy into the Potions Lab and he had not been the one to kill Harry Potter.
This seemed to greatly disturb the students. Even more so than the fact that a fellow student had died. Without realising it most of them had been waiting for the final showdown between He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and The Boy Who Lived and without this many felt out of sorts, to put it lightly. They were lost.
Their shining beacon in the gathering dark had been extinguished abruptly, and rather violently, if some rumourmongers were to be believed, and they had nobody now to look to besides an old wizard who surely had been the guide but was not the warrior in this fight. Who could they follow now?
Hermione was sitting in an armchair in the common room. Ignoring everything around her. The room was quiet. She wished it wasn't. She wanted to let the noise wash over her and drown out the internal drama. She looked to her left. The armchair usually filled by Ron was empty. Hermione had gotten a letter from Molly Weasley this morning saying that she didn't think Ron was ready to come back to school yet.
Doubtless Dumbledore had also gotten a letter like it. Hermione wasn't really surprised. Ron had been Harry's shadow since they were on the train to school that very first day and, apart from a little spat they had had in fourth year, they had been together since.
She didn't look to her right. That armchair would also be empty. But the different was, the usual occupant would never reclaim it. She squeezed her hands into fists. She wouldn't cry. She had done enough crying. She wouldn't cry.
Unbidden silent tears slid down her face. The room grew blurry and when a fellow classmate came near she couldn't make out the face. She was drawn into a close embrace. Hermione felt tears stain her shirt. One by one the occupants wept for their fallen friend. The Gryffindors' grieved.
Molly lifted the kettle from the fire and poured a hot cup of tea. She put in some milk and sugar and placed it on the stool by Ron's chair. She took away the cold untouched cup that she had replaced.
Ron didn't move.
He stared unseeing into the hearth. He was still in his bed clothes and would probably still be in bed if Molly hadn't forcibly removed him from it. He hadn't moved since.
Keys
Breakfast. Bowl, spoon, milk, cereal, banana, she paused. By now Buffy would have taken something, or more likely, she'd have taken something from Buffy which, when her mother had been better anyway, would have caused a fight.
Tara watched.
Dawn continued pouring the cereal and went on as though nothing had happened.