The Great Hall looked strange without its long tables, without the food or the enchanted ceiling. Tonight, the sky above was a flat, unmoving gray—no stars, no moon. Just a vast sheet of nothing. Blankets and makeshift bedding were scattered across the floor, students huddled in little islands, whispering behind hands, eyes darting toward every creak of the great oak doors.

You stepped in just as the last wave of students was being ushered through by Professor McGonagall. Her expression was stiff, lips pressed into a line. No one dared speak to her.

“Finally,” Ron muttered from the corner of the hall where he, Harry, and Hermione had claimed a spot. He was sitting cross-legged, his robe bunched awkwardly under him. “We were about to send a search party.”

Hermione was cross-legged, a wool blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, Crookshanks in her lap. “We’ve been in here nearly an hour,” she said. “Still no word from the professors."

“No sign of Black,” Harry added, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling. “Again.”

“I still don’t get how he got in,” Ron muttered. “They checked every passage. Sealed every entrance.”

“Snape thinks someone helped him,” Hermione said, voice a touch sharper than usual. “He actually suggested a student might’ve let him in. Can you believe that?”

“Snape thinks Crookshanks is a Death Eater,” Ron muttered under his breath.

Hermione glared, but it was faint—more out of habit than heat. She looked tired too, the kind of tired that settled under your skin. “Dumbledore doesn’t believe it. He told Snape that the staff is loyal.”

Harry shifted, his voice low. “He didn’t say the students were.”

That hung in the air. Heavy. Sharp.

The four of you sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the hall filling in the space between your thoughts—first years trying not to cry, older students whispering rumors, Lavender Brown fussing with her sleeping bag, and somewhere on the other side, Neville sneezing.

You caught Hermione’s eye. She was gently petting Crookshanks, pretending she wasn’t listening to every single word around her.

“You alright?” you asked.

She gave the barest shrug. “Fine. Just... this whole thing. It doesn’t feel like Hogwarts anymore, does it?”

Before you could answer, a pillow hit Ron square in the back of the head.

“Oi!”

Seamus snorted with laughter from a few feet away. “Sorry, Weasley. Meant that for Dean.”

“Sure you did,” Ron muttered, tossing it back half-heartedly.

That little burst of energy faded fast. The mood was too thick tonight. Too much unsaid. Too many doors left unlocked in everyone's heads.

Eventually, Harry sat up straighter. “We’re not sleeping, are we?”

“No,” Hermione answered immediately. “We should keep watch, just in case.”

“You mean take shifts?” Ron asked, not even trying to hide his grimace. “You know we’re in the Great Hall, yeah? With teachers right by the door?”

Hermione didn’t reply. She just pulled out her wand and placed it beside her like a ritual.

You did the same.

A few feet away, Lavender giggled too loudly. Parvati shushed her. Someone let out a dramatic sigh. It all blurred together in the low light, and for a moment, you forgot where the walls ended and where the unease began.

Then Hermione leaned closer, her voice almost a whisper. “If anything does happen… just stay close, alright?”