The Great Hall hummed with the clatter of plates and the rise and fall of a hundred conversations. Y/n sat at their usual spot, wedged between friends, halfway through a story they’d heard twice already.

Across the hall, the Slytherin table buzzed with its own low energy. Pansy Parkinson leaned toward Blaise Zabini, saying something that made him smirk.

At the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley had a forkful of shepherd’s pie halfway to his mouth. Hermione Granger was frowning at a piece of parchment, quill hovering.

No one noticed who wasn’t there.