The Burden of Love
The library was unusually quiet for a Friday afternoon. Most students were either in the common room, enjoying their free time before the weekend, or in the Great Hall for an early dinner. But Hermione Granger sat at her usual table, buried beneath a pile of textbooks and scattered notes, her quill moving rapidly across a piece of parchment as she tried to finish an essay. The words blurred together as her thoughts drifted, weighed down by a heaviness she couldn’t seem to shake.
She wasn’t exactly sure when it had started—the overwhelming need to be the one who took care of everything and everyone—but it had grown worse over time. The war, the pressure of schoolwork, and the constant emotional toll of watching her friends struggle had all combined into a singular, unrelenting force that pressed on her chest. Every time she looked at Harry, Ron, or any of her other friends, she felt an unspoken responsibility for their happiness and well-being, as though their burdens were hers to bear.
The truth was, Hermione wasn’t sure when she’d stopped taking care of herself and started living for everyone else. She was the one who made sure they were fed, that their homework was done, that they stayed out of trouble. It was as if she had taken on the role of protector, fixer, and problem-solver, and she didn’t know how to stop.
She paused, rubbing her eyes, but the exhaustion didn’t go away. The worst part was, no one seemed to notice. Not that she wanted them to—she didn’t want to be seen as weak or overwhelmed—but it was getting harder to pretend. The weight of it was suffocating, and she was afraid if she didn’t let it out soon, it would crush her entirely.
“Hey, Hermione,” a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see Ron Weasley standing beside her, his hands shoved in his pockets and a concerned look on his face. His freckles stood out against the paleness of his face, his usually energetic demeanor slightly subdued as he watched her.
“Hi, Ron,” she said, her voice sounding a little more strained than she intended. She quickly tried to mask it with a small smile, but Ron, as always, saw right through her.
“You okay?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight of the textbooks and the half-finished essay. “You’ve been at this for hours.”
Hermione sighed, pushing her quill to the side and running a hand through her messy hair. “I’m fine,” she said automatically, though the words felt hollow even as she said them. “Just a bit behind on everything.”
Ron sat down across from her, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s not what I meant. I know you’re busy, but you’ve been... well, you’ve been quiet. Too quiet, if you ask me.”
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. Ron wasn’t asking about her schoolwork. He was asking about her—about how she was feeling, about what had been weighing on her lately.
“I’m just...” Hermione trailed off, feeling a lump form in her throat. It wasn’t easy for her to admit that she was struggling. She wasn’t used to asking for help, or even acknowledging that she needed it. She had always been the one who was there for everyone else.
“I don’t know, Ron,” she finally admitted, her voice small. “I feel like I’m drowning sometimes. Like I have to hold everything together, for everyone. Harry, you, Ginny, everyone... It’s like I’m always the one who has to make sure everyone’s okay, and I don’t know how to stop.”
Ron’s brow furrowed in concern, and he leaned forward, his voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to do everything, Hermione. You’re not the only one who cares about us. We care about you too, you know.”
Hermione shook her head, her fingers pressing into her temples as if the pressure there would ease her mind. “It’s not just about caring. It’s about fixing everything. I always feel like if I don’t do it, no one else will. And I just... I can’t keep going like this.”
Ron didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he sat there, letting the silence stretch between them. Hermione felt the tears she had been holding back prickle at the corners of her eyes, and she hastily wiped them away. But Ron just sat with her, offering her the same steady, silent support that she had always given him.
A few moments later, Dean Thomas walked into the library, his footsteps echoing faintly as he approached the table. He looked over at Hermione and Ron, pausing for a moment when he saw the tension between them. Without a word, he took a seat next to Ron, his gaze shifting to Hermione, sensing the unease in the air.
“You okay?” Dean asked gently, his voice warm but not intrusive. Hermione hesitated before nodding, but Dean’s observant eyes didn’t miss the cracks in her facade.
“You know, Hermione,” Dean began, his voice surprisingly soft, “you don’t have to fix everything. You’re allowed to take a break. We all are.”
Hermione glanced at him, confused. “But what if something happens? What if I’m not there to help?”
Dean smiled, though it was tinged with a sadness that Hermione couldn’t quite place. “Nothing’s going to fall apart just because you step back for a bit. We’re all here for each other. You don’t have to carry everyone’s burdens on your own. That’s what family is for.”
Hermione shook her head, unable to fully accept what they were saying. She had always believed that if she wasn’t the one making everything right, then it would fall apart. But Dean’s words, though simple, hit her like a soft blow to the chest. She wasn’t used to hearing this side of him—usually calm and collected, Dean didn’t often speak so openly about his emotions. But the sincerity in his tone caught her off guard.
“And you’re not alone, Hermione,” Ron added, his voice a little more serious now. “We’ve got you. And we’ll help you carry it all, even if you don’t ask.”
Hermione’s eyes filled with tears again, but this time, she didn’t try to stop them. For the first time in ages, she allowed herself to feel the relief of knowing she didn’t have to hold everything together. She didn’t have to be the fixer. She didn’t have to carry the weight of everyone else’s problems alone. It was okay to let go.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered, her voice trembling as she wiped at her cheeks. “I just... I didn’t know how to stop.”
Ron reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay to need help. You’re allowed to let us in.”
Dean nodded, offering a comforting smile. “We’re family, Hermione. And family looks out for each other. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”
For a moment, Hermione just sat there, the weight in her chest lifting as the truth of their words sank in. She didn’t have to be perfect. She didn’t have to carry the world on her shoulders. She was allowed to have bad days, to feel overwhelmed, to ask for help. And she was allowed to lean on the people who loved her, just as they leaned on her.
The library around them was quiet, but the air between them felt lighter, the unspoken understanding wrapping them all in a comforting embrace. Hermione realized, finally, that she wasn’t the only one who cared. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to make things right.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to breathe.
“I’ll try,” Hermione said softly, her voice full of quiet resolve. “I’ll try to let go.”
Ron gave her a small, encouraging smile, and Dean patted her shoulder gently. Together, they sat there in the library, a trio of friends who had learned something important that day: that even the strongest of them needed to let others carry the weight sometimes. And that, perhaps, was the most important thing of all.
As the evening wore on, the trio left the library together, walking side by side toward the common room. The weight Hermione had carried for so long seemed a little less heavy now, and she knew she wasn’t alone in her struggle. The burden of love was a heavy one, but it wasn’t one she had to carry by herself.
And that, she realized, was more than enough.