Gryffindor Family

The Hogwarts castle buzzed with the usual energy of students rushing between classes, but the air in the Gryffindor common room felt different that afternoon. The golden glow from the windows cast long shadows over the room, and the normally loud and animated chatter was replaced by a quiet tension. Seamus Finnigan had barely spoken since the end of Potions class. He had been the first to mess up during the practical exam, his potion fizzing and bubbling over in a spectacular mess. He had tried to salvage it, but the damage was done. Professor Snape’s sharp words echoed in his ears, reminding him—again—that mistakes in Potions were unforgivable. As if the lecture wasn’t enough, Snape had given him that look, the one that said, You’re not good enough. Seamus had tried to brush it off, but it stung deeper than he cared to admit.

Now, as he sat by the fire, Seamus stared into the flames, willing himself to disappear. He hated feeling like this. Weak. Useless. He had always been the one who cracked jokes, the one who had a smart comment ready for any situation. He was supposed to be strong, or at least appear strong. But today, that mask had slipped, and now he felt exposed in a way he never had before.

Ron Weasley, of course, had noticed. He was always good at picking up on when his friends were struggling. He had seen the way Seamus had left the classroom, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. And now, as he glanced over at Seamus sitting alone by the fire, he knew exactly what was going on. It was like a switch had flipped in Seamus after the mishap, and Ron didn’t like the change he saw.

Without hesitation, Ron stood up from where he had been chatting with Harry and walked over to Seamus. He knew that this wasn’t a problem that could be fixed with a joke or a lighthearted comment. It was deeper than that.

“Oi, Seamus,” Ron said, his voice gentle but firm. “You alright?”

Seamus barely looked up. His eyes were fixed on the flames, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered, his tone flat and unconvincing. “Just a bit of a disaster today, that’s all.”

Ron sighed and sat down next to him. He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them. He knew that sometimes, saying nothing was the most important thing. But when Seamus finally spoke again, his voice was small, barely above a whisper, and it hit Ron harder than he expected.

“I’m just... I’m so tired of messing up all the time. I’m always the one who makes a fool of myself.” Seamus’s voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, as if trying to shake the vulnerability off. “I don’t know why I can’t get it together.”

Ron’s heart sank. He had always known that Seamus had a lot more depth than he let on, but hearing him say it so plainly... it was different. Ron had never really seen Seamus as the type to admit to struggling. They had always been able to joke through things together, and Seamus was the one who always pushed through the tough moments with a laugh. But now, Ron realized, that mask was slipping.

“You’re not the only one who messes up, you know,” Ron said, his voice soft. He leaned in a little closer to Seamus, trying to make sure he heard him. “Everyone has their bad days. I mean, you’ve seen me in Charms. I’ve nearly blown up the entire classroom twice.”

Seamus snorted weakly, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. Ron pressed on.

“The thing is, it’s not about being perfect. It’s about... I don’t know... being real. Being vulnerable.” He hesitated, wondering if Seamus would understand. “I’ve learned that it’s okay to mess up. It’s okay to not always have everything figured out. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

Seamus’s gaze flicked over to Ron, and for a moment, Ron thought maybe he was getting through to him. But Seamus quickly looked away, his fingers absently twisting a piece of parchment in his hands. He shook his head.

“I don’t know, Ron. I feel like I’m just... not good enough. I can’t be that vulnerable. What if people stop taking me seriously? What if I’m just a joke to everyone?”

Ron opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a soft, calming voice behind them.

“Seamus, no one thinks you’re a joke,” Hermione said, stepping into the conversation. She had been watching from a distance, her brow furrowed in concern, and had noticed the way Seamus had been closing off from everyone. She took a seat beside him, her presence soothing as always. “I think what Ron is trying to say is that it’s okay to show people that you’re struggling. In fact, that’s often when we need the most support.”

Seamus looked at her, unsure. “But how do I do that? I’m supposed to be strong. That’s what people expect.”

Hermione smiled gently, her hand resting on Seamus’s arm. “Strength doesn’t always come from holding everything in. Sometimes it’s about asking for help. About showing people that you need them, and that’s what makes you stronger in the long run.”

Seamus looked at her, his expression uncertain but touched by her words. “But... what if they think I’m weak?”

“They won’t,” Ron said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “Seamus, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the strongest people aren’t the ones who never fail—they’re the ones who know when to lean on someone else. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, her eyes soft. “And you don’t have to be the person everyone else wants you to be. It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to show that you’re human.”

Seamus looked down at his hands for a moment, his mind racing with the weight of their words. Slowly, he nodded, though there was still a trace of uncertainty in his expression. “I don’t know if I can be that person. I don’t know if I can be vulnerable.”

“You don’t have to do it all at once,” Hermione said gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s a process, and we’re all here for you. Vulnerability is something you grow into. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’re brave enough to face what’s inside.”

Ron added with a wink, “And if you ever need someone to help with a bit of mischief to take the edge off, you’ve got Fred and George to help you out. Right?”

Seamus let out a short laugh, a faint glimmer of his usual humor returning. It felt good to laugh, even just for a moment. But it was the first time in a while that he had truly felt like it was okay to let his guard down. To admit that he didn’t have all the answers. To not have to pretend to be perfect.

For the first time in a long while, Seamus felt like he didn’t have to hide. And that, more than anything, felt like the beginning of something new.

“Thanks, you two,” he said quietly, his voice thick with gratitude. “I guess... I guess I’ll try. Maybe being vulnerable isn’t as bad as I thought.”

Hermione smiled at him, her eyes kind. “It’s not. And we’ll be here to support you every step of the way.”

Ron gave Seamus a playful nudge. “We’re all in this together, mate. No one’s going through anything alone.”

Seamus sat back, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. It wasn’t the kind of weight that disappeared overnight, but it was a start. He wasn’t alone anymore, and maybe that was enough.