Heavy Shadows

Ron had always prided himself on being the dependable one. The one who made everyone laugh, who stood beside his friends no matter what, who would always be there to lend a hand. But now, in the quiet hours of the night, with the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

He had spent so many years defining himself by the roles others had assigned him—Harry’s best friend, the sidekick, the comic relief. And while he had never resented those roles, they had given him a sense of purpose. But now, it all felt meaningless. Every time he tried to look at himself in the mirror, he saw a stranger staring back. Someone who wasn’t quite right. Someone who didn’t know how to exist outside of the shadow of everyone else.

As the days passed, the darkness seemed to grow, slowly creeping into every corner of his mind. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt truly at peace. Not since the war ended. Not since that final confrontation with Voldemort. Every time he tried to relax, his mind would race, his heart would pound, and the panic would settle in, just beneath the surface. It was like being trapped inside his own skin, his thoughts a constant barrage of noise.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get better. He did. He wanted more than anything to feel whole again, to feel like himself. But it felt like the more he tried to grasp at normalcy, the further it slipped from his fingers.

The mornings were the worst. The moment he opened his eyes, it was there—an oppressive, heavy feeling that sat on his chest like a thousand-pound weight. His limbs felt heavy, like he was wading through water. He would lie in bed for what felt like hours, willing himself to move, to get up, but the thought of facing the day—of pretending everything was okay—was too much to bear. So he would stay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to will the fog away, but it never did.

This morning was no different. As the sunlight filtered through the window, casting soft shadows across his room, Ron found himself staring at the ceiling again. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and he could feel the familiar ache in his chest, as though his heart was too tired to keep going. He had never been the type of person to sit with his feelings, to let them wash over him. It was easier to ignore them, to push them down. But now, it seemed impossible.

He rubbed his face with both hands, hoping to shake off the weariness, but it only lingered. A soft knock on his door interrupted the stillness. He froze for a moment, unsure if he wanted to face anyone. He could already hear the concern in his mother’s voice when she asked him if he was okay, and he didn’t have the strength to lie today.

“Ron?” It was Hermione’s voice this time, gentle and calm, but filled with that unmistakable concern she always carried for him.

He hesitated, then pushed himself up into a sitting position. His thoughts felt cloudy, like they were trapped behind a thick glass. “Come in,” he called hoarsely.

The door creaked open, and Hermione stepped inside, her brown curls falling softly around her face. She was wearing one of her oversized sweaters and looked just as tired as he felt. She hesitated at the threshold for a moment, as if she were gauging whether it was okay to approach him.

“I thought I’d come check on you,” Hermione said, her voice low and measured. “You’ve been quiet lately. More so than usual.”

Ron opened his mouth, ready to tell her it was fine, that he was just tired. But the words stuck in his throat, and he found himself unable to speak. His emotions surged—frustration, shame, and an overwhelming sadness—and before he could stop it, tears began to well in his eyes.

Hermione’s expression softened immediately, and she took a few cautious steps forward, sitting down next to him on the bed. “Ron, it’s okay,” she said quietly, her hand resting gently on his arm. “You don’t have to hide it from me. You know that, right?”

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Hermione,” he admitted in a shaky voice. “I feel like I’m falling apart, like I’m… not me anymore. Like I’m just pretending to be okay, and I’m not.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed in concern, but she didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she gave him a moment, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. “You’ve been through a lot, Ron,” she said finally. “The war, the things we all had to face—it’s a lot for anyone to process. And it’s okay if you’re not okay right now. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or that you’re failing. It means you’re human.”

Ron let out a bitter laugh, though it was devoid of humor. “I should be over this by now,” he muttered. “Everyone else seems fine. Harry’s… Harry, and you… you’ve always been the one with all the answers. I’m just… the sidekick.”

“That’s not true,” Hermione said firmly. “You’re not just the sidekick, Ron. You’re an integral part of everything that happened. Without you, none of us would have made it through. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

Ron turned his gaze away, feeling embarrassed. “But I don’t feel strong. I feel… empty. And it scares me. What if I’m never going to feel like myself again?”

Hermione’s expression softened further, and she gently cupped his face with her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. “It’s going to take time, Ron. You’ve been through trauma, just like the rest of us. You’re not alone in this, even if it feels like you are. I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to carry this on your own.”

Ron swallowed thickly. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that things would get better, that one day the darkness wouldn’t feel so suffocating. But for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sure if he could see the way out.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “What if it never gets better?”

Hermione’s thumb gently traced the edge of his cheek as she spoke, her voice soft but unwavering. “Then we’ll fight it together. You’re not alone, Ron. We’ll help you through this, no matter how long it takes.”

Ron let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes as the weight of her words sank in. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers. Maybe he didn’t know how to fix this. But for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe that things could get better. That there was hope for him after all.