The rain was pouring outside, but the fire of the common room made it a very distant cold, the place packed with gryffindors. Nothing like human heat to warm you up, after all. But away from all the people, Ronald Weasley was waiting at the bottom of the stairs leading to the girls' dorms. Hermione was late, again. And he was already late, which meant she was even later than him.
Ron had given up on standing a long time ago, because, unlike popular opinion, Hermione refused to wake up early on weekends. Yes, she was the one who had asked (maybe coerced) him into studying on a Saturday, but he should’ve known better than to expect her to be awake at 10am. And, of course, Harry had gotten up at the light of dawn to meet Malfoy, leaving Ron completely alone while waiting. That was a friendship that Ron was still trying to understand, but he guessed that it wasn’t really just a friendship, no matter that Harry keeps saying that it’s just a healthy rivalry. Ron knows.
He was starting to consider going back to bed and let Hermione drag him out of it when she came running down the stairs. Ron quickly got up. She looked, well, beautiful. She always did, but Ron wasn’t telling her that. Never. That was something he was taking to the grave.
“Mornin’, mione.” He said as she walked right to the door.
She turned around, almost surprised to see him.
“Morning.” Her tone was unenthusiastic.
“Didn’t sleep too well?” Ron tried as they got out of the common room.
Hermione only answered with a small noise, and Ron had no clue if yes or no. He supposed it was a yes and followed her down the stairs.
“So,” Ron was determined to talk to his best friend. “What are we studying today?”
“Hm.”
She didn’t even look at him, too focused on adjusting her long sleeves and scarf.
It was fine, Ron said to himself.
“Got it.” And the rest of the way to the library was silent. Not that Hermione seemed to notice.
There was absolutely no one at the library. Ok, that was an exaggeration. There were maybe 5 people in total, seven with the two friends. At least, Ron hoped they were still friends.
He knew that he was overreacting, but there was no helping it. Ron knew that one day Harry would wake up and realize that he could do so much better than him, and their friendship was only a lucky chance of fate. And Hermione. Well, she deserved a friend that was smarter. Someone who could keep up with her and actually study on a Saturday, instead of mope around. Ron knew all that, but he couldn’t help but dread the moment when his best friends would realize it too. Until then, and probably forever, he would take advantage of the moments he could get.
Ron sat next to Hermione, close to the window of the library. The least he could do was not bother her, since he knew that he couldn’t help. It was fine.
The rain wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. Not any time soon. It kept on pouring, the calm noise of the water hitting the glass. Ron put his head on the table, looking at it. Following lost drops and trying to see a pattern of light through the water. Listening to the rustling sound of pages turning.
Ron turned his head to see Hermione working on her assignments. He had seen this same scene so many times before, but it was always a wonder to see her so comfortable and doing her thing. There were books sprawled around the table, pieces of paper everywhere, some of them had little annotations, others were still blank. Hermione had two books floating around, just so she could check in quickly. It was a mess, but she found herself in there.
Today, however, her mess was more of a mess than her unorganized mind. The books weren’t working with her, but against her, and all the papers she needed seemed lost. The world was in on some sick joke to make everything simply worse. And no matter how much she tried, her hair kept getting in the way. Her clothes getting in the way, the scarf too thick, the sleeves too hot. The gloves made it almost impossible to write anything. And there was her damned hair again.
Hermione really wished she could just make it all stop. She wished she could burn all the books and pull out her hair. She wished to be in a dark room, not existing. She wished bad news never reached her and she wished for a simple, average, life. One in which she didn’t need to fight for her life, that she could see her friends thriving, not fighting. She loved everything the magical world had given her, but it was so much.
In the midst of it all, she was just a girl. She craved balls and gossip and art, the bad art you make to smile. But there she was, hoping to stay alive. There was so much happening all at once that it was hard to remember that she was alive. When was the last time she stopped to breathe? Hermione couldn’t remember, she was too busy for it.
And now everything felt too big. The paper wasn’t comforting, it was cutting. The sound of the rain was shots to her ears. Her hair was suffocating. The scarf was hanging. It was too much. Too big. And her skin was too tight.
“Mione.” Ron called out to her.
Hermione could barely see him, too out of it. Her mind was too loud.
Ron reached out, touching her shoulder lightly, and the world felt a bit more real. He started to brush the hair out of her face with his fingers, oh so carefully taking the strands and making it into a ponytail. Ron had a serious expression on his face, tying the makeshift ponytail with a summoned hair tie.
“You ok?” He asked, looking at her. And she could see him. And she was breathing.
Hermione tried to shake her head a yes, but it wasn’t confident. It was more of a sign that she heard him.
Ron’s hands weren’t delicate, had never been, but the way he untied her scarf was so gentle. Hermione didn’t want to take it off, but she let him. She would always let him. He left it on the table, on top of the books and papers.
“I’m sorry.” Ron said quietly, still making sure there were no strands of hair on her face.
“What?” Her voice was hoarse. She hadn’t said a word the whole day.
Ron stayed silent, fishing his work on her hair before answering.
“I’m sorry, I know you wanted someone better here.” He smiled at her. “I can go, if you want.”
Hermione could only stare at him.
“I think Ginny is free, if you want to study with her.” His smile didn’t even falter. “Harry and Malfoy are probably at the Great Hall, too.”
“Ron.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be a bother.” He looked away, trying to hide his false smile breaking. “I can go. I’m sure there’s something else I can do. Don’t worry.”
Ron would never let Hermione stay because he wasn’t fine, she should go where she wants. And she doesn’t want him. He knows. It 's fine.
“Ron.” Hermione placed her gloved hand on his. She tried to find the words, but there was that sad smile again. And then Ron was taking her glove off, not even noticing what he was doing.
Hermione pulled her hand back. Shit. It was too late. Ron was looking at her with wide eyes, hands raised.
“Sorry, I didn’t- Did I hurt you?” He was panicking. “I’m sorry, mione. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not hurt.” She said quietly, uncurling from the ball she pulled herself into.
She let her hand fall to her lap, not hiding the white spots spread around it.
“There’s more of them now.” Hermione couldn’t look at Ron, she didn’t want to see how he would be looking at her. Her eyes were fixed on her hands.
“Mione, didn’t you say that it went away?” Ron tried searching her eyes, no success. “You said it like three years ago, how did it-”
“It didn’t go away, Ron!” Hermione didn’t want to explain. She worked so hard to make everyone forget about it. To cover every single one up. But there was no hiding now. “It’ll never go away. There is no getting rid of it. And every single time that I think it’s not there anymore it just has to be one more to fuck with me.”
Her heart felt heavy and her eyes burned.
“Every treatment there is out there takes months. Years. And more and more and more money. And we spend so much for what? For all these creams and meds to stabilize it, but none of them are effective to make it fucking go away. And I thought I had it under control. I thought I could hide with clothes and makeup and even magic. But magic is just useless when you most need it. And it just keeps coming back, and now I have more spots than ever and I don’t even know how to hide them anymore.”
Hermione didn’t know when the tears started coming, or when Ron started to hug her, but she found herself sobbing into him. There was something about letting it all out that just made her lungs feel cleaner, it was like breathing after all those years of hiding so much.
Ron kept holding her through it. He stroked her hair and let her cry. And there was no remedy like crying.
“I really. Really. Just wish they would go away.” Hermione said in a voice so quiet that Ron could barely even hear. “I wish I could be more less.”
Ron made a sound and held her even tighter.
“I’m glad you’re more much.” Ron’s hand ran up and down her back.
Hermione finally found the strength to pull away, feeling that she had overstayed her welcome into his arms. But there was Ron still leaning into her, looking at her with those eyes. If you asked him, Ron would swear that his Mione was responsible for painting the sky every night. But she wasn’t looking at him to know that.
She was cleaning her face with the sleeves of her sweater. There is something about crying that leaves us feeling lighter, but awkward and swollen. And that was exactly how Hermione was feeling.
A little woosh of hair passed her, leaving freshness behind. Hermione looked up to see Ron holding his wand guiltily.
“Feeling better?” He asked.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She still felt too vulnerable.
“I missed this one.” Ron pointed to Hermione’s face with a big smile on his face.
“What?” Hermione tried to turn her face around.
“Right here, you have a stop that looks like a heart.” He poked her face. “It’s my favorite.”
“How could you even have a favorite? You haven’t seen it in three years!” But truth be told, for the first time, Hermione didn’t try to hide away. She wanted Ron to see her.
“Of course I have a favorite! Don’t you?” It was his playful tone, the one Hermione knew so well. “Never mind three years ago, I missed them, they look like you.”
They felt like her.
Ron smiled at her and looked at all the books sprawled around the table. They sure left a mess, but with a swish of his hand they were all piling up and cleaning the space.
“It stopped raining.” Ron held the books he could out to Hermione.
“I guess it did.” She looked out and the distorted image of the Sun was poking through the window. “By the way, my favorite are the freckles on your left cheek. They look like Coma Berenices.”
Hermione started putting all her things back into her bag, but the radiant smile that spread across Ron’s face wasn’t lost to her.
“We can meet Harry and Draco and go for a picnic, how about it?” She headed for the door.
“Yeah, yeah.” Ron followed by her side. “Y’ know, Mione, I think you were wrong. Someone as bright as you could never be more less, everyone will always look when you walk in, so why try to mask it?”
“You know, Ron, you’re brighter than you deem yourself to be.” They headed to the Great Hall.