Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ms. Miller was a new teacher. A brilliant, determined, delicate teacher who focused on literature for the children of the Hopstead Primary School. Ms. Miller was tall, with yellow hair cascading down her long torso that shined like the sun and stiff shoulders always covered in navy blazers, from her days in Model UN to her young 20s. She was a sophisticated woman who kept her pencils in her cups, her chairs tucked, and her blouses buttoned.

She'd always loved working with children, no matter the type: the quiet ones, the criers, the screamers. The greatest thing someone could do was tend to a growing seed and get to see it bloom. And that's precisely what she studied for in her years of preparation and college.

So today, when she woke up for the start of the second quarter, she was energized for a great start. The blonde grabbed her coffee, her keys, and her coat and drove off.

"Good morning, class!" Her sweet voice spread across the room, a light waking her beloved students.

"Good morning, Ms. Miller." The kids answered her call. There were kids of all kinds in her class. Sophia, James, Dean, Lavender, Tiana, Mark. She loved the variation.

"I'm going to start class off today with a quote from one of my favorite authors," She smiled, turning to face her whiteboard.

Ronald was a student in Year 3. He was a redhead with a quick mind and a smarter mouth. According to Snobby Ms. Miller, he did not like "putting in the work." He was the outlier, the one student she could not get to. When she told him to pick up a pencil, he would drop it. When she told him to answer a question, he would stare at her. Well, no contract made him have to listen to people who held their noses up like her, was there?

"Can anyone read off what I've written?" The woman turned around, placing down her marker and letting her eyes search the sea of eager students raising their hands. She nodded at a little brunette bouncing in her seat, one who Ms. Miller had learned tended to be fiercer than she looked.

"Yes, Hermione, go on."

"It says, 'The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go.' That's by Dr. Seuss, Ms. Miller!" She read hurriedly as if she couldn't wait to get the words out of her mouth.

Ronald did not hate Ms. Miller. Yes, she was a nag—someone who could not stop talking, with all her redirects and repetitive talks. But Ron was smart enough to know that teachers were here to teach. It just always seemed like Ms. Miller made it her mission to annoy him the most.

"Yes, that's correct, Hermione!" Ms. Miller praised, glowing at the small girl. "I think Dr. Seuss was quite right. Our books can take us anywhere. So, let's take a trip around the world today. Class, what's one place you've always wanted to visit?"

The class rose in whispers and giggles and raised hands again, their minds filled with dreams and vacations. Ms. Miller’s eyes searched the warm sea but landed on one. A kid with his head down and his arms crossed, staring at his desk like there was nothing else happening around him. To her, Ronald Weasley was a puzzle she needed to solve. Every child deserves a chance, yes?

"Ronald, how about you? What's one place you dream of visiting?" The woman asked him, her blonde hair bouncing with her upbeat nature.

The class's hands dropped, and their whispers lost their enthusiasm. All eyes turned to Ron. He hated that feeling. And why did she always have to address him by his full name? She wasn't his mum.

"I didn't raise my hand, Ms. Miller." He said simply, crossing his arms tightly.

"I know, but I'm curious. Is there anywhere you'd like to go this summer?" She continued poking, asking questions. It wasn't meant to be harmful; she wanted to pull the seven-year-old out of his shell.

"I don't know."

"What about... Australia?" She tried prying a smile out of him.

"No."

"Romania?"

"No."

"America?"

" No , Ms. Miller."

Ron felt her poking hands, trying to pull a reaction out of him. Was she making fun of him? Couldn't she have called on someone else already?

A few students whispered and giggled, Ron's name floating in their mouths like something dirty.

"Shut up!" Ron snapped.

Ms. Miller's eyes widened. "Ronald, that is a terribly rude thing to say!"

"I wasn't-- Didn't you hear--?"

"All I'm asking from you is to answer a simple, fun question! Is there something wrong?" Ms. Miller slammed her market down on her table, her eyes sharpening.

The class started to laugh and talk louder.

"That isn't fair! They were whispering about me. Don't act like I'm crazy!" The small seven-year-old yelled, standing up from his chair.

"Sit back down!"

"No! I don't want to answer your stupid questions!"

"Don't make me call your mother again at the start of the quarter, Ronald Weasley!"

Their words boomed across the classroom, quieting the rest of the class.

Ron didn't know when it happened or when his arms had moved from their balled fists, but his chair had smacked into the whiteboard behind the tall, rude woman, blowing sharp wind near her face.

So, Ronald Weasley was a problem student.

Chapter Text

“So, how was your summer?”

It was a beige room. It was filled with decorations, paintings, and quotes that made the room feel emptier. Blanker. There was a grey couch for him to sit on and a grey chair where the pale woman sat to face him.

In between them was a dark brown wooden table, lacking any stains from mugs. On the table was a medium-sized plant, the fake plastic ones that never die.

“Fine.” Ron muttered.


“Ron.” 

“It really was fine. Nothing happened. I’ve been doing all the exercises you told me.” He groaned, meeting her eyes.

He was speaking to his therapist, an older woman with sallow skin but kind eyes.

“Alright. I believe you. Do you want to end the meeting early?” She asked.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Usually, Mrs. Moore had more patience than that. Letting him go that quickly was something that unsettled him.

“Well– you don’t have anything to chat to me about?” The redhead questioned, tilting his head.

“It’s been a few years, Ron– people tend to run out of things to say when you’ve known a person for so long.” She chuckled.

“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t expect you to give up so easily this time. You looked much more fiercer when I was twelve years old.”

“So did you.”

She caught him there. He laughed, letting a smile slip out.

“Last question of the session. How do you think you’ve changed in these years?” Mrs. Moore asked, giving him an encouraging nod.

Well, he had to think about that.

–

Once Molly had gotten the sixth call from a teacher that her son was throwing things across classrooms, she and Arthur suspected that their usual lecturing and taking away privileges weren’t working.

Ron’s increasing violence had separated him from his classmates. People who used to enjoy his presence and find him charismatic now looked at him like a pesky bug. Something that they couldn’t get rid of. He hated it.

Parents talked. He wasn’t invited to birthday parties anymore. Kids avoided him like the plague.

The only other two who would stick near him that year were the bossy brunette from his English class and a quieter boy with glasses who happened to be behind him at lunch. Unfortunately, his first impression of Ron was dodging a pencil case he threw. But for some reason, the three stuck like glue.

No one wanted to be around the short, brown-haired girl who talked like her life depended on it, correcting everyone and lecturing at everything. And the black-haired boy with glasses didn’t want to be near anyone anyway.



So, the next place for him was either boarding school or a therapist's office. Or worse, a white, padded room. His parents went for the safest option and took a card the school’s counselor provided for ‘problem students.’

Ronald did not hate Mrs. Moore. She was just– Extremely determined. Again, another person who focused way too much on him.

But somehow, the years passed, and he realized that it worked. The talks, the breathing techniques, the journals. His anger was not a giant trapped in a cave any longer but more or so a simmering pot. Progress?



–


Ron pulled up the strap of his black bag after saying bye to Mrs. Moore. There was a car waiting for him outside, where he saw Hermione waving through the tinted windows.

He pulled on the white car handle and sat in the passenger’s seat, letting out a sigh he felt he’d been holding too long.

“How was it?” Hermione asked. She drummed on the steering wheel, appreciating the touch of a new car.

“Was fine. A bit short, though.”

“Right? Usually, you don’t call me to pick you up for a few hours.” She pushes her key into the ignition and starts the car. “And that was the last one for a while, wasn’t it?”

Ron nods, grimacing. “Feels a tad bittersweet. I used to think she was a bitch when I was younger.”

Hermione snickered. Her hand sprinted to cover her mouth as if the noise betrayed her. “Ron, you know that’s rude.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think that anymore. I think Moore’s alright now. I mean, she helped, didn’t she?”

“Well, I think you did the most of it. I’m proud of you.” Hermione offered him a soft smile and slipped her free hand into his square, calloused one.

Honestly, Ron would take anything Hermione would give him at this point. He was thankful to God that he hadn’t somehow driven her (and Harry) away over the years.

“Really?” He asked, meeting her eyes. He didn’t like staring into her chocolate eyes too often. It felt too risky, like falling into a well just because the pile of coins at the bottom tempted him. It sent his heart racing.

Hermione nodded. “Yeah.”

They stared at each other for a bit, silence passing through like wind. Hermione’s eyes explored him. She leaned closer and closer without knowing, focusing on every freckle she saw on Ron’s face. Ron reciprocated, moving in towards her: an invisible string, a magnetic force, a subconscious need to be near the other.



Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

A phone was vibrating. The two of them both whipped their heads to face the source of the interruption.

It was Hermione’s. She picked it up to read, but Ron had already read who it was. His face soured, and he leaned back into his chair.

Callum.


Callum was a picture-perfect guy. He was on the same soccer team as Ron and Harry. He got average grades. He made jokes that kept everyone laughing. Teachers thought of him as mature, and students thought of him as handsome. He thought of himself as good friends with Ron.

Callum also happened to be Hermione’s boyfriend.

Ron felt a little relief at the fact that he was named just as “Callum” in Hermione’s phone. He didn’t know how he would take it if she were calling him her ‘sweet honey bear’ or some other disgusting shit.

Hermione pulled away, like she always did, gave Ron a grimacing smile, and took a moment to answer the call.
—


It was Monday. It was the first week of Year 12. The soccer season would be starting right off the bat, and it was a perfect chance for Ron to begin on a blank slate. Or a somewhat blank slate. It was a small town, and many people still knew him as the insane one. But it quieted down as students transferred, teachers quit, and Ron stabilized.

Ron had always been a little complicated with Hermione. To be honest, he’d been complicated with everyone.

He never really allowed himself to let a person come too close. Too close, and a person would feel the damage of his issues. Too far, and they wouldn’t even care for him. So Hermione stood at an awkward distance from him for years, when they both knew she belonged closer.

Since he let his anger, his emotions, and his issues come between so many times in their arguments, their wordless conversations, and their touch, Hermione found what she wanted elsewhere. She wasn’t exactly the type to hold herself back for others. She would always be there for him, but other people wanted her to be there for them, too.

Mike. Victor. Nathan. Cormac. There had always been other boys. Ron only remembered them because he wanted to be in their place for so long.

“Ronald! Come down for breakfast!” He heard his mother yell from downstairs. He opened his eyes, wincing from the sun’s invading light. Summer hadn’t left as quickly as last year. Despite being September, it was still bright as day at seven o’clock in the morning.

Ron made a mental note to quit thinking about Hermione in the morning as he stood up, scratching his chest. Thinking about Hermione made him think of her boyfriend, which automatically put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day. He’d come to the conclusion a few years ago with Mrs. Moore that bad moods in the morning were not good for him.

He threw on a white shirt and headed down with his pajama pants.

“Morning,” He greeted his family once he got down to the dining table. It was a room of red, people dashing from place to place.

“Good morning, dear. Hermione and Harry are waiting for you outside,” His mother greeted him back, tip-toeing to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Another redhead passed him as he sat down. “Have any of you seen my volleyball gear?” His younger sister, Ginny, was apparently already ready and packed up. Most likely to go and snuggle up with Harry. Ron thought, rolling his eyes so hard his head hurt.

“Well, where’d you last keep it, Gin?” Their father walked past, carrying his toolkit and coat.

“Me and the twins used it last week for a round in the yard, and now I can’t find my kneepads or Jersey!” Ginny exclaimed, crossing her arms and flipping her hair out of her face.

“Why would you wear your Jersey for a practice round?” Ron perked up, amused at the thought of Ginny having that much ego. However, his tease did not stick the landing — he looked like stupid guinea pig with pancakes stuffed in his mouth.

Ginny turned to face him and immediately scrunched her face back in disgust. “Don’t eat with your mouth full, it’s disgusting.”

She turned her head back, not giving him a chance to speak.

“Oh, shove off,” Ron grumbled. “That’s why you lost your volleyball gear.”

Ginny whipped her head back around, ready to start on him.

“Both of you go and get ready. Stop arguing!” Their mother ordered before any words could leave their lips. “Ginny, I’ll see if I can get the twins to come over from their flat to help you search, but they can’t possible be up at this time. Ronald, for goodness’ sake, finish your pancakes and change!”

Ginny sighed and walked back upstairs. “Whatever,” She mumbled.

Shoving the remainder of the pancakes into his mouth, Ron stood up and bolted up the stairs past Ginny. “I’ll be down in twenty!”




–

Chapter Text

The roads were absolutely crowded with cars, bicycles, scooters, and all types of transportation you could imagine. It was almost as busy as the day Ron’s family went shopping for school supplies. With the first quarter starting, parents were quite anxious to get their kids out of the house. The honking was insufferable.

“D’you think they’ll give us assignments on the first day back?” Harry asked absentmindedly, pushing up his glasses as he walked down the sidewalk leading to his familiar school.

“Ugh, I’d hope not. I bet Snape’s itching to get his hands on the first paper he can give us a low mark on.” Ron scoffed, putting on a face of genuine disgust at the thought of a teacher full of such spite.

The darker-haired of the two snorted, but quickly covered his mouth at the sight of Hermione’s annoyance.

“That’s Mr. Snape, Ronald. Can’t you two even try to start the year off on a good foot?” She groaned, flipping her hair back and hugging her books close to her chest. Ron knew she always did that when she was lecturing. Her hair would follow her words, emphasizing and enunciating her emotions for her. It was rather mesmerizing for the redhead sometimes.

“Plus, it’d be better to start work now than have extra work in June, wouldn’t it?” Hermione pointed out.

“Eh, agree to disagree, ‘Mione.”

The three crossed the street over to the path that led to the front side of their school. The front yard of the school was a circular area of concrete, and grass filled in the corners to make the yard a square, along with curved concrete pathways interrupting the smooth grass. In the middle was a large water fountain, with a grey statue of four figures, two female and two male. Hopstead Secondary was quite an old school, “ancient,” according to Ron’s brother Bill, so the statues had seen better days. They were rumored to be the founders of the school, but the faces were too eroded and covered with stains from the years of spills and pranks that nobody could tell anymore.

The square was crowded with teenagers: younger ones getting dropped off from cars and overwhelmed with affection from their loving parents, some riding in from their barely-standing bicycles and scooters that had gone through more trauma than one could fathom, and older ones loitering around the benches and fountains, reminding Ron significantly of his older twin brothers, who had already left school– or preferably, dropped out.

One of the short tenth-years, with a crazed look in his eye, was doing a trick that his group of friends had been shouting at him to try. A tall one put down a skateboard and yelled at his friend to hurry up. The shorter one backed up closer to the front steps of the school to gain a running start and bolted down the square, jumping onto the skateboard. If you’d known him, you’d know he was trying to perfect a specific move he’d been trying for months now, up a nearby bench and down a railing. It seemed simple, right? But it ended as it always did for the last 6 months, with his face planted on the floor at the bottom of the steps, his backpack flung onto his grass, and the skateboard jammed into the fountain, breaking a piece of the nearby statue on its journey.

“Well, Hopstead is still Hopstead, isn’t it?” Ron smirked, giggling at the whole performance.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Hermione sighed.

The three make it up the steps to the main entrance and open the front doors. The familiar smells of the building flooded their nostrils. Fresh pencils, disinfectant, plastic, metals, and the dusty stuffiness that had a knack for making Hermione sneeze. Most unwelcome of all the scents was the sweat and bodily fluids of teenagers fresh out of primary right next to teenagers who were considered legal adults. Combine this with their underdeveloped frontal cortices, and it was sheer chaos. If the outside of their school wasn’t enough nonsense for Hermione, the inside definitely was.

“I still don’t understand why people can’t understand basic hygiene. Do you know how many times we’ve gone over the same topics in health class?” Hermione scrunched her nose, trying to ignore the urge to gag.

“Oh, blimey, that class was too much,” Harry snickered, bringing memories to the surface as they walked through the halls.

“Please, be mature, you two,” Hermione sighed.

“A bloke can only hear about what diseases and disasters one can encounter in bed for so long, Hermione,” a familiar, accented voice joked. The familiar voice belonged to a short, scruffy, and sandy-haired Seamus, who greeted the three at their arrival.

Hermione naturally knew anything related to the word ‘mature’ scrambled out the window when Seamus was around.

“Aaaaand, I’m leaving,” She grimaced, pulling her books closer and starting to push through the crowd. Before she could pedal through, she felt a rough hand tugging at the bottom of her backpack strap.

“What? To where? It’s not even eight o’clock yet.” Ron complained, pulling her back towards him.

At that moment, Harry raised his eyebrows, grimaced, and turned over to Seamus and his group of friends, attempting to block out his two “friends’” conversation.

Hermione turned back to Ron, giving him a clear look of exasperation. “Ron, I have to meet the other student council members. I always do that in the mornings,” she explained.

Ron tilted his head. “On the first day?”

“ Yes , on the first day.”

Ron stared at her expectantly.

Hermione huffed. Was there any way to stall with the way he looked at her?

“I have to meet up with student council… and get settled… and also find my– find Callum.”
Ron’s grip on her backpack loosened. “Oh, alright.”

He looked away, trying to hide the clear drop in his voice, and the general droop in his demeanor. “Bye, then.”

Hermione couldn’t help but feel a twang in her chest at the sad noise of those words. She opened her mouth, trying to form words.

“I-I’ll see you at lunch,” She mumbled. It was more of a question than a statement, with the way her eyes looked imploringly at him, waiting for him to return an answer. All she needed was for him to look back at her. Just for a second.

But he didn’t.

“Yeah, see you.” He mumbled. Hermione couldn’t tell if it was even him speaking, she could only see the back of his red, bright hair, and the freckles on his neck.

Hermione sighed, and turned away at once. Right now wasn’t the time. She shook her head to clear her mind and shoveled through the crowd.

Hermione didn’t know why Ron was acting like this anyway, as if he needed to know where she went at all times for some reason.

Well, she did know, she just wanted to ignore it.

Ron had always had a bit of clinginess with him. That sentence would be a joke to most students who knew him as the one to break things the most and break things off the fastest, but it was true. Maybe it was only applicable to her.

Oftentimes, back in their ninth year, on days Ron would leave school with bloody, bandaged knuckles, it was a suicide mission to try to talk to him. But at the same time, if you left him alone for too long, he’d become fidgety and irritated instead of deathly silent. It was annoying to handle him, because he could get attached for a week, and distant for another.

It was sort of also the reason why she could never stay with one boyfriend. How was she supposed to care for her best friend, and also hope her boyfriend would trust her? There were still so many rumors about her and Ron. Couldn’t people just mind their business and keep their mouths shut? It would make everything a whole lot easier.

Well, no, it wouldn’t.

Hermione looked up to find herself standing in front of Callum, even though she didn’t remember walking all the way to his locker.

“Hey, Callum,” She said faintly, managing a smile. He was talking to another girl Hermione recognized from the volleyball team.

“Oh, Hermione, hey, there you are! I was looking for you,” He brightened up immediately. “How was your summer, babe?”

“It was fine, I didn’t go on vacation this year, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry your parents canceled. My family took me to some place awesome, you should’ve come along, you would love the sunsets.” He rambled, moving in closer to kiss her.

She returned the kiss, soothed by the fact that she at least knew they still had a connection despite not keeping in touch as much over the summer. Honestly, being around Ron always made her question how boring her other relationships were. There was always a spark near him that made her embarrassingly nervous, she wished she could go without it. Why was she thinking about Ron? Callum was talking to her about something.

“So, would you wanna go?” He asked, smiling hopefully.

“Um, I’m sorry, what?” Hermione blinked, brushing a loose strand out of her face.

“I know I’ve only just seen you, but we didn’t really get to hang out in the summer. Let me just ask properly. Would you want to go to the festival up near Town Square next Friday?” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her answer.

Hermione shook her mind clean again and rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. “Oh, um.. Sure, Callum! That sounds great!” She hoped she seemed as normal as possible.

The tall boy tilted his head, trying to inspect her. “Are you alright?” He asked, hands in his pockets. “You seem a bit off.”

Hermione avoided his gaze, grimacing. “It’s nothing, I just–”

“Well, alright, brighten up then. I’ll see you later!” Callum cut her off, patting her shoulder and hurrying off with his sagging backpack.

Hermione stood there, staring at his silhouette fading into the crowd. For the third time that day, she was thrown off her course by a thought or words of a boy, within a measly ten minutes. This was not like her. “Well, great, I’ll just talk to myself then,” She muttered under her breath, shoving someone to get to the stairs, ignoring their weird look.

She moved as fast as her legs could to the upperclassmen floors, and hurried into the classroom of her first period, practically seconds before the bell, and scrambled into her seat. All she had to do was make it through the first day and stop worrying about other people. It shouldn’t have been so hard to focus, today of all days.

–

Stepping onto the old, crooked tiles of the common floor, Ron wished people wouldn’t push. There were clearly enough seats for everyone in a school as big as this, so for what reason did people have to poke every limb out to make it through? He didn’t like having to shove back to get through, because he knew that would just end in a fight with a random boy whose head was too big for his shoulders.

Nevertheless, he made it through, took a quick glance at the lunch line, and went to find the empty table in the corner of the big lunchroom near the windows, where he always sat. He’d probably be fine with the lunch his mother packed, and some steals from Harry and Hermione.

Yes, he preferred his tables to be empty, but Harry and Hermione were obviously the exception.

Especially Hermione. He couldn’t wait to talk to her, he’d been antsy all morning.

“Hey, Ron. Didn’t take the lunch today?” A messy-haired boy said smoothly as he sat on the edge of the bench, staring up at Ron, who was still standing for some reason

“No thanks, pretty sure that stuff can be traced back to the lost city of Atlantis,” Ron mumbled, making Harry snicker.

“Yeah, definitely. You’ll probably just steal from Hermione.” Harry teased, rolling his eyes. Seeing that Ron was still standing as if he were waiting for something, Harry looked around. “Where is that girl, anyway?” He said to fill up the space the silence left, feeling Ron tense up a little.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron caught a blur of reckless, bushy hair, and turned immediately.

“Hey, Harry, hi, Ron!” Hermione sighed heavily, dropped her backpack on the floor.

Now that he thought about it, to Ron, her hair looked crazier than usual. Without thinking, he moved in to hug her close. Realizing what he was doing, he sort of froze up. But Hermione had only leaned into it, and he thought he might be imagining it but.. She was making somewhat of a purring noise. He decided to hold her tight.

“Bad morning?” He chuckled, surprised at her reluctance to leave his arms.

Hermione nodded, slumping onto him, relishing in how much warmth the chest of a measly teenage boy could give her—although this obviously wasn’t any teenage boy, it was Ron. ‘Teenage boy’ and ‘Ron’ were immensely different in Hermione’s head, even though they were the same thing.

Harry glared at this interaction, pulling his lips into a tight line with a distinctly unimpressed expression. When it went on for a little too long, he sighed loudly. “Y’know, I’m still here. Why am I getting no hugs? I had a bad morning too.” He grumbled, and turned to face the table.

Ron jerked at Harry’s voice, softly loosening his arms around Hermione. Harry’s comment made him realize they were still in a large, crowded lunchroom. 

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron mumbled. He knew he could have easily continued a few more seconds of that bliss.

Harry shrugged innocently, covering his laughter. He patted the empty bench, moving over slightly.

Before the two could sit, Hermione heard someone calling her name. The other two noted this too, and they all whipped their heads around.

Callum was jogging up to their empty side of the lunchroom.

Ron could’ve squeezed his own eyeballs out then and there out of frustration, but he kept perfectly still.

“Hey, what’s up guys? Hermione, are you coming to sit over at our table?” Callum slowed down once he was close enough, asking as if this was already planned.

“What?” Hermione asked, holding her forehead. Her skull was starting to feel to heavy for her shoulders.

“C’mon, sit at my table! You sat with them all the time last year, didn’t you?”

Them? Ron was pretty sure he and Harry had names. That Callum knew. 

Hermione leaned leftwards to squint over at Callum’s table, which was crowded, rough, and loud. “Uh, yes? I like sitting at this table, babe.”

Ron’s eye twitched at that word. Seriously?

“Soooo, why not sit with me for a change? We can catch up!” Callum continued to drag it along. The four of them went quiet, waiting for somebody to take a hint.

“What, are they making you stay here?” He crossed his arms, starting to get impatient.

“No, of course not, I just..” Hermione trailed off, looking back at Harry and Ron.

“Well?”

Harry shrugged at Hermione, not knowing what else to do while Callum stood there. Hermione glanced at Ron, who was trying to solidify his face, but you could tell how hard he was glaring. He could just tell him to fuck off. He opened his mouth, but then squeezed his fingers into his palm and closed it.

“Just go if you want, Hermione, ‘s fine.” He whispered to her when he noticed she was still staring at him for help.

Hermione wished he didn’t say that. She didn’t like Callum’s particular group of friends, and she knew it was bad, but she would’ve preferred to be tugged over, to be fought over. Specifically because she liked seeing that Ron cared, that Ron wanted her to stay for a bit. But obviously, this situation didn’t really need to escalate. She should have just gone with Callum in the first place. She needed to stay rational.

“Okay, sorry, Callum, I’ll be right there.”

She picked up her backpack off the floor (while making a note to herself to not drop the expensive thing so wildly next time, just at the sight of Ron) and followed her boyfriend over to the crowded side of the Hopstead lunchroom.

If she could count the number of times she said excuse me just to get a seat near Callum, she would be creating a new number. Everyone here looked at her like she was a weed in their garden, because she was an unfamiliar face, despite not being new to this school.

“Hey Cal, who’s the new chick?” Hermione heard as she sat down for the actual first time in lunch today, though it felt like it had been years already.

“Oh, this is my girlfriend, Hermione. You don’t remember her from January?” Callum replied, opening his packaged lunch.

The rest of the conversation blurred out for Hermione. She hoped her hair wouldn’t get too tussled from the people passing by the bench behind her. Her ears were thudding in her head. Did she eat today? That was probably why the lights around her felt too invasive, and the loud laughter from the boys near her was prickling her skin. She didn’t feel like moving to grab her lunch out of her bag, her limbs felt too woozy. A nap would really do her good.

“Hey. Hey, Hermione.” Callum nudged her.

Hermione instinctively moved her shoulder away from his poking. “ Yes , Callum? What do you need?” She answered, dragging her words and folding her hands to keep herself from pushing him away.

“Why are you so quiet now? You’re dampening my mood, ya know. Lighten up a bit, yeah? It’s only the first day.” He complained with his mouth half full, opening a soda. It was like he barely saw her there.

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds, nodded, and then rested her head in her arms on the table. Was he genuinely expecting her to sit at this hellhole for the rest of the school year? How was she going to manage?