You had grown up with Hermione, side by side since the very beginning. You'd played in the same parks, shared books, secrets, dreams. When her Hogwarts letter came, you celebrated with her—even if you didn’t quite believe in magic. Then yours came too.

But Hogwarts wasn’t what you imagined. The talking portraits, the ghosts drifting through walls, the way everything seemed to move on its own—it unsettled you. Unlike Hermione, who dove into the magical world like she'd always belonged, you felt out of place. You missed the normal hum of your family’s kitchen, the streetlights outside your window, the sound of your mum calling your name from downstairs.

Hermione noticed the way your eyes lingered on the owl that brought letters, how you re-read the one from home three times before folding it carefully into your pillow. She noticed how you avoided looking out the windows at night, how quiet you got whenever someone mentioned holidays.

One evening, she found you in your dorm room, curled up on your bed with your arms around your knees. No spellbooks in hand. Just silence.

She sat beside you and didn’t say anything at first. Then, after a while, she wrapped her arms around you, resting her head against your shoulder.

—“I know it’s hard,” she whispered. “But you’re not alone here. I’m here.”