Disclaimer: 'Tisn't mine, which is quite lamentable, actually.
This is the last straw, she said
And I won't wait for you forever…
Well you run around like JFK:
You watch that poor girl waste the best years of her life…
-Jack's Mannequin, "Last Straw"
She's always so tired nowadays.
She feels stretched, thin; everything she is and has pulled taut, about to break. There are always so many things to do and so many people to tend to and so many thoughts buzzing through her head in bright and painful flashes of color and sound that she just wants to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over herself and never come out again.
And no matter how much sleep she gets, the dull pounding behind her eyelids never goes away.
She gets up every morning and calmly dresses for the day, going about her business as though she's not thinking desirously of what life beyond the realms of this world might be like, chatting good-naturedly with Parvati and Lavender so that nothing seems out of the ordinary. She eats in the Great Hall and reads the Daily Prophet and attends classes where she spouts off answers with unpracticed ease. She skips lunch in favor of the library and watches Harry and Ron during Quidditch practice and picks at her food during dinner, then returns to the Tower where she works on her schoolwork during the spare in-between moments when nothing else is vying for her attention.
Ancient Runes translations – before Seamus asks for help practicing wand movements and incantation pronunciation on the Patronus Charm (because he's still having trouble producing anything more than an indistinct, shimmering something, even though most of the rest of the DA is at least producing fuzzy shapes, if nothing else, and of course she has to help him, because that terrible sinking feeling in her stomach tells her he might be needing it someday soon.).
Potions essay – until Neville approaches, shame-facedly asking for guidance in outlining the steps of the next potion they'll be brewing in class (because he needs to go over it beforehand or he'll never be able to concentrate enough to get it right in class and Professor Snape always makes him feel so miserable and incompetent and low, and of course she'll give him her time, because she can't bear to see gentle, bumbling, kind, caring Neville like that: he doesn't deserve that; none of them do.).
Arithmancy calculations – until Ginny sits down, looking so forlorn and lost that her heart breaks a little, just looking at the redhead, and asks, tremblingly, if she has a minute (because she needs someone to talk to and she can't really go to any of her brothers and she won't go to her parents because she hates looking weak and she keeps everything bottled up inside until she feels like she's going to burst; and of course she has a minute, because it's Ginny, and she knows what it's like to feel alone, and she knows how much her friend is hurting, and for all her practical, logical advice, she's actually very good at calming, soothing, gentling the blow, and isn't that something everyone needs every now and then?)
Astronomy star chart – at least before that letter from her parents arrives and she has to struggle to compose a decent and truthful reply (because her parents still think that everything's perfect and bubbly and bright in her world, and she's not quite sure how to answer their cheerful inquiries and tell them that, no: there won't be another Yule Ball this year, and no: she's afraid that she can't take them to Diagon Alley again, and yes, she's sorry, but she's going to be spending Christmas at Hogwarts with the Weasleys: there's just so much going on – but of course she takes the time to do so, because they're her parents and she loves them and if nothing else she's going to keep them blissfully ignorant of the fact that the barriers between their worlds are crumbling down to the mutual destruction of both and that nothing in her life is really quite safe anymore.).
Transfiguration theories – before Harry and Ron sit down at her table that's heaped high with parchment and unseen, lingering exhaustion, and practically beg her for "help" writing the conclusions of their essays (because they're both tired, too, and worried and anxious and uncertain and not particularly concerned with school right now, and of course she writes the passages for them, because Harry's looking much too pale and frightened and that furrow between Ron's brows is becoming permanent and they're not supposed to look like that, her boys, and it speaks of how much in her world is changing without her consent, and the wide, round eyes they use to try to convince her to assist them reminds her of when they were twelve and untroubled, and their relieved smiles when she agrees are the most genuine that their grins have been in weeks.).
Charms practice – 'till Lee and the twins begin testing out one of their brilliant, unknown products on an unsuspecting first year, and she has to walk over and scold them, gently pulling the eleven year-old away and holding him to her side before he can swallow the sweet, a quiet sigh escaping her as she explains for the thousandth time why what they're doing is not allowed (because even though she thinks the twins are incredibly gifted and talented and the magic they produce is utterly amazing and secretly makes her half-mad with delight, it's not allowed and someone has to remind them of that and the task always falls to her because no one else will; and of course she reprimands them, even though it leaves her even more exhausted and drained than before, because she cares about those boys too much and she doesn't want that bold and carefree – and incredibly innocent – mischievous joy in their eyes to fade like it will if they're caught and punished and told to grow up, and besides…they've got scars enough from all the explosions they cause. It's best if hers is the only hand that Umbridge is allowed to defile.)
Care of Magical Creatures research – until the common room is empty and everyone's gone to bed and the walls around her are filled with nothing but silence and she can't take it anymore and she throws down her quill and bursts into quiet sobs (because despite what everyone thinks, she's finally spent and has nothing left to offer, and she's so, so tired, and who really gives a damn about flobberworms anyway? Except that Hagrid does and it means so much to him that she always tries so hard, and she can't bear to disappoint him; to disappoint them, because they all expect so much of her. And letting them down feels too much like failure for her to stomach successfully, so of course she'll do the assignment, despite it all.)
And nobody suspects that she's breaking on the inside, her sanity fraying around the edges; little-by-little, day-by-day. And that's the way she wants it; the way it's supposed to be, because she knows that she's a stable base in their changing world, and that she's something familiar and comfortable and constant, which is something everyone needs a little of these days.
So of course she'll keep helping them all, giving whatever she can, until she fades entirely and disappears into nothingness. (She's looking forward to that day, just a little, if she's perfectly honest; perhaps she'll finally get some rest.)
And it's so terribly, terribly sad, because she's only fifteen and already world-weary.