Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. It's all J.K. Rowling's (and maybe some related companies). The only thing that is mine is this fic. So please don't sue, unless there really is a need for you to.
Author's Note: Hmm, my third Ron/Hermione fic. This is so not a good sign. :P
As always, this was written for a friend – Ellie, one of the biggest HP, LOTR and Peter Pan fans I know, is the lucky (?) recipient of this fic. This goes out to you Ells, hope you like it!
"He" is Ron, "she" is Hermione. And yes, this is so outrageously OOC . . oh well. (smacks self)
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She had always strived to be the best – the most accomplished, with many awards and discoveries to her credit. For if she was talented at everything, she would be successful in life.
In her future she envisioned having found the cure for cancer and many deadly wizardly epidemics, secure rights for all – humans, elves and magical beings alike, and have the majority of the Third World be able to read and write.
It was a foolish dream, no doubt, but still she hoped to achieve it, and be known not as "Hermione Granger, Muggle born," but "Hermione Granger, someone who earned a title in her own right." And she wanted to try – and possibly achieve – the "impossible" and what others hadn't been able to accomplish. She wanted to try, and do her best – if not for herself, then for the whole world. Justice had to be attained, and she would die trying to make that happen.
Many people laughed at her, she knew; "what a laughable idiot, what a goose – so clueless she is! Does she seriously think that she can change the world and make it better? Make our lives better? Who does she think she's kidding? No one has ever made our lives better. They never will."
Her parents had always taught her to follow her dreams, even if they seemed impossible, and never give up. For if she gave up, that meant an end to everything, and all her efforts would have useless, have done nothing. They would have been in vain. So she ignored the taunts and kept on going, consoling herself firmly that people would know someday – someday – that they should never have doubted Hermione Jane Granger.
In the nights sometimes though, her mind would be full of rampaging, doubtful thoughts – she even doubted herself that what she was working toward every day would never be accomplished.
Still she carried on. For herself and for the people. One day all her efforts would pay off, and she wanted to live long enough to see her dreams manifest themselves into reality.
She built hospitals for the poor and sickly, helped construct homes and taught people that 'respect for all' and 'being able to defend oneself' were the two essential things that one needed to survive in this world. She campaigned for equality and freedom for Muggle borns, Squibs, house-elves and half bloods.
Of course whenever she focused on something that she felt strongly about, she put her all into it, and went beyond her limit.
She wouldn't quit working until she was reassured that all her efforts had paid off and that people were equal in all eyes. Her ambition and stubbornness made her friends worry – one red-headed friend in particular.
"You shouldn't overwork yourself, Hermione," he said one day while she was working in her office.
She has smoothly brushed his concern off. "What are you talking about, Ron? Really, you shouldn't get so worried. I'm perfectly fine."
You're in denial, he wanted to say. But he didn't.
Instead, he swiveled her chair around so that she was facing him. "You're not fine, Hermione. Look at yourself – your eyes are bloodshot, your back's hunching over even when you're not at your desk – and you're telling me not to worry?"
He took a deep breath. "I'm practically driving myself crazy distressing over you, and you're telling me that I 'shouldn't get so worried'?" He mocked.
He grabbed a mirror off of a nearby table and handed it to her. "Look at yourself in there – tell me what you see," he brusquely said. "And then tell me whether I have reason to even care one flick or not."
"I'm fine, honestly –" She weakly protested.
He cut her off. "No buts. Look."
She obeyed, and after a second, looked up at him, a confused look adorning her face. "All I see is my face. What's wrong with you, Ron? Are you sick?" Concern automatically made itself known in her eyes.
"No, no." This time he brushed off her fretting. "I'm fine. It's you who is not. Just now you practically told me that you didn't see anything wrong with you. Look at yourself in the mirror again – but look carefully. Actually look, Hermione." Impatience tinged his voice barely.
Leaving herself to no choice, she did so, and found that the blanket of illusion she had covered her eyes in was gone. All that faced her was reality. She could barely rip her eyes away from the mirror, stricken at what she was seeing.
"Can you see the cost of being the best?" He asked her softly.
For once in her life, she found herself speechless.
"I don't know how to break it to you," he spoke after a while, "but if you keep on going like this – you are going to set yourself up for a downfall. Or a breakdown."
She wanted to protest, say that what he was saying was totally untrue – she would never have a breakdown; she had a colossal strength of mind. She knew her limit, thank you very much!
But she couldn't force the words out of her throat. And even if she had said them, she had a feeling she would've spoken them to nothing but air. Making her words worthless.
Something else held her back from denying the truth – was it the fact that he was right? And even if she had denied what was real, it would still be there for her to face. In the end she would have to admit it – she would have known sooner or later. There was no need to cloak herself in a cover of denial and deception.
And when she thought about it – her health wasn't worth the chance of being the best – the most knowledgeable on everything, the person who could solve all the world's problems, practically. Because that itself was not realistic. Even if she tried her damn hardest, no one, not even herself, could solve anything and everything with a snap of her fingers or a twirl of her wand. She was human, not superhuman.
It's hard to face reality. She closed her eyes.
"You're right," she admitted. "If this kept on going any longer –"
"Let's not go there," he gently interjected. "It's best to think on the positive side, and what could happen, instead of what had or what could've happened in the past." Ever the eternal optimist, she noted.
"Perhaps you're right," she said, slowly savoring the words in her mouth, testing their flavor, whether they were bitter or sweet to say. "I have been overworking myself lately . . but it's for the good of mankind!" A last ditch attempt to try to work as much as she could.
He shook his head. "That's no excuse, and you know it," he replied evenly – or was it sternly? She could not tell; his voice sounded like a mix of the two.
She only shrugged. "But what else do you expect me to do, Ron? Just stay in bed while millions live unjust and miserable lives? How can I possibly do that, can you tell me?"
He was silent for a minute. "You'll regret it if you go on any longer like this, Hermione. You will also not be able to work in the overworked and exhausted condition you've put yourself in. Besides . . you won't be happy on just being the best. You'll want to keep going on, going on, and never stop."
The impact of his words finally sank in. She sat there, unblinking, wondering what to do. If she were sick, she wouldn't be able to work, that was true; then again, if she worked while she was unwell, things could – and probably would – get worse. Besides . . you won't be happy on just being the best . . you'll want to keep going on, going on, and never stop. His words echoed like little clanging bells in her mind.
Now she marveled at his new role at being the sole voice of logic for the both of them.
She sighed. "Alright," she relented. "I'll rest. Besides, it's better if I don't work while I'm tired . . and to tell the truth, at this point, I don't care to be the best. It's time for me to be realistic . . I can't solve every problem, as much as I want to."
He smiled softly. "You've done enough – more than you could possibly know. All your work has not been wasted. Already many people are leading better lives because of you.
"And isn't that the greatest gift you could get in return for everything that you do?" He continued.
She allowed herself a small smile. "I suppose."
"You suppose is right," he retorted cheekily. He then grabbed her by the hands and led her out of the office.
"Now, Miss Hermione, if you'd care to come this way, you can show me what you're really best at, besides being an advocate for those who cannot speak out . . ."
Her laughter echoed throughout the hallway.
Being the best does not matter. Being yourself does.