I'm so done. Exam season's looming, Harry still hasn't grown back – if anything he looks smaller. He was almost eleven yesterday, but he's been acting like a fussy little eight year old all morning.

Susan said I should relax. What I should've done was give her a massive smack.

'Hermione?' Harry pipes up, his book angling away in his limp hands.

'Yes.'

'What does abhor mean?'

Looking up from my papers, I tell him, 'It means to hate or be, like, disgusted by something. For example…'

Harry looks back down to his story, satisfied.

'… I… abhor…. you-'

'That's not true, is it?' Ron says quietly, smirking as he sets up shop beside me.

I can only grumble, and complain under my breath. 'I'm just frustrated that he isn't getting better. What is Harry going to do-? Actually, scratch that. He doesn't even know anything's wrong…'

'Snape said he'd work on a cure. I mean, I still think he's a greasy git but he's good at what he does, I suppose. They took Neville's memory of that day, so I bet they'll have a solution in no time.'

'Hmm.'

I can't help but worry. Harry's missing a massive chunk of his life. I want my Harry back.

'Hermione?'

Harry.

'Yes?'

'What's agoraphobia?'

I throw my quill down. 'I don't know, ok? You'll have to find it in a dictionary.'

Harry gives me an apprehensive look, before biting his lip and sinking in his seat. I don't mean to be so short with him. It's just that I've never been so fucking exhausted in my life and I feel like I'm forgetting everything I've learnt this year. I'm just so, so done.

Ron must notice my fuse shorting, because he says to Harry, 'Why don't we go look it up? All these muggle words, you're gonna need a heavy dictionary. I'll help you find one.'

Ron. Thank the universe for Ron. I whisper my indebted thanks and pick my quill back up. I can do this.

It takes me two hours to realise that they hadn't come back. Ron's stuff was gone – I hadn't even seen him come to get it – and I was alone in the common room. I'd gotten loads of work done, sure, but at what cost? Fuck me…

When I make it to my room, I breathe in relief. Harry's in bed, asleep.

Beside him, Ron snores away. I really want to wake him up, and tell him to sod off (especially for having made me worry so much) but I can't bring myself to do it. I guess it can be a sign of my appreciation. I really did need the free time.

I didn't even think kids could get that tuckered out. I'm so off my game. I'll curse Ron into next week if he thinks he can threaten me with informing Daphne and Susan about this.

About an hour later, Harry stirs and slips out of bed. How do I know? I was bloody watching him that's why. He almost instinctively strolls over and climbs into my lap, curling up – wait, hang on.

Climbs?

'Harry? Sweetie?'

'Hmm?' he replies sleepily, cuddling into my arms. He looks way to comfy to be concentrating on what I'm saying.

'How old are you?'

'Not sure, 'Mione.'

He looks even smaller than he did when he was reading earlier… he certainly wasn't this light. Or tired, for that matter. This potions malarkey was really getting to him. Why Ron was still knocked out, I wasn't sure. At this point, I really didn't care anyhow.