***
I realized it by the way Hermione held herself back before speaking.
That microsecond where she calculated whether what she was about to say fit or not.
It wasn't fear.
It was worse. It was habit.
I saw it first in the classroom.
Hermione would raise her hand halfway. Not all the way. Then lower it a second later, like she was mentally reviewing whether it was worth jumping in. Sometimes she did speak. Sometimes she didn't. When she did, she'd glance sideways before finishing her sentence, searching for invisible signs: approval, annoyance, impatience.
The other kids weren't cruel. Not really.
They just kept going.
One yawned. Another played with his pencil. Someone stared out the window.
Hermione noticed everything.
So did I.
She was fine with me. She always was.
I was her portable refuge, her "everything's under control."
And that was the problem: a kid shouldn't need a full-time emotional containment system.
I looked around.
Kids talked over each other. Interrupted. Said things without thinking and still laughed. Some got things wrong and didn't even notice. Others did notice, but didn't care. There was no calculation. No constant self-correction.
Hermione, on the other hand, sharpened every word like it was final.
So I did something that, to me, was an act of love.
I became a kid.
I channeled the kid I used to be.
The one who laughs loud at stupid things.
The one who says half-thought-out stuff.
The one who plays just to play, not to win.
I turned the volume down on my adult brain and turned the body up.
I started talking about irrelevant things.
I exaggerated tiny stories.
I laughed when there was no need to laugh.
It was uncomfortable. And exhausting.
Like putting on clothes one size too small… in your soul.
But it worked.
The other kids came closer because I didn't seem unreachable or weird anymore.
And Hermione… Hermione slipped in behind me, like someone crossing through an open door without anyone looking at her.
She didn't have to prove anything.
She didn't have to correct anyone.
She didn't have to be brilliant.
She could just be another kid.
I knew how to socialize.
That was never the issue.
I knew how to smile at the right moment, say the right thing, stay quiet when it was better to.
Read the air in a room like someone checking the weather before going outside.
I'd worn that mask for an entire life.
Hermione hadn't.
She was smart. Very.
And she'd learned fast by watching me, copying certain things: how I talked, how I waited, how I didn't spill over.
That made her seem older than she was.
And that… worried me.
It was hard not to see the image of the Hermione who doesn't exist here.
The one who was alone and misunderstood until she met Harry and Ron.
Because I knew something she didn't have any reason to know yet:
living behind a mask keeps you safe, but it also keeps you alone.
Hermione wasn't isolated because she was weird.
She was isolated because she was different, and she still didn't know how to play with that.
And she shouldn't have to learn that now.
Not at the age that defines us most for the future.
Not so soon.
Not with me here.
So I made a simple decision.
The mask was mine.
The weight too.
I walked into the group.
I lowered the level.
I exaggerated, played, lost, made noise.
Not to teach her how to fit in…
but so she wouldn't have to.
She didn't copy my gestures.
She didn't calculate answers.
She didn't look around before speaking.
She played.
She laughed when something was funny and got frustrated when she lost.
She messed up without explaining herself.
She got back up without analyzing it.
Like a kid.
Being a kid was a lesson too, and I didn't want her to skip it.
I'd already been a kid who learned late how to play.
I wasn't going to let Hermione learn too early how to pretend.
***
The playground is packed.
There are kids on the swings, others on the small court, and some playing in the sand. The air is warm. The ground kicks up dust when we run. My hands itch a little from grabbing and letting go of things so much.
I'm with Hadrien, near a tree.
"Anyone want to play tag?" shouts a boy in a cap.
"Me!"
"Me too!"
There are a lot of us. I think nine.
We all take off running together.
I run fast. I hide behind the tree with Hadrien. He leans on the other side. We laugh without making noise. I'm a little out of breath, but I don't care.
"I got you!" the boy in the cap shouts, tapping someone on the sleeve. "You're it!"
He runs off laughing.
"That doesn't count!" the kid who got tagged says. "That was on my clothes!"
"It counts!"
"It doesn't!"
They stop. Some of them walk back. The sun hits my face and I'm hot.
"My clothes aren't me," the kid says, angry.
"We didn't say anything about that," the boy in the cap answers. "There are no rules."
Everyone talks at once. I watch. I wait. My heart is fast, but not bad. Just strong.
I take a step forward.
"Then now there is one," I say. "It only counts if you touch the person."
They go quiet for a second.
"So who's it?" a girl asks.
"Me," I say. "I'll chase."
The boy in the cap looks at me. Then he smiles.
"Fine."
"Go!" another kid says. "Now for real!"
They run again. So do I.
I run a lot. I laugh. I breathe hard. I almost tag someone and miss. I get away by a little. Sand sticks to my shoes.
When I stop for a second, I look around.
Hadrien isn't behind the tree.
I search for him.
I see him up there, in the branches, looking at me and smiling.
I smile back and keep running.
***
The playground is full of noise and crossing paths.
Swings creaking, shouting on the court, sand flying. The sun hits straight down and the air smells like dry grass. Hermione is at my side. Not glued to me. At my side.
A boy in a cap shouts something about playing and, without agreeing on anything, everyone takes off running. We do too. Not because someone tells us to, but because the body understands first.
We hide behind a tree. Hermione stays there with me, calm. Breathing fast, but normal. Watching.
I don't push her to go out. I don't need to.
The boy in the cap taps someone on the sleeve and shouts that now they're it.
The other kid stops dead.
"That doesn't count!" he says, raising his voice. "That was on my clothes!"
Everyone starts talking at once. Talking over each other. Getting a little mad. Just enough.
Hermione takes one step forward. Just one.
"Then now there's a rule," she says. "It only counts if you touch the person."
She doesn't say it loud. She doesn't repeat it.
"So who's it?" someone asks.
"Me," she says. "I'll chase."
Someone says okay.
The boy in the cap nods.
They run again.
Hermione runs. She laughs. She messes up. Almost tags someone and misses. She stops for a second and looks around.
She sees me.
I'm higher up now, in the branches of the tree. Not to hide, just to not be in the middle.
I smile at her. Nothing else.
She smiles back and keeps going.
I don't speed anything up.
I don't set the pace.
I don't celebrate.
I just take it in.
***
Lunch passes with a different kind of calm.
The lasagna steams on the plates and the salad bowl sits in the center of the table.
Hadrien and Hermione eat quickly, but not in a rush: they talk to each other, interrupt each other, laugh.
Hermione leans toward her brother without noticing, like her chair is a little closer than normal.
She laughs easily.
She doesn't measure herself as much.
She doesn't hold back the expression.
When Hadrien says something under his breath, she lets out a laugh she doesn't try to hide.
She looks at him like he's her reference point, her safe place.
Like everything else can wait.
They finish before the parents.
"Can we go upstairs?" Hadrien asks.
"Yes," their mother answers. "Don't make too much noise."
"We promise nothing," he says.
Hermione smiles and stands up right away. They go up together, still talking, and the house returns to its usual silence.
The parents keep eating. They don't say anything at first. They just look at each other.
It's a brief look, the kind that doesn't need words.
The mother is the first to break the silence.
"Hermione was looser today," she says. "Happier than usual."
She pauses, searching for the right comparison. "It's like she saw a real fairy."
The father sets his cutlery down on the plate.
"Maybe something good happened at school today."
"Maybe she made friends," she says, with a calm smile. "She's told me it's hard for her… that's why she must be so happy. She's walking around with a grin from ear to ear, proud."
The father exhales slowly. He doesn't smile, but his face softens.
"Good," he says. "I was worried she'd stay isolated… and depend too much on Hadrien."
The mother nods, not arguing.
Upstairs, there's a muffled laugh and the soft thump of a door closing.
***
Hermione talks nonstop as she walks into the room. Nothing important. Exactly why it makes me soft.
I listen to her, happy. Light. Like something that's always squeezing her chest just isn't there today.
I close the door behind us and, with that simple gesture, I leave my worries outside… and our parents' too.
"Mione," I call softly.
She hops onto her bed, bounces once, and sits there, looking at me with a smile she hasn't lost since lunch.
I take advantage. Not out of curiosity. Out of care. When she's like this, her mind doesn't defend itself as much.
"Show me your telekinesis," I say. "But do it differently this time: think of something that makes you happy. Focus on that while you guide the magic."
I point at the desk. "Lift the Rubik's cube… and want it with everything you've got, want it to come to you."
"Okay," she answers fast, without hesitation.
She settles in. Closes her eyes. Smiles, effortless. Extends her hand.
The cube trembles first. Barely. Then it rises slowly but smoothly, like it doesn't want to scare her. It crosses the room floating steadily… until it lands softly in her hands.
"Good!" I say, unable to stop myself. "I'm proud of you, Mione."
She lifts her chin a little. Not much. Just enough to say obviously without words.
"Now," I say, "I'm going to show you a new trick I found."
I stand. Go to the door. Lock it and tug the handle.
"See?" I say. "All the way locked."
Hermione stares at me. Total silence. Full attention.
"Now watch closely."
I don't make weird gestures. I don't say words. I just let the magic flow toward the door with a clear, simple, firm idea, filled with controlled emotion: open.
Click.
The sound is sharp, unmistakable.
I open the door slowly, never taking my eyes off her.
Hermione's mouth falls open. She looks at me. Looks at the door. Looks back at me. Her eyes shine.
Then she runs over and jumps, hugging me.
"I want to learn that too!" she says, looking up at me with huge eyes.
The infamous puppy look. Straight to the heart.
I swallow. Smile, defeated.
How am I supposed to say no… when she looks at me like that?
Ow, my heart.
It can't handle that much cuteness.
"Obviously I'm going to teach you," I say, hugging her back.
Hermione stays still for a second, enjoying the closeness. Then she nods quickly.
"Come," I say. "Get close to the door."
I close it again and lock it. The metallic sound is clear, real.
"Now put your hand on the knob."
She does it without hesitation. Still smiling.
"Focus," I say quietly. "Breathe slow, like I taught you."
Inhale… exhale… soft.
Listen to your heart.
I can feel her calm down. She doesn't stiffen. She doesn't over-try.
"Think of something that makes you happy," I continue, "and now imagine the sound… the click when the door unlocks."
I pause. I don't say anything else. I wait.
I feel her magic before she opens her eyes. It isn't strong, but it's clear. It goes straight, without fear.
I rest my hands lightly on her shoulders. Not to steer her, just so she knows I'm there.
"Now," I say, a little firmer. "Order it."
Open.
Click.
The sound echoes in the room.
Hermione opens her eyes right as the knob turns under her hand. The door unlocks.
She freezes for a second. Then she laughs, surprised, like she can't believe she did it on the first try.
I gently sway her side to side, slow, going along with her laughter.
"See?" I say. "That easy."
"Now do it again," I say. "But without touching the door."
Point with an invisible hand. Imagine it.
I close the door, lock it again, and step aside. I wait.
Hermione wrinkles her nose a little. She stands completely still, very still.
"Here we go…" she whispers to herself, psyching herself up.
"You've got this, Mione," I say calmly. "Believe in yourself the way I believe in you."
You already did it once. You can do it again.
I don't get closer. I don't rush her.
I watch her stand there a little longer this time than before. Good. That's the point. Focus. Direction.
No moving the body.
No copying gestures.
No pretending there's a wand that isn't there.
My thoughts cut off the moment I hear the—
Click.
The door unlocks.
And this time… it opens by itself.
I don't say anything.
I walk to her fast, lift her up, and spin her clumsily around the room. I should feel the effort. I'm using all my strength. But I don't.
I'm so happy, and the pride is so big I could lift the world.
Hermione chokes on air and laughs at the same time.
"Hadrien!" she yells, with that mix of laughter and surprise only she has.
I set her down carefully, still smiling.
There's no need to say anything else.
Until I hear Mum shouting from downstairs:
"What are you doing with the door, kids!? And why are you yelling so much?"
Hermione and I look at each other.
We don't talk.
We listen to footsteps coming up the stairs, slow, measured.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
When she appears in the doorway, we're already together, shoulder to shoulder, messy-haired, way too close to pretend distance.
Mum crosses her arms and leans forward a little. That amused expression that announces trouble.
"And what are you two doing?" she asks.
"Nothing!" we say at the same time.
Way too fast.
We glance at each other again, just a little.
"We were…"
"Trying…"
"Things."
"Playing."
The words come out tangled, on top of each other, like it doesn't matter who starts or who finishes the sentence.
Mum raises an eyebrow. Smiles.
It's not a normal smile.
"Oh, yeah?" she says. "Then Mum wants to play too."
She steps forward slowly, hands shaped like claws.
Hermione and I grab hands at the same time.
We didn't plan it.
"Oh no."
We say it together.
"Tickles!"
We try to run, but we don't even make it halfway across the room. Mum catches us, grabs us—one with each arm—and the attack starts.
"Stop!" we laugh. "Stop! HAHA!"
"No! Stop, no! HAHAHA!"
We laugh so hard we cry. We kick. It does nothing.
And for a moment…
the whole world fits inside that room.
***
I'm still laughing nervously when I hear Mum shouting from downstairs. I laugh before I understand what she says. It sounds loud, but far away.
I'm close to Hadrien. My shoulder bumps his. I don't move. This is fine.
When Mum comes up the stairs, I press a little closer to him. Hadrien stays still too. We look at each other for a second and that's it.
Mum walks in and sees us.
I feel something warm in my chest. Like when I hide under the covers in winter. I like it.
Then everything happens fast.
Hands.
Laughter.
Legs moving on their own.
Mum tickles us and I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. I can't breathe. I fold over. Hadrien laughs too. We bump into each other. We sort of fall.
"Stop!" I say. "Stop!"
She doesn't.
My face hurts from smiling.
I remember the playground, without meaning to.
Running.
Yelling.
Nobody saying anything weird.
I run faster. I hide. I come out again. I laugh.
Then I stop thinking about it. I just keep laughing.
When Mum finally lets us go, I'm out of air. I lean on Hadrien first and then on her. Everything is messy. Everything is fine.
I look at both of them.
I feel good.
Today I played.
Today I laughed.
Today I ran a lot.
***
2903 Words