Hermione was taking up the side of the sofa, her hair piled into a messy, unkempt sort of bun with flyaways in every direction. She'd been chewing on the end of her quill as she read, before Ron interrupted her.
"What I want," she said, barely looking up at him because who else had that voice and took up that much of the sofa, anyway? "Is to not be the only one working on this." She pushed one of the books into his lap that she'd gotten from the restricted section after bargaining with Madam Pince to let it leave the library. She'd only gotten past her because she had a note from the Headmistress.
She then went back to the book she'd been looking at before he'd come down and collapsed as if he shouldn't have been there in the first place. But it was only a minute later that she was slamming it closed, practically growling at the damn thing. "Complete useless rubbish!"
And what she wanted, really, was not to feel so anxious. Not to feel as if there were weight across her chest all the time, and that she couldn't help but be a bitch to everyone who crossed her path. She couldn't say any of that to Ron, though. He deserved the treatment.