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When Ron, frustrated with studying for NEWTs and with Hermione’s anxious sixth-year nagging, explains to her what reading is like for him, Hermione’s breath catches. “Ron, you’re dyslexic,” she says, softly, and instantly regrets every snide comment she’s ever made towards his study habits. 

Soon, by asking around, Hermione amasses a list of spells for Ron to try - some stilling the page, some changing the font of books for easy reading, some going after Ron’s temporal lobe directly. 

These help, a little, but not as much as knowing there’s a word for why reading is so hard for him. That it’s normal, that he’s not stupid, and that Hermione suddenly helps instead of criticizes, looks for solutions rather than complains, praises instead of gloats.