"Harry! Harry!"
Hermione's desperate cries echoed through the ancient, crumbling secret passage, her voice bouncing off the stone walls that had witnessed centuries of Hogwarts secrets.
The musty air filled her lungs as she pushed herself harder, her feet pounding against the uneven ground. Despite all the physical training she'd done since joining the Bryan's PE class, the difference in their athletic abilities was apparent.
Harry's longer legs and years of Quidditch training gave him an advantage – with each passing second, the distance between them grew like an ever-widening chasm.
"Stop, Harry!" she called out, her voice cracking with desperation.
As the passage began to curve in a familiar arc, Hermione's heart raced faster. Her mind, always quick to analyze, recognized they were approaching the castle. And regret crashed over her in waves, about to drown her resolve.
Two distinct realizations tormented her racing thoughts.
First, she cursed herself for mentioning that Professor Watson wouldn't hold him accountable for injuring Fleur, since the professor's evening office detention was just for sneaking out of school. That single piece of information had effectively removed the last thread of hesitation holding Harry back, like removing the final barrier before a flood.
But even more devastating was her second regret – the crushing weight of having kept Ron's conflicted feelings hidden all this time. She now understood this was the true reason for Harry's explosive anger.
The betrayal he felt cut twice as deep – not just from Ron's jealousy and little thoughts, but also from Hermione's silence in all these happenings. She had observed everything yet chose to remain quiet in a misguided attempt to maintain their friendship, which made things even worse.
"Please listen to me, Harry!" Hermione's voice shattered the darkness, dense with emotion and wobbling on the edge of tears. Her chest burned with each breath, and her hair had become a wild storm of curls, dampened with sweat and the tunnel's moisture.
Harry could hear every desperate call, every pleading note in Hermione's voice that seemed to break into sobs. But the fire raging in his chest consumed all reason. The fire of betrayal spread through his veins like molten metal, setting every nerve ending burning. Running was his only release, the physical exertion the only thing that could possibly match the intensity of his emotional turmoil.
As he sprinted through the oppressive darkness, memories flooded his mind with cruel clarity. Every moment shared with Ron and Hermione over their years at Hogwarts played like a bitter slideshow – from that first meeting on the Hogwarts Express, where everything seemed so simple and full of wonder, to this very day.
The images came rapid-fire: the three of them navigating the challenges protecting the Philosopher's Stone, their hearts pounding as they pieced together the mystery of the basilisk, and the wild night they chased what they thought was a murderous Sirius Black through the forbidden forest, only to discover a truth far more complex.
More memories surged forward: the exhilarating and terrifying flight in Mr. Weasley's enchanted Ford Anglia, the mind-bending experience of using the Time-Turner with Hermione to save multiple lives and capture peter.
Each recollection felt like a knife twisting in his gut, made sharper by the realization that what he had thought was an unshakeable friendship – one he had compared to the bond between Sirius, Remus, and his parents – now seemed to be crumbling like the very walls of this secret passage.
And now Sirius using Peter's example as a hint of warning rang in his ears with new implication. At least, Harry believed it as a warning from Sirius's words.
The similarity was almost impossible to ignore – as it was a tale of friendship corroded by jealousy and doubt.
In Harry's current state, anger and fear had become indistinguishable, melding into a singular burning need to confront Ron and make him feel even a fraction of the pain he was experiencing. The image of his fist connecting with Ron's freckled nose became an obsessive focus, a goal that drove him forward through the darkness.
Whoosh--
The sudden explosion of brilliant white light assaulted Harry's dark-adjusted eyes as they emerged from the passage. Having been running full-tilt in near-complete darkness, the transition left him stumbling and disoriented.
This momentary weakness gave Hermione her chance – she finally closed the gap, practically falling through the opening behind the humpbacked witch statue. Her usual appearance was replaced by windswept hair and obvious tear tracks down her flushed cheeks.
Harry pressed himself against the corridor's frost-touched window, squinting through the glass at the grounds below as he waited for his vision to clear.
Hermione, still gasping for breath, lunged forward and seized his robes in a desperate grip. But Harry had already spotted his target through the window – three distant figures soaring through the air over the grounds.
With a violent twist, he wrenched his robes free from Hermione's grasp, his movements driven by single-minded purpose as he prepared to race downstairs.
"What are you trying to do, Harry!" Hermione threw herself between Harry and his path to the stairs, with her arms spread wide like a human barrier.
When Harry spoke, his voice came out in a tone he had never used with Hermione before – harsh, cold, and brittle as winter ice.
"Move aside, Hermione. I'm going to find Ron Weasley and rearrange his face. And if I'm lucky, maybe I'll crack open that thick skull of his and see just how many ridiculous ideas are floating around in that empty head!"
"Don't do this, Harry!" Hermione pleaded in desperation. "Sirius only wanted you to talk to him properly--"
"Oh, I'll talk to him alright!" Harry's voice rose to a shout that echoed off the stone walls. "But only after his nose matches Fleur Delacour's. Maybe then his head will be clear enough for a proper conversation!"
When Harry was truly determined, there was no force at Hogwarts that could hold him back – not even Hermione's pleadings.
What followed was a chaotic chase through the castle's corridors, past startled portraits and shocked students. Harry moved like a man possessed, taking the marble staircase two and three steps at a time before he burst through the heavy oak doors onto the misty grounds.
There, on the Quidditch pitch, Ron was soaring through the air with Seamus and Dean, he was riding Harry's Firebolt, while Seamus and Dean struggled to keep up on their considerably slower Cleansweep brooms. Despite the dreary weather and fine mist that hung in the air like a silver veil, all three seemed to be having the time of their lives as their laughter was carrying across the grounds like a personal insult to Harry's pain.
"GET DOWN!" Harry's furious voice tore through the peaceful scene like lightning. He drew his wand with speed, sending a brilliant red spark screaming into the sky. "GET DOWN, WEASLEY!"
The sudden explosion of noise and light shattered the trio's in-flight rhythm, nearly causing a mid-air collision as they turned sharply in surprise. Upon spotting Harry on the ground below, they exchanged concerned glances before Ron reluctantly guided the Firebolt down.
"What's wrong?" Ron's voice carried a forced casualness as he glanced between Seamus and Dean, who were landing behind him, and then to Harry and the clearly distressed Hermione, who had finally caught up, bent over and was gasping for breath.
Harry remained silent, his eyes blazing as they fixed on Seamus and Dean. The two boys didn't need legilimency to read the situation – Harry's fury was palpable, and Hermione's frantic gestures behind his back made it clear they needed to leave.
"We forgot about lunch--" Dean said with obviously manufactured surprise, slapping his forehead in an exaggerated gesture. He shot Seamus a meaningful look, and both boys quickly left.
"What's this all about?" Ron's attempt at confusion couldn't mask the underlying anxiety in his voice. His eyes kept darting to Hermione, who stood with her head bowed, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. And something about Harry's stance made it impossible for Ron to maintain eye contact with him.
Now that the moment of confrontation had arrived, Harry found his rage momentarily tempered by the reality of facing his friend. The desire to physically lash out still burned beneath his skin, but the words he had rehearsed in his mind seemed to evaporate like the mist surrounding them.
"Didn't you go to see Sirius?" Ron finally forced himself to look at Harry directly, though a flash of unease crossed his face before he quickly looked away again.
"Yeah!" Harry's response came out in sharp, clipped bursts between heavy breaths. "Thanks to him, I finally understood some things... like how you've always wanted an ugly scar on your forehead too!"
"Harry, please don't--" Hermione's voice was barely a whisper as she poked his side, her lower lip trembled as fresh tears began to spill from her eyes.
The color drained from Ron's face as though he'd seen a ghost, his pupils contracted as fear began to conceal the defensive light in his eyes.
His reaction sent conflicting emotions coursing through Harry – a twist of guilt quickly followed by a surge of vindictive satisfaction.
Truth be told, he hadn't been having an easy time lately. Hermione had been chosen as the Triwizard champion, and many theories suggested this wasn't just a prank but a carefully planned conspiracy. He'd been worried about this constantly, and Ron... he had thought Ron would be just as concerned, perhaps even more so than himself, but the reality turned out to be completely different!
"Don't understand, do you?" Harry's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white, and his eyes bored into Ron's pale face. "What were you really thinking about Hermione becoming champion!"
Hermione's lower lip was bleeding slightly from biting it. She hugged herself and turned away, not wanting Harry and Ron to see her tears.
Ron's face had moved beyond pale to ashen, looking as though all the blood had been completely drained from his body. His eyes fixed on the Firebolt in his hands with such intensity it seemed he was considering making a desperate aerial escape from this confrontation.
"What's wrong, got nothing to say?" Harry's words came out between heavy breaths, dripping with bitter satisfaction. "Perhaps you've finally realized what a fool and idiot you've been!"
"I'm not a fool!" Ron's head snapped up suddenly, his eyes meeting Harry's with unexpected ferocity. Gone was the evasion, replaced by raw anger as he roared, "And I'm not an idiot!"
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