By dinner, his panicked thoughts overwhelmed him even more. He started to doubt if Snape had found and killed Potter. Killed him and fled somewhere far away. Supporting his suspicion, Professor Snape hadn't appeared at the teacher's table during breakfast, lunch, or dinner. On the other hand, it was quite normal for the perpetually grim and unsatisfied Potions Master to skip shared meals with students, so his absence at the table surprised no one.
However, Snape's absence in the Great Hall greatly alarmed and irritated Ron. His attempt to draw Hermione's attention to this fact was unsuccessful—she merely frowned, muttering something to herself. Ron felt like she was lost in her overintellectual thoughts. Giving up on the brainy girl who refused to engage with him, Ron focused on his food.
As always, the food lifted his spirits, sweeping away all problems and worries as he indulged in a kaleidoscope of flavors. Ronald was in awe of the meal—the crispy, perfectly roasted pieces of meat cooked with herbs, or twisted in some clever way to create a whole bouquet of flavors, all kinds of potatoes, and the never-ending variety of desserts made him truly happy. While eating, he forgot about everything—Quidditch, his family, school, and even his friends.
After a hearty dinner, Ronald's body demanded rest, so he went off to bed. He could never understand his friends—Potter and Granger—who could stay up late, barely eating, sitting by the fireplace in the common room and talking until midnight.
Oh, how those two idiots annoyed him! If it weren't for Professor Dumbledore's request to keep an eye on them, offering guidance and directing them toward the right social circle, or for his mother's more-than-obvious hints that helping unite Potter with his sister would result in a decent cut of the bespectacled boy's fortune, Ron would never have bothered to waste his time on these "Muggles."
But for the sake of his family, and probably for himself, Ronald was ready to make any sacrifice.
If it meant pretending to be friends, so be it. One day, he would be dancing in his own house, sipping the finest Firewhisky and reminiscing about his late friend only on special occasions.
Finally, the scar-headed boy returned to Gryffindor Tower, where Ron immediately called out to him. But instead of the usual cheerful response, Harry merely waved gloomily and headed straight to his dormitory. Of course, the brainy girl chased after him, saying something, but he gave her about as much attention as he gave Ron.
How offensive! Here he was, suffering, waiting for Harry, and most importantly, keeping quiet about his latest adventure. He was denying himself the rightful popularity and admiration, only to get confirmation from some downtrodden heir of THAT family. Ronald Weasley wouldn't forgive this, and he wouldn't let it go. Let Harry apologize later, but the train had already left!
Having made a fateful decision, the red-haired boy stopped his game with Dean and, leaning in closer with a conspiratorial air, began whispering to him:
"You know, I can tell you where Harry was for these past two days and how he ended up there. After Hermione and I solved the mystery of the Forbidden Corridor on the third floor…"
Ron's "quiet" storytelling soon attracted nearly everyone in the common room. Both first-years and older students found it interesting—those who weren't busy or deep in their own thoughts. Some believed him, while others didn't give a knut for the words of a boy known for his laziness and his friendship with the most famous student in Magical Britain—the Hero and defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ronald, however, got carried away and twisted his adventure story, increasingly presenting himself as the main hero who helped solve the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone. Everything was going well until one of the listeners, on her way to dinner and intrigued by the gathering crowd, happened to be none other than Hermione Granger, the third participant in Ronald Weasley's Great Adventure. After listening to his bragging and judging her red-haired peer's swagger, a sense of justice awakened in her, and she shut down his self-praise.
"Ronald Weasley, what nonsense are you spouting?! What part of solving the Forbidden Corridor mystery or Nicolas Flamel did you have?! You can't even find your way to the library since you've been there only a few times this entire year. What could you possibly know about the secret of the Philosopher's Stone? If it hadn't been for Harry and me spending hours searching through books, no one would've known, much less figured out what was hidden at the school. You only got in our way, constantly whining and fighting with Malfoy. Because of your stupid complaints about the blond git, we ended up running and hiding from Filch and eventually meeting Fluffy. You didn't recognize the Devil's Snare, and if it weren't for me, it would've strangled you. You don't even know how to use Alohomora! You didn't fly and catch the key to the door. You've twisted and invented everything, you liar!"
After this tirade, Hermione turned on her heel and, with obvious nervousness and renewed urgency, stormed off to dinner. For everyone else, she managed to pull off a perfect Snape-like cloak swoosh with her own, earning a bit of respect and admiration from her fellow Gryffindors. She could have been proud of herself. But that came later. For now, as she raced down the hall, not paying attention to where she was going, she didn't feel proud—she was boiling with anger. The girl was practically exploding with frustration—at Ron, at Harry, and at herself. Especially at herself. She felt like her sudden chance to find a true friend, someone she could talk to about anything, was slipping away like sand through her fingers, no matter how much she tested his patience.
It had all started yesterday with Madam Pomfrey, who had told her about Harry's health issues and the need to keep him in the hospital wing for one more night to heal him properly.
The mediwitch had been distant and secretive, spoke briefly, and without explaining anything to Hermione, had rushed back to her patient with just a few general phrases.
This morning, after her argument with the self-proclaimed hero Ronald Weasley, Hermione had returned to the hospital wing, but by then, Harry had already been discharged. Despite searching for him, she hadn't been able to find him. It had become almost routine for them to miss each other, growing more distant from her closest, and nearly only, friend. This burdened her, disrupting her carefully constructed and controlled inner world. Worst of all, it scared her, giving her a feeling of emptiness and incompleteness. Thinking about it over and over throughout this horrible day, she realized that in her almost thirteen years of life, she had only one true friend—and that friend was Harry Potter.
Who was now drifting away, only slightly, but her heart sensed that if she allowed it to continue, she would eventually lose him.
She would need to find a new, completely different, but this time, the right approach to the dark-haired boy. She didn't want to scare him off or allow him to shut himself off from the world again. She couldn't let him face whatever had happened beyond the fiery barrier on his own. She had no idea what had happened between Harry and Snape, but Harry's extended stay in the hospital spoke for itself.
As she moved toward the Great Hall after delivering her accusatory speech, which might cause trouble with Ron, Hermione hesitated halfway, unsure whether to continue on alone or turn back to invite Harry to dinner with her. The issue with the red-haired boy didn't bother her, so to avoid running into him in the Great Hall, she decided to go back and invite Harry to dinner instead, hoping that by then Ron would have finished eating.
She pushed open the door to the first-year boys' dormitory and walked inside. Four out of five beds were empty and untouched, while the fifth—Harry's bed—was closed off by the canopy. When Hermione tried to open the curtain, she was met with a sharp jolt of electricity. She was overwhelmed with hurt feelings.
"Harry, are you there? Please come out," she called out to her friend. Her voice sounded rather pitiful, but there was no response to her words.