The First Cracks
Breakfast was tense.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, Hermione on one side, Ron on the other, but the gap between them felt wider than the Great Hall itself.
Ron was eating, but barely speaking—which wasn’t too unusual, but the way he was ignoring Harry was.
And it wasn’t just Ron.
Other Gryffindors had noticed the Prefect badge pinned to Harry’s robes. Some congratulated him—Ginny grinned and ruffled his hair, Neville gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up—but there were plenty of people whispering.
Harry caught snippets as he reached for the pumpkin juice.
"Potter? A Prefect? Thought it’d be Weasley…"
"Bet McGonagall only picked him ‘cause he’s the Chosen One."
"What’s he gonna do, take points off himself?"
His stomach twisted.
He had already felt Ron’s reaction to the news, but now? He could hear it from everyone else, too.
He shouldn’t care. He knew that. But it still stung.
Hermione, who had been quietly fuming ever since Ron stormed off that morning, slammed her goblet onto the table, making the people nearest them jump.
Ron flinched.
"Honestly, the way people are acting," Hermione muttered, voice low but dangerous, "as if you don’t deserve this, Harry."
Harry glanced at her, surprised by the sheer fury in her eyes.
She was angry—not at him, but for him.
Harry swallowed. “It’s fine.”
“It is not fine.” Hermione stabbed her fork into her eggs. “You do deserve this, and if people have a problem with it, then—”
"Then what?" Ron finally spoke, his voice sharp. "They’re right?"
Hermione turned slowly. "Excuse me?"
Ron exhaled harshly, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clatter. "Look, I’m just saying. Harry’s never cared about school before. He’s not—"
He cut himself off, but the damage was already done.
Harry’s hands curled into fists under the table.
"Not what, Ron?" he said quietly.
Ron hesitated.
"Not smart enough?" Harry continued, voice dangerously calm. "Not good enough?"
Ron looked away. “That’s not—”
Harry stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, grabbing his bag.
He didn’t look back as he walked out of the Great Hall.
By the time he reached the empty Gryffindor common room, his heart was pounding.
He threw his bag onto the couch and ran his fingers through his hair.
Why did this bother him so much?
He had faced actual monsters, deadly spells, Voldemort himself, but somehow, Ron being an arse was the thing making his chest ache.
Maybe because you thought he’d be happy for you.
Harry groaned and collapsed onto the couch.
No.
He wasn’t going to waste his energy on Ron’s jealousy. He had bigger things to focus on.
Like his future.
Like his training.
He sat up, determination hardening in his chest.
If Ron wanted to sulk, fine.
But Harry? He was going to get to work.