Chapter 4
Ron is yelling at Harry, and everyone around them is staring.
Less than a month remains before the second task, and Ron has not stopped calling Malfoy a ferret, though Malfoy is no longer too tired to put his full emotions into the insults he defends himself with. His allies no longer subtly pull him away, and his guard has lessened some.
People start whispering when Ron accuses Harry of siding with the Slytherins, the house that is known for trampling over everyone to get what they want. Harry doesn’t think Gryffindors are much different, in that respect, except they do so in the name of competition and obliviousness, and not socially or educationally inspired ambition.
Hermione has started fretting over their relationship again, but this time she doesn’t truly understand what is going on, as neither Ron nor Harry will tell her how they feel about the situation. They might be disagreeing on Malfoy right now, but they don’t want to put Hermione in the same position of mediator, which she was so obviously upset about the first time, and instead agreed to try to work it out themselves.
But Hermione is far too observant, and has noticed that Harry goes quiet when Ron joins them while they are talking, and it’s been stressing her out anyway.
But now all of Hogwarts may as well be witnesses to their failure to get past this, because they’re both being loud. Harry loves Ron’s friendship, but he refuses to be walked over again, and as Ron raises his voice, so does he.
“I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so obsessed with name-calling, Ron!” Harry shouts next. He thinks he might break the skin of his palms with how hard he is clenching his fists. He wants to physically reach out and shake his friend into listening to him, but he’s representing Hogwarts right now, however unwillingly, and both Professor McGonagall and Snape would skin him alive if he started a brawl between them.
“You call him ‘the pointy git’ all the bloody time!” Ron returns. “What, am I supposed to just meekly follow your decisions whenever they change?” Harry’s stomach lurches. He has called Malfoy that, dozens of times.
“I’m trying to be better, Ron,” Harry tries to explain.
“We are better! Better than him!” Ron looks like a screaming lion, with how furious his expression is and the sheer volume of his opinions. Harry can feel his chest shaking. “He’s used slurs against all of us, everyone he can. What happened to the Harry I knew, who would leap at any chance to shove his way into things and make a point that he deserves to be heard!?”
Harry inhales, and holds his breath. The shaking extends to his shoulders and upper arms, but otherwise he is still.
A hush falls over the people grouped around them, and Harry darts his eyes to look at those part of the circle in front of him and behind Ron. None of them seem to know how to respond.
“Making fun of people isn’t justice,” Harry states after those handfuls of seconds. He is reluctant to say what he wants to, where half the school can hear, but quietly, “Ron, he was terrified. I won’t play a part in reminding him about it.”
Harry is running, shoving his way through the crowd with all the strength he’s gained from quidditch drills and constantly waving his arms around to practice casting spells. Some people move out of his way before he can get to them, and others don’t, either busy processing his quiet words or wanting him to stay and keep fighting for their entertainment.
Harry is running, and he knows his difficulty seeing what’s in front of him has nothing to do with his near-sightedness. The kind of blur cast over everything is wet, and he frustratedly swipes at the tears under his glasses before they can fall down his face.
Harry is running, and he doesn’t quite know where to. He won’t go to his dorm room to hide behind his curtains; he might have mastered the spell to block light, but he’s never thought to find or practice a spell that does the same for sound. How else is he meant to get up without the noise of his male year mates bustling around to get ready for breakfast non-too silently?
Harry is running, and he’s probably bumped into a few people already in his haste to get away, but he hasn’t registered such occurrences if he has.
Harry disappears behind a tapestry-covered alcove, and spells away the miniscule light that peeks in between the edges of the cloth and the wall. The pitch-black darkness brings to attention Harry’s breathing, and the cramp in his side, and he puts his fingers against the pulse on his neck to remind him to breathe slowly, that he can calm down.
He doesn’t try to stop his tears from falling now, alone except for the footsteps of the people passing by him, unaware he’s nearby. He’ll have to stay here longer than he needs to, until he can feel the redness around his eyes and cheeks fade, but that isn’t a hardship.
Hours slip by, and Harry should have left a long time ago, but the last time he was in a dark space as small as this – the size that is more than twice as small as his Hogwarts’ bed – was when the Dursleys shoved him into his cupboard, and the knowledge that he can leave this space whenever he wants wraps around his heart like a soft hug. Without a door that could lock him in, and without roommates knowing exactly where he is, he feels safe and hidden from everything bad around him in a way he never has.
Or, he did.
Someone moves the tapestry from outside, and Harry jolts in place, curled up in a way that he would have difficulty fighting back an attacker in.
It’s a soft face and sharp jaw that greets him, dark brown, wavy hair, and eyes that he can only ever remember showing one emotion. “Oh,” Theodore Nott says, eyes widened slightly and startled, and Harry fights back the urge to run red again, but in embarrassment.
He was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, hiding in a space smaller than most closets. If someone had to find him, he would have preferred it to be Hagrid or Hermione.
“My apologies,” Nott tells him, gets out of his space, closes the tapestry, and walks away.
It doesn’t take Harry long to leave after that, not knowing if Nott will decide to come back with friends. He strains his ears to make sure that no one will be in the hallway when he exits the alcove, and when he gives himself the all clear, he makes a break for it.
Hermione is in the Gryffindor common room waiting for him, and by the hurt look on her face, she knows everything. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She spoke quietly; a couple people were hanging out in the common room, and disturbing them and drawing their attention would not be ideal.
“I knew something was going on, but you both exploded at each other.” She takes a deep breath. “Let me rephrase – I would have liked to know what the argument between you and Ron was before it was too late for me to help.”
Harry loves Ron’s friendship, but he thinks he just loves Hermione, as deeply as he can without it shifting to romantic feelings. ‘Why didn’t you… but you both,’ weighed him down with guilt and unease.
“I’m sorry for running away, if that worried you.” Hermione shook her head, and looked at him with gentle eyes.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing some time for yourself,” Hermione scooted closer to him, but let Harry make the decision to initiate touch between them, which he did, pressing their shoulders together. “And if there was a troll in the school, then I would come find you.”
Harry smiled at the reminder of their first year. “Can I hear what has been going on between you and Ron?” Harry nods, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.
“Malfoy likes to bully people,” Harry begins explaining. Hermione gestures for him to go on. “Especially you, Ron, and me. When Ron heard about Malfoy being turned into a ferret by professor Moody, he felt justified in using that against him, even without any prompting from Malfoy.” Harry feels frustrated tears well up in his eyes again, and he rubs them away.
“And you didn’t want to use that against him,” Hermione guessed.
“No,” Harry agrees. “I didn’t. I don’t; Ron hasn’t stopped after a month of me asking him to.”
“Ron told me he felt like you were ‘tugging on his leash’ when you told him not to call Malfoy that specific name,” Hermione prompts him to continue.
“Hermione, Malfoy was terrified when that happened,” Harry repeated from his earlier fight with Ron. “He had no control over that situation, and maybe that reminded me…” Harry trailed off. His friends knew about the Dursleys, of course, but their knowledge encompassed far from everything. “Telling Malfoy that he’s being a git when he throws around slurs is different than purposefully going after him with a name.”
“Ron wants vengeance, and you just want Malfoy to leave us be.” Harry shuts his eyes and leans more of his weight against Hermione.
“Yes.” Hermione takes a deep breath, and wraps an arm around Harry.
“Do you want me to help you and Ron make up again?” Harry shakes his head.
“I don’t want to talk to Ron,” he pauses, and adds, “Not right now,”
Hermione doesn’t respond after that, and they spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling together, until they split up to go sleep in their respective beds.