Chapter III
The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with a soft, comforting warmth, but the air felt cold. Ron was sprawled across one of the chairs, fiddling absentmindedly with a piece of parchment, while Hermione sat nearby, her book abandoned in favor of watching the entrance. Both of them had been expecting Harriet for a while now; she’d been gone longer than usual after her conversation with Draco, and neither of them liked the look on her face when she’d walked off.
When the portrait hole swung open, they didn’t need to see who it was. They could feel the shift in the atmosphere as soon as she walked in. Harriet’s presence felt heavier tonight—like a storm cloud ready to burst. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face flushed, and her hands were trembling, despite her best efforts to hide it. But what caught their attention most of all was her hair. It was shorter now, cut into a messy, layered style that framed her face—so different from the long, carefully maintained locks she’d always had. The change was jarring, and it made both Ron and Hermione feel the weight of her internal battle even more.
“Harriet,” Hermione stood immediately, concern drawn all over her face, “Where were you? What happened to your hair? Are you okay? Were you attacked?”
Harriet didn’t reply. She didn’t even look at them as she crossed the room, her steps stiff, her posture rigid. She headed straight for the fire, as if the heat might somehow chase away the cold feeling settling in her chest.
Ron stood too, “Oi, Harri. Where were you? You don’t look good. What’s going on?”
Harriet’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t answer right away. She was so tired of pretending everything was fine. But she couldn’t do it—couldn’t let them in, not with everything bubbling just under the surface. Not when she was so close to breaking.
She hiccupped, struggling to hold back her cries, she didn’t want to feel like she didn’t belong in her own body anymore, “I’m fine.”, was all she could muster, before she fully collapsed.
“Harri!” Ron and Hermione exclaimed in unison, glancing at each other in a panic.
Harriet was sobbing on the floor. It was all too much. Her recent discovery, Draco bloody Malfoy being the first person to find out, and now her two best friends, Ron and Hermione bombarding her.
She wanted to leave.
“Harriet! Harriet!” Ron and Hermione were trying desperately to help her up so that she could at least sit in a chair, but years of quidditch had given her muscles that couldn’t compare to what the two of them possessed.
“‘Mione, what should we do? Call Pomfrey?” Ron asked.
“I- I don’t know. That might be best, yes. Call Madame Pomfrey.”
“Alright. Dobby!” Ron called out.
CRACK
Harriet started sobbing louder.
“Mistress Harriet! What is wrong with Mistress Harriet!” Asked a nervous Dobby.
“Dobby, we need you to go get Madame Pomfrey right now. We think Harri’s having a PTSD attack or something similar” Hermione ordered.
“Of course! Dobby will be right back.”