Redemption | Drarry

007: Escaping The Inevitable (Edited)

The room assignments had gone smoothly, for the most part. Everyone was content with the arrangement, and there wasn’t much room for argument. Well—almost everyone. Ron, while outwardly neutral, couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He wasn’t unhappy for those who got their own rooms, but it meant keeping an eye on Harry had become significantly harder.

Ron had noticed something was wrong with him. Harry had been distant, quiet, avoiding conversation unless absolutely necessary. At first, Ron thought it was just stress—maybe from the war, or from being back at Hogwarts—but something deeper was going on. And it worried him.

He had already spoken to Dumbledore about it. Not in a tattling way, of course, but because he thought the headmaster might know what was going on. Dumbledore had merely nodded, a knowing twinkle in his eye, and assured Ron that he was keeping an eye on things. That only made Ron feel worse. If Dumbledore knew something, why not just tell him?

Hermione, on the other hand, was growing frustrated. She had been trying to figure out what was going on with Harry for days, but every time she got close to a realization, something—or someone—interrupted her train of thought. The worst part? Harry didn’t even seem to notice her efforts. He barely acknowledged her. She had even overheard someone calling him Hadrian. Hadrian. He hadn’t even told them he was using a different name.

She wanted to ask him about it, but her workload had kept her busy. Besides, she knew Harry. If she pushed too hard, he’d retreat even further. No, she needed a better approach—one that would get through to him without making him shut her out completely.

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Harry walked through the halls, barely paying attention to his surroundings. Luna was beside him, chatting about the creatures in the forest, but he only half-listened.

Something was wrong with him.

At first, it had been minor things—subtle changes that he could write off as exhaustion. A sharper sense of smell, slightly better vision in the dark, occasional bursts of energy that left him restless. But then it got worse.

His instincts—because that’s what they were, instincts—were screaming at him. About what, he wasn’t sure. It felt like something inside of him was trying to guide him, but he didn’t understand where or why. There were moments where his skin felt too tight, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own body.

And the worst part? The headaches. They weren’t normal headaches, not like the ones he had from stress or from his scar. These came in waves—sometimes dull and throbbing, other times sharp and piercing. They left him breathless, gripping onto the nearest surface for support, waiting for the pain to pass.

He hadn’t told anyone.

Because how could he?

After everything, after the war, after Voldemort—how could he turn around and say, Something is wrong with me?

He didn’t even know what was wrong.

“Harry?” Luna’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked at her, realizing they had stopped walking.

“Yeah?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

Luna tilted her head. “You’re not listening.”

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Sorry, just… tired.”

Luna studied him for a long moment. Then, instead of pressing, she simply nodded and continued walking. That was the thing about Luna—she never forced anything. She let people be. And right now, Harry was grateful for that.

They eventually made their way to the library. Harry wasn’t sure why he had come—maybe habit, maybe the quiet. Or maybe he was hoping to find something—anything—that could explain what was happening to him.