Redemption | Drarry

008: The Pull (Edited)

Harry had always thought he understood himself well enough. He knew his strengths, his flaws, and how to push through when things got tough. But this… this was something else.

His body didn’t feel like his own. His thoughts felt foreign, his emotions tangled in ways that didn’t make sense. One moment, he was fine—tired, maybe, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The next, his skin was too tight, his magic was unsettled, and his instincts screamed at him to do something, find something, though he had no idea what.

It was getting worse.

He had tried to ignore it. That was what he always did, wasn’t it? Push through, keep his head down, don’t make a fuss. But it was becoming impossible to pretend he was fine. His headaches had turned into full-body exhaustion, his appetite was erratic, and there were moments—brief, terrifying moments—where his magic surged like it was trying to force something out of him.

And Ron—Ron had noticed.

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t trust Ron. He did. But he also knew how Ron handled things when he was worried. And sure enough, Harry had caught him slipping away after conversations, making excuses to visit Dumbledore, looking more and more conflicted each time.

It made something sharp twist in his chest.

Ron wasn’t doing it to betray him—Harry knew that. But it still stung to realize that his best mate thought he needed Dumbledore’s intervention.

And maybe Ron wasn’t wrong.

Because right now? Harry had no idea what was happening to him.

---

It finally came to a head in the Gryffindor common room.

He hadn’t meant to snap. Really. But between the exhaustion, the feeling of something wrong curling in his chest, and the weight of Ron’s worried glances, it was only a matter of time.

Hermione stood at the entrance to his room her arms crossed, her face, serious. It was clear she was not going to let him get away from her. Harry had anticipated that she would one of these days confront him on why he seemed to ignore her everytime she tried to make conversation.

At that moment his head decided to send a little sting of pain as if to call him stupid or something.

"Harry, you need to talk to someone," Hermione said, voice firm but gentle as she blocked his way toward the boys’ dormitory.

Harry tensed. "I don’t—"

"Don’t tell me you’re fine." She crossed her arms, brown eyes sharp. "Because you’re not. And I know you hate asking for help, but this isn’t something you can ignore."

"I don’t need help," Harry snapped, too sharp, too defensive. He knew it the second Hermione’s expression softened with concern.

"You do. Even if you seem to not want to talk to either me or Ron these days we are still your friends, we have respected your space now open up," she said quietly.

Harry clenched his jaw, frustration and exhaustion mixing into something unbearable. "Ron told you to talk to me, didn’t he?"

Hermione hesitated. "...He’s worried about you."

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry muttered bitterly. "Not like he’s been sneaking off to Dumbledore behind my back or anything."

She sighed. "Harry, he’s scared. You think we don’t see how much you’re struggling?"

"I don’t—"

"Yes, you do." Hermione’s voice was sharp now, cutting through his denial. "You barely eat. You flinch like your skin doesn’t fit right. And your magic—Harry, you’re humming."