The Great Hall was loud, but Harry's world had gone quiet except for the sharp sting of Ron's words echoing in his ears.
"You don't have to be such a know-it-all all the time, Hermione."
The words weren't shouted but cold enough to cut deeper than any insult Harry had heard before.
Hermione's face paled. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but no sound came. She blinked rapidly, then turned sharply on her heel and walked away—fast, but not quite running. Her hands curled tightly around the strap of her bag, and her shoulders sagged under a weight Harry didn't want to imagine.
"Wait!" Harry called out without thinking, pushing his way through the noisy clusters of students. His feet hammered against the floor as he hurried after her, heart pounding harder than he had ever known.
He caught up just as she paused near the edge of the hall, staring down at the floor. He slowed to a halt beside her and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Hermione," he said gently. "I… I didn't like what Ron said either."
She lifted her eyes, glossy and red-rimmed. "It's not just what Ron said," she whispered. "It's everything. I feel like I'm always the one who's… different. Like I have to prove I belong here every single day."
Harry looked away, embarrassed at how much of her pain was mirrored in his own chest. He'd hidden his scars better than she did, but the loneliness was the same.
"You're not alone," Harry said softly. "I know it doesn't always seem that way, but you're not."
Hermione gave a shaky laugh. "I don't even know why I'm crying. I've never been the type to break down like this."
Harry glanced at her hands—clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. He knew her too well.
"Sometimes," he said carefully, "people don't cry because they're weak. Sometimes they cry because they're holding on too tightly."
Her breath hitched, and Harry felt a sudden urge to do something—anything—to take some of that burden from her.
"Look, Hermione," he said, voice firmer now, "you're brilliant. You're the smartest person I know. But you don't have to carry that all by yourself."
Her eyes searched his, and for a moment the walls around her seemed to tremble.
"I'm scared, Harry," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Scared I'll never fit in. Scared that no matter what I do, I'll always be on the outside looking in."
Harry's throat tightened. If only she knew how much he understood. If only she knew that he too walked through every day with shadows clinging close behind.
"You belong here," he said, meaning every word. "Not because you're smart or brave or whatever anyone says. Because you're you."
Tears welled again in Hermione's eyes, but this time they weren't alone in the quiet room. Harry's own eyes stung, and he swallowed hard.
"I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner," he added. "I should've noticed."
She gave him a small, sad smile. "Thank you, Harry. That means more than you know."
They stood together for a moment, the noise of the hall fading into a distant hum.
Harry reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "Come on. Let's go back."
Hermione hesitated, then nodded and followed him back into the crowd.
The corridors of Hogwarts were unusually quiet after dinner. The buzz and chatter of the Great Hall had faded into the distant hum of a settling castle, leaving only the soft tap of footsteps on stone and the occasional flutter of a tapestry swaying in the cold draft.
Harry walked beside Hermione, feeling the weight of the silence stretch between them. Her hand was still lightly clasped in his, fingers trembling ever so slightly, but she made no move to pull away.
"It's not easy, you know," Hermione finally said, breaking the quiet with a voice softer than before. "Trying to keep everything together. I'm always the one people expect answers from—like I'm some kind of walking library. But inside, sometimes I feel like I'm crumbling."
Harry glanced at her, the flickering torchlight catching the sadness in her eyes. He could almost feel the invisible cracks beneath her calm surface, the pressure of expectations like an unbearable weight.
"I get that," he said quietly. "You're supposed to be the perfect student, the perfect friend. And you try to be. But that doesn't mean you're made of stone."
Hermione's breath hitched. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm even supposed to be here," she admitted. "With the way I'm treated… the way people look at me. Like I'm an outsider."
Harry shook his head, incredulous. "You're the bravest person I know. You stood up to Malfoy and his gang when no one else did. You defend people who can't defend themselves. How could anyone think you don't belong?"
She bit her lip, hesitating, then whispered, "Sometimes I feel like I'm pretending. Like I'm playing a part so well even I start to believe it."
That hit Harry harder than he expected. He knew what pretending felt like. He knew the secret fear that sometimes whispered you'd never really be accepted, no matter what you did.
"I used to pretend too," he said, voice low. "Pretend I wasn't scared. Pretend I was like everyone else. It doesn't get easier, but you get better at hiding it."
Hermione's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "It's exhausting."
Harry nodded. "It is. But you don't have to carry it alone."
They rounded a corner and slowed, coming to a pause beneath a stained-glass window where moonlight spilled in fractured colors onto the stone floor.
Hermione looked up at the dancing lights. "I don't want to feel like this anymore," she said softly. "I want to be strong. Not just for everyone else, but for me."
Harry met her gaze. "You are strong. And you don't have to prove it to anyone."
She gave him a small smile, fragile but real. "Thank you, Harry. For running after me. For not ignoring me."
Harry shrugged, trying to hide the warmth spreading in his chest. "You're my friend. I'd do it again."
A sudden noise broke the moment—a shout echoing down the hall.
"Oi! Hermione! Harry!"
They turned to see Ron hurrying towards them, a flush of embarrassment on his freckled face.
"Look, I'm sorry," he said, voice rushed. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just—"
"Angry," Harry said quietly. "I get it, Ron. But words can hurt."
Ron's shoulders sagged. "Yeah, I know. I just don't always know how to say what I mean."
Hermione stepped forward, voice gentle but firm. "That's why you should think before you speak."
Ron nodded, eyes earnest. "I'll try. I don't want to lose you guys."
Harry smiled, the tension easing between them. "We're not going anywhere."
They stood there for a moment, the three of them—uneasy but united in a way that didn't need words.
Harry thought back to the first time he had felt truly accepted, the strange mix of relief and fear that came with friendship. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't always easy. But it was real.
"Hey," Hermione said suddenly, breaking the quiet, "do you think we can still be friends, even if we argue?"
Harry laughed softly. "I think we already proved that."
Ron grinned. "Besides, what's a friendship without a bit of drama?"
Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled.
They walked back towards the common room together, the moonlight fading behind them but something brighter already kindling in their hearts.
---
The days that followed were not without their challenges. Ron still teased Hermione, sometimes harshly, and Hermione still carried the burden of trying to prove herself. But Harry noticed subtle changes—more smiles from Hermione, more genuine moments between the trio. They were learning how to be friends in a way that mattered.
One afternoon, as Harry sat in the library, Hermione approached with a pile of books balanced precariously in her arms.
"You look like you could use some help," she said with a small grin.
Harry smiled back. "Always."
They spent the afternoon pouring over spells and histories, their conversation drifting from magic to hopes and fears.
"Do you ever wish you could start over?" Hermione asked quietly at one point.
Harry thought about it. About all the secrets he carried, about the weight of the past he never spoke of.
"Sometimes," he said. "But then I remember I wouldn't be who I am without it."
Hermione nodded, understanding. "Me too."
That night, as Harry lay in his four-poster bed, he thought about how fragile and complicated people were—and how much courage it took just to be themselves.
He didn't know what the future held. There were threats he hadn't yet seen, dangers lurking just beyond the edges of their lives. But for now, here in the quiet warmth of Hogwarts, with Hermione and Ron by his side, he felt something close to hope.
And sometimes, that was enough.
---
Weeks passed after the troll incident, and life at Hogwarts gradually returned to its familiar rhythm. Classes rolled on with their usual chaos, the excitement of the troll attack fading into whispered rumors and exaggerated retellings. Hermione no longer sat alone in the library corners; instead, she and Ron had found a tentative friendship, stitched together by a shared secret and the quiet memory of Harry's calm intervention that day.
As winter crept in, the mood across the castle shifted. Snow covered the grounds in white sheets, students bundled into scarves and thick robes, and Hagrid's pumpkins were replaced with frozen cauldrons in the courtyard. Harry remained distant, keeping to himself outside of classes, always a shadow in the background. Most assumed it was simply his nature—quiet, observant, a little strange.
But Harry was watching.
Ever since Halloween, he'd noticed something wrong—something off. A tension in the air, a feeling in his gut that wouldn't let go. In his time, danger had come disguised in charm and politeness. And he still didn't trust Professor Quirrell, no matter how timid the man acted now.
So Harry waited. He listened. He watched.
And when he overheard Neville and the others whispering urgently one evening in the common room—talking about the Philosopher's Stone—his heart sank. They'd stumbled onto it, just like they had before. Only this time, the roles were reversed. This time, they were the heroes.
Neville had grown more confident in small ways since the troll incident, but he still jumped at loud noises and clung a bit too tightly to his wand. Hermione, sharp as ever, carried herself with precision and purpose, while Ron had a knack for surprising both of them with his intuition—even if he still pretended not to care much.
And now, they were planning to act.
Harry slipped away early that evening, long before curfew, and cloaked himself in a veil of invisibility magic. Not a borrowed cloak like in his old life, but magic of his own weaving—silent, subtle, and near undetectable unless you knew what to look for. He followed them from a distance, silent as mist on the stairs.
Ron was whispering. "You're sure about this? I mean, actually sure?"
Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag, jaw tight. "The restricted section books confirm it. There's no doubt. Something's being guarded, and it's not just for fun."
Neville exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the corridor. "It's the Stone. It has to be. That's what Flamel was researching. Eternal life. Unlimited gold. It's all in the alchemy books."
"Which you're not supposed to have," Hermione added, but didn't press further. She'd helped him find them, after all.
Harry moved silently along the opposite wall, concealed by a shimmer of bent light. He didn't need to join them. Not yet. He was just here to make sure they survived. Just here to watch.
They reached the third-floor corridor just before midnight.
Neville's hand trembled slightly as he reached for the doorknob. "Do you think Dumbledore knows?"
"Probably," Hermione whispered. "But maybe he thought no one would try to steal it while it was in the castle. He might be wrong."
Harry frowned slightly. The logic was sound—but in his time, even Dumbledore had misjudged things.
The door creaked open, revealing a dim passageway lit only by a few hovering candles. The air was thick with enchantments, and Harry's senses tingled.
They moved cautiously, checking corners, stepping lightly. When they reached the trapdoor hidden beneath the rug, Ron crouched beside it. "Think this is it?"
Neville nodded, pale but determined. "This is the one Fluffy was guarding."
Hermione shivered. "No Cerberus this time. They must have moved it."
Harry narrowed his eyes. That was new. Last time, Fluffy had remained posted outside the entrance. Someone had altered the security.
Hermione knelt and ran her wand along the trapdoor's edge. "There are still charms here. Defensive wards. We'd have to disable them carefully."
"Or we could just… you know… tell a professor?" Neville offered weakly.
Ron looked at him. "Would you believe us?"
Neville grimaced. "Point taken."
They began working together, Hermione identifying the protections, Ron drawing them off with distraction charms while Neville studied the counter-runes from his notes. It was clumsy but effective. Harry couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride watching them.
Once the magic was unwound, the trapdoor opened without resistance. A dark stairway spiraled down into the depths.
They stared at it, none of them moving.
Hermione broke the silence. "We don't have to go all the way. Just far enough to make sure it's safe. Or unsafe."
Neville drew in a shaky breath. "I can't run away now."
Ron smirked. "Good. 'Cause I'm not climbing back up yet either."
The three of them descended into the darkness.
Harry waited until they were gone, then followed, silent and invisible, his wand already drawn.
He didn't know what was waiting at the end of this path. But whatever it was, he'd be there—just out of sight.
Just in case.
---
The descent was cold.
Stone walls pressed close around the trio as they moved deeper beneath the castle. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the winding corridor, barely more than whispers. Each step seemed to carry them further away from the comfort of dormitories and familiar halls—into something older. Something hidden.
Neville's hand tightened around his wand. He tried to keep his breaths even, but fear buzzed in the back of his throat. The darkness below reminded him of the stories his Gran used to tell—about things that lurked where sunlight never touched. But Ron and Hermione were walking just ahead of him, silent and focused, and he didn't want to be the one to ask if they should turn back.
Behind them, unseen and unheard, Harry followed.
His invisibility charm was flawless, and his presence nearly undetectable. But even so, his heartbeat quickened. Each twist of the path mirrored his past—yet not quite. The familiar became unpredictable. The dog wasn't there. The stairs were new. And that made this more dangerous.
They emerged into a wide, domed room lit by soft, floating lanterns. The first challenge.
A sea of vines pulsed across the floor and walls, gently shifting, alive with enchantment. Hermione stopped abruptly.
"Devil's Snare," she said, voice low. "It thrives in darkness."
Neville flinched as one of the vines slithered slightly closer. "That's… definitely not comforting."
Ron looked up. "We need to get across. It's not deep, but there's no path."
Hermione stepped forward, holding her wand aloft. "It hates light and warmth. I'll cast Lumos Solem."
"Wait," Neville said. "Won't that wake it more? It might react violently."
Harry raised an eyebrow from the shadows. Neville's caution was smart—too much magic could provoke magical plants. But time was ticking.
Hermione frowned. "You're right. Then... let's try warming the area slowly."
She flicked her wand. "Incendio Minor."
A soft warmth began to bloom around them. The vines hissed, recoiling, curling away like snakes disturbed from sleep. Slowly, carefully, the trio moved forward across the exposed floor. One wrong step and the vines would strike.
Harry stood still, waiting until they reached the far end. Then he raised his own wand and whispered a barely audible counter-charm, freezing the movement of the remaining vines. The trio didn't even realize he was helping them.
The second room was dark—unnaturally so. Not a shadow, but a void.
"I can't see anything," Ron said. "Not even my own feet."
Hermione lit her wand, but the light bent oddly, pulled inward.
Neville hesitated. "Illusion?"
Harry knew this one. A test of will, not magic. A room designed to disorient, to play on fear of the unseen. He stepped carefully past the trio and touched his wand to the center of the room, muttering a grounding charm under his breath.
The shadows faltered—just enough.
"Go left," Hermione whispered. "Follow the stones on the wall. Don't step too far forward."
They followed her voice, relying more on instinct than sight. With slow, patient movement, they made it across.
The third chamber smelled of rust and dust—metal and age.
A large chessboard covered the floor, pieces already in position.
Ron gave a low whistle. "It's wizard's chess."
Neville groaned softly. "You've got to be kidding."
Ron stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he studied the layout. "We have to play to get across."
Harry, watching silently, felt the old tension return. He remembered this. This hadn't changed much.
Ron's gaze sharpened. "I'll take the knight's position."
Hermione frowned. "Are you sure? This isn't just a game."
"Exactly. That's why I'll play. I know this."
And Ron did. He played with precision and a quiet intensity, guiding the trio forward across the board. He gave orders, sacrificed pieces. And when it came time to sacrifice himself—he didn't hesitate.
Harry moved as Ron stepped into the path of the opposing queen.
The enchanted piece lunged.
With speed and silence, Harry flicked his wand—not enough to stop the blow, but enough to slow it. The queen's strike landed, but it was less violent. Ron collapsed, unconscious, not hurt beyond recovery.
Neville and Hermione rushed to him, panic rising.
"He's breathing," Hermione said quickly. "Stunned, not injured. We have to move forward."
Neville looked down at Ron's face. "We'll come back for him."
They moved on.
The fourth room was filled with bottles—rows upon rows of them, all identical. A logic puzzle. Hermione stepped forward instantly.
"This is mine."
Neville blinked. "What?"
"I read about this kind of thing. It's a potion puzzle—poison, wine, fire protection. Only one lets you move forward."
Neville looked uncertain. "What if it's not the same? What if—?"
"I'll solve it." Hermione scanned the riddle etched on the mirror beside the table, lips moving silently.
Harry, still concealed, watched with respect. She didn't even pause. Within minutes, she chose the smallest bottle on the end.
"This one." She handed Neville a different bottle. "This will send you back to Ron. Take it. I'll go ahead."
"What? No!" Neville said. "We started this together—"
"And you need to help Ron. We can't leave him alone."
Neville's expression was torn, but finally, he nodded. He took the bottle, looked at her, and then drank.
With a shimmer of magic, he vanished—transported back to the previous room.
Hermione turned to the door ahead and took a breath.
Harry followed quietly.
Through the final door was the chamber of the Stone. The mirror stood tall and imposing in the center of the room, reflecting not only appearance, but desire.
But it wasn't empty.
A figure stood before it, robes dark, hands trembling.
Professor—
-----------------------
If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Amon0_0"
Or Just search Amon_The_Error in your patreon and you can find the advance chapters there