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Chapter 88
When Ron woke up, he found himself lying on a hospital bed.
He was very familiar with this place. Last semester, he had spent quite a long time here after being petrified by the basilisk. The white curtains, the clean linen sheets, and the faint smell of medicinal herbs instantly told him where he was.
The Hogwarts infirmary.
The memories rushed back.
"Hiss—!"
A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, forcing a groan out of him. It felt as if the injury had only just reached his nerves. In the wizarding world, anesthetics were rarely used, and even if they had been, their effects would have long since worn off.
Ron realized that not only his shoulder and arm were injured—his head was also tightly wrapped in gauze, covering most of his flaming red hair. Every so often, a dull throbbing pain pulsed beneath the bandage.
"Ron, you're awake?" Harry exclaimed from beside the bed.
Ron blinked and turned his head slightly.
"Thanks," he muttered, then glanced toward the window. The sky outside was already completely dark.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"Almost half a day," Harry replied.
"So long…" Ron tried to sit up, but immediately discovered that his arms were completely powerless.
"Lie back down," a cold voice said behind him. "Madam Pomfrey said you'll need at least a month to fully recover."
Hermione stepped into view.
"Don't misunderstand," she added quickly, her tone still distant. "I'm only here because I feel… somewhat responsible. Now that you're awake, I should go."
"Goodbye, Mr. Weasley."
"Wait." Ron's voice was weak, but urgent. "I'm sorry."
Hermione paused.
"I know this was an accident," Ron continued hurriedly. "I don't believe in that prophecy stuff either. She even said I'd be lucky today."
Those words nearly reignited Hermione's anger.
"I shouldn't have said those things yesterday," Ron said sincerely. "I really am sorry."
When Ron had been in real danger, it was Hermione's spell that saved him. No matter how stubborn he was, he wasn't ungrateful. The moment those cruel words left his mouth last night, he had already regretted them.
Making a girl cry—especially without reason—was something he despised.
In the end, Hermione had helped him regardless of the past. If he still refused to acknowledge his mistake, even he would look down on himself.
At heart, Ron was still a good boy.
"…I accept your apology," Hermione said after a long pause.
They were friends. Being tolerant of friends was natural.
Still—
If cracks were repaired again and again, could things ever truly return to how they were before?
Hermione didn't say it aloud, but she knew one thing clearly: Ron could be unbearably childish.
When it truly mattered—the Philosopher's Stone, the Polyjuice Potion—she was willing to break school rules and risk punishment alongside him and Harry. She understood that some things were more important than rules.
But most of the time, his impulsiveness and lack of restraint exhausted her.
Harry could be reckless—but Ron was worse.
Today's accident was entirely self-inflicted.
"Alright," Hermione said at last. "Since you've apologized, I'll tell you three pieces of bad news. You should be mentally prepared."
"Hermione, stop," Harry said quickly. "He needs rest."
"If you make a mistake, you need the courage to face the consequences," Hermione replied firmly. "That's what it means to be a Gryffindor."
Ron nodded weakly. He still hadn't fully grasped how serious things were.
"First," Hermione began, "your parents already know you were seriously injured. Aunt Molly almost rushed here immediately, but your father stopped her. Your brothers—Fred and George—stayed here nearly the entire afternoon."
"That's the price your family paid for your recklessness," she said calmly. "Think twice before taking risks in the future."
Ron lowered his head in shame.
Seeing his reaction, Hermione softened slightly—but her next words hit even harder.
"Second," she continued, "Hagrid might be dismissed."
"No!" Ron shouted in disbelief. "This is my fault! It has nothing to do with Hagrid!"
"It's only a possibility," Hermione said. "But it exists."
Ron clenched his teeth. He knew how much becoming a teacher meant to Hagrid.
"Harry… let's talk to Professor Dumbledore," Ron pleaded. "Take my points. Punish me. Just don't fire Hagrid."
Harry hesitated, then nodded faintly. "We'll try."
"And the third?" Ron asked hoarsely.
"This one only concerns you," Hermione said quietly. "Harry will tell you. I need to go to the library."
Without looking back, she left the ward.
The world didn't stop turning for one injured boy.
"Harry," Ron grabbed his sleeve with his only usable arm. "What is it?"
Harry hesitated for a long time before finally speaking.
As the truth sank in, Ron's face drained of color—then flushed deep red. Anger, humiliation, and unwillingness surged through him all at once.
He struggled to sit up, but his body refused to cooperate, and he collapsed back onto the bed.
His only intact hand clenched tightly into a fist.
"Why did it turn out like this?!" Ron shouted hoarsely.
The answer didn't come.