Harry nodded and settled back, trusting Madame Pomfrey as he always had when it came to his health.
The moment she began casting the diagnostic spell, a strange, unsettling sensation flooded his eyes—like they had suddenly turned to liquid jelly.
He hated it instantly.
Thankfully, the spell ended as quickly as it had begun, and a wave of relief washed over him.
“That was weird,” he muttered, shaking his head sharply to clear the lingering discomfort.
“Well, Mr. Potter, your eyes appear to be completely fine,” Madame Pomfrey announced, though a trace of bewilderment lingered in her voice.
“I don’t know what the issue was before, but it’s gone now. You should consider yourself very lucky. Spontaneous magical healing of vision like this is exceptionally rare.”
“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry said, genuine relief coloring his tone.
She studied him for a moment longer.
“Perhaps I should give you a full examination, just to be safe—”
“No, that’s all right,” Harry cut in quickly.
He had endured enough prodding and poking to last several lifetimes.
“Really, I’m fine.”
The matron looked distinctly unhappy but eventually relented.
“Very well. But if you feel even slightly off—dizzy, headaches, anything at all—you come straight back to me. Understood?”
Harry nodded and slid off the bed, rejoining Neville and the girls, who had gathered around Ron.
The redhead was already scowling.
Harry suppressed an inward sigh at the confrontation he knew was coming.
“Finally decided to show up, then?” Ron growled, arms folded tightly across his chest.
“I was completely out of it until this morning, Ron,” Harry replied evenly.
“Couldn’t have been that bad,” Ron shot back with a shrug.
“You weren’t stuck in here like the rest of us.”
“I was asleep,” Harry said again, keeping his voice calm.
“It’s not like I chose not to visit.”
“So you got to sleep peacefully while we were suffering,” Ron grumbled, his voice rising.
“And it’s your fault we’re even here in the first place.”
“Ron!” Ginny snapped, shooting her brother a warning glare.
Harry narrowed his eyes, surprised by his own composure.
Normally he would have exploded by now, meeting anger with anger.
The others clearly expected the same—they kept glancing nervously between him and Ron.
He pushed down the small spark of irritation and spoke with deliberate calm.
“Tell me, Ron—when exactly did I force you to come with me?” Harry asked, his voice steady.
“At what point did I curse any of you, or put that brain worm on you?”
Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again, muttering something incoherent.
“I didn’t,” Harry continued.
“I told all of you to stay behind. You chose to come anyway—like you always do. I’ve never asked for your help, and I’ve never made you do anything. I’m sorry you got hurt, but I won’t take the blame for choices you made of your own free will.”
“You nearly got us all killed!” Ron spat.
“You got Sirius killed!”
A sharp pang of guilt and sorrow pierced through Harry’s chest, but he swallowed it down.
He stepped closer to Ron, letting just enough cold anger show in his eyes.
“Sirius died doing exactly what he promised my parents he would do—protecting me,” Harry said, his voice low and dangerous, barely above a whisper.
“I know I’m the reason he was there. I don’t need you throwing it in my face. But if you want to blame me, fine. Just remember—you have your own brain. Use it next time before blindly following someone into danger.”
He stopped when his face was only inches from Ron’s.
The redhead stood frozen, clearly unnerved.
He was used to Harry shouting, losing his temper, storming off.
This quiet, controlled intensity was something new—and far more intimidating.
A visible shiver ran through Ron.
Harry stepped back.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do. Someone let me know when Hermione wakes up?”
Neville gave a dazed nod.
Without another word, Harry turned and left the hospital wing, leaving his friends staring after him in stunned silence.
“That was… very unlike Harry,” Luna said softly, breaking the quiet.
“It’s scarier when he doesn’t shout,” Neville muttered, shaking his head.
“What’s happened to him?” Ginny asked, genuine worry threading through her voice.
“His godfather just died,” Neville offered.
Ginny shook her head.
“I don’t think that’s all it is. Something about him is… different.”
“Should we keep an eye on him?” Neville asked nervously.
“Yeah,” Ginny agreed without hesitation.
“I think we have to.” She glanced at her brother, who still looked pale.
“Ron? Are you okay?”
Ron swallowed hard.
“Why didn’t he shout?” he asked, voice small.
“We always shout, storm off, then make up after a few days…”
The other three exchanged glances and shrugged.
None of them had an answer.