Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0543 Rage

In a sudden explosion of rage that seemed to burst forth from the depths of his soul, Ron violently threw Harry's Firebolt to the wet ground. The broomstick landed with a sickening thud at Harry's feet with mud spattering across its surface. His sudden outburst caught both Harry and Hermione off guard, making them flinch visibly.

"Is that so?" Harry's voice cut through the tense air like a blade of ice after a moment of charged silence. His eyes had turned hard as stone behind his rain-speckled glasses. "Well, from where I'm standing, you're nothing but a pathetic fool!"

As if nature itself sought to heighten the drama of the moment, a fierce gust of wind howled through the grounds from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. The trees swayed ominously in the distance as the weather shifted dramatically. The gentle misty drizzle transformed into sheets of steadily falling rain, each drop feeling like a tiny needle against their skin.

Hermione shivered violently, though the physical cold paled in comparison to the freezing atmosphere that had fallen between her two best friends. The chill that gripped her heart felt far more brutal than any weather Scotland could conjure.

"Can't we stop this?" Hermione's voice cracked with desperation as she pleaded with her confronting friends. The grounds had emptied completely now, leaving the three of them isolated in their private storm. The rain-soaked grass stretched out around them like a desolate battlefield, as not another soul was visible through the curtain of rainfall.

But her desperate plea had no positive effect. If anything, it seemed to have the opposite effect as it only fueled the anger between Harry and Ron, who at this moment couldn't stand the sight of each other.

"You have no right to talk to me like that!" Ron's words came through clenched teeth.

Unlike Hermione, Harry had surrendered completely to his rage now, letting it consume him like Fiendfyre. He glared at Ron with unprecedented loathing, finding every detail of his former best friend's appearance suddenly intolerable – from his sopping ginger hair to his hand-me-down robes that exposed his ankles. The wind and rain drenching him barely registered in his consciousness, as all his senses were focused solely on his target.

"You know being a champion isn't what Hermione wanted!"

Harry's shout tore through the rain-filled air, his vision swimming either from the rain-water or pure fury. Each word he hurled at Ron felt like a release valve for his anger.

"You know she's going to face ridicule and mockery! You know the dangers she will face might go far beyond just the tournament tasks! But you ignore all that, obsessing over those stupid Galleons and fame, and you still don't think you're being an absolute fool!"

"Don't you dare act like you're the only noble one here, Potter!"

Ron's answering roar was raw in his rage, drowning out even the thunderous crashes of waves against the distant cliffs.

For one terrible moment, his hands twitched with the overwhelming urge to smash Harry's glasses into his face. Only a last thread of restraint held him back. Seeing how his words had stunned Harry, it gave him a rush of savage satisfaction, but he also couldn't bear to remain there any longer.

His eyes flickered briefly to Hermione, who stood helpless and shivering in the downpour. His lips parted slightly, conflict and hesitation twirling in his eyes, but whatever words might have come died unspoken. Instead, he turned sharply toward the castle, his movement sending water flying from his sopping robes.

"Don't you dare walk away, you COWARD!"

The accusation of cowardice was the final spark needed to ignite the powder keg.

Harry totally enraged by Ron's attitude lunged forward with a furious cry just as Ron spun back around, completely losing control. Meanwhile, his use of the word 'coward' also made Ron lose his mind. In the crescendo of falling rain, the two boys who had once been closer than brothers raised their fists against each other.

Their bodies collided with brutal force as they crashed onto the muddy lawn, rolling and grappling like wild animals. Guttural sounds of rage and pain came from them as they fought with desperate fury. The howling wind and stinging rain seemed to mock their struggle, as if nature itself was laughing at these young boys experiencing their first real taste of friendship's bitter ending.

Hermione threw herself into the fight with desperate courage, trying to wedge herself between the fighting boys. But she was no match for two adolescent boys consumed by blind rage. In the chaotic tangle of limbs, someone's elbow connected sharply with her front teeth. She let out a painful cry and stumbled backward, nearly losing consciousness from the sudden explosion of pain.

"Oh, dear!"

The wet ground trembled beneath massive footsteps as Hagrid's enormous figure came charging across the lawn with his moleskin overcoat flapping like giant wings. His beetle-black eyes widened with disbelief at the scene before him.

Moving with surprising speed for someone his size, Hagrid reached the wrestling boys and, with the casual ease of someone plucking daisies, grabbed each of them by an arm and hoisted them clear off the ground.

Even when suspended in mid-air, Harry and Ron continued their assault, swinging wildly with their free limbs and hurling curses at each other. The sight might have been comical if not for the raw hatred evident in their faces beneath the coating of mud.

"Merlin's beard!" Hagrid's eyes darted between the two mud-covered figures dangling from his massive hands, as if struggling to recognize the boys he'd known for years. "Seamus an' Dean came runnin' ter tell me yeh might be fightin'. Thought they were havin' me on! I was busy teachin' Fréodom how ter handle the Blast-Ended Skrewts an' got delayed... But what's this all about? Can someone explain why yeh two are tryin' ter kill each other? Oh, and Hermione, yer teeth look real nasty!"

"Let me go, Hagrid!" Harry's demand came out as a strangled roar. Despite his best efforts to break free, his struggles were as effective as a flobberworm trying to wrestle a dragon. Hagrid's grip remained steady as a stone pillar.

"I'm going to flatten this idiot's face!" Harry continued to rage, his glasses misaligned and splattered with mud.

"Try it then!" Ron shot back with savage defiance; his face nearly as red as his hair. "Let's see whose face gets flattened first!"

"Not bloody likely!" Hagrid's voice boomed with unprecedented sternness. "Neither of yeh's touching ground till yeh shake hands and make peace!"

"Hey!"

The boys' continued stubbornness finally ignited Hagrid's temper. He shook his massive arms, causing Harry and Ron to swing like ragdolls in the wind. The world spun dizzyingly around them, and both felt as though their bodies might fly apart at any moment.

"Why don't yeh take a good look at Hermione first? She's worse off than both of yeh combined!"

Harry barely managed to suppress the urge to vomit as the world stopped spinning. When his vision cleared, he finally noticed Hermione's condition properly. She was clutching her mouth with both hands, but crimson streams of blood still seeped between her trembling fingers. Her robes were plastered to her body by the rain, and she was shivering from the cold. Ron had roughly the same reaction, finally realizing that in their conflict, Hermione had ended up being the most seriously injured.

"Seems yeh've finally come to yer senses, eh?" Hagrid's anger was evident in his gruff voice as he carefully lowered the now-subdued boys to the ground.

"Right then, all three of yeh, to my cabin. We'll sort this mess out proper-like. Come on now, I've got plenty of experience with magical creature injuries, so I know a thing or two about healing. I can help with some of those wounds, Hermione—"

Saying this, Hagrid gently wrapped one massive arm around Hermione's shoulders, nearly engulfing her small body as he guided her toward his cabin. Harry, consumed with worry for Hermione, followed immediately in their trail. They had nearly reached Hagrid's door before they realized Ron had vanished from the grounds, leaving only muddy footprints that were quickly being erased by the rain.

"Better come in then—" Hagrid sighed heavily, noting Ron's absence as he pushed open his thick wooden door.

The interior of Hagrid's cabin was transformed into a haven of warmth and light by the cheerfully burning oil lamps. The usually messy floor had been swept to spotless condition, and the various animal parts that typically decorated the ceiling beams had been properly cleaned and stored beneath Hagrid's enormous bed, eliminating the cabin's usual musty odor.

As Harry stepped anxiously through the doorway, the cozy warmth actually intensified his awareness of his physical state. His mud-caked robes clung to his skin like a cold, wet second skin, making him shiver violently.

A large pot of stew simmered invitingly on the iron stove, its rich aroma clearly indicating it wasn't one of Hagrid's usual culinary experiments *ahem* Hagrid's cooking. The smell suddenly reminded Harry that his lunch had been interrupted by this whole disaster.

"Mistress Granger!"

A small black figure burst from behind a stack of wooden crates in the corner, rushing to Hermione's feet as Hagrid carefully settled her on the edge of his massive bed.

It was Fréodom with his snow-white fur gleaming in the lamplight and his enormous eyes – the exact shade as Hermione's but now swimming with tears and nearly the size of tennis balls – fixed on her with devastating concern.

"Mistress Granger is hurt!" the house-elf wailed, her high-pitched voice trembling with distress. "Fréodom failed to protect Mistress Granger! Fréodom is an unworthy house-elf!"

With a heart-wrenching sob, Fréodom made a desperate dash toward the hot stove. Based on Hagrid's alarmed reaction, the house-elf intended to punish herself by sticking her head into the flames.

Hermione's severely swollen lips prevented her from properly protesting, but fortunately, Hagrid's quick reflexes saved the day. He snatched Fréodom up by her large ears and tossed her safely aside with surprising gentleness.

"Don't go makin' things worse now, will yeh?" Hagrid grumbled irritably, then hurried to retrieve a jar of ointment from the shelf above his bed.

"Blimey, yeh really went at it, didn't yeh!" Hagrid shot an accusing glare at Harry, who stood guilt-ridden by the stove, before carefully applying the pungent-smelling ointment to Hermione's injured lips.

As Hagrid had said, he did have some skill in healing– after all, dealing with potentially dangerous magical creatures meant frequent injuries, and running to Madam Pomfrey for every scratch and bite wasn't practical. Years of experience had taught him to handle most wounds himself.

The effect of the ointment was immediate – the burning pain in Hermione's lips transformed into a soothing coolness, and the tension in her face visibly decreased.

"Yer front teeth look a bit loose, Hermione—" Hagrid produced an enormous handkerchief from one of his many pockets and offered it to her to wipe away the excess ointment, but Hermione made no move to take it.

"Best let Poppy have a look at that later—"

"Thank you, Hagrid, I will—" Hermione's gratitude was slightly muffled but sincere as she accepted a cup of warm water from Fréodom to rinse the metallic taste of blood from her mouth. With a snap of her fingers, Fréodom then dried their wet clothes instantly, her house-elf magic making quick work of the task.

The beef stew continued to bubble enticingly on the stove, its appetizing aroma causing both Hermione and Harry to swallow reflexively. Their mad dash between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade through the secret passage, followed by the soaking in the rain and, in Harry's case, the physical exertion of the fight, had left them famished. Harry's stomach betrayed him with two loud growls, as his body was demanding fuel after such an intense expenditure of energy.

Fréodom immediately sprang into action, presenting them with gleaming bowls of stew and an enormous rock cake, her eagerness to serve was evident in her every movement.

"Thank you, Fréodom—" Hermione's gesture of thanks was accompanied by a dejected expression. "I don't think I can manage to eat this right now."

"The cake's different now, Fréodom's improved it—" Hagrid attempted to lighten the mood. "Just not as... er... challenging to chew anymore... Well, never mind about the cake."

Hagrid's expression turned serious as he stared at Hermione and Harry with stern disappointment. "Now then, can either o' yeh explain what happened out there? Harry, how'd yeh end up fightin' with Ron? Thought yeh only saved that kind o' energy for Malfoy!"

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