Harry Potter and the Great Old Ones

Chapter 412 Past Glory is but a Fleeting Cloud

Upon hearing that Ron had received the Prefect's Medal, Mrs. Weasley was so happy she almost fainted. If Ron hadn't struggled so much, Weasley probably would have kept kissing and cuddling him until dinner.

Even so, dinner tonight was exceptionally lavish, and Mrs. Weasley even conjured a beautiful banner above the dining room with her wand—

"Warmest congratulations to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger on their election as Gryffindor Prefects!"

In what seemed like an instant, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was filled with laughter and joy, and Harry just watched—

At first, he was happy and went up to pat Ron on the shoulder to congratulate him. But gradually, as more and more people came to congratulate Ron, Harry was gradually pushed to the sidelines and to the kitchen doorway.

Harry gradually felt as if he had become a spectator, isolated from the crowd.

Harry felt incredibly lonely. He instinctively turned his head, wanting to talk to Tyella for a while, but—

But Tierra is no longer here.

Harry stood alone outside the crowd, lost in thought, with no intention of rejoining them. After standing in the kitchen for a while, feeling a bit bored, he simply went upstairs to his room without disturbing anyone.

On the way up the stairs, they ran into Hermione, who seemed to be hurrying downstairs, her prefect badge already pinned to her chest.

"Wait, Harry—" Hermione called out to Harry hurriedly upon seeing him.

“I haven’t congratulated you yet, that’s wonderful, Hermione,” Harry said with a laugh, his enthusiasm almost exaggerated, sounding quite unlike his own voice. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the slightly decaying wooden wall behind Hermione, rather than on her. “Excellent, Prefect, truly remarkable!”

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said. “Um… Harry… could I borrow Hedwig for a bit? I want to tell my mom and dad. They’ll be so happy… I mean, they’ll understand if I become a prefect.”

“Okay, no problem,” Harry said, still in that overly enthusiastic tone that didn’t sound like himself. “Here you go.”

After saying that, Harry went into his room, picked up the pile of clean clothes that Mrs. Weasley had just placed on top, and walked to his trunk at the other end of the room. He opened the trunk, turned his back to the door, and put the clothes into the bottom of the trunk one by one, as if this was the most important and serious thing in the world. Harry's face, which was turned away from Hermione, was indifferent.

At this moment, Hermione walked to the wardrobe and called Hedwig down.

After a while, Harry heard the door close, but he was still bending over to straighten his clothes and listening intently. There were no other sounds around, only the blank oil painting on the wall seemed to be chuckling again, and the wastebasket in the corner seemed to be coughing, trying to spit out owl droppings.

He straightened up, looked behind him, and saw that Hermione was gone, and Hedwig was nowhere to be seen either.

Harry slowly walked back to the bedside, collapsed onto it, and stared blankly at the foot of the wardrobe.

Because of Tierra's death and the Ministry of Magic hearing, Harry had completely forgotten about the fifth-year prefect election.

He spent the entire summer reminiscing about Tierra, and at the end of the summer, he was filled with anxiety about being expelled. He had no time to think about the badges flapping their wings and flying towards certain people. But what if he hadn't forgotten? What if he had even considered it? What outcome would he have hoped for?

That's not it--

Harry felt an honest voice whispering in his head.

Harry's face scrunched up as he resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands.

He cannot lie to himself.

If he had known there would be a prefect election, he would have definitely hoped that he would be chosen instead of Ron.

Is he starting to become as arrogant and conceited as Draco Malfoy? Does he think he's better than everyone else? Does he really believe he's superior to Ron?

"Do not--"

The little voice in Harry's head said with absolute certainty.

Really? Harry wondered, a fire suddenly igniting in his heart, eager to get to the bottom of his feelings.

"I'm a better Quidditch player than him. I'm the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts," the voice said in Harry's mind.

That's absolutely true, Harry thought.

“I’m better at studying than him,” the voice said. “Except for Potions, I get higher grades in all other subjects.”

Yes, Harry thought, even if my Potions grade was the same as his. But…

What adventures did he, Tyrell, Ron, and Hermione experience together after entering Hogwarts?
Moreover, I often face dangers even more terrifying than being fired!

“Yes, Ron is with Hermione most of the time,” the voice in Harry’s head said. “Leaving me and Tierra to face danger alone!”

Yes!

Harry thought, they weren't with me when they fought Quirrell, they weren't with me the night Sirius ran away, and they weren't with me the night Tyrell was killed...

“Yes, they didn’t,” the voice in Harry’s head said. “But do you think that if Ron or Hermione had been with you… they would have rushed out to shield you from the Killing Curse like Tyrell did?”

No! It won't happen!

Harry screamed inwardly.

Thinking of this, the intense feeling he had experienced of being treated unfairly the night he arrived surged through his mind once again.

"I could have done so much more," Harry thought indignantly.

I did more than both of them!
“But,” the small voice said in a fair tone, “maybe Dumbledore doesn’t choose prefects based on how many dangerous situations they’ve been through, maybe he looks at other factors. Ron certainly has something you don’t.”

At that moment, for some reason, Harry suddenly remembered Fred's teasing remark to Ron: "Who with a clear head would choose Ron as prefect?"

"Perhaps Dumbledore is just getting old and senile," the voice said.

Yes... perhaps Dumbledore has grown old and senile.

—That's what Harry thought.

"This honor should be mine," the voice in Harry's head said excitedly.

"Yes! This honor should be mine!" Harry echoed in his mind.

"They didn't do anything!" the voice said.

Yes, they didn't do anything. Harry grew angrier the more he thought about it.

An unnamed fire seemed to ignite within me.

"This honor should belong to me—" Harry said angrily in the empty room.

But after only saying half of it, Harry suddenly froze, a long-buried memory suddenly surfacing from the communication in his mind—

That was during their first year of school, when Harry and Tyrell had just started school.

Because of Tierra's pre-class notes, Harry made a big splash in Snape's Potions class. It was the first and only time Snape gave a Gryffindor student extra points in Potions class.

Harry was the center of attention at the time, seen as the savior of Gryffindor.

However, only he himself knew that it was all thanks to Tiera.

After agonizing for several days, Harry nervously apologized to Tyrell, but—

But Tiera just smiled nonchalantly.

"Study hard, Harry." Young Tyella gently rubbed her eyebrows.

"Compared to true knowledge, everything we have now is nothing but fleeting smoke." The scene from first grade is still vivid in my mind.

“Tierra…” Tears welled up in Harry’s eyes, and he cried silently.

Thank you

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(End of this chapter)