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Chapter 717: He Begins to Think He's Useless
Harry and the others knew nothing about Darren's situation.
They were still waiting for any news.
But Ron's condition was still poor.
Not only because of the Horcrux around Harry's neck—
Ron had also lost a great deal of blood.
"I'll carry it," Harry said quietly. "We can't risk losing it again."
He took the Horcrux and hung it around his own neck.
Hermione forced a weak smile.
She rummaged through her backpack.
Then she pulled something out.
A tent.
"You still have that?" Ron asked weakly.
Although the bleeding had stopped, he was still extremely pale.
Hermione glanced at him and nodded.
"Darren gave it to me before we left. He said he probably wouldn't need it… but wanted us to have a spare."
She quickly turned away.
Harry knew she was crying.
In truth, he himself felt crushed by grief and guilt.
Darren might already be dead.
Or worse—
Being tortured by Voldemort.
"Voldemort won't spare him," Hermione said bitterly.
Harry wiped his eyes.
But his eyes were dry.
He couldn't even cry anymore.
He stood up slowly.
Suddenly—
All three of them froze.
Footsteps.
Then a witch burst out of the forest.
Two more wizards followed behind her.
Before Harry could react, the witch punched him hard and grabbed his hair.
Hermione fired a Stunning Spell instantly.
Ron followed with another.
Harry finally recovered and blasted the last man with a powerful curse that shattered his arm.
Hermione finished him with another Stupefy.
Silence returned.
"How did they find us?" Hermione asked in horror.
Harry and Ron were equally shaken.
"Did someone put a tracking spell on us?" Ron said nervously.
It was possible.
After all, Yaxley had briefly grabbed Hermione earlier.
"Either way, we have to leave immediately," Hermione said. "We can't stay here.
And we can't go back to Grimmauld Place either. If they track us there, the Order will be in danger!"
She hurriedly began packing.
Ron groaned.
"Can we at least eat before we go? I haven't eaten all day, and I lost a lot of blood."
"Stop complaining!" Hermione snapped suddenly.
"I haven't eaten either—and I might have just lost the person I care about most!"
The words escaped before she could stop them.
She froze.
Tears filled her eyes.
"I'm sorry… let's go."
Harry said nothing.
He thought bitterly—
If someone had to stay behind, it should have been him.
Darren was stronger, smarter.
If Darren had escaped instead, maybe everything would be different.
He packed mechanically and followed Hermione as she Apparated.
---
They arrived in a dense forest.
"Where are we?" Harry asked.
"A forest my parents once brought me to," Hermione said quietly.
"I've hidden the area with protective spells. It should be harder to find us here."
She began casting spell after spell.
Under her direction, Harry helped Ron into the tent.
Hermione searched for food and eventually returned with some mushrooms.
She didn't know how to cook.
All she could manage was a thin mushroom soup.
To Harry, it tasted like muddy water.
But none of them complained.
None of them knew how to do better.
---
That night.
Harry sat outside the tent under the stars.
He stared into the sky.
He had imagined he would feel relief once they obtained the Horcrux.
But he felt nothing but emptiness.
Darren might be dead.
Their future was uncertain.
And hunger gnawed at all of them.
He even felt resentment creeping into his thoughts.
If Hermione and Ron had been faster…
If Hermione hadn't exposed Darren's house…
He knew those thoughts were unfair.
He knew the mistakes were his own.
Yet he couldn't stop them.
The Horcrux around his neck pulsed faintly.
Like a heartbeat.
He kept remembering Darren.
The spells striking him.
The way he fell.
Even if Darren survived—
Voldemort would torture him.
Harry's scar throbbed painfully.
Anger surged inside him.
But he saw nothing.
"Harry."
Hermione's voice broke his thoughts.
He turned, expecting comfort.
But Hermione's expression was cold.
"It's my turn to keep watch."
"I can stay."
"No. Go back."
Her tone left no room for argument.
Harry returned to the tent.
Ron was already asleep, snoring loudly.
Harry lay down and drifted into a restless sleep.
---
The next morning—
Harry woke to find Ron already dressed.
His expression was sour.
Seeing Harry awake, Ron jerked his head toward the entrance.
"She's getting jumpy again."
Harry frowned.
He wanted to say Hermione wasn't nervous—she was grieving Darren.
But Hermione overheard them.
"Yes," she snapped angrily. "I'm nervous. I'm the only one grieving, right?
After all, you had to save those Muggle-born prisoners!"
"Aren't you Muggle-born too?" Harry blurted out.
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears.
She ran out of the tent.
Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy looks.
"Mate… you shouldn't have said that," Ron muttered.
Harry knew.
But he didn't understand why he had said it.
Something inside him felt wrong.
Eventually Hermione returned—
Screaming.
"Dementors! Harry—I can't cast the Patronus!"
Her voice shook.
Her happiest memories had always been her parents… and Darren.
Her parents were far away.
And Darren…
She didn't know if he was alive.
Harry stepped forward.
"I'll do it."
But when he raised his wand—
Nothing happened.
"I can't…" Harry whispered.
"I can't think of anything happy."
Hermione and Ron stared at him in shock.
Harry felt shame flood through him.
Had they begun to regret following him?
They could have escaped with Darren.
Instead they stayed with him—and now Darren was gone, and they were starving in a forest.
For the first time—
Harry began to wonder if he was nothing but useless baggage.