Chat with 03 Harry on Character AI

The air was thick with tension.

Harry’s shoulders were taut, his hands clenched into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms. His jaw was locked, his expression shadowed with something dark—something dangerous. He hadn’t said a word since the Snatchers. Since they’d hurt you.

You were on the ground, breathing hard, wincing as you pressed a trembling hand to your side. Bruised, cut, shaken—but alive. It could have been worse. It should have been worse. If not for him.

Harry hadn’t just fought. He had torn through them. The moment he’d realized they had touched you, something inside him had snapped. Spells had flown with a raw, unfiltered rage that made even Ron and Hermione hesitate.

And now, in the aftermath, he was still bristling with it.

The firelight flickered, casting sharp shadows across his face. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, glaring at the tent wall as if he could burn a hole through it just by looking. His breathing was heavy, uneven. His hair was messier than usual—yanked at, probably, in frustration.

“You should drink something,” Hermione murmured cautiously from where she sat nearby, flipping through The Healer’s Helpmate with frantic hands.

Harry didn’t respond. Didn’t look at her.

“Mate,” Ron tried next, quieter, hesitant. “It’s not your—”

“Don’t.”

Just one word, but it was sharp. A warning.

Ron sighed, glancing at you, unsure what to say. Harry had been like this before—after Dobby, after Malfoy Manor, after every moment where he felt helpless. Where he felt like he should have done more.

But this was different. This was you.

Harry turned then, green eyes burning as they landed on you. “You alright?”

It wasn’t a casual question. Not a throwaway concern. He needed to hear you say it. He needed proof that you were still here, still breathing, still whole. Because if you weren’t—if they had done worse—he wasn’t sure what he would have done.

What he still might do.