Author's Note:
I really appreciate the support that everyone has provided, and I appreciate your cumulative time and efforts. The heartfelt energies of my readers always spur my inspiration, and make me write with more passion- my greatest thanks!
SM ~
{Disclaimer: Rowling claims the original rights to the HP series. I am just an original fan of them with original ideas}
Chapter 6-
A Melee of Catastrophic Works ~
Ron started at Snape in blatant horror for several minutes, ogling him in the most bizarre way, unable to speak of the nameless dread that was welling inside of him. The potions master stared into his wide eyes coolly, his face completely implacable, save for, Ron noticed, a rogue, minute smirk that was determined to belie him. He could not even give voice to whatever was staring back at him so markedly, and, indeed, there seemed to be little that he could say that would even simmer down to a rational statement. His thoughts were completely tangled and without any type of judicious qualities.
"Yes, Weasely?" Ron, although struggling to determine the actual intentions behind Snape's enigma, could hear only an indeterminable irony. He looked away, and watched his fingers slowly move in and out of their small, knitted holes that his mother had knitted into his sleeves to create mittens. The dungeons were excessively cold at any given time of year, and finding himself in a predicament such as this was ideal for some of her domestic abilities, he thought . . . he would have to thank her.
"Weasely!" Snape barked, and Ron jumped slightly, immediately pulling his gaze back towards him without the smallest scruple, even though he would be lying if he were to say that this was exactly what he had wished for his coming Christmas gift . . .
"Stop daydreaming and pay attention!" he snapped. You are wasting precious minutes of my time, a feat which I do not take without save for the most dire circumstances. I will personally see to it that the headmaster is informed of my . . . obstructions, to the professional endeavors of Hogwarts, if you do not explain yourself at this moment." Ron looked at him in disbelief, attempting to comprehend Snape's warning.
"Personal- obstructions to Hogwarts?" What in bloody hell did that mean? he wondered, furious that he had placed himself under the greasy git's tyranny by himself. If he'd had even the sense of Gregory Goyle, perhaps, then he would have been able to avoid this situation altogether. Instead, he'd forced himself into dealing with Snape directly, of his own accord, just because of some bloody spell that he was sure Snape knew the origins of- and yet, all his efforts were for naught anyway. He watched the huge, ugly, greasy temple throbbing beneath Snape's skin, hatred and revulsion coursing through him of a means that he didn't even want to describe. Suddenly he was truly furious.
"You placed that spell over me didn't you?" he sputtered, waving his arms in order to better articulate his idea, for good measure, "or, if you didn't do it, then I bet you put Malfoy up to it, didn't you? Yeah, I understand everything now. How long have you been helping him do it, Professor, eh? Ever since the start of the term, when I fell in love with Loony- no, I mean Luna Lovegood?"
Snape merely looked at him as though he were some kind of belligerent slug that he would perhaps like to place underneath a microscope and study in an acutely detailed scrutiny, sneering lightly. He slowly removed himself from his place behind the desk upon which were piled a magnanimous amount of student papers, though Ron could see that their generosity was not repaid by him. Snape had slashed huge, spidery D's all across the front of that nearest to him. He stood up to his full height, his robes billowing very gently in the almost nonexistent breeze that was wafting gently through the walls of the dungeon, and was silent. Ron sucked in a breath.
"You know," Snape began slowly, "I had always thought that your brothers were particularly witless," Ron's blood began to boil, "however," he said, flicking a strand of his long hair quietly out of his face, as though Rons' reaction merited nothing, "I was never really under the impression that you had inherited a gene that made their stupidity, even at its lowest level, look good- perhaps you have been hanging out with Potter too long," he mused, ending with an obvious smirk. At this jibe, Ron's nerves reached their breaking point.
"Stupid am I? Oh, of course I am," he heard himself saying ironically, his words punctuated with a rude scoff, "I can't totally disagree with you there, Professor, except for one important detail that you are missing," he countered, "because I am obviously smart enough to outwit you, seeing as you were the one who poisoned me with this totally stupid love potion." The moment he finished, Snape bared his teeth into a snarl. He quickly withdrew his wand and advanced on Ron, who merely stood there, in the exact position that he had been standing within, ever since he had entered his office. He looked up at him dumbly. Snape gained leverage enough to nearly touch his face with his own, and he could smell the reek of fish upon his breath, which he had apparently eaten for lunch.
"Accusations against a Hogwarts professor are very serious, Weasely, and I recommend that you tread on them lightly,"he told him softly, "if anyone were to suspect that you were making these types of allegations, the consequences could be easily be inexplicably . . . disastrous." He lingered there for a moment, his black eyes pouring into Ron's own, until he smoothly pulled out of the way, leaving him feeling bereft, and disoriented. He knew that Snape was correct: would not be able to claim any testimony, even if the latter was solely responsible for all of the trials that he had recently been forced to undergo. To all appearances, the potions master was correct in every single aspect of the situation, and, ironically perhaps, this just as much confirmed his part in the cacophony of recent trials.
Ron swallowed. There seemed to be nothing else that he could do, and in resignation, he balled his hands into fists and attempted to move out of the line of Snape's narrowed black orbs. As he reached the door he hesitated, and, quickly spun back around. A sudden thought occurred to him.
"What are you still doing here Weasely?" Snape asked him in a dismissive tone, his head now bent over the stack of papers before him once again. He didn't know if there was a receptacle to his words, but he decided to voice them anyway, purely for his own comfort.
"Well, nothing really, except- I thought that you might like to know that I would never dream of saying anything about the potion that you crafted." Snape looked back up at him and leveled him with his cool gaze. Thin tendrils of his lank hair flanked his pallid face as he observed him narrowly for a few moments.
"What are you talking about?" he finally barked, apparently unable to decipher the intent of Ron's peculiar statement for himself. Ron allowed the sides of his mouth to lift in the bare semblances of a smile. He shrugged nonchalantly, and stated,
"I don't mean anything, not in particular. I just wanted to remind you that there weren't many different ways of becoming immune to the particular services of potions mastery. I wouldn't tell, because it would be too much of a giveaway. Might as well let everyone figure out the mystery themselves, you know?" He shrugged again, and allowed his gaze to wander towards the side quite briefly. He looked down at the particularly large dent in the wall that created an imposing tent striking a tipped tree-top into the line of Snape's doorway, scrutinizing it. "I would never want to give away any of this school's greatest secrets, even if you yourself were their own perpetrator. After all, you probably are one of the most artful masters of the art of potions, which this world has ever seen."
He chanced a glance back up. Snape was staring at him, his mouth a thin white line that was so deep Ron thought it might suit a skeletal figure, for his skin had become tight, and almost translucent. He thought for a moment that there was a flicker of something in his eyes that showed momentary- surprise- but, it was gone the moment it had appeared. Snape's lips creased into a thin, ugly scowl.
"If you believe yourself capable of providing useful advice to one of, as you say, the world's greatest masters," Snape said, his voice laced with heavy irony, "then you are an even greater fool than I thought. "Believe it or not, if that thick head of yours can wrap your mind around the idea Weasely, I am aware of the fact that the spells and potions which I myself craft are singularly unique, and coveted by many poor ailing souls that will never be able to fulfill their desires- now leave, before I use those skills to remove you from this room without your consent." Ron scowled at this, and rapidly turned on his heel and left, before Snape could execute any further implements of his own blackly conjured forms or manners. When he was outside of it, he almost kicked the door in his distaste, but thought it better to refrain from his instincts at the moment. Instead, he began walking back towards Gryffindor Common Room, replaying the events of the last few moments over, and over again in his head.
He had known that his last attempt at threatening the potions master was at best a self-intoxicating shot, but he was not able to help but to think that there was merit in the unique signature of Snape's potions. Perhaps someone would eventually figure out that he was not actually in love with Loony- no, Luna Lovegood. He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the name altogether. If there is any kind of association that he could own to on Luna's part, then it was that of the potion's manipulations and none other, he said to himself roughly, as he walked away from Snape's office. There could be no doubt in his mind that its designs upon him were hand-crafted by any number of crude, malicious Slytherins, who were solely intent on ruining his reputation and honing his life into eternal misery.
He kicked open the door to the boy's dormitory upon gaining access into the Common Room, nearly stumbling into the bedpost that was arcing before him.
"Stupid- bloody- " He cursed in a more Molly-lucrative type of fashion, when he collided directly into something that was padded but hard, and that said thing stumbled backwards into the bed that had become his malice's target.
"Ron?" asked a voice in a wondering tone. Ron quickly picked himself up from the ground and made a pretense of trying to discern the voice, while brushing his clothes off haphazardly. Within the time of a mere second, he was able to easily detect that Harry was the object of his faux de pas, but he could not say much on the subject. He turned away in a taciturn fashion, his face flushing a slight shade of puce. He balled his hands into fists in anger, unwilling to look at him.
"Mate?" asked Harry uncertainly. "Um, is there anything wrong?" He proceeded to take a quick step towards him, but as soon as he placed a hand upon Ron's shoulder, the former made a sharp turn, and Harry pulled his hand back down, looking almost hurt. Ron ignored the look, however, somehow feeling like a raw, brutally exposed victim of a flogging underneath a court's examination. There was no possible way for him to possibly express all of his feelings to his heart's content, and he felt ill-used in every devious art and manner, as if a higher being was playing with him in a way that was deliberately malicious. He was already painfully aware of how difficult conversing about the matter with anyone must be, and was also painfully aware of such ramifications. If he were to tell Harry what he really thought, then there was no doubt in his mind that the former would think that he'd lost his mind entirely. He couldn't say anything that would, in the smallest way, shape, or form, give any sign of his feelings towards Luna Lovegood. And there was nothing that he could do about the circumstance at the moment, or his suspicions, for they would come to no kind of an end.
"Ron, is there anything the matter?" Harry repeated, this time more loudly, although he did not attempt to draw nearer to his friend in the same fashion as before. Ron took notice of this, but he did not say anything about it, or even display the slightest semblance of affectation. Instead, he walked towards the other side of the room, where he began making up his bed. Harry gave a slight shake of his head, giving him an odd, level stare, which he maintained for longer than he felt was absolutely necessary. After awhile, Ron felt as though it shooting holes into his brain, and he gave a low growl underneath his breath,
"Stop staring at me."
"I wasn't," Harry countered, sounding amused at his own design, further fueling Ron's anger, "I was just wondering for a moment over something passing- but it's gone now." This was the last straw for him.
"You think this is easy for me, do you?" he shot towards Harry. "I don't think that it's very nice of you to mock me on an issue that is so totally beyond my control" he said, his voice becoming strangely higher, as he looked back towards his bedcovers with an almost melancholy air, and, just then, Harry could detect something that he was not privy to before- there was a slight trembling in the intonation of his friend's voice, and his cheeks were shocked by a steadily blooming red blush that he saw there. Harry watched him for a moment, and then tutted,
"Ron, why won't you talk to me? I mean I know it's a difficult topic for you, and I can't say that I blame you in the slightest, but it's obvious that there's something wrong with your relationship with Luna. And I know that she's a great girl and all, I mean I really like Luna . . . " he said, his eyes rebounding towards the side, and catching upon a small green bug curiously before him, "but I really think that you should speak with her about your obvious dilemma, and tell her, you know, how you feel and everything." Ron blushed to his very ears at that. Harry did not seem to fare much better at his own statement though.
"Or," he added after bumbling through the last statement that he gave him with more nerves than were generally appropriate, "maybe you just should speak with Hermione about it, since she's so great at giving advice about these kinds of things. I'm really not up to her calibre where feelings and all that stuff are concerned. You can talk to me if you want to though," he added, with a completely sincere look in his eyes that blighted Ron's unkind attitude and filled him with an inadvertent, yet enveloping emotion that he did not want to feel. He found that he was actually quite touched by Harry's statement, and the obvious effort that he'd put forth in that facet of the discussion. Unwittingly, he let out a small laugh.
"Wow Harry, I didn't realize that you were so eloquent on certain matters. I think that I should talk to you more often. You've definitely been spending too much time with Hermione," he said candidly, but with a bit more good humor in his statement. Harry shrugged at that, and gave him a small, wry grin, as a meeker look crossed over him.
"Well you know, she does have certain interests that are sometimes a little difficult to ignore, and after awhile you become good at understanding even the most bewildering ones," he said finally, after a silent minute, and Ron thought that he caught a trace of irony in the small laugh he thereafter gave, which did not quite belong. But, in respect of the kindness that Harry had given him, he tactfully chose to ignore it. Harry went to the other side of the dorm and started to bustle through some of his night clothes, muttering something about wanting to turn in early. Ron found himself grateful for the momentary reprieve, and, feeling a little bit better about his overall circumstances, attempted to block Snape's conversation fully out of his head. However, just as he was pulling his homework out of his knapsack, his eye caught on the small black beetle that was languidly walking up and down the wall in front of him. His feet stopped-
"Harry- " he started. Harry, in the middle of strewing some of his clothes haphazardly over his bedside, but he paused to look over his shoulder at him.
"Yeah?"
"Harry- " Ron pointed a shaking finger in the direction of the beetle that had momentarily stopped in its trek, which was now looking at him curiously. "Isn't that- " his voice trembled slightly, "isn't that the journalist, Rita Skeeter? Or is it just a beetle that has a remarkably large constitution for a bug?" Harry frowned.
"I think it's just an ordinary bug, Ron." But he stepped forward to examine it more closely. The bug had gone completely still, as though realizing that it was under an intense scrutiny. "Although, for a beetle . . . " he added, his voice growing more wary, by a small fraction, "it does seem to be quite attentive, doesn't it? Maybe we should monitor it for a bit, just to see- " But at that moment, the bug spread its small wings, and shot rapidly away from them, whizzing through the air and out of Ron's open window, "just to make sure," Harry finished, sounding extremely depressed all of a sudden.
"That's what I thought too," Ron said glumly.
"Don't- don't worry," he said, attempting to sound reassuring, "I'm sure that it just became startled when we came up to it."
"Yeah . . . right. Well, I'm going to do some homework now," he said, his voice growing cooler by a fraction, and eerily nonchalant.
"Ron, look- " But he merely glared at his homework pile, noting the long potions essay which was laying on top of it that he still had not finished.
"It's alright, Harry," he said firmly, pulling the essay towards him viciously, bending his head down over the piece as though it was suddenly the most riveting homework assignment he'd ever had the good luck to come across.
"Ron- " But Ron simply stood up, pulling his books along with him and throwing them into his knapsack with a catastrophic effort that Harry thought might place his potions essay beneath true danger.
"I said, it's alright," he snarled, before turned abruptly on his heel, and, without giving Harry another look, he threw his books over his shoulder, wrenched the door open brutally, and slammed it loud enough to cause several of the bedposts to waver. All aware that Harry was staring at him with reproach, he fled down the stairwell and into the Common Room, and then pushed that door open, completely ignoring the way that the Fat Lady called after him,
"You'd think that you would be more amiable when I have company over for tea!"
Ron, however, did not care.
A/N: Ideas anyone? Suggestions? Please let me know if you have them, because they are music to my heart I love to hear from each and every one of my readers, and it soothes these tired eyes that work so hard to get these chapter to you- please don't hold back! Just let it loose! SM ~
