They had only been walking for a short time when Harry stopped. He held up
his hand in a gesture indicating that Ron should stop as well. He craned
his head and narrowed his eyes in mock concentration.
"Do you hear that?" he asked faintly.
"Hear what?" Ron was clearly straining to identify the phantom sound.
"Something," Harry suggested vaguely, "is moving down there," and he motioned towards the corridor that led to the Potions wing.
"I don't know, Harry. I don't hear anything." Ron frowned slightly and scratched absentmindedly at his leg with his wand. "We should keep moving. You don't want to go down there anyway. Who knows what Snape left behind down there before he up and ran off with the rest of his cronies."
"Hmm." Harry made a noncommittal sound. "I think I'm just going to see real quick if there's anything down there," he uttered slowly, with an almost dreamy quality to his voice. Harry realized that he was staring longingly down the murky hall, which had been blackened by the lack of lit torches along its walls. He thought distractedly that Hagrid must have not even bothered with this hall, as nobody would want to go down it anyway. The memory of Snape was almost palpable here. One could very nearly taste the acrid stench of the dungeons on their tongue and feel it burning their nostrils. There were no passages down this corridor that Harry knew of to lead them to the outside world. As far as he knew, they only led deeper within the cold stones of the castle. Yet, he also knew that he had to go down there. He had to go now.
He broke away from his position at Ron's back and started to move swiftly down the corridor, a muttered "Lumos" providing a small sphere of light at the tip of his wand.
"Harry! Wait! Where do you think you're going?" Ron hissed after him.
"Stay here, Ron. I'll be right back," he replied curtly.
"No way you're going down that corridor by yourself, mate." Ron started down the hall.
Harry turned on his best friend, snarling slightly. "If you had any brains in your head at all, you'd stay here like a good boy, like I just told you to." Ron stopped. His mouth formed a tiny "O." His arms sagged to his sides. Harry grinned inside.
"Stay here until I come back. If something happens to me down there, I need you to be able to get back to the Great Hall and warn the others. Understand? Are we getting through that thick, carroty skull of yours yet? Or shall I use small words and hand signals to make myself more abundantly clear?" Harry became aware that his tone of voice had come to resemble that of Snape's quite remarkably. His mouth had gone dry and he felt a funny tickle of excitement inside. Never before had he seen Ron at a loss for words like this. Ron's brown eyes pierced into him with sorrow and hurt. It was truly wonderful.
"Fine." Ron conceded acidly. "Go ahead and get yourself killed down there. I'd just love to be the one to come back and announce that the great Harry Potter has finally bought it. Hell, we've all been waiting for this to happen for years now. I mean, it was bound to happen sooner or later, right? Always playing the hero, always rushing around like you're utterly invincible, forgetting about everyone else in the process except for whoever it is you're dead-set on saving at the moment. I don't know who you think it is this time, but they're obviously more important than me, or Hermione, or anyone else. Just go. I don't really give a shit anymore." His voice was full of confusion and bitterness. Harry lapped at the words.
"Thanks for the permission slip," Harry retorted in a sing-song voice. In the back of his mind, he realized idly that he sounded cracked. He didn't care.
He turned from his best friend and walked away. As he descended further down the dark corridor, Harry began to skip.
~*~
Ron stared after the small form of his best friend, who was fading quickly into the chiaroscuro of the hall. Ron's whole body was shaking. He was almost delirious with rage. Just when he'd thought things were going well, just when it seemed that Harry was returning to some semblance of himself, he had turned down that dark pathway again that Ron didn't understand.
It was as if he didn't even know Harry anymore. This Harry was unpredictable, manic, and desperately angry. Ron wanted to shake him as hard as Ron's body was shaking right now. He wanted to slam his head brutally into the wall and grip his delicate shoulders until they were mottled with bruises. He wanted to beat the sense and the life back into Harry's empty mind. Instead, he leaned up against the stones of the hall and slumped down into a tangled ball of too-long limbs and patched clothes and messy red hair. He pulled his knees to his chest and held them there until he stopped shaking. He then began to cry.
"Do you hear that?" he asked faintly.
"Hear what?" Ron was clearly straining to identify the phantom sound.
"Something," Harry suggested vaguely, "is moving down there," and he motioned towards the corridor that led to the Potions wing.
"I don't know, Harry. I don't hear anything." Ron frowned slightly and scratched absentmindedly at his leg with his wand. "We should keep moving. You don't want to go down there anyway. Who knows what Snape left behind down there before he up and ran off with the rest of his cronies."
"Hmm." Harry made a noncommittal sound. "I think I'm just going to see real quick if there's anything down there," he uttered slowly, with an almost dreamy quality to his voice. Harry realized that he was staring longingly down the murky hall, which had been blackened by the lack of lit torches along its walls. He thought distractedly that Hagrid must have not even bothered with this hall, as nobody would want to go down it anyway. The memory of Snape was almost palpable here. One could very nearly taste the acrid stench of the dungeons on their tongue and feel it burning their nostrils. There were no passages down this corridor that Harry knew of to lead them to the outside world. As far as he knew, they only led deeper within the cold stones of the castle. Yet, he also knew that he had to go down there. He had to go now.
He broke away from his position at Ron's back and started to move swiftly down the corridor, a muttered "Lumos" providing a small sphere of light at the tip of his wand.
"Harry! Wait! Where do you think you're going?" Ron hissed after him.
"Stay here, Ron. I'll be right back," he replied curtly.
"No way you're going down that corridor by yourself, mate." Ron started down the hall.
Harry turned on his best friend, snarling slightly. "If you had any brains in your head at all, you'd stay here like a good boy, like I just told you to." Ron stopped. His mouth formed a tiny "O." His arms sagged to his sides. Harry grinned inside.
"Stay here until I come back. If something happens to me down there, I need you to be able to get back to the Great Hall and warn the others. Understand? Are we getting through that thick, carroty skull of yours yet? Or shall I use small words and hand signals to make myself more abundantly clear?" Harry became aware that his tone of voice had come to resemble that of Snape's quite remarkably. His mouth had gone dry and he felt a funny tickle of excitement inside. Never before had he seen Ron at a loss for words like this. Ron's brown eyes pierced into him with sorrow and hurt. It was truly wonderful.
"Fine." Ron conceded acidly. "Go ahead and get yourself killed down there. I'd just love to be the one to come back and announce that the great Harry Potter has finally bought it. Hell, we've all been waiting for this to happen for years now. I mean, it was bound to happen sooner or later, right? Always playing the hero, always rushing around like you're utterly invincible, forgetting about everyone else in the process except for whoever it is you're dead-set on saving at the moment. I don't know who you think it is this time, but they're obviously more important than me, or Hermione, or anyone else. Just go. I don't really give a shit anymore." His voice was full of confusion and bitterness. Harry lapped at the words.
"Thanks for the permission slip," Harry retorted in a sing-song voice. In the back of his mind, he realized idly that he sounded cracked. He didn't care.
He turned from his best friend and walked away. As he descended further down the dark corridor, Harry began to skip.
~*~
Ron stared after the small form of his best friend, who was fading quickly into the chiaroscuro of the hall. Ron's whole body was shaking. He was almost delirious with rage. Just when he'd thought things were going well, just when it seemed that Harry was returning to some semblance of himself, he had turned down that dark pathway again that Ron didn't understand.
It was as if he didn't even know Harry anymore. This Harry was unpredictable, manic, and desperately angry. Ron wanted to shake him as hard as Ron's body was shaking right now. He wanted to slam his head brutally into the wall and grip his delicate shoulders until they were mottled with bruises. He wanted to beat the sense and the life back into Harry's empty mind. Instead, he leaned up against the stones of the hall and slumped down into a tangled ball of too-long limbs and patched clothes and messy red hair. He pulled his knees to his chest and held them there until he stopped shaking. He then began to cry.
