Internal Soliloquy

A/N:

Oni: Hello everyo- oh boy that's a lot of tumbleweed.

Eridan: You didn't update for so long that evveryone left.

Oni: Oh well. Guess I'll just sneak this here…

Oni: For those of you still reading, I apologize for the long wait. Life's been a bit but now I'm trying to catch up on fanfiction updates for NaNoWriMo. I also finally have a direction in which I want this fic to go, which is why the chapter might be a little choppy.

Harry: Oni does not own Harry Potter or Homestuck.

Eridan: As per usual, if it sounds like it came from the books, it probably means it did.

Oni: Edit 2023 – I changed a smidge of something somewhere after realizing my new idea may make more sense.

Oni: Aaaand ONWARDS!

"Checkmate."

Ron stared at the board blankly for a good minute, ignoring the angry shouts coming from the pieces.

"Mate," he began slowly, "How did you get so good at chess?"

Oh, you know, a history in tactical warfare and surviving a game that employed life or death odds if one made the wrong move. Not that he could tell Ron that right now unless he wanted to sound crazier than Makara. Wait... was he talking about FLARP or SGRUB? Did it even matter? Is it sad that despite the dangers of Quirrelmort and the Basilisk, they seemed tame compared to games that he had willingly subjected himself to at an age where humans were still trying to sound out their letters?

As much as he felt that humans were physically weaker as a race... it was nice living each day without the threat of death looming over his shoulder. From the culling if he could not find a bucket filler by the time of adulthood to the culling for just not watering your own lawn (according to Captor anyway, as much as he hated the annoying pissblood the heterochromic eyed troll gave him interesting insight into what 'communal living' looked like in their society), Alternia was a deathtrap. Worse so, the law was enforced by drones which did not care about circumstance on a planet of children and adolescents.

After some private deliberation, Eridan had realized this was partially the reason why Harry was so loyal to Hagrid - he was the first adult in either life to care about them. Even if Harry hadn't known of his previous life then.

"Does it have to do with..." Ron began again in a quieter voice, dragging Eridan from his thoughts, "...you know, the dementor thing?"

Eridan noted that the redhead was leaning in close after having looked around to see if anyone was watching them or listening in. It would have been highly conspicuous if anyone had noticed. A cursory (and far more discreet) check told the ex-troll that those in the Common Room were focused on their own lives and troubles to be worrying about what two third years played Wizard's Chess were doing. As it was, Hermione was deep in her book while she helped a nervous Neville with studying for the next Potions lesson so that he didn't get psyched out by Snape, and Ginny was chatting with her dormmates.

He couldn't help but quirk his lips in a crooked half-smile. Ron may have no tact, but it was obvious he cared. Was there any harm in telling some of the truth when he'd already revealed some (albeit cryptically) to Neville?

A part of him, the Eridan side, the side that was jaded and wary of friends when the ones of his past had let him down, told him yes. Yes, he wwill turn his back on you the moment he thinks of you as an outsider, just like the others did. The other part, the Harry side, the one that argued that Ron had been with them thick and thin for nearly three years, who championed the loyalty and virtue of his first-ever friend in this life, told him no. No, it's Ron, our best mate, of course we can trust him!

He was beginning to feel a headache forming at the internal dilemma. Great. Now wasn't the best time to have an identity crisis, especially since Ron was waiting for an answer. What was probably just a few seconds (but felt much longer) passed and one of the warring sides won the fight.

"Yeah." Harry Potter told his best friend with a slightly sad smile, "It does. I'm still w... trying to find out what's changed and what's stayed the same."

The boy paused, jade eyes blinking a couple of times in surprise. Right. More Harry-esque, no quirk. This time, though, it was outside his mindscape. He wondered why that was. Was the quirk more something ingrained in a troll's psyche? It wasn't the soul, that's for sure, or Harry Potter would've been dealing with the quirk from birth. But this also begged the question of how ingrained the quirk was in the mind of a troll. Was it possible for a troll, despite having the physical capacity for some admittedly crazy sounds, to lose their quirk? Yes, a troll's quirk was a part of their identity, but he was as much Harry Potter as he was Eridan Ampora, maybe more so now that he was human. And humans saw his quirk as a stutter.

"So anything big that changed happened because of what the dementors did?" Ron asked aloud, a knowing look in his eyes as he stared his best friend down like he would his chess board, "Like the stuttering?"

So he knew. While it wasn't clear on how much Ron knew, he picked up on something and had come to that conclusion. The dark haired Gryffindor shifted in his seat nervously. This felt like he was in some proverbial chess game and he wasn't sure who was winning. His pause when answering, however, gave Ron enough information as far as he could tell. Sometimes, he's reminded that the youngest Weasley son wasn't an idiot, despite his aversion to homework.

"You know it doesn't matter, right?"

Harry blinked again a couple of times, this time in confusion, managing the universally eloquent reply of:

"What?"

"It doesn't matter to us if you're a bit different." Ron elaborated, pinning the green eyed boy with an earnest expression, "You're still my best mate. We fought a troll together and we talk about Quidditch together. We still laugh and joke together, and you're still putting Malfoy in his place!" the redhead elaborated with a wide grin at the last part, eliciting a chuckle from Eridan, "So you're studying more and you stutter. That's not something that would make us go away! We're still your friends, Harry. We always will be."

Something in Harry's chest felt warm as his head buzzed a little at Ron's sincerity. A wide smile was on his face, making him look like a loon. After his dreams about Eridan's old Alternian 'friends', this felt like a moon lifted off of his shoulders.

"Thanks, Ron." Harry told his friend with shining jade eyes, "I needed that."

"You're welcome, mate. Now how about another round? This time I'm sure I'll beat you!"

"Oh, it's on!"

Peter Pettigrew was terrified.

He didn't know how else to explain the feeling he got when he was anywhere near Pron- the Potter boy now than sheer, primal terror. He never got that kind of feeling from anyone before. Not Snape. Not Pad- Black. Not M- Lupin. Not even McGonagall in her cat form or Mrs. Norris. Sure, there was a natural fear when it came to them, especially the new cat the Granger girl bought, but nothing like this. Not since after the train ride. He didn't know what that boy was, but whatever he... it was now, it was something unnatural and perhaps even inhuman.

The man disguised as a rat skittered through the walls of Hogwarts, easily blending in with the other rats that were either vermin or familiars. It was really hard to tell which was which half the time, as the Hogwarts rats had long ago learned how to mimic the behaviors of the students' pet mice, which had proved to be a good way to wreck havoc if one were to perchance cast a Geminio Charm on them...

Good times, good times.

Still, reminiscing about old friends turned south when he recalled how it all went bottoms up. What their friendship turned into. When he started to feel like an outsider even amongst the Marauders. At some point the four of them unspokenly became the three. When his ideas were either ignored until another one of them repeated it and they were credited with it.

Peter was not the smartest of them, one could even say he was the dimmest, but he had an imagination. An overactive one, sometimes, but in the past it had been used to not only plan the most interesting pranks, but also to keep in mind any setbacks. At some point though, he was ignored. Cast aside.

When did he not become good enough in their eyes? Why? It had hurt, to realize they were drifting apart in their seventh year after seven years of friendship. By the time Harry was born, Peter almost felt like they were strangers, despite everything. He was just there. A filler, maybe, or out of necessity. Obligation.

Then everything changed when Snape caught that prophecy. A half-baked prophecy.

For a single, shining moment he was useful again. He was going to be Secret Keeper! He'll be the one to keep Prongs and Lily and little Prongslet safe! Peter had watched those little green eyes and held that little hand and his heart had swelled. It felt so good to be needed. Yes! He was a Marauder, one of four, and he'd stick with them to the very end!

Only to overhear Sirius laughing with James about why he'd been picked. Oh, Wormtail can be Secret Keeper. Nobody would suspect! Why would nobody suspect? Why was he only an option because Sirius had been asked first and Remus had already fled into hiding? Did they not care that he would be risking his neck too?

The day came when Death Eaters ambushed him, taking him to their master who treated them like dogs at his beck and call. They'd been making the rounds, he'd overheard, trying to get to the Potters and the Longbottoms. Killing off those that didn't obey. And Peter had been the most vulnerable of their friend group. Perhaps the Marauders had forgotten that.

What was he to do? He'd been cornered by Death Eaters with no back-up. He was the 'only one' who could get to the Potters' cottage at Godric's Hollow, and if he didn't the Dark Lord would've killed him right then and there. Would've killed his mum. So he caved. Caved into their torture and was branded by their Dark Lord. That Mark of shame.

Maybe he should've died. But then what would he have died for? Friends that looked at him like one looked at a trinket on a mantelpiece, as if just realizing it was there the whole time? Maybe it was his fate. He was a Rat, after all. It used to mean that he was innovative, rats were bright little things that needed to socialize or else they got lonely. But they were also test subjects and killed to further the goals of other people. Peter was like that. Just a tool. Be it for Dumbledore or Voldemort, at some point he felt himself... stop caring. Go numb to everything.

Even so, he couldn't help the pang of regret when it happened. He knew Black had every right to be angry at him, but even that felt like nothing. At some point Peter Pettigrew couldn't feel anything but the drive to survive. No matter the cost. No matter how many he hurt along the way.

Two paws, one missing a digit, clamped around a large crumb that was dropped in the back of the Kitchens. The elves always left a few morsels out for the rats, be it pet or Hogwarts-residing. It was a kindness that Peter couldn't fathom, a kindness he knew he wouldn't get from anyone else were he caught. He'd long past the point of no return. For anyone. What he did was unforgivable. Even, in a way, to himself.

Whiskers twitching, he scuttled off into the crevices of the halls of Hogwarts once more, mingling with the rats that lived in Hogwarts all their lives. Pondering, thinking, reminiscing, agonizing. Like he always seemed to do. Trying now to figure out why he now feared the son of the man who was once one of his greatest friends.

Once again it was nighttime, and once again he couldn't sleep. But this time he had his hands full with a smug Harry Potter in the red plush chair and a mystified Eridan Ampora in the violet one. The Observer (he really needed to find a better name for himself. Harridan? Nah…) sat in his own chair, one that was white and a light cream - the colors of the Hope aspect. That which bound him, that which made Eridan Harry and Harry Eridan.

The two dissonating parts vanished quite quickly, this time with no words being exchanged. He understood this, as Ron had essentially solved the dissonance with his promise to stick by Harry, no matter what. It was something Eridan Ampora never heard. Not from Maryam, not from Peixes, not from Vantas. Certainly not Serket.

This was what friends were supposed to be like, right? Was it possible that because of his past behavior he simply didn't have any? Just a filler, just there. Just a member of twelve, trying to fit in with anyone and eventually finding no one. How pathetic he was to have not realized sooner.

He shook his head of those depressing thoughts, instead donning his invisibility cloak and heading down to the Chamber of Secrets. Three days and nights of solid cleaning and fixing had restored the Chamber to its former glory, and it was now undeniably the Sanctuary he found in LOWAA. However, these were all serpents instead of Angel statues. Upon closer inspection, he realized all the snakes on the right side of the room had eyes inlaid with emeralds, and the ones on the left side were set with rubies. Odd, for sure. He was certain there was some symbolism that went beyond the Gryffindor/Slytherin dichotomy, but he lacked the information to make a proper deduction.

Tonight he decided that if he wasn't going to get any sleep, he might as well explore the places now that the cleaning was all finished. Perhaps he could find answers to the questions he'd been pondering all this time.

The young green eyed boy began to go further into the Chamber, with only the light from his wand lighting the way. If he recalled correctly, this direction was the way out of the Sanctuary and to the stairs which lead up and out into the Citadel that the Sanctuary was located inside. A sliding pipe would have been a more fun method back then, but the rat bones at the bottom could be done without. Come to think of it, he never saw any proper skeletons in LOWAA. He didn't have any proper enemies on the planet to fight either. Just the angels. Those awful, awful angels and their screams of prophecy.

Instead of finding an archway with stairs here, however, what he was instead faced with was an archway with a wall. Filled in with the stone was a relief depicting a double ouroboros, looking quite similar to Captor's Mobius Double Reacharound. Like the serpents in the main part of the Chamber, one had Ruby eyes and the other emerald.

"Open." The thirteen year old attempted in parseltongue, and as a surprise to no one the snakes began to move. Coiling over and around each other, making the odd clicking noises reminiscent of clockwork machinery. Much like the opening to the Chamber itself, it creaked open like a large bank safe.

A set of stark white marble stairs led upwards.

Getting an intense sense of deja vu he continued higher, higher. It spiraled, twisting around as the once-troll took in the familiar sight of the white marble that began to turn black as he ascended. That marble that was devoid of all color - and to be honest that entire planet was devoid of all color. Only shades of black and white in stark contrast to one another. As opposed to literally everyone else's world where there was color puked everywhere as if a full Mother Grub had decided to have a waltz around the place. Why was it only his world that was robbed of all color and joy? Why was his the only world that didn't feel like a fun adventure with friends but a lonely march towards a responsibility no one would tell him about?

Was the game mocking him by making a world just as unpleasant and hostile as the player that lived in it? When all the others got fanatical treasures and quests, all he had were the screeches and screams and whispers of beings that were more like Gl'bgolyb and dementors than things than those friendly little helpers the other trolls and even humans had. Was it a stretch to see why he thought the Game had it out for him?

He was met with the white sky of the Land of Wrath and Angels once more. The black marble of the Citadel towered around him, and dark stars hung in the sky as if watching the night through a photo negative. It was silent, so very silent, like it had been after he killed all of those wrathful angels and made their eyes and wings into a wand (not a science stick, no, a wand by any other name is still a wand). The dead silence like when he had descended those stairs the first time. The feeling of being crippling alone came creeping back into his mind as he heard his own heartbeat loud and clear.

Feet pounded back down the stairs, the only sound echoing through the stone walls. The door with the snakes was shut tight, the boy breaking out into a cold sweat.

Nope. Nope nope nope nope NOPE.

"Harry, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost. Or a Grim, if Professor Trelawney's getting into your head." Hermione practically sniffed out that last portion, but her brows were still knitted together as she regarded Eridan as they waited for class to begin in Ancient Runes.

"'ts alright, Hermione. I just… didn't sleep wwell." Eridan muttered, too tired to care about his quirk.

To say he didn't sleep well would have been an understatement. It felt like the bags under his eyes that had eventually become a permanent fixture on his face as a troll were also claiming their place in this life as well now. What little sleep he did manage to get the night before was tainted by nightmares involving his past experiences with LOWAA.

Hermione tutted at that, citing that it seemed that the dementors were causing many people to have nightmares and that she had overheard that Madame Pomfrey was getting upper year potion students to help keep up with the amount of Dreamless Sleep and Pepper Up Potions that she had to make now. She pulls a Pepper from her bag as she speaks, handing it to Eridan, who gratefully took it and downed it before Professor Babbling waltzed into the classroom with a large smile on her face. She was carrying a large stack of tomes, which appeared to be old textbooks. With a flick of her wand, these books flew to the students desks.

"Good morning class! Today is going to be an interesting lesson. I managed to convince Cuthbert - that is, Professor Binns, to lend me some of his old books from back when Ancient Runes and History of Magic were jointly taught by him. On that note, these textbooks are at least quite a few centuries old, so please be careful with them. I am to return them to him after we've completed the topic." Professor Babbling babbled out, beginning to write something on the board.

"This is an introduction to the Runes of Creation, but in order to understand what they mean and how they work, their history was taught in conjunction." Was the explanation given, and Eridan's stomach dropped as he saw the symbols on the board and on the cover of the textbook, "You all know them as the Twelve Signs of the Zodiac, but in Ancient Runes they have a different history and a different meaning than in Astrology."

Beside him, Hermione appeared to be vibrating in excitement in her seat. Eridan, on the other hand, was stuck between terror and fascination. How much did they know? What did the trolls, him and his past friends, mean to these people?

"One of the many tales found in the ancient ruins around the world explain that our world as we know it was created by twelve gods. Each of these gods are represented by a sign of the zodiac - hence why they are called 'Runes of Creation'." Babbling began as they all flipped to the first page.

Eridan was rather confused. As far as he recalled, none of the four humans playing Sburb even had an inkling that it was the trolls who created their universe. Was it possible it was a closely guarded secret of the magical population?

"Each god also had a title that I want you all to commit to memory. The Maid of Time, the Page of Breath, the Mage of Doom, the Knight of Blood, the Rogue of Heart, the Sylph of Space, the Seer of Mind, the Thief of Light, the Heir of Void, the Bard of Rage, the Prince of Hope, and the Witch of Life." The Professor spoke each of their mythological roles as she pointed to each of their signs with her wand, making the symbols glow in their blood color as she tapped them.

A kind of sickness started to spread from his stomach. His mind went to each person as their title was called, remembering how he'd wronged them or how they'd wronged him. Perhaps since his recent nightmares, his memory of them had soured. All he could seem to recall was the bad, the loneliness, the times when he'd done or said the wrong thing and how they'd drifted away from him.

"…from the heavens, upon a shooting star…" Babbling continued. Hermione ribbed him to make sure he was paying attention, snapping him out of his negative reverie, "They gave the world each an important aspect of existence. Life, Death, Courage, Duality, Red Blood, Love, Color, Justice, Luck, Order, Chaos, and most importantly for us… Magic. That is correct. It is said that Magic was a gift given to us by one of the gods."

The conflicting emotions that welled up within him made him feel like a fish in the noon sun of Alternia. So they knew, to an extent. They knew what they had been given. In a way he felt a kind of pride to be recognized for his efforts, even if it was simply a drop of blood and a selfish desire. None of them knew the gravity of what they were doing, not really. They were barely teens, in human terms, playing a game that ended their own world, with the power to make a new universe.

Far from gods, they weren't even adults.

Eridan felt Hermione prod him again. Apparently the lesson was over. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Malfoy sneering at him, looking smug about the fact he had caught 'the great Harry Potter' spacing in Ancient Runes. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, though his mind quickly returned to the issue at hand. If the wizarding world knew about the trolls to some extent (be it gods or devils or whatever it may be), then what else did the game create for their history that could be a bridge to the timeline in Paradox Space he came from?

Not that he wanted to go back, but it might explain how and why he came back as Harry Potter. This had to be connected to the entrance to LOWAA under the school somehow. This could not be mere coincidence. No… he would need to investigate this. Something was afoot and he didn't like not knowing what was going on.

The pressure from the Eridan side made his head hurt, as he was forcefully pulled into his mindspace.

Beside him, Hermione gave her friend a considerable look as she tried and failed to get his attention. He seemed to have been out of it all morning. Hopefully he'd be more attentive in the next class, but she would still relay his mood to Ron and the others if he hadn't snapped out of it by then.

In the meantime, Harry Potter was currently watching Eridan Ampora have an absolute meltdown. The three of them were sitting in their respective chairs again, althougn the troll was holding his head in his hands and screaming bloody murder, making both Harry and the Observer wince.

"So… any idea what set him off?" Harry finally managed to ask, having conjured some earmuffs that he recalled from the mandrake lessons the year before.

"I assume the trauma from LOWAA and the delayed impact of both our death and subsequent resurrection on top of the unknown connections between this world and the previous world have finally got to him." The Observer responded, who also took a pair of earmuffs over finned ears. He was thankful he got all that out without the quirk seeing as it was obvious now that Harry was more or less in control of the mind space as the other personality was still screaming his head off.

"What even happened there? I saw the place from the Chamber and that was creepy enough, but it kind of looks like he was plagued by dementors or something." Harry grumbled out as it felt like the troll didn't even stop to breathe.

"That's pretty accurate, actually, the rotted angels of LOWAA are kind of like their faster, angrier cousin. More snakey. With wings. And many squirming eyes." The Observer tried to explain, wincing at the unpleasant memory and quite sure that the only reason why he wasn't joining screaming was because Harry was currently sitting in his chair quite sane.

Thank the forces of paradox space for this unwitting compartmentalization.

Harry winced in his red and gold chair at the thought of things worse than the creature from the train. "Maybe if we sic those outside Hogwarts they'll catch Sirius Black and they can return to Azkaban. I hate getting those chills when we go outside…" he said this more out of a misplaced sense of humor, not really sure what else to say.

"With the proximity of the LOWAA entrance, I wouldn't be surprised if some started showing up." The Observer shrugged. "Then we'd have a bigger problem on our hands."

Eridan at least seemed to have run out of breath, slumping in exhaustion into his violet seat. "Wwhy is it alwways me…?" the troll bemoaned, his voice scratchy from all the screeching he had been doing.

Both Harry and the Observer just shrugged. That seemed to be something that stretched across both lives. A shit kind of luck and destiny.

"Wait… if I'm here… and he's here… and you're here… who's piloting the body?" Harry suddenly asked.

They all blinked in unison.

Harry was definitely out of it.

Hermione had warned him coming into the classroom that he was acting a bit off since their last class of Ancient Runes. Ron was convinced that taking extra electives was finally driving Harry crazy, and decided to partner up with him as usual to keep an eye on his best mate during the entirety of the double potions class, marvelling at just how strange Harry's new behavior was when the Boy Who Lived wasn't constantly monitoring his own actions. But nothing prepared him for the weirdness that came to follow.

Because while being immersed entirely within his own mind, Harry's automatic reactions were almost the stuff of legend.

They were supposed to be making a Shrinking Solution, and Ron had resigned himself to doing most of the work with Harry spaced out and unable to be roused, but to his surprise Harry had not only gotten all the ingredients, but he seemed to be prepping them on autopilot. Ron had waved his hand in front of his face to make sure he wasn't just getting the mickey taken out of him, but Harry didn't even react one bit. The daisy roots were chopped with a precision that Ron was sure Harry didn't have before when the black haired teen actually concentrated, never mind when he was on autopilot.

Experimenting, Ron also handed Harry his shrivelfig, which was also methodically peeled. When the caterpillars were placed in front of him, it was quickly sliced and added, all while with that faraway look in his eyes.

"Hey, Harry," butted in Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow Harry's brass scales, "have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning - they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."

"Where?" Asked Ron, watching as not even that prodded a reaction from the green eyed Gryffindor.

"Not too far from here," answered Seamus, who looked excited at the news. "It was a Muggle who saw him. 'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hotline. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was go- Harry? Harry, are you listening?"

Seamus only just then realized that Harry was not exactly present in the moment as was working on autopilot. He looked to Ron, mystified at the fact that Harry of all people was doing potions while in La La Land.

"I don't think he's all there right now, mate." Ron explained, motioning to the far-off look he had, "Been like that since this morning. Been working on autopilot I reckon - watch this."

Ron handed him a leech and Harry simply… crushed it into the cauldron with his hand, not even flinching as the juices dripped from his fingers. An expression of disgust passed Ron and Seamus' faces, looking around to see if anyone noticed but it seemed like Snape was too busy bullying poor Neville, who was doing his best to put on a brave face in front of the greasy git even as his potion bubbled bright orange instead of the lime green of the Shrinking Solution.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron watched Malfoy smugly open his mouth to butt in on the conversation before Harry crushed the leech, a look of shock and horror now coating his features. Looks like even Malfoy cottoned on that something was definitely off about Harry today.

Unluckily enough, Snape whirled around to see that Harry was still holding his hand aloft with the crushed leech. "Potter! Five points from Gryffindor for unsanitary practice! Using your hands instead of a mortar and pestle for leech juice? Is my class a joke to you?!" The Potions Professor barked out, and only seethed as the teen seemed to ignore him.

All fire that had been aimed toward Neville was now completely directed towards Harry now. Before Ron could retort to defend his best mate, Snape continued his attack.

"Potter! Are you listening? Ten points from Gryffindor for ignoring a Professor!"

Harry didn't even move a muscle, seemingly frozen. This only incensed Snape further, "Look at your Professor when they are speaking! Potter!" He snarled out, grabbing Harry's suspended wrist.

A second later, Snape was flung into the far wall. It had happened so quickly that all it took was a blink of the eye and the potions Professor went from their table to the wall with the blackboard. The resounding crash alerted everyone to what happened, all eyes darting from the Professor to Harry to the Professor again, unsure of what was going on. Neville and Hermione looked alarmed, Malfoy had turned as white as a sheet. The rest of the class was in various levels of shock. Parkinson was screaming. Seamus was mystified, Dean was gaping. Lavender had let out a short shriek with Pavarti. Crabbe and Goyle… looked as confused as ever.

"….uh, Harry? Harry!" Ron tried once more, careful not to touch him after what just happened.

This time, miraculously, Harry snapped out of whatever funk he was in, blinking once and looking at Ron with a confused expression. "…Yeah?"

"You just threw Snape across the room."

A cursory glance at the knocked out Professor.

"So I did." Was the answer, as if mystified of his own actions, going over and… was he checking for a pulse?

"He's not dead." Harry said, sounding relieved, "Just unconscious. Nothin to wworry about."

Not for the first time did Ron question whether Harry's stutter was a stutter. There was not a single hint of nervousness in his voice, nor hesitation. But Harry's smile was still the same, lopsided, strained.

"...Mind helpin me carry him to the Hospital W- to Madame Pomfrey?"

A/N:

Oni: And that's all for this chapter, folks!

Eridan: Please don't forget to Followw, Favvorite, and Revvieww.

Oni: And may you all be well, My Pretties!