A Potion

A/N: Remember, the whole battle takes place in a matter of moments. It’s not as long as the writing. It happens in little more than the flicker of a few thoughts.

Previously in ‘A Potion’:

Harry forced all he had into the curse and he realized he was screaming. Voldemort was doing the same. He scratchy, fowl voice could be heard howling over the roar of the magic. They pushed. Back and forth, back and forth; the deadliest tango. Over the light and the roar, their eyes met. Crimson and emerald.

And both of them wondered which one was going to die.
Chapter 11

Harry felt his arms tremble violently, making the pain in his shoulders almost unbearable. The heat and light radiating from the swirling mass of magic made him squint.

He emptied all he had into the blast, forcing his magic towards he snake-like man before him. Voldemort did the same, his thin chest heaving with anger as he felt the boy match his own power. But, from underneath the wrath, came a malicious smirk. His magic shifted forward as Harry, inexperienced in his youth, let his defenses fall.

Harry cried out as he felt the massive wave of heat come closer to him. He knew he was losing. He couldn’t keep up this dangerous game of tennis for much longer.

Then, in the roar of the raging light, Harry had a thought.

Is it worth it?

His eyes widened and he felt the little control he had over the combined curses start to slip. Voldemort was pushing it towards him. Harry could practically taste the looming prospect: death. It seemed not as fearful of a thought anymore. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe death wasn’t so bad.

Maybe he should just give up.

Harry let the white-knuckle grip on his wand loosen. He didn’t have to do this.

The magic slipped closer.

He didn’t have to kill this man; this beast. He didn’t want to. What was the worth of murder to stop murder?

Closer still. The prickling ferocity of the spells made the hair on Harry’s neck stand on end. His eyes began to water, his forehead started to sweat, his legs were shaking, and he didn’t care.

‘I could just die right now,’ he thought, his grip loosening even more. ‘It would all be over.’

Harry closed his eyes and waited; his heart no longer thrumming painfully against his ribcage; waiting for fate.

But, as fate may have it, though Harry had indeed given up on himself, there was another who was not so keen to see him fall. Harry’s eyes snapped open as a third jet of green light shot past his side and into the mess of twisting glows. Harry whirled his head to the side.

It was those eyes; those deep ebony eyes; that he saw first. Then the face; sallow and calm. Next to come was the hair; long, soft, and gleaming.

Severus.

Severus gripped his wand tightly and, right alongside Harry, he forced his own magic to the demon. He turned his head, slightly so, and looked at Harry silently, staring him in the face as if he were his own soul. Harry saw his eyes, and, knowing those eys better than his own, he saw the message there. He felt it, and with his tightening fingers and narrowing eyes, he tried with all his might to succeed.

Don’t give up.

Side by side, their magic combined. Side by side, they fought the now screaming monster. Voldemort shouted a vengeful oath and gave one last scowl of contempt before he too was part of the incinerating blow. And as the light filled what seemed to be the entire world, Harry and Severus watched, side by side, as Lord Voldemort became part of the wind; and deemed it fitting as his end.

Throughout the beating and the silent hearts of every soul who felt this man fade, there were the words that echoed in Harry’s mind as if they had been screamed. Perhaps they had, and would be. From the towers and balconies, and all heights, it could be screamed.

“At last. It’s over!”

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Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat next to Hermione, who his arm was currently wrapped around. She nestled her head tiredly into the crook of his shoulder and sighed. They had gotten together after the last battle; the one when it had all ended. They’d finally given up denying everything, especially after everything. They had face the deadliest people on Earth. They could of died. It was foolish to continue playing such a juvenile game when they could have both ended up dead.

Ron felt so right, with Hermione in his arms and his family and friends alive, but everything wasn’t as good as it should be. Voldemort had perished, defeated by none other than Harry himself. Harry had achieved the greatest victory that anyone in the Wizarding World had ever known. If he had been famous before, he was infamous now. No longer did he have to worry about the evil Dark Lord attacking him from behind the darkest corner. No longer did he have to worry about saving the world. He’d already done that. He should have been the happiest person out of all of them.

Yet, as Ron looked at his best friend of almost seven years, he knew that Harry wasn’t happy; not at all.

They were all in the Gryffindor common room. Everyone had flocked there after the celebration feast in the Great Hall. Dumbledore had given a huge speech about the fall of Voldemort and the victory of Harry. Harry hadn’t even been listening to it. Ron could see the glazed off look in his eyes. It was heart wrenching, seeing the hero of the world looking so cut off from it.

No one asked Harry about it. They chalked it up to him being shaken from the battle. After all, it was just three days ago that it happened. It must have been very traumatic, but Ron knew that wasn’t the source of his friend’s depression. Hermione knew it too, but neither of them were willing to say the unspoken name. Ron had figured it out not long after Harry had gone off into hiding. Of course, Hermione had done her share of explaining it to him, but he had his suspicions from the beginning. After all, what kind of best friend was he if he didn’t even know what was on Harry’s mind? Ron had been shocked about it, to say it delicately, but he knew that Harry would never do anything unless he really wanted to. It was apparent from Harry’s current silence that he’d been happy, as that happiness was completely drained now.

Harry was slumped in the stairwell leading up to the boys’ dormitory, as if he’d wanted to go up, but lost the motivation. He was staring forlornly at the back of the portrait of the Fat Lady, not showing any signs of acknowledging a pair of first years that crawled through it. He wasn’t frowning, per se, but his mouth was set into a soft line, and all the muscles in his face had gone lax. His emerald green eyes were flat and almost grayed, a sure sign that he wasn’t even present at all, but in a different world, all his own. He let out a deep sigh and the only movement he made besides this was to shift slightly against the wall. Harry was dead to the world.

Ron frowned, uncharacteristic for his freckled face, and he lifted his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. His neck felt unusually stiff and he turned it to crack the joint. Hermione looked up at him, a worried expression lining her features. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, her voice still groggy from the sort of nap she had been taking on his chest.

Ron’s only response was to look over at Harry and his moody stance. Hermione followed his gaze. “Oh,” she murmured, “I know…”

Nothing more was said as the both empathized for their friend. Ron felt almost as if Harry’s personal agony was being transferred to him, and it angered him that he could to nothing to help the saddened boy. Ron turned his gaze to the crackling fire. A bunch of boys from their dorm were gathered around it and swapping stories of the “doom’s day”. They had decided unanimously to keep their distance from Harry, knowing that it would do no good to talk to him right now. They didn’t know why, though. Ron knew why.

As soon as the battle had ended, and the green light faded from the entry hall of Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione had run through the main doors, terrified for their friend and what might have taken place. They’d come in to find three very worn and pained wizards. One was Harry. One was Dumbledore. And the last was Severus Snape. None of them seemed to notice Ron and Hermione’s entrance, as if they had lost all sense of the world around them. Ron had watched as Harry and Snape looked at each other for one long moment, their eyes swimming with emotion, and then Snape had turned away.

Harry and Snape hadn’t spoken since. Harry hadn’t spoken at all. The Potions Master hadn’t shown up to the victory feast, and no one questioned it. Not many people actually cared if he showed. Harry did. He’d glanced up at the staff table for one brief moment, a flicker of hope in his eyes, but the hope had been squashed quickly when he saw the dark man was nowhere to be found.

Ron unconsciously clenched his fist at his side. He had no idea what had happened between the two, but he did know that Harry was miserable. He had a duty to his friend. He had a duty help him. And, most of all, he had a duty to protect him.

Ron, his face resolute, carefully lifted his arm from around Hermione. “I’m going to go do something,” he said distractedly.

Hermione sat up and looked at him in confusion. “What? Where?”

But Ron was already stepping out of the portrait. He turned and glanced back at Harry, then his girlfriend. “Ill be back soon,” he said. With that, he was out of the common room.

Ron shoved his hands into his robe pockets and walked with a determination down the hall. A few stray students were hurrying from the feast to their common rooms, but he paid their excitable whispers no heed. He reached the staircase to the dungeons and felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He paused for a moment and turned slightly, his eyes resting on those of Dumbledore’s. The old man stared at him quietly, then nodded ever so slightly. For some reason, this only boosted Ron’s confidence. He felt his purpose much more strongly and he turned back around, heading down the stairs and into the dungeons.

When he reached the door, he hesitated. Ron ran a hand through his fiery red hair slowly and took in a deep breath. Forcing a hard look into his eyes, he knocked, twice, in hard and loud succession on the door. After a minute or so, the door opened cautiously. Tired, black eyes surveyed him for a moment before the door swung open fully.

Ron looked up at the man silently, staring, for the first time ever, straight into his eyes.

Snape looked at him without a word, his expression unreadable. Then, he stood to his full height of billowing, black robes… and stepped to the side.

“Come in, Mr. Weasley.”

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Omg, I know it’s short, but I’d say a lot happens even so. I’m sorry. I really wanted to update fast. There should be only one chapter left, but it’ll definitely be longer than this one. Look forward to the end of ‘A Potion!’