❝ he and i are closer than friends, we are enemies linked together, the same sin binds us ❞ | in which lilium snape is bound to harry potter by fate, destined to stand on either side of a war that will soon be waged. she is cursed by prophecy, or so...
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ACT THREE, chapter fifty—nine : oh, and you rip my ribcage open and devour what's truly yours and our screaming joins in unison
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Hermione gripped tight to Lili's hand while they rushed to the Hospital Wing.
Mere weeks into the second term, somehow Ron had gotten himself poisoned! And Harry barely managed to save his life before he drank from the same poisoned bottle! Honestly, they couldn't leave the boys to their own devices for one minute.
The girls burst into the Hospital Wing, and immediately dashed towards Ron who was laid out on one of the far most cots, very still and very pale, but his chest obviously rising up and down at a steady pace. He was all right. He would live. Honestly, Lili thought she might cry with relief.
Many professors were already there, as was Harry and Ginny, all of them crowded beside Ron's bedside where Madam Pomfrey was attending him. As soon as they were close enough, Lili lightly gave Hermione's back a gentle push, and the girl managed to get her legs working enough for her to sit at Ron's bedside and pick up his limp hand.
After a moment, still breathing heavy, Lili whispered to Harry, "All right?"
"What?" He startled, as if he hadn't expected anyone to ask.
"Ron's your best friend and you saw him nearly die straight in front of you. I imagine it was fairly traumatising. Are you doing all right?"
Something that looked a lot like lo— no, fondness warmed in Harry's brilliant green eyes. "Yea, I'm all right."
A patch of clumsy silence stood among them now. Everyone observed poor Ron still on the bed as bits and pieces of worry floated amidst the quiet.
"Quick thinking on your part, Harry, using a Bezoar." Dumbledore broke the tension—heavy silence, glancing from student to professor, "You must be very proud of your student, eh, Horace?"
Slughorn stood off to the side, very pale, looking utterly shell—shocked. "Hm? Oh. Yes... Very proud."
Snape arched a brow.
"I think we all agree that Mister Potter's actions were heroic," McGonagall pointed out tightly, "The question is: why were they necessary?"
"Why, indeed." Dumbledore took a half—empty bottle of what may have been mead, still bearing a bit of leftover gift—wrap. "This appears to be a gift, Horace. You don't by chance remember who gave you this bottle, do you? — Which by the way possesses remarkably subtle hints of licorice and cherry... when not polluted with poison."
