Episode 12. Part 12

Episode 12. Part 12

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Ronald cursed his long tongue for the thousandth time, Filch and his bloody cat, and of course Potter, since he was the cause of all his misfortunes. Though he cursed the latter even mentally very carefully. He knew that without him he simply could not find his way back to the castle. And how did Potter get his bearings in these woods?!

It had been a Sunday morning, and Ronald, going off to do his time in Filch's den for mocking Mrs. Noriss, had never expected that this time his assignment would be to escort Professor Potter into the Forbidden Forest, where he was going for... Weasley didn't even know why.

Of course, looking at Potter's perfectly straight back, he had more than once for several hours the urge to simply curse the Boy-Who-Survived-To-He-Murdered. The Forbidden Forest, after all, no one would prove anything when the remains of a fake hero were eaten by giant spiders, for example. Except Ronald was very much afraid of those very spiders, who were chasing them, but, for some reason, were in no hurry to attack. He knew that once Potter disappeared, there was no escape. And his own skin was worth the price of restraint. Besides, Weasley involuntarily respected his friend's rival for his lack of fear.

And Harold walked forward and had no fear of being stabbed in the back or rustled. A workout for Ron? He made it up, like the case for which he supposedly needed help. He was just going into the woods to talk, and he hoped that Weasley's fears would make him more outspoken. Why did he need it? He didn't know himself. I guess he just didn't want to have enemies over misunderstandings.

And the forest lived and breathed the magic that made it almost reasonable. It was easy, even too easy, to get lost in it, because not all the trees stood still. Some of them were moving, tangling paths with their roots, marking out the tracks of strangers and intruders. And the forest didn't like that, and neither did its inhabitants. Except that Harold was guided by his magic, and she was the guardian. It was because of its shadows that the forest regarded Potter as one of its own, but it did not touch the stranger walking with him... Though he honestly did not understand why, knowing exactly the way, to circle thirty times around a cozy clearing, covering his tracks, in order to lead his companion to it.

- Oh, those damned bushes are gone at last! - Ronald sighed, unaware of the forest's anger at his words. He looked around and landed wearily on the trunk of a long fallen and heavily mossed, and therefore soft, tree. - Why are we here, Potter?

- I just wanted to talk," Harold answered calmly, taking a seat on the stump opposite. He was understandably angry at Ron's words, since it was really worth the trip, all the way up here, through the thorny bushes and the pitch-black darkness.

Тwenty minutes of cursing and cursing later, Ronald calmed down after the snide suggestion (since he didn't want to listen, but wanted to do the work), to go back to the castle alone, then look for Snape. Of course, better conversation and safety than acromantulas, werewolves, and working out with the potions professor if he made it to the castle alive, Ronald decided. So he asked rudely, "What do you want, Potter?

- Ron, why do you hate me? - Harold asked straight out. - "I'm sorry, of course, but I don't remember giving you any real reason to be so hostile.

- Weasley doubted for a few moments whether Potter was in front of him. But that would be him, he damned well would!

- You're the dark one," Ronald stated confidently.

- What makes you think that? Or did Dumbledore say so? - Harold inquired, cocking his eyebrows questioningly, reminding Ron of Snape.

- You speak the language of snakes. It is known to be a gift of dark wizards," said Weasley authoritatively.

Potter grinned irritably: "Oh, come on, if it were your gift, you'd think it was cool to talk to snakes." He dipped his hand into the grass, muttering something under his breath, and, to Ronald's horror, the Survivor Boy's limb snaked up to his shoulders, slowly rising to expose himself to the rays of sunlight, which were just beaming down on his shoulders, rare in the Forbidden Forest. - You're a smart guy, you know wizards are full of prejudices.

-As much as Ron hated it, he agreed: it was cool to control snakes like that. And nothing dark, to his own horror, the redhead noticed. - It's also not like the Great Light Wizard put the idea of me being dark in your mind.

- You killed Quirrell.

- He was possessed by Voldemort's spirit. You suspected it yourself," Potter countered calmly.

Weasley was beginning to feel uneasy. Could he be a mind reader as well? Harold wasn't reading, he was only saying what magic whispered in his ear.

- Stole the Philosopher's Stone.

- Gave it back to his ancestor, the creator of the stone, Nicholas Flamel," Harold objected again. - By the way, it was with its help that Neville's parents were healed. Dumbledore kept the stone for many years, but for some reason he did not look for a way to heal them with the greatest invention of the magic world.

- The thought of doubt crept into Ron's mind, but he quickly dismissed it: the dark one simply wanted to poach him, Ronald Weasley, the son of an all-time bright family. Out of annoyance, he blurted out, not immediately figuring out exactly what it was: - You denied me friendship.

- Potter was silent for a long time while Ron regretted what he had said. Still, the word was spoken. There was no turning back, and he was a Gryffindor after all. Besides, somewhere deep down inside, he still held a grudge and did not understand why he had been denied friendship.

- Oh, did you offer it? - He was very surprised at the bloody Potter, forcing himself to snap out of it.

"Freshman year, when we were choosing beds..." - Huh?" Harold wondered again.

- But, Ron, I didn't know you at all. You were a stranger to me. And I've spent my whole adult life with my brother. If you had someone close to you, wouldn't you want your beds next to each other?

- Ron closed his eyes and pressed his lips together frustratedly: Potter was making sense. - And who did you want to be friends with? Me or Survivor Boy?

And besides, I don't recall you saying anything like, "Let's be friends. You only asked about the bed and started talking about family when I said no.

- But you didn't talk to me! - Ron exclaimed in exasperation, trying to justify the years of hatred in his own eyes at least. He knew Dumbledore had only called Potter dark because he had refused to obey. And he himself liked the idea as an excuse for childish resentment. Yes. Deep down, he knew it.

- Ron, you can't stand studying. I do. You prefer entertainment in your spare time, I prefer useful things. You're a Quidditch fanatic. I've only been to three games over the years. You grumble about the severity of your teachers, and I think they're fair. What would you and I talk about? - Harold stomped on all Ron's arguments calmly. - Or do you think I should have listened to you? No, Ron. The way I see it, friendship is about equality, friendship, shared interests, and a mutually beneficial relationship where you help your friend pro bono. - Potter sighed: - What was I going to say? I've never made any intrigues against you. I don't really care about you. What do you care about me, then?

- Why do you have everything? - He was in a tizzy, and Weasley was in over his head. "Power, fame, money, connections, lots of friends, including my idol, Krum. The prettiest girl in the world is now your wife! You are free to conjure. You're a Lord. You're even a Professor, and I'm..."

"You're jealous," Potter said. - But, you know, Ron, Dudley and I were jealous of you. You had everything you really valued, everything we dreamed of: living parents, lots of brothers, a sister. And you had lots of friends, too. I get it, you wanted to stand out from the brothers you've been set up as an example of all your life. But you don't have to stand out from them, because you're already special. I hear no one in your family is as good at chess as you are. Fred and George once raved to me about how you beat Bill, and then your father's friend at the Ministry. Why don't you take part in a chess competition? - Why hadn't he ever thought of such a thing? - I'm sure you would win. You love it, don't you?

And you, instead of developing your strengths, are trying to get back at me. Think about it, I got my fame, but my parents' lives were the price for it. Imagine yourself in my shoes. You had your father die recently because of an assignment Dumbledore gave him. You know what it's like to fear for his life. Imagine yourself in the moment when your parents would have died. Would you have needed the glory in that case?

- No. I'd trade it and anything else for my parents' lives," Ronald grumbled sullenly, whose outlook on life had just crumbled and required an urgent rethink.

- I think we understand each other," Harold nodded to himself. Naturally, on the way back Harold no longer circled the clearing, but led straight to Hogwarts.

However, an overthinking Ron didn't even notice. He made his way directly to the Gryffindor tower and his bed in the fifth year boys' dormitory to pull up the canopy and immerse himself in thought. He didn't even remember that Dumbledore had invited him to his study after work...

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