fanfiction | harry potter : run run run, there's no turning back
title: run run run, there's no turning back
genre: drama
character(s): neville
word count: 314
rating: pg
You know you shouldn't have said anything, done anything. And you curse yourself for having even thought of bringing back Dumbledore's Army - Dumbledore's still, even though he's dead and he can't ever come back and lead you against You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters (and it's still You-Know-Who, even though deep down you know that you could and would say his name if you really didn't want to be killed).
You can hear the thuds behind you, heavy footsteps. You can hear their threats and curses, 'Come back, Longbottom, you blood traitor!' You can hear the sparks flying off the walls and floor, greenredbluepurple flashing in the corners of your eyes.
But you can't stop, no matter how tired you are. You can't turn around; you can't call for help; you can't do anything except runrunrun.
And that's what you're doing.
Run and duck and run and swerve and run and turn.
You leap up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. You narrowly miss falling down the trick step that's always caught you ever since you were eleven, and you continue to run, drowning out the shouts of portraits with the pounding in your ears.
And you run and you run and you run.
And there's the tapestry - the familiar tapestry that you've strolled three times in front of daily for the past year. And you allow a sigh of relief as you run past, turn, run past again, turn again, run past again - don't let the Carrows find me, don't let Snape find me, don't let anyone on their side find me - and pullpullpull at the heavy door that's appeared and disappear inside, the stone grinding shut behind you.
And you know you're finally safe, as you slide down against the wall - there's no door there anymore - and breathe in deeply to catch your breath.
genre: drama
character(s): neville
word count: 314
rating: pg
You know you shouldn't have said anything, done anything. And you curse yourself for having even thought of bringing back Dumbledore's Army - Dumbledore's still, even though he's dead and he can't ever come back and lead you against You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters (and it's still You-Know-Who, even though deep down you know that you could and would say his name if you really didn't want to be killed).
You can hear the thuds behind you, heavy footsteps. You can hear their threats and curses, 'Come back, Longbottom, you blood traitor!' You can hear the sparks flying off the walls and floor, greenredbluepurple flashing in the corners of your eyes.
But you can't stop, no matter how tired you are. You can't turn around; you can't call for help; you can't do anything except runrunrun.
And that's what you're doing.
Run and duck and run and swerve and run and turn.
You leap up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. You narrowly miss falling down the trick step that's always caught you ever since you were eleven, and you continue to run, drowning out the shouts of portraits with the pounding in your ears.
And you run and you run and you run.
And there's the tapestry - the familiar tapestry that you've strolled three times in front of daily for the past year. And you allow a sigh of relief as you run past, turn, run past again, turn again, run past again - don't let the Carrows find me, don't let Snape find me, don't let anyone on their side find me - and pullpullpull at the heavy door that's appeared and disappear inside, the stone grinding shut behind you.
And you know you're finally safe, as you slide down against the wall - there's no door there anymore - and breathe in deeply to catch your breath.