"Are we really going down to the dungeons? That's Snape."
As they walked down the stairs, Ron asked Hermione and Harry beside him for what felt like the hundredth time, looking utterly fragile and helpless.
"It's Professor Snape, Ron," Hermione corrected.
Ron looked close to breaking down. "Can we not fuss over that at a time like this? Is that really the point?"
Harry quietly said, "What if you get used to saying it, then call him Snape right to his face later..."
He and Ron shuddered at the same time.
"He might shove my head into a cauldron and drown me," Ron said.
"We're here."
Hermione stopped before a door, took a deep breath, and turned to look at the two behind her.
Harry and Ron both took a step back in unison. Then, realizing what they had done, Harry stepped forward twice with the expression of a man marching bravely to his death.
Hermione rolled her eyes at each of them. "You look like you're about to die together with Professor Snape."
Harry's smile looked worse than crying. "You think too highly of me, Hermione. Why would Snape need to die with me to deal with me?"
"Then stay at the door. I'll go in by myself," Hermione said irritably.
"We're not the kind of people who let our companions face danger alone." Ron stiffened his neck, stepped forward, and knocked on the door as though he were heading to the gallows.
The door opened by itself, and the three of them walked in trembling.
The room was dimly lit, its walls shadowy. Tall shelves stretched from floor to ceiling along the walls, filled with countless glass jars containing all sorts of floating things. From the way the jars were arranged, it was clear that Snape was a