A Thousand Words

-Chapter Two-
Framed


“Your tastes are as pedestrian as ever, I see,” Snape said, scanning Harry’s well-worn paperback.

“Uh huh,” Harry said, absently, and flipped a page.

Slightly pinched lips were the only indication of annoyance as Snape’s eyes returned to his own leather-bound book. He glanced at Harry again. “Do let me know when you have figured out ‘who dunnit’, won’t you?”

“Uh huh.”

Shifting slightly, Snape shook his head and continued to read.

Harry flipped another page.

Snape glanced up.

With a snort, Harry shook his head at something he had just read and leaned back in his chair. “Huh,” he said softly and shook his head again.

Snape sighed loudly and lifted his book up higher.

Harry flipped another page. He leaned forward now and moved his lips slightly as he read.

Snape glanced up again, his brows furrowing. “Any big words I can assist with?”

“Nuh uh.”

Snape shook his head again and looked down at his book.

Harry laughed softly and flipped another page.

Lips pressing together, Snape suddenly slammed his book shut and sat forward. “Must you do that, Potter?”

Harry jumped and turned to look at the portrait hanging behind him. “Do what?”

“Chuckle and mumble and move about. Can’t you just sit and read like a normal person?”

Harry smiled and looked back down at his book.

“What are you grinning at?”

“Nothing.”

Snape stiffened. “What exactly do you find amusing about a simple need for peace and quiet, may I ask?”

Harry glanced back up at the magical painting. “I find it amusing because of all the portraits in the castle you could sit and read in, you choose to come and sit in this one every night.” He lifted his eyebrows. “You know, the one in my rooms.”

Snape crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. He looked down his long nose at his former student. “As you are well aware, Potter, you are currently in residence in my old chambers. My rooms, to be precise. It is hardly my fault that the only place where I feel truly comfortable at Hogwarts is the one place you have chosen to invade.”

“I’ve offered to move to other chambers. All you have to do is ask.”

Snape snorted. “So you can tell everyone how I chased the Saviour from his rooms?” He flipped open his book again. “I think not.”

Harry sighed. “Why don’t you go to your frame in the Headmaster’s office then?”

“Why don’t you move your bed in there?” Snape’s lips became a thin line. “See how long you last with that insufferable lot.” Snape glanced at Harry. “Not that your presence wouldn’t simply add to their number.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, noting that once again Snape had not admitted that the frame in the Headmaster’s office was not his. “A frame in Slytherin House then,” he pressed. “I’m sure they’re a lot less annoying there. And the rooms are certainly less cold and sparse than in here.”

Harry didn’t need to look up to know that Snape had left the portrait. After two weeks residence in Snape’s former quarters, he knew the routine. The slamming down of the book on the end table, the swirling of robes, the parting expletive; it was all becoming a bit predicable really. “By the way!” he called into the painting. “The wicked chemistry teacher did it!” Harry knew Snape was probably on the other side of the castle by now, but couldn’t resist the parting dig.

Harry sighed heavily and rubbed at his brow. This was not how he’d seen things going when he’d requested to take over Snape’s old rooms. Indeed, upon discovering that Snape essentially still ‘lived’ in his old chambers, Harry had known immediately that he would take them over if he could. Having Snape leave them now to occupy another frame would rather defeat the purpose of moving in, he mused.

Shaking his head, Harry glanced back at the now empty frame, regretting the parting jab almost as soon as it was out of his mouth. In all truthfulness, Harry found Snape’s former chambers anything but cold and sparse. Though the man had certainly had an unhealthy obsession with books, the furnishings he had chosen were warm and inviting. Despite the fact that the room was darker and more shadowy than Harry would have regarded as healthy, rich fabrics and soft pillows made lounging a delight and the warmth of the fireplace kept wayward draughts at bay.

Harry knew that Neville had found his request to take over Snape’s former rooms more than a bit odd. He had agreed in the end based solely on Harry’s argument that his ‘saviour’ status afforded him little privacy and that rooms in the dungeon would offer him some solitude when he needed it. If Neville suspected ulterior motives on Harry’s part, he was too polite to say so. He had been quick to point out, however, that in the nineteen years since Snape had died, not a single request had been made by a staff member to take over the rooms. Harry suspected the reason for this had less to do with respect for the dead and more to do with the room’s contents. Not only did the room come complete with Snape’s books, Snape’s comfy chairs and Snape’s draught defying fireplace, they came with Snape himself.

A sticking charm of impressive power seemed to hold Snape’s portrait frame to the wall and no amount of tugging, magical or otherwise, seemed able to move it. The frame fascinated Harry, not only because Snape seemed determined not to admit that it was his home frame, but because of the strange nature of the thing itself. There was something about it that made Harry feel ill at ease. If he had been forced to articulate what it was, he doubted he would have been able to. Something about the fact that it was magically stuck there perhaps. He knew of no other frame in the castle that was magically stuck in place. Perhaps it was the way the background seemed to suggest, through a play of light of shadow, a series of corridors and doors that seemed just out of focus. Or maybe it was just that Snape looked so damn real inside it. Other paintings in the castle looked just that; painterly. Snape looked like a living version of himself, trapped behind a pane of glass. If he had not seen the man die with his own eyes, Harry would have been tempted to break the glass and set him free. Whatever it was, it made Harry uncomfortable enough that he was sometimes loathe to turn his back on the portrait.

Harry had been tempted to question Snape about the nature of his frame, but the man’s reluctance to even admit that it was his home frame, gave Harry pause. Instead, he had set about asking questions of others in the castle. The only information of use, however, had come, once again, from Neville who had given him more detail about the frame Snape occasionally occupied in the Headmaster’s office. It belonged to a former headmaster, Headmaster Bobbit, who apparently preferred to spend his time in the kitchens, talking to the house elves and eating fruit from the still life portraits.

The information had confused Harry even more. Obviously it was possible for former Headmasters to live in other frames in the castle full-time if they didn’t want to be in the Headmaster’s office. Why had Snape not done the same thing in that case? No, Harry realized, it was clear that the frame located in Snape’s chambers had not been placed there by accident. It had been a planned event, possibly even before Snape’s death. It was the only explanation that made sense to Harry and he had begun to theorize as to why that would be. Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that the magical frame must have been a bribe on Dumbledore’s part; a carrot used to persuade Snape to take on certain dangerous missions. How could they have known, after all, that Snape himself would one day be a Headmaster with the automatic privilege of being ‘framed’ at death? The frame must have been created by Dumbledore and set in Snape’s chambers in anticipation of the worst case scenario befalling him, Harry reasoned. For someone facing imminent demise on an almost daily basis, the knowledge that some small part of himself might be preserved must have been of great comfort to Snape. Harry, however, wondered if such a promise wouldn’t border on cruel manipulation, if indeed it was true. Something akin to the promise of rewards in heaven for Muggle soldiers prepared to throw themselves on landmines for their superiors.

Regardless of why it had been created, however, Harry was glad it existed. Despite the fact that the Snape in the picture was not the living Snape he had known as a young man, it was still a small part of him and, as such, was a way to make a connection; a way for Harry to try and make amends and show his deep gratitude for the sacrifices made by a man who had done so much to help him without his even having known it.

As Harry sat thinking, out of his peripheral vision, he became aware of an arm slowly reaching into the frame, a long-fingered hand wrapping itself around the book on the painted end table.

Harry smiled. “You can come back, Severus,” he said gently and looked up at the painting. “I’m sorry I annoyed you.”

The arm froze.

“It wasn’t the evil chemistry teacher after all. In fact, if I had to guess at this point, I would say it was probably the cruise ship captain. He has a fear of water, so I’m thinking something’s not right there.”

Snape’s face appeared in the frame and he glared down at Harry. “I have an entire collection of classic novels directly across from you, Potter,” he said. “Why don’t you avail yourself of them before it’s too late?”

Harry smiled and shook his head as he flipped open his novel. Making amends would be a lot easier if the two of them could stop butting heads and exchanging barbs, he thought.

+++

Harry had fallen asleep while reading, his novel now on the floor beside him. He awoke almost painfully, aware that he was experiencing a surreal netherworld that sometimes took him when he fell asleep on the sofa. His body seemed unable to catch up to his waking mind, resulting in an inability to move. The effect was rather unpleasant, but it happened often enough that Harry knew better than to fight it. A few eternal seconds would see his body releasing the proper chemicals to allow him to move again and he had only to wait it out. Harry resigned himself to floating there for a few minutes in his own thoughts, not bothering to even try and open his eyes.

After two weeks of residence at the castle, the following day would finally see Harry and the other teachers welcoming back the students to Hogwarts. How strange it would be to occupy a seat on the other side of the teacher’s table, he thought. His sons would be there as well, both Gryffindors now. Albus certainly seemed more delighted to have him there than James did, but that wasn’t surprising considering their personalities. Albus would welcome his company while James would doubtless see him as an impediment to his adventures.

Harry finally managed to move his head a bit and he cracked open one eye. The fire had burned down to almost nothing and a soft red glow from the dying embers slid across the floor and up the far wall. Harry blinked as Snape’s empty frame was touched by the light. For the briefest moment, the surface looked awash with blood.

Finally able to move, Harry raised his head and reached to straighten his glasses. Instantly, the effect was lost and the picture’s surface revealed nothing more than a painted study enhanced by the red glow of the fire. “Weird,” Harry mumbled and put his head back down.

“What is ‘weird’, Mr. Potter?” a voice drawled from just beyond the picture’s frame. “The fact that some people use beds to sleep in?”

Harry smiled and slowly sat up. He rolled his head to release the tension in his neck. “What time is it?” he asked groggily. “I must have fallen asleep.”

Snape appeared in the frame, now dressed in a night shirt and robe. “You did. Several hours ago, in fact,” he said and moved to stand in front of a painted bookcase. He scanned the spines, touching each one with a long finger before moving on to the next. “Do let me know when you are ready to put that fire out. Some of us prefer to sleep in the dark.”

Rising slowly, Harry arched his back and massaged the muscles at the base of his spine. “Not getting any younger,” he mumbled.

“Though one would be hard-pressed to notice that.”

Harry’s eyebrows flew up and he turned to look at Snape. “Good lord, Severus!” he said with a broad smile. “Was that a compliment?”

Snape finally selected a book and turned to face Harry. “If one considers it a compliment to be told that they still look like the idiot boy they were nineteen years ago, then I suppose it was.”

This time Harry actually laughed. “Well, you haven’t aged either, Severus, so I guess we’re even.”

Snape shook his head as he flipped open the book to read the preface. “Except that I am a non-aging image in a frame, Potter.” He looked up. “Who also happens to look like a mature adult and not a mop-headed adolescent.”

Harry tilted his head and looked Snape up and down. “Well, that’s one way of describing you, I suppose,” he chuckled. “Wearer of rather questionable night attire might be another.”

Snape snapped the book shut and leaned over to extinguish the lamp on the end table. “At least I wear night attire,” he smirked and left the frame at a smart clip.

The smile dropped from Harry’s face and he stood blinking stupidly at the empty frame. How could Snape possibly know he slept in the nude? There were no picture frames in his bedroom. Harry reached up and scratched thoughtfully at his chin. In the dead of night, he did tend to pop out to the loo in nothing but his glasses, he thought. Not that he’d be doing that anymore.

With a shake of his head, Harry stooped down to retrieve his novel before turning toward his bedroom. “Goodnight, Severus!” he called over his shoulder. “Try not to stare at my bum tonight, please!”

There was a derisive snort from just beyond the frame.

A/N: Regarding reviews… oooooo, yes please! And thank you so much to those who have reviewed so far. They’re brilliant and muchly appreciated!