A Thousand Words

-Chapter 3-
Reacquainted


“Pass the pickles, Potter.”

Harry looked over at the man sitting beside him and frowned. Draco Malfoy had changed considerably in appearance since their school days together at Hogwarts, but his personality had remained remarkably intact.

“I just rhymed there!” Draco said and laughed uproariously at his own perceived humour. He looked at the teacher on his other side and grinned as though she were in on the joke, conveniently ignoring her blank expression. “Pass the pickles, Potter!” he repeated and looked back at Harry, blissfully unaware of the teacher shaking her head and returning to her meal.

Pressing his lips together in a fashion that he was certain would make one former Potions Master of Hogwarts proud, Harry slowly passed the plate of sweet pickles to the man beside him. The same man who, much to Harry’s great chagrin, was also now the present Potions Master of Hogwarts. It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to point out to Malfoy that simply stringing words together that began with the same letter did not constitute a rhyme, but decided against it and simply smiled. “There you are,” he said pleasantly as he slid the plate over. “Clever rhyme there, Malfoy.” Harry continued to smile serenely as he thought,

There was a balding git
Who was something of a twit
He’d strut about
Proud as trout
Yet simply had no wit

“I like to make rhymes too,” Harry added conversationally. “I’ll tell you one of them someday.”

Draco pierced one of the pickles with his fork and looked out across the main hall of the castle, his attention clearly drawn away. “Yeah, you do that, Potter,” he said and bit into his pickle.

Harry shook his head and sighed. A single glance at Neville, who occupied the Headmaster’s seat, was all it took to get Harry another apologetic shrug from his old friend. It had not been until that very morning that Neville had told Harry about the appointment of one Draco Malfoy to the position of Potions Master and Harry was almost glad he hadn’t known until then. He had been looking forward to the welcoming feast and he knew he probably wouldn’t have been quite so enthusiastic if he’d known his former nemesis would be sharing a place with him at the teacher’s table.

With another sigh, Harry looked back at his meal and realized he had lost his appetite. Naturally, he hadn’t blamed Neville for the appointment. The position had been very difficult to fill since the departure of Professor Slughorn and he knew his friend had been desperate to find someone before the school year began. Indeed, Malfoy had apparently applied for the position only days before the start of term. So be it, Harry thought. They were both adults now. Surely they could exist together professionally.

“You should probably keep an eye on your sons, Potter,” Draco said with an oily smile. “If I know my son, he’s already planning a surprise for them.”

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw Scorpius talking quietly with his friends, their heads bent together and all of them glancing over at Harry’s sons at the Gryffindor table. Harry sighed. So maybe they wouldn’t be finding professional ground after all, he mused. “Good thing there’s two of mine and only one of yours then, I’d say,” Harry said pleasantly and reached out for the plate of pickles. “Done with these?” he asked with a smile.

Draco’s smile faltered for only a moment before he slowly slid the pickles back to Harry.

****

Harry slowly lowered himself onto his sofa and put his hands behind his head. He was utterly exhausted from the welcoming feast and the following settling in of the Gryffindors into the tower. Unlike McGonagall, who had left the task to the prefects in his own school days, Harry had insisted on doing it himself. Much to his older son’s chagrin, he knew. Harry laughed to himself. Everything he did seemed to embarrass his oldest. Albus, on the other hand, had stood beside him, proudly grinning up at Harry and making certain everyone in the room remembered they were related.

“The brats are settled, I take it?” A voice drawled from behind Harry.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and watched Snape for a moment. The frame had been empty when he’d come in and it was disturbing to Harry how quietly the man was able to sneak into the thing and settle himself down in his infernal leather chair. Without comment, Harry rose and began to move the sofa away from the wall.

Snape sat forward in his chair and peered down at Harry. “What do you think you’re doing, Potter?”

“Moving the sofa.”

“I can see that. May I ask why you are doing so?” Snape asked, the words ‘you idiot boy’ implied within every slowly enunciated word.

Harry began to push and shove various pieces of furniture aside as he spoke. “Because I’m tired of you sneaking up behind me when I’m sitting on it.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow and sat back again. “Paranoid, Potter?”

Harry smiled. “You just rhymed there, Severus!” he laughed. “According to some, anyway.”

“That was an alliteration, Potter. Not a rhyme.”

Harry pushed the sofa into place, directly across the room from where it had been, and stood to stretch his back. “I know that. Thank you.”

Rolling his eyes, Snape crossed his legs. “Do let me know when you wish to start talking sense.” He raised an eyebrow.

Harry sat back down on the sofa, now directly across the room from Snape’s portrait, and sighed. Well, that’s better, he thought. There wouldn’t be anymore ‘sneaking Snapes’ on his watch. “Sorry,” he said. “Draco made some stupid comment about an alliteration being a rhyme earlier and it stuck with me, I guess.”

Every muscle in Snape’s body seemed to stiffen and he slowly uncrossed his legs. He sat forward carefully, his hands moving to grasp the leather armrests of his chair. “Where,” he said carefully, “did you see Malfoy?”

An alarm bell that had not gone off inside Harry since the last days of the war, sent a warning chill down his spine. “Why?” he asked carefully, sitting forward himself.

“Answer me!” Snape spat, the fingers of his hands now white as they grasped the armrests. “Is he here? Is he in the castle? Tell me!”

Harry blinked several times, taken aback by Snape’s abrupt change of mood. “Uh, yes,” he stammered, feeling very much like the school boy he had once been in the presence of a feared teacher. “He…he’s taken over the Potions position. Why?”

Snape’s eyes widened and his back straightened like a rod. “In the dungeons,” he said softly. “He’s down here.” Snape’s eyes snapped to the door of his former chambers and he stared at it for several moments. “Get out of here and go straight to the Headmaster’s office. I’ll meet you there,” he said, rising from his chair.

Harry shook his head in confusion, “Severus, what are you …?”

“Don’t argue with me, you stupid boy!” Snape said, his black hair swinging as he turned abruptly to Harry. “I will watch you leave and then go immediately to the Headmaster’s office myself. I will explain everything there.”

Blinking again, Harry tried desperately to understand what had overcome his former teacher. “Sir…?” he said in confusion, the old title returning naturally to his lips.

Snape watched Harry for a moment before placing one hand against the glass of his frame. “I know you couldn’t trust me when you were younger, but you must trust me now, Potter. Surely, I have earned that much,” he said slowly. “Draw your wand and get up to the Headmaster’s office. Now.”

Harry was brought up short. He nodded quickly. “Of…of course, I trust you,” he stammered and headed towards the main chamber door. “I trust you with my life.”

With a last glance over his shoulder at the tall man in the frame, Harry pulled out his wand and opened the door of his chambers. The wall of pain that met him there, however, knocked the very breath from his lungs and Harry flew back into the room, landing hard. He felt the wand ripped from his grasp and another sharp pain to his abdomen. He thought he heard Snape yelling somewhere nearby, but couldn’t be certain through the pain. Cruciatus, he knew. And probably a swift kick to the stomach to back it up.

“Thought you’d be waiting for me,” a familiar voice drawled nearby.

Draco, Harry thought in a fog. “Why,” he gasped, “would I be waiting for you, Malfoy?” he managed as he slowly sat up.

“Not you, stupid!” Malfoy spat and kicked Harry in the back, sending him sprawling across the rug again. “I don’t give a flying thestral about you, Potter.”

“He saved your life, Draco,” Harry heard Snape say, his voice calm and even. “You owe him better than this.”

Malfoy snorted and leaned over to grab Harry by the hair, pulling his head back painfully. “Saved me, did he? Saved me for what? To be an orphan like his own pathetic self?” He released Harry and his head fell forward again.

“Why are you doing this to me, Draco?” Harry choked. He turned his head to one side so he could see the other man kneeling beside him.

With a derisive snort, Malfoy shook his head. “You always think it’s about you, don’t you, Potter?” He looked up at the portrait. “What’s it really about, Snape? Eh? Tell the little prince of Gryffindor. Why am I doing this to him?”

Harry’s eyes met Snape’s and they watched each other for what seemed an eternal second before the older man looked back at Malfoy. “I did everything I could to save them, Draco,” he said softly. “Doing this won’t bring them back. It’s me you want to hurt, not him.”

Harry tried to push himself up but was pushed back down by Draco’s strong hand on his back. “The only problem with that theory, Snape,” he Draco said softly, “is that the only way to hurt you now that you’re dead is to hurt someone else, someone I know you care about, and make you watch. Make you know they died because of you.”

Harry blinked as the words sank home. Malfoy was going to…? With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Harry rolled away from Draco, ignoring the pain that still wracked his body, and desperately scrambled to his feet. He launched himself at the door and fumbled at the handle.

This time, the curse hit Harry directly in the back and, with a raw scream, he was forced against the door. “No!” he heard Snape screaming somewhere across the room. Harry slid to the floor, his body jerking in agony. This time, when Malfoy grabbed him by the hair, he didn’t let go. He pulled Harry across the room until he stood shakily in front of Snape’s portrait. Draco forced Harry’s head right back until Harry thought his scalp might detach from his skull. With his windpipe all but cut off now, a strangled scream was all he could manage before he felt the cool steel of a blade settle against his throat.

“Draco,” Snape said, his voice a strained calm. “You will go to Azkaban for this. There’s no other option. Think of your child.”

“I am thinking of him, Snape.” Harry could feel Malfoy’s warm breath against his exposed throat. “I want him to know that no one betrays the Malfoy’s without paying the price.”

“Draco, listen,” Snape said, his voice rising slightly. “You will only be teaching him to…”

Harry felt the blade slide across his throat and was immediately engulfed by an odd sense of warmth. He knew Malfoy must have released him because he suddenly felt himself falling to the rug, his cheek making hard contact with the thick wool. “No!” he heard Snape scream again. “Merlin, No! Potter! Potter, look at me!”

“Goodbye, Snape,” Malfoy said from somewhere nearby. “Shame about the rug. I don’t think his blood will ever wash out. Do you?”

Harry found himself unable to move and simply lay there, listening to the door of his chambers open and then close again with a resounding bang. Shock he reasoned, even as he felt his world darken.

“Listen to me, Potter,” Snape’s voice sounded closer somehow. “Turn your head and look at me.” Harry lay motionless. “Look at me!” Slowly, Harry managed to comply, the pain still hidden behind a mask of shock. He saw that Snape had stooped right down in his frame so he could get as close to Harry as possible. “You must try and staunch the bleeding while I go get help. Roll over and grab the wound. Do it!”

How he found the strength to turn over, Harry could not have said, but he managed it, his eyes never leaving Snape’s pale face. Shakily, he reached up and tried to apply pressure to the gushing wound at his neck, but already he could feel the coldness and shaking in his limbs and he knew it was hopeless. For one brief moment, he realised the terrible irony of their situation. Harry now lay bleeding to death from a throat wound as Snape sat by helplessly and watched. What a wicked sense of humour the universe had, he thought as his eyes fluttered shut and his hand fell back to the rug.

“No!” Snape screamed again. “Open your eyes, Potter!”

Slowly, Harry’s eyes opened again and he looked up at Snape. “Can’t…” he whispered. He felt tears stinging his eyes now as he thought of his children and of Ginny. “Tell my kids….that I… love….”

“Potter,” Snape said, his voice suddenly strong. “Listen to me. It’s too late for me to get help. You have seconds only. If you wish to tell your children you love them yourself, then you must do as I tell you. Listen!”

Harry’s eyes widened. His children? He could speak to them again?

“Crawl over here. It’s only a few feet. Crawl over here and put your hand right here.” Snape placed his own hand against the glass of his frame and pressed it there. “Right here. Do it, Potter. Before it’s too late!”

Licking his parched lips, Harry looked at the hand that seemed so very far away now. “Can’t…” he whispered.

“Of course you can, you stupid boy!” Snape said harshly. “You can defeat the darkest wizard that ever lived but you can’t crawl three feet? Have you lost all your sense and ability in your old age?”

Harry looked over at Snape. The man’s face didn’t match his words and Harry felt a sudden surge of affection. Snape looked strained and close to… what? Tears? Surely not. Regardless, it was clear he was in great distress and Harry realized he owed the man more than to simply bleed to death on his rug without even trying to make a last connection. If he wanted to have the sense of his hand near Harry’s before he died, then he would have it, Harry thought. Even if it cost him the last breaths of his life.

The initial shock had begun to pass and Harry felt the first pulse of pain from the open wound at his neck. Through the fog, he realized that Malfoy must not have made a clean cut across the artery at his throat, because he should surely have bled to death by now. He knew he didn’t have the energy to roll over and crawl on all fours, but perhaps Malfoy’s slip up would buy him enough time to shuffle sideways instead, alternating between his shoulders and his backside, until he could reach the frame.

Though determined, several times Harry cried out in pain and halted his attempts to reach Snape, too fatigued to continue. Snape’s insistent voice was the only thing to make him continue and he eventually found himself lying directly under the frame, face up and panting with pain and exhaustion.

“Sit up, Potter,” Snape said and placed his hand as close to the bottom of his frame as possible. “Put your hand here. Hurry!”

Harry simply lay still, looking at Snape’s hand. Dragging himself over had cost him everything he had and he doubted he could raise himself up as high as the frame. He tried to speak, but the blood was now blocking his throat. He closed his eyes.

“Don’t you dare, Potter!” Snape screamed, his voice almost manic now. “You’re that close! What would your mother think? She’d think you were a failure. Put your hand here! Do it!”

Harry opened his eyes again and saw Snape’s palm pressed against the glass of the frame, the fingers moving in small, desperate motions. “Reach up!”

With the last of his waning energy, Harry slowly raised his hand and tried to touch the frame, but it was too far up and his arm dropped back down across his chest like a weight. He slowly shook his head and closed his eyes again.

“You have to sit up to reach it, Potter,” Snape said, his hair almost covering his face as he leaned down to what would have been the floor inside his frame. “Sit up. You only have to do it once. Hurry! It’s almost too late.”

The pain began to recede and Harry thought he heard his children laughing nearby. A small smile found his lips. They would grow up without him, he knew, but they would grow up. They would have a mother who loved them and an extended family so large that they would never know what it meant to be alone. What more could he want? His eyes opened slowly and he looked up at Snape, the smile still on his lips. “Good-bye,” he said softly, the sound lost amid the blood that now bubbled out of his mouth and slid down his chin.

Snape was shaking his head, no longer trying to hide the despair on his face. “No, no, no…” he muttered helplessly. “Please not this. Please…”

As darkness began to take him, Harry was distantly aware of the sound of his chamber door opening again. “I changed my mind, Severus!” a voice said happily. “I won’t make it out of this castle, we both know that. So, I thought I’d stay and enjoy the show.”

Malfoy had returned, Harry realized, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to kick the other man in the privates before dying. How he hoped Malfoy would suffer in Azkaban for taking him from his loved ones like this.

He felt rather than saw the presence of the other man beside him. “Awww, look at that. Looks like he was trying to get to you before he died, Severus. Poor little fella. Didn’t want to die alone, eh, Potter?” Harry was dimly aware of cool hands on him now, fumbling their way under his armpits. He was abruptly and painfully hauled up, his chin lolling onto his chest. “Maybe you’d like to kiss him, Snape? Say good-bye properly?”

As Harry was lifted to his feet, he was dimly aware that Snape was not responding to Malfoy’s jeers. How odd, he thought. How unlike Snape not to put his foe down instantly with a single, cold jab. Harry’s thoughts were cut short, however, by a rolling nausea the likes of which he had never experienced. Life was slipping away, he knew, and his body was giving up the fight.

“Would you like to kiss Snape good-bye, Potter?” Malfoy drawled in his ear. Harry felt his head once again grabbed from behind as he was thrown roughly against Snape’s frame. His face was mashed into the glass, his lips slipping on the thick blood coming out of his mouth. His eyes fluttered open and he saw Snape directly across from him, only the glass separating them. He knew he must be hallucinating now, because Harry was certain his former teacher looked almost joyful and triumphant. “It’s going to be all right now, Harry,” Snape said softly and placed his hand against the glass again. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Oh, you two are just too cute, aren’t you?” Malfoy sneered and released his grip on his captive. Slowly, Harry slid to the floor, leaving a long trail of blood across the glass as he did so. Harry heard Malfoy walking away and knew he wouldn’t be moving from this spot again. “I hope you always remember him this way, Severus,” Malfoy said, “You can explain to his children why their Daddy had to die. How it was all your fault.”

As his mind began to drift, Harry opened his eyes a last time, now mere slits against the pain, and looked up. Snape was looking down at him from within his portrait, his face now calm and serene. But, it was the portrait frame itself that caught Harry’s attention. The blood that Harry’s bleeding mouth had smeared across the surface was now completely gone. He furrowed his brow just before his eyes fluttered shut and the darkness finally claimed him.


A/N: Well, the gore is over (for now) and, yes, as usual I have used Malfoy as the evil one in the story. He may redeem himself, however (shifty sideways look). I hope you’re enjoying the story and thank you so much to those who have taken the time to review. It’s the gold at the end of chapter! Take care and see you soon!

A/N #2: To Christina- regarding your enquiry, please see my updated profile page. Thanks!