A Thousand Words

- Chapter 4 -

THE WORLD WITHIN

Damnit, Harry thought as he felt his body trying to wake. How he hated this horrid state of near waking where the body had not yet caught up to the mind and simply refused to move. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa again, he reasoned. Well, there was nothing for it. He’d just have to wait it out as usual. Snape was probably watching from his frame, waiting for the opportunity to chastise him for not simply going to bed and…

Snape’s frame…

Snape… the frame…

Harry’s heart leapt in his chest and he tried to move his stubbornly unresponsive body, images of blood, fear and pain all desperately tumbling over one another in his mind. Draco! Harry screamed in his head. He… he….

A deep moan escaped Harry’s lips as he tried to come to terms with the grisly memories flooding back on him. In the darkness, a hand gently covered his own hand and a smooth voice murmured. “Don’t panic, Harry,” Snape said quietly. “It will take a few moments. Lie quietly.”

In response, Harry moaned again, a dull panic now beginning somewhere deep within him. Why couldn’t he move? Was he in the hospital wing? Had help arrived in time? The hand stroked gently. “There’s no point in trying to rush it,” Snape said calmly. “Your body won’t move until it’s ready. If you force it to move, it will only hurt you more. Trust me on that one.”

Harry’s mind began to clear. He couldn’t be in the hospital wing. Snape was next to him, holding his hand, an impossibility to say the least. Harry’s ragged breathing stilled and he felt a chill crawl down his spine. If Snape was next to him, that could mean only one thing. Snape was not with him in the hospital wing. He was with Snape… inside… inside the…

Harry gasped and threw his head back against the pillow, his eyes still refusing to open. The panic was raw now and he clasped Snape’s hand, the movement painful enough to make his fingers seize. An animalistic groan forced its way out of Harry’s mouth and he thrashed his head from side to side, trying to break free of the terrifying paralysis. This can’t be! he thought desperately. It’s impossible!

Another hand grabbed his chin and steadied his head, preventing anymore thrashing. Harry lay still, breathing heavily. “It’s all right, Harry,” Snape said softly. “I know this is hard. All the horrible possibilities are running through your mind right now and none of them are looking particularly welcome. I know, Harry. Believe me, I know.” Harry felt the hand leave his chin and settle on his chest. “I will answer all your questions when you are able to move. It is important not to panic. It will simply make an already unpleasant experience much worse.”

Harry tried to piece together what Snape was telling him. The man obviously knew from experience what Harry was going through. So it had to be true then, he reasoned. It simply had to be. He was inside Snape’s frame. He was dead and his body now lay somewhere nearby on a blood-soaked rug while his spirit, or part of it at least, was now waking up inside a frame. He moved his head again and felt sharp pain shoot down his back. He moaned and grimaced. Why, he wondered, would it physically hurt for a spirit to move into a frame? How could that be? How could any of this be? He wasn’t a Headmaster… why would he have been framed at death at all?

As he lay desperately thinking, Harry felt both of Snape’s hands abruptly leave him. A cold flutter of panic lit through him at the sudden absence and Harry gasped. He relaxed slightly, however, when he felt the bed he was lying on sink slightly to one side as Snape sat down beside him. “Bloody stubborn Gryffindors,” he mumbled as he gently lifted Harry into a sitting position. Slowly, and with much care, he resettled Harry back against his chest, both arms securely wrapping around the younger man. Harry felt himself being rocked. “Now,” Snape said, “stop moving and try to relax. Your body needs to adjust.”

Adjust? Harry thought. Adjust to what? And, unless he was very much mistaken about what was happening to him, he no longer had a body to speak of. What was there to adjust to? He felt another need to try and move his head but was somehow prevented by the gentle rocking motion of Snape’s arms. The movement was comforting and made him feel as though he was somehow achieving something, even if the movement wasn’t of his own doing. He sighed and one of the arms wrapped around him moved slightly until a hand cradled the side of his head.

A feeling of warmth and security crept over him and Harry finally felt himself drifting, his thoughts clouding over. He was asleep before he realized he was tired.

*****

The first thing Harry was aware of when he awoke was how very cold he was. Indeed, he shivered piteously beneath the thin blanket covering him. The second thing he was aware of was the sound of faint voices coming from somewhere to the left of his bed. Though muffled, he could tell they were raised in anger and that there were several of them yelling back and forth at one another. The third thing he was aware of was that he was able to move. Sort of.

As he lay listening to the distant argument, Harry slowly began to move each limb, rotating his ankles and flexing every digit. The pain was considerable and the tightness of the muscles themselves very odd indeed. Harry could think of only a few times in his life when his body had experienced such generalized pain, no part of him being spared from it. Like his entire body had undergone extended Cruciatus.

Finally, Harry managed to move his head and he slowly turned it towards the shadowy outline of the door. Harry squinted in the near total darkness and tried to gauge how far away it was. With some effort, he could likely hobble over to it, he thought, and find out what all the yelling was about. With a sigh, he looked back up at the ceiling and thought about his circumstances for a moment. Part of him knew already what he’d find beyond this dark room. If he was indeed inside Snape’s frame, which certainly seemed to be the case, then the voices he was hearing probably belonged to the living individuals outside the frame, all of whom were quite likely looking at his dead body.

Harry lay quietly for a moment, contemplating his situation. Did he really want to see the spectacle of his own death? A wry smile crossed his lips. How time had tempered his adventurous spirit, he thought. If he’d still been seventeen, he would already have crawled to the door and started his search for the source of the voices, hell bent on finding the truth. He sighed. Perhaps there was still something to be said for bravery. Yes, it was likely to be an experience he would never forget, seeing his own dead body facedown in a pool of blood, but he might also be needed as a witness. He owed himself that much at least, he reasoned. How many people had the option of providing evidence in the investigation of their own murder?

With a slowness that made Harry wonder if there would be anyone left to talk to by the time he made it to the other room, he moved painfully from under the covers to a near standing position, supporting himself heavily on the metal headboard. His naked body shook with a chill that seemed to radiate from his very bones and he reached down to recover one of the sheets from the bed. Haphazardly, he wrapped the thin material around himself and, using other pieces of nearby furniture, hobbled slowly across the dark room. Finally finding the door, Harry fumbled with the latch, swearing under his breath as he failed over and over again to grasp the shiny metal in his shaking hand. Finally, his fingers slid across the handle and held there long enough to release it from the jam. The door swung outward and immediately the voices grew louder. Harry recognized several of them right away.

“Merlin damn you to the fires!” Neville yelled, his voice breaking slightly.

“I’m already there, Longbottom,” a cool voice drawled.

Harry shivered at the memory of Draco’s cold words in his ear just before he’d pulled the knife across his throat. He looked up and squinted into the darkness, trying to determine where he was. It was almost impossible to see exact shapes, but it was obvious the voices were coming from his right. A thin line of light seemed to be breaking through in that direction so Harry began a slow hobble towards it, keeping close to the wall for support. As he approached the light, the voices grew ever louder and finally Harry reached what seemed to be a dead end at the end of the corridor.

Looking up, Harry realized that he was standing behind what appeared to be several large bookcases pushed together to stand side by side. The light he had seen from the bedroom door was leaking through the thin spaces where the bookshelves met, throwing them into sharp silhouette. All at once, Harry knew where he was. He was standing behind the study area visible through Snape’s frame.

Leaning forward, Harry put an eye to one of the thin openings and peered through. Immediately he was struck by the oddness of seeing the frame’s contents from the other side. Snape stood in the middle of the space, his back to Harry and his hand resting on the back of his leather chair. Harry noted that a larger opening between two shelves had been created to Harry’s left so Snape could enter and leave the study area at will. It was what lay beyond the small study area that grabbed Harry’s attention, however. Snape’s old chambers lay there, as though seen through a large, thick window. People were milling about, some familiar and some not.

Harry stepped closer and tried to get a better look. Neville stood close to the frame, his face contorted with grief and anger. Harry’s heart sank. Oh gods, he thought. What must his friend be seeing out there?

“If I may,” Snape said calmly. “I think you need to remove Mr. Potter’s children from the castle immediately. For their own safety.”

“I would never hurt children, Severus!” Draco retorted from nearby, his voice now devoid of its usual droll coolness. “The father is one thing, but children…”

Harry saw Snape’s back straighten slightly. “It was your son I was rather more concerned about, Mr. Malfoy,” he said. “One can only imagine what lessons that child has learned at your knee.”

Harry gasped at the thought of his children in danger. He leaned against the bookcase for support as he remembered the whispered plots at the Slytherin table that very morning. Were his children targets as well? When he looked through the crack again, he saw Snape gazing back at him. Immediately Harry pulled away from the bookcase, feeling like a guilty child caught listening in on a private conversation.

“If you will excuse me for a moment,” Harry heard Snape say. “I have a matter to attend to. I shall return shortly.”

Harry blinked and pulled the blanket closer around him. He heard Neville’s exasperated sigh. “Right this moment, Severus?”

There was a long pause before Snape replied. “I shall only be a moment, Headmaster. I assure you, I take the matter of Mr. Potter’s death most seriously indeed.”

Harry looked up as Snape appeared around the side of the bookcases, his face grave. He opened his mouth to speak, but Snape pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. “Shhhh,” he said quietly.

If Harry had been expecting anger from Snape for listening in, he was to be surprised. Gently, Snape wrapped his arm around Harry’s shaking shoulders and led him back down the darkened corridor. Quietly, Snape opened a door opposite the one Harry had early staggered through and led him inside. The room was warm, inviting and… extremely familiar. It was, essentially, Snape’s living room, exactly as Harry remembered it. “Wha…?” he said softly.

“I will explain everything to you shortly,” Snape said quietly. “For now, I must ask you to remain in here.” Without waiting for a response, Snape led Harry to the sofa next to the fire and lowered him down onto it. He lifted Harry’s legs until the younger man was lying down again. With a quick movement, Snape stoked the fire up before grabbing a thick blanket from a nearby chair. He tucked it over Harry in a quick, efficient manner and straightened again. “You will be cold for some time,” he said. “Stay close to the fire.” With that, he moved across the room and opened the door.

Harry sat up before he could leave. “I want to see what’s going on out there, Severus,” he said, his voice shaking slightly from the chill. “My children…”

Snape stood in the doorway for a moment, his face unreadable. “Harry,” he said, his voice not without compassion, “you don’t want to see what’s in that room.” They watched each other for a moment and Snape finally sighed. “Your children are in no danger now. The Headmaster has likely already seen to them while we’ve been in here.” Snape nodded, a gesture Harry assumed was meant to be reassuring. “Rest,” he said simply and disappeared into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.

Slowly, Harry lowered himself back down on the sofa and pulled the blanket closer. What now? he wondered as the flames in the hearth sent forth a cheerful dance across the ceiling; a cheerfulness not reflected in Harry’s own mood. What would become of his family now that he was dead? How could it all have ended so quickly? With one slash of a knife everything he knew was over. The tears streaked down Harry’s face before he could stop them and he swiped at them impatiently. How he loathed feeling helpless, he thought bitterly, but helplessness now seemed to be his world. A world of shadow, pain and unanswered questions. With a sigh, Harry closed his eyes and wished the darkness would take him again. This time, for good.


A/N: Nuther one down! Hard to write when work is busy so I’m chugging along as fast as possible. Many questions answered in the next chapter, including… why is Snape being so nice??????? As always, your reviews are my inspiration and the petrol in the creative tank! Thanks so much for your encouraging words and see you all soon.