Cold. It was his reality. All he felt.
But not all.
He felt the flames. Up and down his body. Throughout the room. Throughout the world.
His world. His world was the cold floor he lay on. The semi-dark leaking through the shades that shut the windows off from the outside.
The flames chilled him.
He didn't have the strength to open his eyes. He didn't need to open them. He felt.
He felt the freezing inferno raging through his body. Searing his core.
His own personal hell.
He didn't know. He didn't know how he got here. He didn't know what caused this. That didn't matter though. What mattered was what he did know. He knew what he felt.
He felt the icy fire.
It scared him.
But it didn't scare him as much as he scared himself. He also felt IT. IT throbbed painfully. The dark stain upon his left forearm. That's what scared him the most. IT scared him more than the man who bestowed it upon him. If you could call him a man. IT scared him because he had chosen this.
A bolt ripped through him.
He didn't care. He knew he deserved it. After all, he was him.
The bolt awakened him. Reminded him why he was here.
He didn't do it. He didn't kill HIM. He couldn't kill HIM. No, Snape had taken care of that.
He merely suffered for his failure.
It was all he deserved.