Ex Umbris
Chapter 5
Space.
Black, twirling, spinning, endless. No up, no down. Nebulae and starstuff and black. Just …black.
No body, no mind. Not seeing, hearing, touching, feeling…
Just there.
Where was here? Where is here? Have I always been here? Forming words again in a mind that wasn't there. Seemed a first time again. A first time for everything. Again.
::No.:: A firm voice asserted itself, deep, masculine, commanding. It was used to being heard, listened to. He stopped thinking thoughts, he stopped dreaming. He only listened. ::You have not always been here, nor will you always be here. This is a passageway. You must choose life or death. This is a bridge. A fork, only. Choose, Severus Snape. Choose a direction. Do you choose to live in the Mortal realm again, or do you choose one of the Afters? An After? Which? Choose. Hear. Obey.::
Severus Snape? What was that?
There was another voice, now. Many voices, all talking. Some lilting, some sad. Some in different languages he could and could not understand. He listened carefully.
::You are beginning to forget, you must need to remember, Severus Snape. Choose a Life. Choose an After. You do not choose which Life or After you receive, but you must choose one or the other. Which do you choose? Think. Think of yourself. One or the other.::
Yourself. Myself? Who was I? What was I?
::You were a man. You were a spy, a teacher, a traitor to a dark cause. You taught children to defend themselves. You made a promise to a man once. Do you choose to return to that world? The world of Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort? The world of the Boy Who Lived, and Muggles and Wizards and Witches? Do you choose Life?::
Who will I be? Who am I now?
::Now you are nothing. You will be who you choose to be. Do you choose an After? A heaven? A hell? You do not choose which. You are weighed. You must be weighed. Do you choose an After?::
I want to be who I was. I was happy? Was I happy?
::You were not happy. You will not be happy. Do you choose Life?::
::Halt.::
A louder voice. A feminine voice, as commanding as the first. She was heard. The voices halted their incessant stream of choices, awaiting her.
::He hasn't a choice. He must go to Life to be mine. He is mine, now. He drank.::
::So mote it be.::
…Cold so cold but not cold or hot or dark or light just there…
All of his muscles convulsed, making him jump as if a gunshot had been fired next to his ear. Something was dark, smelled of rotten flesh, no fresh air.
He was lying on his back. His arms were crossed over his chest.
He moved to sit up, his hands meeting resistance. Satin lining, soft buttons. Hard wood underneath.
Frantic, he clawed with his fingers. The lining ripped, soft stuffing next. He clawed to the wood; breathing was difficult, like he was underwater. His lungs didn't want to draw in this stench. He hit the top of the cage as hard as he could, again and again and again. It cracked. He felt it crack. He didn't hear it or see it.
Ignoring the new sensation that he felt in his hands and up his forearms, ignoring the thick liquid that came from inside of him, he clawed desperately. Breaking away the cage, he felt something soft and salty and damp. He pulled as much of it into his coffin as he could, making enough room for him to get through the opening and in the direction he hoped was up.
Air. Fresh, clean, blessed air. No more drowning. Wash away the stench. Wash away the pain. Pain?
He looked down at his hands. They were both mangled, bleeding. He barely registered. Neither of them would bend into a fist, so he just ignored them and looked around.
The world had gone smoky. Or foggy. He couldn't see anything clearly. Like looking at the sun through fog.
Where was I? Where am I now? Where am I going to go?
He was sitting in the wet, dewy grass. He felt it under his hands, it was cold, and sensation ran up his arms. How he had missed being able to feel! Looking back, he saw a pretty block of stone. It was flattened, and it was carved. He couldn't read it. It had words on it, but he couldn't remember how to read. He couldn't see it clearly enough to make himself remember. He felt the engraving with his broken and battered hands. S was the first letter and the last letter, and the first letter of the second word. Severus? Severus Snape. That sounded distantly familiar. He ignored the rest and used the stone that held the words to pull himself to his feet.
Harry Potter had woken up to a deafening, desperate scream that was later surmised to be his own. Pain had blinded the seventh year; it felt like somebody had placed a burning hot wire over the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.
The nightmare included flashes of the same prophecy he had had before the silver-eyed monster killed Professor Snape. He remembered the man's funeral and the black casket being lowered into the ground. And after that …
…After that, it was darkness and the overpowering stench of rotting corpse, and claustrophobia and frantic escape from a …
A coffin.
Harry Potter, trailed by Sirius in his animagus form, and concerned room-mates Ron Weasley (who had gotten Hermione Granger from the seventh year girls' dorm), and Neville Longbottom, ran as fast as he could to Headmaster Dumbledore's office.
The five of them skidded to a halt by the stone gargoyle, hard of breath and not worried about being caught out of their dorms after hours. Not knowing the password, Ron spewed out all different forms of candy until the statue finally moved to the side, revealing a wide stone doorway.