Ashes of Armageddon

At the end of the day, Severus was absolutely exhausted. The alertness spells had worn off, and once the excitement of the brainstorming session and work waned, the agony of tension in his back reasserte d itself with vengeance. And of course he was too arrogant to confess any of it, and request full healing spells. And then, it was time for him to return “home”, or rather to Godric's Hollow.



Hermione wept openly, throwing her arms around Severus' neck. Neville stood aside, with his head bowed low. If he were not almost taller than Severus himself, one would have thought him to be a child, for the dejected, scared look on his young face. Severus chuckled softly, as the troubled behavior of the two made it look like they were seeing him off to a battle. He said so out loud, and Neville's face acquired an even gloomier expression.



“Hermione... can't we just kidnap him and keep him?” Neville asked.



“No,” Hermione said pitifully. “his... mark.. when he's outside of .. um... Harry's household without permission it'll ... hurt him. Badly.”



Neville muttered an obscenity under his breath.



When they Floo'd back to Godric's Hollow Harry was already home, waiting for them.



“How did it go?” he asked instantly.



“Good. It was helpful,” Neville said, his voice ringing with reluctance that seemed absolutely genuine.. “Very helpful.”



“Go to your room, please,” Harry told Severus.



Severus was too tired to even offer a token glare. He went upstairs and retreated to his bedroom, leaving the door ajar. His sharp hearing could follow the conversation in the dining room quite easily. He sat on the bed, hugged his knees and listened.



“Harry... what is it?” Neville asked. “You okay?”



“Yeah. It's good. It's all good,” Harry said absently. “Dinner? Drink?”



“I'm fine. I should probably get home,” Neville said uncomfortably.



“Ah yes. Lovely Luna is waiting.”



Neville chuckled ruefully. “No. Lovely Luna isn't waiting. I broke up with her.”



Harry appeared to be taken aback by that revelation. “What! Why?”



“We just... don't understand each other, I guess,” Neville said awkwardly.



Harry laughed. “That never stopped you two before...”



“No,” Neville agreed. “But sometimes, it gets to the point where .... you don't even want to understand the other person. Then it's too late.”



“Then you should definitely stay for drinks,” Harry said. “Come on.”



“I have to be awake at five thirty tomorrow!” Neville protested, but judging from the sound, sat down.



Harry laughed again. Then Harry went somewhere, then returned. Sounds of glasses being set on the table, and liquid pouring were heard. For the next half an hour, the two drank an absolute silence.



Eventually, Harry spoke:



“So tell me, Neville... what made you grow out of your 'Snape is Harry Potter's innocent victim' phase? Or have you?”



“Well,” Neville said thoughtfully. “Maybe I decided it doesn't matter. However much truth there's in his story, he's still a git. And... look....the bottom line is, right now, I just want to win. I want to nail that Polyjuice formula and get that award. Is that so bad?”



Neville sounded absolutely convincing, and those words left his mouth in the most natural way possible: with just a touch of resentment and defensiveness. It was... perfect, Severus realized.



Harry issued a deep sigh. “To be completely blunt, Neville, it's pathetic. No, beyond pathetic. Look at you. War hero. You've held the Sword of Gryffindor. You've killed Nagini. And now? You are a mediocre scientist, doing the research you don't even like, knowing that you can't achieve anything on your own, using a man you despise to get your prize... what the fuck happened to you? Why don't you do something you like? Something you are good at?”



“Like what?” Neville asked spitefully. “Journalism, special investigations?”



Harry appeared to be at a loss for words.



Neville sighed tiredly, and apparently poured himself some more whiskey. “Harry – maybe I'm saying this because I'm already drunk, but ... what is it to you what I do now? At least I'm not trying to embarrass you in public anymore. You don't need to threaten me with Azkaban. I'm your perfect little token war hero. You can parade me around and throw my name around whenever you need. Isn't it what you want anyways?”



A long silence ensued. It seemed both men continued to drink in silence, each with his own thoughts.



Finally, Harry spoke again, and his voice sounded tired and despondent:



“Neville.. what am I?”



“What do you mean?” Neville muttered. “You are the Minister of Magic. Master of the Deathly Hallows. You are The One Who Lived, formerly known as the Boy Who Lived...”



Harry chuckled unhappily. “That's the thing... why? Why am I any of those things? For that matter, why am I even alive? I shouldn't be. Voldemort struck me with the Killing Curse. I should be dead. What, did he hiccup when he said Avada Kedavra?”



“Well,” Neville mused. “Your mom's love saved you the first time. Maybe... it did the trick the second time, too.”



“My mom's love,” Harry said slowly, “is the worst thing that ever happened to the wizarding world.”



“You don't mean that,” Neville said gently.



“The hell I don't,” Harry hissed. “She should have stepped aside and let Voldemort kill me. The world would have done better with her alive; me, dead... and you as the chosen one.”



Neville, from the sound of it, spat a part of his drink back into the glass.



“Harry... You are seriously scaring me.”



Harry laughed with absolute derision. “Too bad. It's the truth. Look at me! Neville! Look me in the eye and tell me that you haven't had the same thought.”



“Never!!!” Neville shouted back at him in absolute uninhibited drunken rage. “NEVER!!! I've thought lots of things, Harry! You absolutely SUCK as the Minister of Magic! You are a power-hungry git with no common sense! You play your friends as puppets! That's why you hardly have any real friends left! You... don't deserve the power you've got! You don't even fucking DESERVE to have the Elder Wand! But I NEVER EVER thought the world would be a better place with you DEAD!”



“Well,” Harry said sadly and softly. “Then you are even dumber than I thought.”



Something slammed against the surface of the table. “Harry, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Neville demanded. “This isn't some kind of post-war depression, or ...”



“No,” Harry murmured. “It's nothing. Forget it. How was it working with him today?”



“Fine,” Neville said. “I mean, he's no Prince Charming, but he's got brains. We got a lot of work done. A week of brewing and producing the formula, and then clinical trials begin.”



“Good,” Harry whispered tiredly. “Good. I'm glad that something's finally going your way. Go home, Neville. See ya tomorrow morning.”



The crack of energy in the Floo indicated Neville's departure. Severus heard the squeaking of the stairs, and a minute later, Harry entered his room.



Harry's emerald eyes were piercing the darkness of the room, focused on Severus, studying him intently.



“How was your day?” Harry asked.



“Just fine,” Severus answered impassively, staring ahead without expression.



Harry nodded, and at on the edge of the bed next to Severus, back turned to him. “You smell like Polyjuice.”



“Imagine that,” Severus said sardonically.



“Take off your clothes and go shower,” Harry said quietly, without looking at him. Severus sighed slightly, stripped, grabbed a towel, and walked off, but not before casting a disdainful glance at his owner. To his surprise, however, Harry was sitting with his face turned away slightly, and his eyes shut.



Severus showered for a long time, washing away the smell of sweat, Polyjuice, and dust from his body. He rinsed his hair out as well, hating how long it's gotten, and knowing that his owner would not want to change that. When he emerged from the shower stall, he noticed a fresh shirt and a pair of clean shorts hanging on the door hook, as if they had been placed there for him. He dried himself, got dressed, and returned to the bedroom. He found his day clothing folded neatly on the chair, and absolutely clean – Harry must have cast cleansing spells on him while Severus was in the shower. Severus winced at the reminder of just how helpless and dependent he was, without a wand of his own.



Harry barely glanced at him .



“Lie on the bed. Face down.”



Severus glared at him with absolute loathing, and had not moved.



“Please?” Harry said hesitantly.



Severus complied grudgingly. He intended to say something spiteful, but probably for the first time in his life, absolutely nothing came to mind. Now that Hermione's alertness spells had worn off completely, the weariness of the past thirty-six sleepless hours finally caught up with him, and he found himself almost ready to fall asleep.



Harry turned around, and moved closer to him. Harry's fingers traced his back through the shirt, seeking out the knots of tension that were acquired over the night of writing lines with the blood quill. Harry's fingers rested on one of the knots and probed it with great care. Then, the wand pointed at it, and a quick spell later, the knot was dissolved, leaving only a glowing point of warmth in its stead. Harry repeated the process over and over again, finding the tension and injuries and healing them, one by one. When Harry was done, Severus turned to lie on his side, coming face to face with Harry, who was now kneeling in front of the bed, with his eyes half-shut, his chin resting on his hands.



“Harry,” Severus asked quietly. “Do you know what's going on with you?”



Harry shook his head. “I don't know much of anything these days,” he whispered. His breath smelled of alcohol.



Severus glanced at Harry's hands, unblemished and whole.



“What happened to your own blood-quill scar?” Severus asked on an impulse.



Harry opened his eyes slightly. “Ginny did,” he said. “Over the last year, whenever she saw it, she'd just start crying. Just.. crying. Eventually, I grew tired of it... got rid of it. Two weeks of treatments, but it was well worth the hassle.”



“Hmm,” Severus murmured. “I suppose that's understandable. It's not easy for many people to see the marks of suffering on those they love.”



Harry smiled bitterly. “That's not why she cried,” he said. “She cried, because whenever she saw it she remembered the old Harry,” he explained with absolute derision in his voice. “The nice one. The one who'd cut his own hand open rather than hurt someone else.”



“What happened to him?” Severus asked.



“Maybe he died,” Harry murmured. “Or maybe he never existed in the first place.” Harry glanced at him. “You would know. You never thought I was god's gift to the wizarding world. You've despised me from the very first time you saw me.”



“True,” Severus said bluntly. “But that doesn't mean that you were born to be the next Dark Lord.”



“No,” Harry agreed. “According to you, I was just born to die.”



Severus lifted his hand, and with a single finger traced the lightning bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead. Harry shut his eyes tightly, and made no protest.



“I may have been wrong about that,” Severus said softly. “After all, you have done everything required of you, and you are still alive.”



“Am I?” Harry challenged with surprising anger in his voice, and stood up abruptly. “Good night, Severus.”



He left quickly, without waiting for a reply.



...To Be Continued...