Ashes of Armageddon

The several days that followed were tense and miserable.



Ron took it upon himself to track down Hagrid – but made absolutely no progress. Last he heard, Hagrid was “on vacation, visiting an old friend” - and as Hagrid had made plenty of friends over the past five years, it really could have meant anyone. Ron contacted everyone he could think of, including Olympe Maxime of the Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons, but got no response from the ancient French school, even with his Auror credentials.



“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked.



“I'm going to take a vacation and go to Beauxbâtons in person,” Ron said grimly. “If they don't let me in, maybe I'll Polyjuice myself into Percy...”



Hermione nodded reluctantly. They all knew, it was a risky thing, impersonating a top level Ministry official, and could easily get Ron fired, or worse; but they were running out of time, and ideas.



Hermione made some modest progress with her research. “The slave-bond is not impenetrable,” she told Severus. “Some of the restrictions it places on you can be overcome eventually. For example, if we manage to get the world and Harry back to normal, you will be able to get your legal rights back. The emotional attachment, however, is a different story.”



“What else?” He asked, not deigning to dwell on the last statement of hers.



“The bond's punishment for physically assaulting or hurting your owner is insanity. Temporary insanity first – if you persist, it becomes permanent. The way it works, the bond's presence sends out a series of impulses into the ventral premotor cortex, and generates a disconnection with reality, that results in feelings of guilt, anxiety, and fear. However, I have found a way to place a series of mind-guard spells on you that will neutralize those impulses. So that .. if you decide you should, you could physically resist the mistreatment. Although..,.” she hesitated and did not finish her statement, giving him an apologetic look instead.



Not that she needed to spell it out, he thought. Harry's superior physical strength, and the Elder Wand in his possession made any attempt at resistance a losing venture. Nonetheless, it was better than nothing.



“I want it,” Severus said. “Just in case.”



“Good,” she said. “Just don't forget to fake insanity, if you do attack him, and it doesn't go well.”



Severus found his upper lip curling into a sneer. “A few more weeks of this, and I won't be faking, mind-guard spells or not,” he said dryly. “You know, I have always told Albus that Harry Potter would drive me insane one day, or would be the death of me. Who knew my words would turn out to be so prophetic?”



She would not meet his eyes.



“I am really beginning to hate him you know,” she whispered. “To abandon us all in this mess, and leave nothing behind that could help us... Not even his Portrait.”



“What happened to Dumbledore's Portrait?” he asked instantly.



She tensed at once, but answered the question without equivocation. “It doesn't remember.”



He froze in his chair. “What?!”



She nodded with great reluctance. “It doesn't remember events... or people. It has his personality – but... no memories. He ... it... knows magical objects, spells, concepts. It can give advice.. but...” she stared down quietly. “Nothing else. Sorry.”



Bewildered, he stared at her. “How is that even possible?” he whispered. “I spoke to him... not long before Nagini's bite ... the Portrait was just fine!”



She shrugged apologetically. “I have no idea how. A Dark Magic curse, perhaps... who knows. But ... it was near heartbreaking. Harry went to speak to him – ... and he did not remember Harry at all. Had no idea who Harry was. He just told him it was unwise for one person to hold all three Deathly Hallows in his hands. Harry appeared to agree with him at one point... but then, obviously changed his mind.”



Severus shook his head with disdain. “So, this Portrait amnesia began after the final battle?” he asked dryly.



“Or perhaps, before,” she mused, “but we simply did not notice. We were too busy with other things.” She looked at him hopefully. “But you... you were connected to him in a special way. Perhaps seeing you might jog his memory.”



“Can you take me to him?” Severus asked.



“Yes,” she said. “Ron has a Port-Key, direct to Hogwarts. And I have a Demiguise invisibility cloak that you can use. I am sure McGonagall will give me a few minutes in her office. Just try not to punch any holes in the portrait,” she added with a weak smile. “I'd be hard-pressed to explain that, at the end of the day.”



“I'll do my very best,” he said, without a trace of amusement. “Let's go now.”



They left within the hour.



As they walked through the hallways of Hogwarts towards the Headmistress's office, Severus realized that Hogwarts had barely changed. The school was nearly abandoned for the summer holidays, which made their passage through the hallways unimpeded and uneventful.



Hidden under Hermione's Demiguise cloak, Severus watched her speak to the Headmistress, realizing that Minerva McGonagall had changed over the last five years. She had aged even more, and her face had become even sterner and harsher. Hermione spoke to her briefly, giving some sort of excuse about wanting to speak to the Portrait about personal matters – and Headmistress smiled slightly, nodded and left.



Inside the office, Severus shed the invisibility cloak, and Hermione sat down on one of the chairs by the window, far away from the Portrait, to allow Severus to have as much space as possible.



Severus stepped forward, and looked at the Portrait of Albus Dumbledore, suddenly unsure what to say, or what to ask. His mentor's ancient eyes returned his gaze serenely.



“Who are you, my boy?” Albus asked finally.



A dreadful, almost violent tremor ran through Severus' entire body. “You really don't know?” he asked slowly, not believing his ears.



“I am afraid not. Should I know you?”



Speechless, Severus could only give a quick nod.



Albus regarded him with regret. “I am truly sorry. I am afraid I do not remember you..”



“What happened to you?” Severus demanded. “Why don't you remember anything?”



“I am afraid I don't know that, either,” Albus said softly.



Severus took a deep breath to collect himself. “Alright,” he said calmly. “What could have caused this? A Dark Magic spell? A curse? A Dark Object inhibiting your memories?”



“Ah,” Albus murmured. “Nothing of the sort, I am afraid. You see, the Portrait's memories are drawn directly from beyond the Veil. No curse or spell or object can inhibit this. The only thing that could have caused this connection to be severed, would be a personal choice of some sort.”



Severus found himself ready to scream, but managed to control the fury, brewing within.



“You are saying you ... you have chosen to forget us?” he hissed vehemently.



“It would appear so,” Albus agreed reluctantly.



Severus smirked in disbelief. “I suppose you do not remember Harry Potter either?”



“Oh, I remember Harry Potter quite well,” Albus said with a faint smile on his lips. “My first and only memory of him dates to five years ago. He came to ask me for advice. He asked me what to do with the three Deathly Hallows that came into his possession.”



“And?” Severus prodded him.



“I had told him that he should not keep more than one. It is a dangerous thing, to hold all three. Especially for someone like Harry Potter.”



Stilling himself against the dread of those simple words, Severus forced out a question: “How so?”



Albus sighed deeply. “The unity of the three Deathly Hallows gives their Master immense power,” he mused. “And as for Harry Potter – I did not believe he would do well with such a power at his disposal. There was just a glint of Dark in his eyes, that I had seen in the past, and it had never worked out well.”



“Ah,” Severus said tiredly, utter wretchedness beginning to overwhelm him. “You would not entrust him with the Deathly Hallows, and yet, you all but bequeathed me to him.”



“Bequeathed?” Albus asked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”



Severus reached to his face and moved his hair out of the way, revealing the slave-brand on his forehead in its entirety. Albus stared at it speechlessly. Severus stood, wordless and numb, his slave brand on display to his old mentor and master, who had indirectly set him up with the new slave-bond, and then, had forgotten him altogether.



“Albus,” Severus whispered, touching the frame of the portrait with his free hand. “What have you done to me?”



Albus was shaking his head in disbelief.



“I gave you everything,” Severus said bitterly. “My freedom, my life, my obedience, even my soul. On your word alone, I have followed a path that had led me straight to hell, which I still inhabit. And in the end, you had given me over to someone else. Someone like him. And then, you just... forgot me. Like I had never even existed to you in the first place.”



Albus gazed at him, sorrow crossing his aged face. “I am so dreadfully sorry, my boy. My heart aches for you, but I have no explanation.”



Severus shook his head, as despair coursed through him.



“Never mind,” Severus said firmly, gathering up the remnants of his resolve. “Don't be sorry. I am sure you had your reasons, as always. And besides,” he smirked derisively, “Given my history, I should be the last person demanding to be remembered.”



Perhaps Harry Potter was right, Severus thought, and after he was gone, nobody would remember his name.



He grabbed the Demiguise cloak from the table, and turned to Hermione Granger, who was standing by the window, with a vacant, dejected gaze in her eyes.



“I am done,” Severus said harshly. “There is nothing for me here.”



She nodded abjectly. He put the Invisibility Cloak on, and they left together without looking back.



To Be Continued...



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