Ashes of Armageddon

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and now back to the story:



Dust



When George and Severus emerged from Harry's house in Godric's Hollow, George instantly Apparated them elsewhere. For the first few moments, Severus did not understand where they were, but then he saw the familiar neighborhood, and snapped out of his daze.



“No!” he protested, with cold fury in his voice. “Not now.” He had had more than enough humiliation for one night, and he was not interested in contributing to it by showing up in his current state in the immaculate, peaceful home of Hermione Granger and her family.



George paid him no heed, and, in fact appeared unable to speak, or deviate from the course of action he had locked himself into. His right hand was still clasped around Severus' wrist, as he physically dragged him to the doorstep, and proceeded to ring the doorbell with his left hand, and kick the door violently at the same time.



“Coming!” Hermione cried out. “Just wait a minute...”



He continued to ring the doorbell furiously, as if not hearing her. Rushed footsteps were heard, and Hermione, swung the door open. George burst inside, dragging Severus along, through the hallway, into the kitchen, and abandoning him to Hermione. Having released Severus from his grip, George made a mad dash for the guest bathroom, slammed the door shut and judging from the sounds, proceeded to be violently sick.



Ron shouted something from upstairs, Hermione shouted back, telling him to mind his own business.



She surveyed Severus, who was ready for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. She shook her head slightly, seeing the traces of blood on his clothing, however, to her credit, did not ask any stupid or needless questions.



“Rate the damage, on scale of one to ten,” she said.



She was rummaging through her potions cabinet, pulling out vials and beakers, setting them on the kitchen counter.



“It's a four.”



Hearing his answer, she gave him a dubious glance.



He shrugged tiredly. “I have witnessed far worse.”



Harry's voice instantly echoed in his mind: And stood by and watched, like a good little Death-Eater. Resolutely, Severus willed the thought away. Now was decidedly not a convenient time to come apart.



She left her private supply of medicinal potions out, as well as her wand, and disappeared tactfully, taking two of the vials with her. He heard her knock on the guest bathroom door, and, then, Severus heard George Weasley's shrill voice telling Hermione Granger to go fuck herself. She said something quiet and kind, and knocked again and again, and finally, the guest bathroom door opened, and a muffled, quiet conversation ensued, that Severus could not hear at all.



Left alone, one-by-one, he drank the potions she had pulled out: the two generic healing potions, the calming draught, and the numbing potion. He took her wand next, and cast healing spells on himself, and then, cleansing spells, taking care to remove every single stain from his clothing. Not even fifteen minutes later, the pain had ebbed to a level that was completely bearable; and he sat down at Hermione's kitchen table, burying his face in his hands.



The temptation to cast a deadly spell on himself was becoming nearly irresistible; but both his arrogance and self-loathing were holding him back. The arrogant side of him said that the man who had survived twenty years at the side of the Dark Lord himself, should not be driven to suicide by Harry-bloody-Potter in less than two months. The part of Severus that disdained himself, argued that since he had survived watching others being raped and tortured, he could certainly endure a little bit of the same himself, without sniveling, or wallowing in too much self-pity.



Hermione returned to the kitchen, and proceeded to make coffee. Severus leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms on his chest, and watched her. She looked rather tired, and older he thought, older than her twenty-four years of age. She turned around, giving him a sad, and almost brave smile.



“Isn't it a bit late for coffee?” Severus asked wearily.



“It's decaf, but with some special ingredients. It will keep us completely alert, but only for an hour.”



He chuckled peacefully. “Your own creation?”



“Naturally,” she said, pouring the coffee into the mugs. “Years of studying under the best Potions Master in Great Britain did not pass without a trace.” He nodded absently, and it took him a full minute to realize that she had meant himself.



Ron entered the kitchen, took a mug from Hermione, and sat at the table next to Severus.



Neville Longbottom entered the kitchen last. He looked almost fully like himself, and only the slight reddish tint of the hair and a sparse dash of fading freckles on his cheeks betrayed the fact that he had been Polyjuiced into George earlier in this evening.



Neville bowed his head and sat at the far end of the table, not meeting anyone's eyes. Hermione handed him a cup with coffee, which he declined with a quick shake of his head.



“So,” Severus mused, “Since you were George this time, do I dare ask where the real George Weasley is?”



“Sound asleep and Oblivated,” Neville said. “In the back room of his joke shop.”



“Well done,” Ron said quietly. Neville shrugged indifferently.



“Alright,” Ron said. “Here's the deal. I went to Beauxbâtons. Found Hagrid. Hagrid, sure enough, was present when Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse on Harry. You want the long version, or the short?”



“Long version, of course,” Hermione said without humor, sitting down across from Severus. “We have all the time in the world, don't we?”



“You are the one to talk,” Ron said irritably. “Anyways, at the time of the war, Beauxbâtons was doing research on the Unforgivables. They were trying to devise a counter-spell against the Killing Curse.”



“That's impossible,” Neville said automatically, without looking up.



“Shut up and listen,” Ron snapped. “They did come up with a spell that seemed to have some effect. They were experimenting on lower life-forms. Tarantulas, spiders, flobberworms. Anyway, with the counter-curse they had devised, the results were highly erratic. And completely unpredictable. Sometimes Avada Kedavra would still work as intended. Other times, it would be... I guess, dispersed, for a lack of a better word. Sometimes, the target of the Killing Curse would be shattered ... torn into small pieces, or ...whatever. On a very rare occasion, the flobberworms did survive, even after being torn into pieces. Just really weird results.”



“And?” Severus prodded him, already knowing what had happened, but oddly compelled to hear the full explanation regardless.



Ron took a deep breath. “Well, here's the thing. Hagrid knew about about the research. He had kept in touch with Olympe over the years. She had taught him the spell, however ineffectual it was. Well, when Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse on Harry, Hagrid rushed with his umbrella, and, without anyone knowing, cast the non-verbal counter-curse. He knew it would probably not work, but figured a long shot was better than no shot at all.”



Severus chuckled very quietly, remembering all too well the sight of Hagrid's shabby umbrella that had contained the remnants of his broken, and presumably, confiscated wand. “And lo and behold, we have our answer,” he smirked. “Rubeus Hagrid destroyed the world with his umbrella.” It was remarkably fitting and ironic end to the greatest war in the history of the wizarding world.



“What do you mean?” Neville asked weakly.



“Let me remind you again,” Severus said, very patiently. “As we had concluded previously, Avada Kedavra from the Dark Lord was meant to kill the only part of Harry that did not have Lily Potter's blood protection. The fragment of the Dark Lord's soul living within him.” Severus continued coolly: “When the Killing Curse was dispersed, it seems that it merely shattered that fragment. Shattered it enough to make it lose the magical property of the Horcrux... but not enough to actually kill it.”



Hermione nodded reluctantly. “Apparently, the dispersed Killing Curse had also dislodged the fragment, and somehow set it free... free to start interacting with Harry's mind and soul...free to attach itself to it, to claim it.”



“So ... Harry is possessed by Voldemort?” Neville asked very quietly. “Or.. what's left of him?”



“No, not possessed,” Hermione said. “I have tested for possession. This... this... this is different. It's deeper, but more subtle, I think. Those tiny fragments...or whatever they are, they are undetectable... metaphorically speaking, like dust... or smaller... they have no mind, or soul, or awareness of their own.. all they have is the hatred and instinct. And maybe some sort of collective rote memory. And now it looks like they are just merging with Harry's own personality.. using his own memories and experiences... but also twisting them... transforming them... transforming him. And, judging from the scale we had looked at, the rate of transformation is growing, even as we speak,” she concluded. “Looks like that ... dust ... is enabling him to reach into the minds of other's as well.”



“Dust,” Neville muttered. “Lovely.”



“Ashes,” Severus mused absently, remembering Harry's song. “Ashes of Armageddon.”



Hermione nodded mutely, covering her mouth with her palm, choking down a sob. “It's like... a small part of him knew he was changing, or disappearing... and he kept trying to tell us... in his own way, while he still could...”



“What I don't understand is this: why has it taken so long to get to this point?” Ron asked. “It's been five years! Voldemort's soul-fragments are extremely powerful. That... dust, or whatever, should have just attached itself to Harry's mind right away. It doesn't take that long to twist others.. I mean, Oliver, Lee, Percy, George.. everyone! They can not resist at all whatever Harry needs them to do his bidding.”



“Maybe, even though it is now a part of him, it is afraid of him,” Severus said thoughtfully. “Just like it's afraid of each of you, for the same reason.”



Hermione caught on instantly. “Of course,” she exclaimed. “That's what we all have in common! We each have destroyed a Horcrux. The Diary, the Cup, the Locket, Nagini...” she glanced at Severus. “And the Ring! You... you carry Dumbledore's protection, through the old bond. The dust... whenever it looks at either of us, remembers its own death, and it doesn't have the same effect on us.”



“So there we are,” Ron said sadly. “Harry had resisted for five years, but he couldn't do it indefinitely. Not with it being a part of him. Now what do we do?”



They sat in absolute silence.



Hermione spoke up: “Enough is enough. Harry, the way he used to be, before all of this, would not have wanted to live this way... and become... what he has become. So, I say, we fight him. We disarm him, and force him to stand down, if at all possible; kill him if necessary.”



“We fight,” Neville agreed at once.



Ron nodded reluctantly. “Fight.”



Severus said nothing, just stared ahead absently.



“Sir?” Ron nudged him. “What do you think?”



“What?” Severus snapped out of his thoughts. “What does my opinion matter? Remember, I am going back to my owner in twenty-four hours.”



“I don't bloody think so,” Hermione spat furiously. “Enough is enough. You are staying right here.”



Severus found himself smirking, although without amusement. “Need I remind you of the tracking spells embedded in my brand? The automatic punishment for the disobedience aside, the moment my allotted time outside of my owner's household runs out, Harry will access the tracking spell, and it will lead him right to me. Right into you lovely peaceful household.”



Sitting right in front of him, Hermione was looking at him with grim determination.



“I know,” she said. There was a deceptive softness to her voice. “In fact, I am counting on it.”



... To Be Continued...