Ashes of Armageddon

Interlude









In the three years that passed, Severus Snape had to admit that his home at Spinner's End hadn't changed much.



The only real changes were better equipment in his home lab, and a small table with a wizard chess game set placed on it. Two chairs stood next to the table, one suitable for an adult, another, for a seven-year old boy. Hugo was a frequent visitor to Spinner's End, accompanied by Hermione Granger, who was still Granger, not Weasley, and not Weasley-Granger. It took him a good year to ask her why, and she smiled sheepishly:



“It seems to be a bit too late, I suppose. We've been together so long. Our son is five years old. We know what we are to each other, and so do our friends. What's the point of holding a ceremony?”



He raised an eyebrow, and had to admit that, somehow, it made sense.



Hermione Granger became a part of his life in a way that he had never thought possible.



She watched over him ferociously, clearly not trusting him to take care of himself. Not that he deserved to be trusted with his own health, she told him sternly, not since his rare lapse in judgment when, upon his return to Spinner's End, he had left his “torture” injuries unattended for two weeks. She found out what exactly Harry/Tom had done to him, when she showed up at his place to check on him after he had not been seen for a week following the Silver Cross ceremony. He was at home, burning up with fever, and his entire upper body was a knot of agony that radiated from the carved lettering on his chest. He had used some basic healing spells, taken some standard potions, and applied an ointment, but at that point, nothing was doing much good, and he was in no condition to brew anything else.



“Rate the damage on scale of one to ten,” she said, pulling out jars, vials and beakers from her portable medical kit, and getting ready to unbutton his shirt.



“It's a four,” he said, lying on the couch, with his eyes shut, before passing out.



When he awoke, he was feeling much better. His fever was gone, and he was half-floating, half-swimming in blissful euphoria, that was disrupted only by the enraged expression on Hermione's face.



“It's a four, is it?” she asked, with cold fury in her voice. “You had nerve damage. You had pieces of skin stripped off your body. You had an infection. And you've left it until now? You never even told me what happened! Tell me, how would you have rated Nagini's bite, with arterial bleeding and lethal venom in your throat?”



He thought about it for a few minutes. “That would have been a seven,” he said solemnly.



The corner of her mouth twitched upwards into a sad smile. She did not scold him again, but she never ceased monitoring him, either. He made some half-hearted protests, but did not manage to shut her out, nor did he really want to, truth be told. He had spent more than two decades on his own, and a bit of daughterly attention was not exactly unwelcome at this point, even if he would never admit such a thing out loud.



Half a year later, Severus reconnected with some old acquaintances. He started spending time with Minerva McGonagall – not talking at all, but rather, practicing together. Even at her advanced age, she was still an expert duelist, and Severus found, even though she could not win against him, she could certainly give him a run for his money. When they were together, there were no conversations, no apologies, no reminiscing about the past. A practice duel that began with a mutual bow, and ended with a goodbye, and another meeting scheduled. Nothing else – but it was plenty.



His relationship with the elder Malfoys was strained. Even though nobody had said anything, Lucius appeared to resent the spy for having managed to deceive him for so long with regard to his true loyalties. Narcissa, oddly enough, seemed to resent the fact that Draco had placed himself in danger in his fumbled attempt to assassinate Harry Potter and rescue Severus. She did not know the details of Severus' “deal with the devil” that had kept Draco unharmed – and Severus was certainly not going to volunteer the information. Draco did not know the details either, he just knew that some horrible sacrifice had been made on his behalf, but kept his mouth shut, because Severus promised to murder him if he dared to “squawk”. All of that did not make for happy times together, and after one miserable Christmas dinner at the Malfoy Manor, Severus made a semi-gracious exit, resolving not to go back.



The following year, Severus was spending Christmas by himself, until Neville showed up to drag him out to Hermione's and Ron's. That turned out to be a great deal more pleasant, and Severus spent most of the the evening playing with Hugo. Hugo traced his forehead in wonder, and his arm as well, wanting to know where all the “marks” went. Severus smirked slightly and told him that the “marks” went on a long vacation. He had developed his own Glamour spells, deep and multi-layered, that clung to his body so naturally, that no-one could have guessed what was lying beneath them, and that he himself was beginning to forget. At the end of the evening, Severus thanked Neville for bringing him over.



Severus was surprised to find himself keeping in touch with Neville, who still worked at St. Mungo's. As Neville's supervisor, for the first month, Severus watched the young man with morbid fascination, marveling at how someone so hard-working and diligent never managed to have a single original idea, or make a single break-through on his own. Finally, he had Neville cornered in his lab, and told him bluntly: “I am sick of this. You are fired.” Neville's face acquired a pitiful expression, which dissipated instantly, when Severus handed him his new job offer – Severus had pulled a few strings to have Neville transferred to the Department of Medicinal Herbology. It was not a promotion, just a lateral move, but even with that, only two months later, Neville's career was finally back on track, and he was finally getting somewhere.



After Severus won his third Silver Cross award (for finding a cure to Lycanthropy), Neville invited him home for drinks. Severus accepted, but only out of boredom, he told Neville snidely. Once at his place, Neville pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey, and poured the drinks. They toasted each other, and then, as soon as the first gulp of alcohol hit Severus' tongue, a wave of nausea rose of its own accord – along with the memories of Godric's Hollow, and the smell of alcohol that hung in the air when Harry and the three other assailants were ready to “play”. Severus made a mad dash for the bathroom and expelled the contents of his stomach into the sink. He exited fifteen minutes later, feeling utterly mortified, only to find Neville vomiting into the kitchen sink. Apparently, Neville's memories of drinking at Godric's Hollow were only marginally happier.



“Well,” Neville muttered, wiping his face, and turning the water on. “At least you aren't bored anymore.”



Severus smirked, and surveyed Neville's apartment. The books were no longer lying on the floor, the way they had been two years ago; the antique bookshelves were up, and the books were shelved, in some kind of order that apparently made sense to Neville, if not Severus. However, Luna Lovegood herself was conspicuously absent.



“What happened to you two?” Severus asked, surprising himself. “I thought that once the Horcrux Dust was gone, you'd be together again.”



Neville smiled slightly. “We are still friends, but... ” His face acquired an oddly pained expression, as he turned away, took the bottle of Firewhiskey and proceeded to pour the contents down the drain.



Severus glanced at him quizzically, and a moment later, understood., recognizing the look in his eyes, the hunger for something unattainable and unrequited.



“Is it Luna?” Severus asked softly. “Or is it someone else?”



Neville looked away with a bitter smile. “It's complicated,” he said simply. There was a note of finality in his voice, and Severus did not press.



Once the alcohol was discarded, they switched to chamomile tea, which was fine. They talked until wee hours, about this and that. Neville wanted to hear “war stories” and laughed himself into a hiccuping fit when Severus told him about how much trouble Peter Pettigrew was having with his silver hand, even before the day it turned out to be his final undoing. By the time they were done talking, it was two in the morning, and Severus found himself nodding off.



“Would you like to stay overnight?” Neville asked.



“Fine,” Severus said tiredly, taking the couch. “Do you have any Dreamless Sleep potion?”



“Sorry,” Neville said sheepishly. “I can go back to the lab, get some.”



“That won't be necessary,” Severus said indifferently, but half an hour later, he found himself regretting his stupidity. He had been on Dreamless Sleep for three years, to escape the unsettling dreams that had began plaguing him a month after his return to Spinner's End. The one night spent on Neville's couch turned out to be torturous beyond all measure, and in the morning Severus left abruptly, completely disgusted with himself. He didn't even wait for Neville to wake up. But Neville did not seem to be offended at all, and next time they saw each other at work at St. Mungo's, there was no awkwardness or tension.



But that taught Severus a valuable lesson: always carry a vial of Dreamless Sleep, if you want your social life to be spontaneous, without making an idiot of yourself.



Over the three years that followed his return to Spinner's end, Severus saw Harry Potter four times. Harry showed up to his Silver Cross award ceremonies. Each time, they shook hands, exchanged scathing remarks, embraced, and parted ways, without promising anything, or asking anything. The fourth time was at Hugo's birthday party. It was Hugo's seventh birthday, and the house was bursting with people.



Harry Potter was there, and so was Ginny, and even little Albus Sirius, otherwise known as “Al”. Ginny was exceptionally polite, while three and a half year old Al took one good look at Severus, and burst into tears. Mortified, Ginny fled, with Al in her arms. Harry shook his head, muttered a quick apology, and a few minutes later, left as well.



That day, Severus almost had asked Hermione and Ron about how Harry and Ginny were doing, but then changed his mind, and Hermione and Ron did not volunteer any information. At Severus' request, they did not speak to him about Harry at all; specifically, Severus had requested to be told if Harry's life or health were in danger, but he did not need to know anything else.



The papers were oddly silent about Harry's private life. The only thing that Severus knew from the papers was that Harry had stepped down as the Minister of Magic, after a year of work to revamp the Ministry. Severus did not know what Harry was now doing for work, if he and Ginny had any more children, or where Harry and his family lived these days.



However, one thing was indisputable: Harry kept the promise he had made at King's Cross. The bond had been transformed. All physical and magical restrictions on the life of Severus Snape had been lifted; never to return. He was free to work, free to travel, free to do whatever the hell he wanted. Having won the Mastery of the Elder Wand, he had kept the “deathstick” for himself, and had no intention of parting with it. Three Deathly Hallows may be a dangerous thing for someone tainted by the Dark, but one was just fine, as far as Severus Snape was concerned.



He would have been tempted to think himself completely free – but each time he had attempted to wean himself off the Dreamless Sleep, the dreams that followed quickly reminded him what he was, and what, unknown to anyone else, lay beneath the mask of normalcy, and all the Glamour charms.



...To Be Continued...





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