Ashes of Armageddon
Moments of Mercy
He was awakened by the sound of someone banging on his door. Severus sighed. He could not be bothered to even open his eyes and move.
A moment later, he heard a child\'s voice, crying Alohomora! Hugo\'s. The lock snapped open with a loud sound.
“Hugo!” Hermione\'s furious voice followed from a distance. She sounded like she was running. “Stop! Surrender your wand this instant! How could you?”
Something fell on the floor. The door opened with a squeaking noise, and someone ran in.
“Hugo, get back here right now!” Hermione hissed.
“Yikes!” Hugo\'s voice again. “Flies.” The voice trembled pitifully. “Do you think he\'s dead?”
“No, but you will be if you don\'t get back here this moment!” Hermione said sternly. “I swear, I am going to have you adopted out to the Malfoys.”
“I\'ll get to live in a Manor? Cool!”
Without opening his eyes, Severus laughed out loud in spite of himself. The laughter came out rasped and hoarse, and turned into a choked cough.
“Sir?” Hermione called out from the doorway. “ Are you alright?”
He finally opened his eyes, sat up on the couch and felt instantly dizzy. He was about to say something genuinely spiteful and tell her to leave, but Hugo rushed to him and threw his arms around his neck.
“You didn\'t come to play chess in the park today!” Hugo cried out. “So I said, we should come and check on you.”
Chess? Today? In the last twenty-four hours, he had lost track of time.
“I\'ve ... missed work,” Severus muttered, utterly humiliated, staring at Hermione who was still standing in the doorway.
“May I come in?” she asked.
He nodded to her, his lips pressed into a thin, disdainful smile. She walked in cautiously, stepping over little heaps of laundry and litter on the floor. Her dark eyes were glaring at Hugo without gentleness. Hugo shivered and climbed onto the couch, hiding behind Severus.
“Hugo,” Hermione said very calmly. “You will now go into the kitchen, and clean it spotless.”
Hugo got off the couch slowly, and nodded to his mother. “Can I have my wand back, please?”
“It will be a while before you will hold a wand in your hands again. Use a rag and soap. Under the sink.”
Hugo ran off into the kitchen. Something got smashed, and Hermione winced apologetically.
“What\'s happening with you?” she asked gently, sitting down on the couch next to Severus.
“This is bloody brilliant!” Hugo cried from the kitchen with unrestrained delight in his voice. “It has its own cesspool!”
“I want to hear scrubbing,” Hermione shouted back, unamused.
She turned her attention to Severus, her dark eyes scrutinizing him with concern.
“You are on Dreamless Sleep potion,” she guessed.
He nodded slightly, unwilling to confess it verbally.
“All this time?”
He nodded again. “With a few breaks here and there, but yes.”
She pulled out her wand and cast a silencing spell on them both, ensuring Hugo could not hear their conversation.
“It can\'t be taken indefinitely. A few weeks, fine, a couple of months, at most.”
“You don\'t need to worry,” he said calmly. “A few days, I\'ll be back to normal. Just give me time.”
She shook her head sadly, surveying the floor of his apartment. “This isn\'t like you,” she said finally. “You are decompensating.”
He snorted derisively.
She sniffled in a way that was almost childish, and then, leaned against him, placing her head on his shoulder. For a while, they said nothing at all, just watched Hugo\'s movements in the kitchen, while he was soaping up the rag, and sliding it over the counter surfaces.
She spoke quietly, after a long silence:
“Tell me. Why? What has he done to you?”
“Nothing,” he whispered staring down at his own hands. With Glamours off, the scars were standing out obscenely, bearing marks of gleeful, juvenile cruelty.
She glanced at him quizzically.
“How well do you understand the slave-bonds?” He asked.
“I know the basics, but...”
“Did you know that, centuries ago, when slavery was common place in the wizarding world, it was customary for the owner to place spells on whips and other tools of chastisement, ensuring that only the Master could heal the injuries caused by them?”
She paled slightly. “I\'ve read about it, but...”
“Can you guess why?”
She stared at him uncomprehendingly, and then, with a tremor in her voice, offered a guess:
“To force a reconciliation of sorts, I suppose. To get the servant to come to the Master in submission to receive the healing.”
“Correct,” he said.
She stared at him with dread, and then continued, on her own:
“The same applies... to the injuries of the soul, I presume?”
“Of course it does,” he said with absolute derision. “In every bond. That is what slavery means.”
She took his scarred hand in hers, and squeezed it gently.
“What do you dream about?” she asked.
He scowled, but did not withdraw his hand. “You realize, if you repeat this to any living soul, I will murder you in your sleep?”
She nodded with conviction. “I would expect nothing less.”
“Fragments,” he said tiredly. “Back at Godric\'s Hollow, there were moments... of mercy. Sometimes, in midst of absolute depravity... unsurpassed cruelty... a hand on my shoulder, an occasional healing spell, a kind word that did not belong. And...” his voice trailed off, and he looked away in embarrassment.
“That\'s what you dream about then,” she murmured. “The moments of mercy. And wake up loathing yourself for it.”
“Who wouldn\'t?” he spat bitterly. “As if it is not enough that I have been reduced to some sort of miserable wreck, who wants to be coddled and pitied, the bond condemns me to require such dubious mercy from the same hand that tore strips of skin from my body.” He glared at her. “This will not happen.”
She did not argue with him, but stood up, still holding his hand in hers.
“Would you come home with us?” she asked.
He glowered ferociously. “I do not see the point...”
“Well,” she mused. “We do need to start weaning you off Dreamless Sleep. It\'ll likely be unpleasant. After three years, there will be physiological withdrawal, in addition to everything else. I\'d rather that we did it in the privacy of our home, than St. Mungo\'s.”
“Just let me be,” he muttered. “I know. You are right. It needs to happen, but I\'ll do it on my own.”
“Why?” she demanded bitterly. “Haven\'t you done enough on your own, without a soul in the world to do anything in return for you?”
“I am used it being that way,” he said simply.
“I know,” she conceded. “But please...” Her gaze fell on Hugo, who was standing in front of the fridge in the kitchen, poking a lump of mold with his finger with an awed expression on his face. “He just earned himself a month of being grounded for breaking into your place,” Hermione said with a mischievous smile. “Let him serve his sentence with the knowledge that it was not in vain.”
His upper lip curled into a contemptuous sneer. “That is emotional manipulation.”
“Of course it is,” she agreed unapologetically. “Is it working?”
“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly.
A few minutes later, they left Spinner\'s End together. August sun was approaching the horizon, the last of it reflecting in the dark river. They walked down the street towards the hideous Weasley flying car, watching Hugo skip along recklessly, kicking the pieces of trash littering the riverbank with his feet.
“You know,” Hermione murmured. “Watching him like this, it just dawned on me. It really is over.”
“What is?” Severus asked absently.
“The war,” Hermione told him. “It\'s done with. You\'ve kept the nail, you\'ve won the kingdom.”
“Hmm,” he muttered.
Her fingers brushed against his sleeve, and sought out his hand again, squeezing it firmly.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“I\'ve been thanked enough,” he said dryly, suddenly feeling much older than his forty-six years of age. “I have the bloody Order of Merlin, First Class.”
“No. For coming home with us. We\'ve missed you.”
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