Ashes of Armageddon

Chapter 38: Guises of the Mind





When the effects of the Dreamless Sleep had worn off the dreams became more and more vivid, just as Severus knew they would. The only thing that had changed, he realized, was that now began to get used to the dreams, and to loathing himself for having them. He supposed it was an improvement, although a rather dubious one.



Alone in the guest room, he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, immersed in thought. Hermione entered his room, and sat down next to him.



He did not open his eyes; he did not need to. He could feel the movement next to him, and then, her hesitant, cautious hand on his back. He tensed instantly, and almost growled, when she stroked his back just once, her hand running along his long ponytail, from the back of his neck down to his mid-back.



“What does it feel like?” she asked gently.



He opened his mouth to utter something unkind, but even as he tried, something snapped broken inside, and he said tiredly:



“A void. It feels like a void.”



“A void... left by the Master\'s cruelty,” she whispered, as if talking to herself.. “A void that can only be healed by the Master\'s kindness.”



“Hmm.”



An ache ran through his body and settled in his chest. He bowed his head, unwilling to open his eyes and face her. Her hand rested on his back again, her fingers trailing along his hair. He made a half-hearted irritated motion with his shoulder-blades to throw her hand off, while wishing desperately that she would not withdraw it. She didn\'t.



“And of course, the kindness has to come from him,” she said tiredly. “In normal life, whenever someone experiences a trauma, or goes through dark times, they have a choice as to whom they turn for healing. The slave-bond takes that choice away. The master\'s wrath cannot be healed by anyone else; and that enforces a reconciliation...”



“Reconciliation,” he echoed derisively, finally opening his eyes and staring at her grimly. “I believe the word you are looking for is dependency. No need to spare my feelings, Miss Granger.”



She bit her lip, and returned his gaze.



“What will you do?” she asked in a quiet voice.



“Well,” he muttered. “I do know what I am not going to do – humiliate myself further. The two months at Godric\'s Hollow have done an excellent job of it.”



Her hand was still resting on his back.



“Few things could be more demeaning than going to one\'s tormentor to receive his kindness,” she said evenly.



He was startled by her comment, if only slightly.



“That\'s not it,” he muttered, surprising himself that he was actually discussing it with her. .“Believe it or not, I am able to make the distinction between Harry Potter and Tom Riddle.”



“Intellectually, I am sure you can,” she agreed. “But your body carries a different memory.” Her fingers brushed against his scarred hand.



He shrugged. “Even that could be overcome, given time,” he whispered. “But...”



He shook his head, and stared at his hands again.



“You despise yourself for longing for those moments of mercy,” she said. “Why? Most people long for kindness in one form on another. It\'s one thing that attracts me to Ron so much – that he is kind to me. Does that make me irredeemably weak and frail?” She spoke reasonably and calmly and her voice carried no undue sympathy. It was neutral and measured, and somehow, managed to invite further conversation, without making him feel like the miserable wretch he was fearing he had become.



“Certainly not,” he said, smiling faintly. “But you must realize, this is quite different. He\'s young enough to be my son. He\'s my former student. There had been too much antagonism between us in the past, even without the Dust to help matters. No,” he said firmly. “We need to remain apart.”



“What will you do?” she asked again..



“Well,” he muttered. “Go home, I suppose, and then, get back to work. What else can I do?”



“What of the void?” she whispered.



“What of it?” he asked sharply. “I have rejected his advances twice. I am certainly not about to change my mind now, and re-enter his life, after three years apart.”



She opened her mouth, and he knew instantly she was about to say something about Harry. He stopped her with his hand raised.



“No ,” he told her. “I don\'t want to hear anything about him. Ultimately, it does not matter. You all have respected my wishes until now, please continued to do so.”



She nodded reluctantly.



He went back home the next day, and found his place immaculate, just as he knew he would. He wished he could resent her for it, but he was unable to. How could he? The mice were gone, and so were the flies. The floor was spotless, his clothing was clean, and sorted in a logical manner, his books were re-shelved in the order he had them before his descent into temporary madness.



He went to work the following week, and got into the routine, whereas two nights of the week, he took the Dreamless Sleep, and other nights, he endured the dreams, and woke up disdaining himself, and the world around him.



A couple of months later, his environment began to deteriorate again, although it never got quite as bad as it had been, and he managed to make it look reasonable whenever Hermione brought Hugo for a visit.



Daytime was fine, as far as he was concerned. Work was going well, although not as well as it used to, but even in his troubled state, he knew he was doing better than the rest of the Potions Department put together, so he was not particularly worried about his career; and as for awards, or recognition, he found himself caring less and less.



The evenings, spent alone, were the worst. Each night, hours passed, with him lying on the bed, fully dressed, unmoving, waiting for either dreams to claim him, or morning to arrive, whichever happened sooner.



The lonely void grew within him, becoming greater and greater each night. It felt almost physical, as if his innards were being replaced with empty space; as if he himself was disappearing.



The ache of it was so severe, he no longer cared about his pride. Nothing mattered any longer – not the fact that Harry was younger, not the fact that Harry was the son of his rival, not the fact that they had been feuding for years. It did not even matter that Harry, even though not personally responsible for his degradation, had seen him in his greatest weakness and frailty – something that a year ago was too humiliating to contemplate.



Nonetheless, he was more resolved than ever not to go. The slave-bond did preserve the feelings of the servant, but the Master was not under such restrictions. The Master could fall out of love. The Master could change his mind. The Master was free; free to be fully human.



It had been three years, Severus Snape thought; and whatever confused, disoriented feelings Harry may have had for him back then, would certainly be gone at this point. Harry might accept him, and do his best to help him; but only out of duty or guilt, and Severus was not about to become Harry Potter\'s charity case, possibly wrecking the young man\'s family life in the process.



In the past three years, Harry had not contacted him privately, and kept his distance. Undoubtedly, he n had a life of his own, and if he were lucky enough, that life was unencumbered by the horrors of the past. And the young man deserved that, Severus thought idly, deserved a normal, ordinary life, without an aging, unattractive, broken man crawling to him for sympathy, begging to be put together after the events that were not Harry\'s fault.



Had Harry been madly in love; or something of the sort, he would not have been stopped by something as simple as an order to keep away. Harry Potter was never the one to follow rules or instructions; had he wanted to pursue something, he would have found a way to do so by now. But Harry had not; and the lonely void continued growing.



However deep and unsettling that void was, it was also intimately familiar. Severus was used to this sort of thing, to loving from afar, to the emptiness of the soul that accompanied it. It was nothing new: only the form had changed, but the ache was the same kind that he had known since his youth.



Forty-six years, he thought; and perhaps not many more left; so how hard would it be to simply endure them, whatever the nights might bring?



Lying in the dark, Severus smiled bitterly. Perhaps, he could think of living with the void as his last gift to his distant Master – bearing it daily, without intruding on Harry\'s life, and making a nuisance of himself.



... To Be Continued...