Ashes of Armageddon

Author's Note: Sorry everyone – I had to re-write this chapter. (Previously titled Mutuality) I promise not to make a habit of it, my apologies to those of you who had already read and reviewed the previous version of this chapter.



46. Fractures



About half an hour later, Harry emerged from the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist. He proceeded to pull out clean clothes from the trunk by his bed, and got dressed, while Severus watched him, feeling exceptionally deviant doing so. He really was rather like Quasimodo the Hunchback of Notre Dame, he thought, lusting so shamelessly and hungrily after someone he had no right to desire – someone better, stronger and purer than himself; but even recognizing that was not enough to coerce him into doing the decent thing and avert his gaze.



Harry came up to him, smiling.



“You were watching me,” Harry said.



Severus tensed slightly, but shrugged with feigned indifference. “Do you mind?”



Harry leaned to kiss his forehead. “Not at all. I think it's sweet. Can you stay a bit longer? ”



It was already quite late in London, but Severus was no longer tired – not even slightly. His internal clock was scrambled, and since he was not about to get any sleep even if he returned home now, he decided he may as well remain on the island for another part of the day.



They spent the rest of the morning, and part of the afternoon in the grove – analyzing the flora and making sure that it was safe for the newly hatched Cockatrice. Eventually they discovered one potential problem – a small patch of Fanged Geranium sprouts, and Severus offered to bring in a weed-eating potion to get rid of them. Harry instantly started an argument against herbicidal remedies, and won – and then, they spent the rest of the afternoon uprooting and removing the shoots, before they could become a problem.



They talked quietly, as they worked, with Severus asking questions. Severus surprised Harry, and himself as well, by asking about others who had been affected by the Horcrux Dust, in addition to Harry. Severus knew himself well enough to admit that he was not inquiring out of concern for their well-being, nor out of need for reassurance that all the remnants of the Dust had been removed from he world. Perhaps it was simple curiosity that had led him to ask, perhaps it was desire to close that chapter of his life once and for all, or maybe, just maybe, it was a faint undercurrent of resentment, at the thought that he and Harry were alone wallowing in misery after the events that took place in Godric's Hollow.



Harry talked – while Severus listened.



George Weasley had sold his Joke Shop, having lost all interest in pranks and practical jokes. He spent a year drinking – until finally, Ron and Percy pulled him out of his miserable state. Percy got him some sort of entry-level job with the Ministry, and George was doing reasonably well there. Percy himself had a breakdown, Harry told Severus, absolutely horrified by the fact that he used his own wand to imprint the permanent slave-brand on the war hero; however, he stuck with his job at the Ministry, along with Amos Diggory and Kingsley Shacklebolt. “It's probably best that they stayed,” Harry mused. “Kingsley is doing a decent job as the Minister of Magic; and at least they all recognize the danger of being manipulated and having their strings pulled.”



Severus could not argue with that.



Oliver Wood apparently was not doing so well – he simply withdrew from everyone, and eventually left the country to coach Quidditch somewhere else, Harry did not know where. Ron attempted to follow up with him, but Oliver would have none of it.



Lee Jordan was the most resilient one of them all, Harry said with a mirthless smile. As soon as the Horcrux Dust was gone, both terrified and furious, Cassidy left him, taking the children with her. After that, however, Lee did everything right, so to speak. He checked himself into St. Mungo's, and requested the deepest Legilimency scans and probes to ensure he was back to normal. He went for counseling afterwards, and remained in touch with Hermione and Ron, who accepted him and welcomed him, without excessive warmth but without any judgment or recrimination, either. He visited them semi-regularly, until one day, about a year ago, Neville dropped by Hermione's and Ron's place just as Lee was leaving. Neville saw him and snapped – attacking him right in the street, and beating him into a bloody pulp, in broad daylight, in plain view of everyone. By the time Ron and Hermione had realized what was going on, Lee was a bloodied mess of broken bones, but refused to press charges, claiming that Neville was acting in self-defense. Severus winced involuntarily.



“I am sorry,” he said automatically, but without much emotion.



“Sorry for Lee?” Harry asked.



Severus shrugged. “Well, to be truthful, not especially, although a part of me recognizes I should be.”



“Don't be,” Harry said calmly. “I think the beating was quite cathartic for him; and likely did him more good than years of therapy ever could. Although I doubt Neville intended it that way,” Harry added with an unhappy smile. “How's he doing, by the way?”



Severus was startled by the question. “Who? Neville? I assumed you'd know better than I do.”



Harry shook his head. “He doesn't talk to me at all. After he brought Ginny back to Godric's Hollow, he left – and that was the last I saw of him. Hermione and Ron don't tell me much about him either. All I really know is that he's still working at St. Mungo's, and he's still friends with Ginny.” Harry glanced at Severus. “Is he... I mean... is he all right?”



“He seems to be reasonably well-adjusted, and he is doing well professionally, although in the past year his work performance began to decline slightly, but not enough to be a concern.” Severus said. “However, I cannot help but be troubled by this story. He never appeared to be the gratuitously violent type.”



“No,” Harry agreed. “Although I imagine he's not himself either, after what he had witnessed, thanks to me.”



A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Crouched on the ground, Harry sat quietly, looking away. Severus watched him numbly, feeling as if an invisible wall was erected between them.



Severus was unnerved and furious with himself. Things were going well, just about until he had decided to dredge up the past, and ask awkward and senseless questions, for no good reason whatsoever. And now, degrading and bitter memories rose to the surface, and Severus himself sat in absolute silence, stilling himself against them, and reminding himself, over and over again, that the young man in front of him was not Tom Riddle – and that memories were just that, memories.



The tension continued to mount until it was almost palpable.



“I need to go,” Severus said softly.



“I know,” Harry agreed. The invisible barrier between them thickened and became absolutely unbearable.



“Harry,” Severus called. “Come to me.”



Harry stared at him tensely and hesitantly, and then crawled towards him, making his way through ferns and moss-covered tree branches littering the ground. Severus opened his arms, and Harry threw himself into his embrace, holding him back, desperately and furiously.



Severus laid his soil-covered hand on Harry's head, and stroked his hair gently, over and over again, for a long time, until he finally sensed Harry relax under his touch, and until his own tension began to wane. The horrifying memories began to fade as well, and retreat into the background, until Tom Riddle was gone from his mind, and only Harry was left, leaning into his touch, pressing his face into his shoulder.



“It's over, you realize,” Severus said quietly. “All of it.”



“Yes.” Harry lifted his head and looked at him with a desperate hope in his eyes. “Will you return?”



Severus nodded. “Over and over again.”



“Really?”



“If you want me to.” He ran his fingers through Harry's hair one more time, and leaned in to kiss him. He tasted bitterness and salty taste of tears on Harry's lips, but kissed him deeper, stroking Harry's tongue with his, until Harry finally began to kiss back, with furious self-abandon.



“I want you to; so much,” Harry said, once their lips finally parted. “But this is absolutely demented. I have no idea how we are going to make this work, with memories like that binding us.”



“I am not sure either,” Severus conceded. “But I do know one thing – if I do lose you, I would rather do so through my own stupidity and inadequacy, and not simply through giving in to memories of Tom Riddle.”



“I feel the same way,” Harry murmured. “Be in touch, all right?”



“Fine,” Severus said, standing up. “Until then.”



He walked away from him, feeling Harry's eyes on him the entire time, but not daring to stop and look back.





When he finally returned to St. Mungo's the following morning, he went to find Neville Longbottom at once. He observed him in silence for a few minutes, as the young man was working in the greenhouse. There was tension and anger in his body language, more than Severus had ever witnessed before in him.



Eventually, Severus rapped on the greenhouse glass loudly, and when Neville turned to stare at him, Severus motioned for him to come out.



“Come with me,” Severus said simply, and Neville followed him without protest.



Severus brought him to his office, and pointed at the chair across from his desk, which Neville took obediently.



For the next half an hour, Severus simply talked, while Neville listened.



Severus told him about the numerous murders and atrocities he had witnessed in his years of spying. He told Neville about the death of Charity Burbage, whose body, with warmth of life still clinging to it, Voldemort had fed to Nagini. He told Neville about the girl who was pleading for help, and on whom, in a moment of desperation, he had cast a deadly spell. Neville listened in absolute silence, without looking up, or making a sound. When the young man finally lifted his eyes, they were liquid with unwept tears.



“You must realize that none of what happened at Godric's Hollow is your fault,” Severus said bluntly.



“I am not so sure of that.”



“I am,” Severus said evenly. “You displayed courage and cunning. Nobody could have done better, or more, under the circumstances.”



Neville's body tensed. “Then why?...” he started asking, but the inquiry died on his lips, and he looked away once more.



“Why do you feel so angry all the time?” Severus mused calmly. “Why do you feel like nothing will ever be right again?”



Neville nodded mutely.



“Witnessing violence and refraining from acting, even for good reasons, fractures one's soul,” Severus said quietly. “Your anger is the evidence of that fracture; not an indication that you've done something wrong.”



“Fractures,” Neville repeated. “Like with murder?”



“Similar, but not the same. Witnessing violence fractures the soul. Murder fragments it. ”



Neville nodded again. They sat in silence for a while, until Neville finally asked:



“Now what?”



Severus stared at him, surprised by the question.



“I don't know,” he admitted. “I myself had not made plans beyond surviving the violence of the war. But perhaps, now that it is finally over, we should allow our lives to reflect it.”



... To Be Continued...