Ashes of Armageddon

On that night, they fell asleep together, on Severus' bed, Harry, completely naked, Severus, still fully dressed, but his head resting against Harry's shoulder.



Saturday morning began with Harry attempting to cook breakfast for the two of them, and discovering that Severus had nothing in his fridge, other than three year old soy sauce, and a bag of carrots, each more flexible than Harry's arm on the day when Lockhart had removed all bones from it with a single “healing” spell.



“Haven't you heard of protein?” Harry asked with an amused smirk, holding up the bag of offending carrots in his hand.



Severus smirked back at him. “I do believe I have some highly evolved fungus growing under the sink.”



They ended up going out for breakfast eventually, with Harry selecting the place, and Severus paying for them both. Harry grumbled slightly, but Severus silenced him effectively with a single piercing glare, pleased that it still worked on his former student.



On Saturday afternoon, Severus departed for his dueling practice with Minerva, abandoning Harry alone at Spinner's End for several hours.



“Can I come watch you practice?” Harry asked.



“That would not be a good idea.”



“Why?” Harry challenged. “Afraid I might learn something?”



“No, I had long given up on that ludicrous delusion,” Severus said scornfully,“however, I do prefer to practice without being distracted by irrelevant questions and inane exclamations from dunderheads.”



“Oh good, I'm glad we've cleared this up so amicably,” Harry muttered sardonically, sprawling out on the couch, with the volume of Hunchback of Notre Dame in his hands. “For a moment there I thought you were going to say something spiteful.”



The rest of Saturday was spent playing chess, and finally, bored of winning, Severus was ready to call it a night. He was still mortified by his descent into temporary madness the night before, and he had no intention of doing so again. That seemed to be his pattern, he thought ruefully: become overwhelmed with need and desire, give in too quickly, wallow in the young man's kindness and compassion, and then withdraw in embarrassment, until the need built up again, becoming irresistible. But while he could resist it, he would. He tossed a pillow and a thin blanket on the couch, and then, banished Harry to the bedroom. Harry began to protest, and offered to take the couch, but Severus told him:



“You have two choices. Either sleep in the bed, or go home.”



“Bastard,” Harry said reproachfully, just before kissing him goodnight.

...



Sunday was almost an exact repeat of Saturday, except that Harry's chess-playing skills seemed to have improved slightly, and in one of the matches, he managed to bring the game to a draw.



Later that evening, Harry drifted off to sleep on the couch, hugging the Hunchback of Notre Dame with both arms. Severus was about to wake him, and send him to take the bed, but in the end, chose not to disturb him. Suspecting that this was Harry's sly way of ensuring his comfort, Severus shook his head ruefully, but went upstairs.



In the bedroom, Severus changed into his usual grey nightshirt and turned off the lights, before attempting to fall asleep. This night, unlike the previous nights, he found himself tossing and turning, unable to even shut his eyes for a moment. Harry's presence in his household left him more comforted than he had ever felt in his entire life, and more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. One moment, he was ready to come back downstairs and reach out to him, the next, he wanted to wake him and throw him out. In the end, he simply remained in bed, squeezing the pillow, and staring into the darkness.



Half an hour later, a knocking on the bedroom door jolted him up.



“What now?” he growled. “I have to work tomorrow morning.”



“I can't sleep.”



Severus snorted derisively. “So you've decided to make it my problem?”



“You can't sleep either,” Harry said with confidence. “I could hear you tossing in bed.”



“I fail to see how combining our misery will help matters,” Severus countered reasonably.



“If you let me in, then at least one of us won't be miserable,” Harry said.



“Is that so.”



“May I come in?”



“Fine.”



Harry opened the door, and lingered in the doorway for a few moments. Even in the absolute darkness of the room, Severus could sense Harry's gaze on him, as if it were physical touch.



“Mr. Potter,” Severus said with as much contempt as he could manage. “Either get the devil out of here, or get in the bed, but do not just stand there.”



The furious rustling of clothes being taken off was the only answer he received, until the bed trembled slightly, as Harry climbed under the covers next to him. Severus turned away from him, and clutched the pillow. Sleep was not forthcoming, he had already accepted that.



Harry's breathing next to him was labored and uneven, and Severus himself was a mass of tension. The vulnerability of having someone else in his own home, in his bed, was absolutely nerve-shattering. The old-fashioned nightshirt, covering his aging, ridiculously thin body only made him feel more defenseless, and more exposed, even in the pitch-black darkness of the room, even under the bed covers concealing them both. The young man next to him smelled of sunlight, and ocean. Severus himself felt older than ever.



“Can I hold you?” Harry whispered next to him.



“All right,” Severus answered, his back still turned to Harry.



Harry's arms went around him instantly, and he pressed his face between Severus' shoulderblades, kissing him through the fabric of the shirt.



“Don't molest me too much,” Severus said dryly. “I'm an old man. And I need to go to work tomorrow.”



“I'll stay behind and help you at work, if you let me molest you tonight,” Harry said solemnly. “I'll chop up potions ingredients. I'll be your secretary and do your boring paperwork.”



In spite of himself, Severus laughed out, although without much happiness. “Why?”



“I want you,” Harry said simply.



Severus shuddered slightly when Harry's hands stroked his shoulders and caressed his arms. Was there a measure of possessiveness in Harry's touch, or did Severus imagine it? He was not certain of anything any longer, including his own perception of reality.



“Why do you want me?” Severus asked again.



Harry's body pressed against his, radiating warmth. “If I still need to explain, then no answer will ever be sufficient.”



Severus turned around, and lifted himself on the elbow, to face his young lover in the absolute darkness of the room.



“What do you want with me?” he demanded.



Harry moved forward to kiss his cheek. “I want to touch you. To feel you,” Harry whispered gently. “I want to feel my hands on your skin.”



He expected anything but that – and that simple statement caught him off guard. Cornered in his most private space, he felt like a wild animal, trapped in his own hiding hole, but once again, he was almost powerless to refuse – or issue a single word of protest, for the fear that it would put an end to the fragile intimacy bestowed to him.



“All right. Fine,” Severus growled, more mortified than ever before.



Harry's hands reached the front of his shirt, working the buttons open. Severus cooperated grudgingly, sliding his arms out of the shirt, baring himself down to the waist. Harry moved closer to him, and Harry's lips pressed to Severus' neck.



“All of you,” Harry whispered, sounding a little breathless. “I want... All of you.”



Severus grunted slightly, and with one desperate move, pulled his shirt down, lying in complete darkness, under the covers, absolutely naked next to Harry, painfully and terrifyingly near, feeling the heat emanating from the young, firm body next to him.



“May I hold you?” Harry asked.



“Go ahead.”



Harry drew him into a kind embrace and their bodies pressed hard against each other. With absolute gentleness, Harry ran the flattened palm of his right hand down Severus' back, stopping just short of touching his backside, never connecting with it. Harry's left hand rested on his hair, the fingers sliding between the hair strands, caressing the back of his head.



“I love the way you feel to touch,” Harry murmured.



He had barely began to take in the astounding beauty of the moment, when suddenly, his mind chose this time to betray him, and he could no longer remember where he was, who he was with, and why. For a few brief moments, he was convinced that it was Tom Riddle soothing him, and for those moments, he fully believed that Draco was still in Azkaban, his survival hinging on Severus' cooperation. A rational part of him was trying to tell him that it was just a resurfaced memory, but another part of him was refusing to accept it. He brought his hand to his chest, to touch the lettering, carved and burned into his body, only to discover smooth skin. If that had already happened, if that was all over, then where were his scars? Were there Glamour charms that good, that perfect? He could not remember.



His entire body went rigid with primal terror, as he was grasping at the remnants of his sanity.



Harry's hand stroked his back again, slowing down slightly, sensing his mounting tension.



“Are you all right?” Harry asked.



“I am well, thank you,” Severus gave the automatic response, somehow forcing his voice into absolute calm.



“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked.



“Nothing.”



That was almost true. There were no rational thoughts left, just fragments. Fragments of conversations. Faces of people. He no longer knew who was dead, and who was alive, who was safe, and who was in danger, counting on his help.



“You are very tense,” Harry said. His hand was resting on Severus' back.



Something snapped inside at the sound of those words. They were not said in an accusing tone, and yet, at this particular moment, Severus did not know how else to interpret them. He was certain that his frailty, noticed and pointed out by his owner, was about to be punished by someone else's death.



He struggled for air, and then, catching his breath, whispered:



“Forgive me, Master.”



Next to him, Harry froze as well, but only briefly. When Harry recovered his voice, he spoke hastily, and desperately:



“No, no. There's – there's no Master. Just me. You hear me? It's ... just me, that's all... ”



Severus shuddered slightly when Harry's hand slipped off, and he was released from the embrace. Severus collapsed to simply lie on his back, feeling Harry's presence next to him, still waiting for something to happen. Nothing did – and the surreal fog of confusion began to lift.



A few minutes later, his mind yielded to reason, and permitted him to believe that he was home, at Spinner's End. Draco was not in Azkaban. Hugo was not kidnapped. Tom Riddle's soul fragment was destroyed. He, Severus Snape, was the Master of the Elder Wand.



They were lying in the dark next to each other, neither making a move.



“You all right?” Harry asked finally.



“Yes. Fine.” He issued a deep breath. “Just a brief moment of disorientation,” he added, compelled to offer at least a partial explanation. “It's over now.”



“I am sorry,” Harry said. “I guess it would have been better if I had just let you be for the night.”



“I don't know,” Severus said honestly. Had Harry just let him be, and not made a first move, Severus himself would likely have never initiated anything of the sort, and simply continued to wallow in lonely misery.



“Would it make matters better if I left now?” Harry offered with obvious reluctance.



“I highly doubt it,” Severus muttered, his response eliciting a sigh of relief from Harry's lips.



“Oh. Well - ready to call it a night?” Harry asked uncertainly.



He should have simply given his assent to this, but the sense of absolute loneliness crashed in on him. How could one feel so alone, lying in bed next to someone? The loss of the simple embrace due to his own terror and frailty was nearly nauseating. Was he truly so broken and tainted that even holding him would quickly become a chore to a reasonable person? Who wouldn't become tired and frustrated with a lover freezing under their touch nearly every time? And how could he pose a question like that, without sounding desperately needy, as he truly was?



He could not ask – and he could not even offer a spiteful, sarcastic remark. Instead, he lifted himself on his elbow, and then, with absolute awkwardness, began to move, inching his way towards Harry, until he was right next to him. He remained motionless for a moment, and then, made a desperate move, that could only be likened to diving off a cliff without a wand: without any suggestion or invitation, he buried his face in Harry's shoulder.



Instantly, Harry moved to embrace him again, and pressed a tentative kiss to the top of his head. Severus issued a small sigh when Harry's hands reached for his hair tie, and loosened it, setting his hair free. Harry shifted slightly, adjusting his position, and pulled Severus towards himself even closer, holding him even tighter. Harry's entire body seemed to meld with his, even as Harry's limbs wrapped around him. Severus felt a foot touching his ankle, and a bended knee, pressing against his thigh, and arms holding him in a firm grip. No - Harry's arms did not just hold – they cradled and enveloped, as if Harry was using his entire body to comfort him and keep him near.



Logic demanded that he be unnerved by this, but instead, it was oddly reassuring to suddenly experience himself as being wanted enough to be seized and held with such furious, unyielding passion.



The thumb of Harry's right hand ran across his shoulder blades, and then, along his spine, over and over again; and the light, almost absent gentleness of it was a soothing contrast to the tightness of Harry's hold on him.



Exhausted by the recent inner turmoil, Severus simply resigned himself to rest in that secure embrace. Finally, he could no longer keep his eyes open, and drifted off into state of warm, serene self-abandon, which soon turned into sleep.



...To Be Continued...