Ashes of Armageddon

Fleeting Kindness



It was early evening by the time Severus finished the lines. He wrote them out dutifully, without cheating, without making his handwriting any larger than it normally would be. Oddly enough, he found that he did not mind this task – the only part of his soul stronger than his pride was the self-loathing it concealed. And that made it virtually effortless to complete it this particular assignment.



Just as he was finishing, he became aware of Harry standing right next to him, looking over his shoulder. Severus froze involuntarily, as he felt Harry's hand on his back again. But then, to his surprise, Harry took Severus' cramped right hand in his, and slowly, with excruciating gentleness, ran his thumb over his knuckles. Severus only tensed more, but made no move to resist.



“Are you hungry?” Harry asked.



“Yes,” Severus answered simply, having no urge to equivocate.



Harry nodded. “I don't feel much like staying in. Would you like to go out for dinner?”



Severus looked at him incredulously. After the brutality of the evening – Harry Potter was going to... take him out to dinner? And he was asking Severus' opinion in the matter?



Harry saw the expression on his face and shrugged. “You don't have to go if you don't want to. You can stay home and eat. I will unlock the fridge. Or I can bring you a takeout meal.”



Severus opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out, only because he had no idea what to say.



Harry smiled unhappily. “Well, what will it be? Are you going to come out and eat, or are you going to sit at the table for the rest of the night, looking like a landed fish?”



They left shortly afterwards, and walked down the street. The sky was already darkening, and a most of the houses they passed had light in the windows. They walked quietly, almost side by side, but with Harry leading the way, and Severus following closely. It felt stunningly ordinary to stroll down the street, and the pure, unadulterated normalcy of it made the entire last two days seem like a surreal, horrifying nightmare. Harry was walking slowly, apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. Severus was already beginning to wonder if he had imagined imagined everything – this was Harry-bloody-Potter, after all... the prophesied hero, everyone's beloved noble Gryffindor... not some sort of serial killer.



“What date is it?” Severus asked suddenly.



“April 25 th,” Harry said in a quiet voice. “It's been almost five years.”



Five years since Nagini's bite, five years since Harry going to his death, and surviving, five years since Voldemort's defeat.



They walked the rest of the way in silence, until they reached a small restaurant. They took a seat at the patio, and the Muggle waitress approached them, handing them the menus. She cast a curious, and not particularly subtle glance at Severus' mark on his forehead, and disappeared promptly. Severus fought back the instant mortified tremor, and kept his face absolutely impassive.



Harry was studying the menu absently, without lifting his eyes. Severus glanced down, decided on his food choice, and closed the booklet.



“That was fast,” Harry said with a grin. “Hermione usually takes forever to decide, and then changes her order five minutes after finally making up her mind.”



Severus snorted under his breath, and Harry snickered. “Oh well, 'Mione is worth the aggravation... most days.”



“Undoubtedly,” Severus said absently. Even though he had no reason to, he found himself relaxing. Whatever demonic grip had come over Harry in the last two days seemed to have lifted, and Harry looked and acted surprisingly ordinary.



“So tell me,” Severus asked. “Godric's Hollow is a predominately Muggle settlement, is it not?”



“Yes,” Harry said. “Although there are a few wizard households here. Four altogether, to be exact. But we manage to remain inconspicuous. For the most part.”



“Hmm,” Severus murmured. “How are you going to explain me to your Muggle neighbors? As an eccentric uncle?”



Harry shrugged. “I never had the need to explain anything before. I do not foresee doing so in the future, either. It is what it is.”



“Indeed,” Severus mused. “How many people live in Godric's Hollow these days?”



“About two thousand,” Harry said absently. “It's a small village. Always has been. Really boring and unremarkable – that's why it seemed like such a perfect hiding place, I suppose. Back when...” Harry's voice trailed off, and he looked away.



And then, Severus froze, when of its own accord, a simple phrase crossed his mind: I killed them. Severus swore inwardly, and the feeling of normalcy began to dissipate.



Harry looked at him thoughtfully, his face absolutely unreadable.



The waitress showed up, bringing a pitcher of water and glasses, setting a small tea-light on the table and lighting it. Harry ordered a rainbow trout with rice, and mindlessly, Severus ordered the same. The waitress nodded and fled again.



“I know what you are thinking,” Harry said suddenly. “I can tell.” Severus' hand froze in mid-air, as he was about to pour some water into his glass. “You are trying to decide what is real: this , or what happened back home.”



Severus nodded slightly, and poured the water in. Harry laughed without mirth.



“If you ever figure it out, let me know. I am still trying to understand what exactly happened to me.”



“And what do you suppose happened to you?” Severus asked, his voice carrying just a faint note of sarcasm in it.



He almost expected Harry to pull out the wand and Crucio him in public, but Harry merely shrugged in a withdrawn, absent manner.



“I really don't know,” he said. His face looked suddenly younger, and held a vulnerable, almost childish expression.



Severus studied that expression thoughtfully, and then offered: “Tell me. What do you remember?”



Harry lowered his eyes, and looked down, his eyes fixed on the flame of the tea-light, dancing between them.



“After seeing your memories, I went to look for Voldemort. Not to fight him. To let him kill me...”



Even though Severus already knew that, from Hermione's explanation, he was still stunned to hear it.



“It must have been terrifying,” he said.



Harry smiled sheepishly. “It was at first. But the deeper I went into the Forest, the easier it got. Besides... I didn't go alone. I used the Resurrection Stone. My parents came with me... and.... it was so good to see them, that I didn't even care that I was about to die ...” Harry swallowed hard, and then continued quietly: “I found Voldemort. He cast the Killing Curse. The last thing I remember was oddly enough, Hagrid, shouting for me, I think he wanted to charge to my rescue or something. Not that he could do anything, mind you. Then, the curse hit me... then, nothing. Until I woke up, and Narcissa Malfoy was checking on me. She lied to Voldemort for me, saved my life.... The rest... well... ” Harry's voice trailed off, and he stared into the space ahead of him.



“I am sorry,” Severus said awkwardly, but with absolute sincerity.



“Don't be sorry for me,” Harry snapped. His voice was sharp and angry again. “What you should be sorry for is your crimes, and that I did not die like you had intended. And believe me, you will be.”



“Well,” Severus said tiredly. “I suppose we will just have to see. So what is your guess, Harry? Why didn't you die?”



Harry shrugged once more. “Who knows,” he muttered. “Maybe I did die. Maybe something else, or someone else, came back in my place. Maybe this isn't really me.” He gazed at Severus piercingly, as if issuing a challenge, and Severus rose to the bait.



“You would like to believe that, wouldn't you?” Severus said dryly. “That the barbaric things you are about to inflict on me are not really a part of you. That they are coming from another source. Let me assure you: they are you. You have inherited your father's cruelty. Your abusive upbringing, and years of manipulation at the hands of your elders, including me, left you embittered and hateful. And now, that you have the power, you can finally stop censoring yourself, and let it all loose. The fact that I am not an innocent victim, should make it so much more satisfying; not to mention, a great deal easier.”



Harry's face stiffened into an impassive mask. “You really think so? That's all there is?” he asked with an odd calmness.



“Yes, Mr. Potter. You are what they call a psychopath. You act in public a certain way, but in your private life, you are a different person. I am afraid there is no cure for this condition.”



Harry smiled a little. “You make it sound like we are both damned.”



“I certainly am,” Severus said easily. “But I have already resigned myself to that. You, however, may still have hope.”



“Hope,” Harry repeated absently, with an odd glint in his eye. “And what might that be?”



“Learn to control your emotions, like I've been telling you all along,” Severus said bluntly. “Learn to reign in your desire for cruelty. Remind yourself that some things are more important than personal gratification. You might also consider giving up some of the power you are holding. A twenty-three year old unruly, vindictive brat with Three Deathly Hallows in his hands, heading the Ministry of Magic is a sure recipe for disaster.”



“You make it sound so logical,” Harry said. “Unfortunately, I have passed the point of no return. I will never give up the power – I am too used to it by now. And it feels too good to have it.”



Harry's blunt candor stunned him, but Severus was not at all surprised by the content of his statement.



The waitress showed up again, bringing the food – two dishes of grilled rainbow trout, served over a rice pilaf. Severus stuck the fork in the fish, turning it – and realizing that he had made a mistake with the food choice – the amount of extremely thin, needle sharp bones was going to make the meal absolutely torturous. Harry saw the expression on his face and chuckled, then pointed his wand at the fillet on Severus' plate, and with a quick spell, removed the plethora of bones from it.



“Thank you,” Severus said softly.



“Welcome,” Harry answered absently.



They started eating, and Severus watched Harry with surprise.



“Severus,” Harry spoke with sudden gentleness. “If you like... I will permit you to have some innocent ways of amusing yourself while I am not around.”



“That would be just lovely,” Severus said, not bothering to banish sarcasm from his voice. “A hobby? Knitting, perhaps? I could compete with Molly Weasley as to who might produce the most hideous sweater...”



Harry smirked. “Well, let's not go nuts. I'm not going to waste money on yarn. But I have no objections to you bringing some of your old books and belongings to the house.”



“I have no belongings, or books,” Severus said flatly. “Everything I owned is gone.”



“Nothing is gone,” Harry said with a strange, quiet sadness. “Hermione and Ron saved it all. Everything is at your old house at Spinner's End. Your books, your writings, your clothes, even some ridiculous old toys...”



Severus almost forgot to breathe at the revelation. “Really?” he asked in a voice that was barely audible.



“Yes, really,” Harry said. “In a few days, I'll get Ron to take you there and help you bring some of the stuff back. I'll set some limits on what you may own, but... at least you won't be stuck re-reading the same Herbology text for the next forty years.”



Severus resisted the sudden ridiculous urge to thank his tormentor. “And pray, why would you do such a kind thing for me?”



Harry glanced up at him, smiling bitterly.



“You seem to be more unnerved by kindness, than Cruciatus.”



Severus snorted, feigning indifference. He did not want to admit it, but Harry was right. Kindness always unnerved him, but kindness coming from his abuser was not merely disconcerting – it was dreadful.



Harry was watching him intently. A faint shadow of regret crossed Harry's face, and then his expression became unreadable again.



“Don't worry about it,” Harry said very softly. “Kindness, that is. It won't last. It never does.”



... To Be Continued...