Ashes of Armageddon

Language of the Dark


As they walked, Severus looked around, realizing that the scenery did not change much. The river was still as filthy as he had ever remembered it, and the streets were nearly deserted.

Eventually, they reached the house, and entered together. The first room was just as Severus had left it – minimalistic furniture, a simple lamp hanging from the ceiling, walls lined with shelves, filled with books and scrolls.

“Do you have anything you need to bring from downstairs?” Hermione asked, obviously aware of the secret entrance.

“No,” he said. “Downstairs are just bedrooms and living area. All that I need is here. How much do you suppose I can bring with me?”

She smiled faintly. “As much as you like. The suitcase is spelled with Undetectable Extension Charm. You can place your entire library here – and more.”

He nodded with sincere gratitude. “Thank you, Miss Granger.” He began looking over the bookshelves, collecting the books that he wanted to bring with him, placing them in the suitcase she was holding open for him.

“You are quite welcome, Sir,” she said meekly.

He searched his shelves a bit longer, his eye finally falling at an old item of sentimental value to him – a giant crude nail, at least six inches in length. He lifted it and placed it in his palm.

“What is it?” Hermione asked. “If you don't mind telling me, that is...”

“It's my good-luck charm,” he said with a slight smirk. “I have had it since I was six years old.”

She gazed at it. It was longer than his palm was wide. “What is the significance?”

“I found it playing outside. It ... reminded me of a lullaby my father used to sing.”

She glanced at him with curiosity, and with a touch of self-consciousness, he hummed the old melody:

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost;
For want of the shoe, the horse was lost;
For want of the horse, the rider was lost;
For want of the rider, the battle was lost;
For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost,
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

She laughed out loud with delight. “So you figured you'd keep it, so that you'd never lose a battle... or a kingdom, for want of a nail!”
“Exactly,” he said wryly. “Now, see what good it did me.”

He saw her face change expression instantly, and felt an instant pang of regret at upsetting her.

“I just realized,” he added hastily, eager to change the subject, “That I should probably be addressing you as Mrs. Weasley, but you have not corrected me.”

To his astonishment, she shook her head. “No, Sir... It's still Miss Granger. We never got married.”

“Why not?” Severus could not conceal his surprise.

“Hard to explain, Sir – but it is as if our lives are on hold... until.. I mean, how can we? With Harry, the way he is, as Ron's best man? Ginny was going to be my maid of honor, but then, she talked less and less to either of us... and now we don't even know where she is. Just doesn't seem right, you know?”

Severus nodded. “True, Miss Granger. But then again, it may never seem right. You shouldn't wait for the world to be perfect to live your lives.”

“I am not waiting for perfection,” she said, a little tersely. “But I will not pretend that all is well, when almost nothing is.”

“Well... your son is a delightful child,” Severus said absently. “A somewhat unusual name, mind you.”

Hermione bowed her head. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I suppose it is. I almost named him Victor,” she said sheepishly, stressing the last syllable, and rolling the 'r' slightly, “but Ron got grouchy.... didn't want our son to bear the name of my old sweetheart... though that's not what it was about, of course...”

Severus rose an eyebrow, thinking. Hugo... Victor... Hugo...

“Victor Hugo?” he asked, recalling a name of a Muggle author.

She nodded, and he could see her blushing deeply, evident even in the dusk of the room.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Please don't be angry, Sir,” she whispered. “I... We kind of... named him for you.”

“For me?!” Severus exclaimed, nearly dropping the volume he was holding in his hands. “How do you mean?”

She blushed even more, and took a deep breath.

“I wanted to give him a name that would mean that ... we believed in your story... you know?” she murmured. “Victor Hugo wrote your story. Twice. You are a half-blood, didn't you read Muggle literature, growing up?”

Severus nodded absently. He did, but that was a long time ago – and then, it was replaced by more important matters, such as potions recipes, Dark Magic hexes and curses....

“Remember Les Misérables?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Cannot say that I do,” he said with regret.

“Oh,” she murmured. “It's an old story... about ... the war, and time after war... and a man. His name is Valjean. Valjean is a convicted criminal, but ... well, who is really good at heart...and he keeps trying to do the right thing, but he can never escape his past. He has an enemy who is trying to hunt him down and punish him... but Valjean saves his nemesis, and...” she sighed slightly. “At his deathbed, it is revealed that he only told half-truths, as he thought it would cause too much embarrassment if he were to confess himself to be a savior of people who had believed him to be a wrongdoer... and that he considered himself to be unworthy... until the very end.” She cast him a slightly mortified look. “It's a goody story.” she added weakly. “I cannot do it justice.”

Stunned, he stood without moving, certain that he himself was blushing. “Miss Granger, I must say, that was the most convoluted reason for picking a child's name,” he said finally. “I sincerely hope that you can afford the therapy for your son, once you explain your reasoning to him.”

“Are you mocking me?” she demanded in a slightly plaintive voice.

“Only a little,” he conceded. “You said there was another story?”

She mumbled something unintelligible, and turned away. He circled around her and faced her, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Come now, Miss Granger. Spit it out. Where is your Gryffindor courage?”

She shook her head in embarrassment. “You will murder me.”

“I have no wand, Miss Granger. And I still need you to drive us back,” he said reasonably. “I assure you, I will not murder you.”

“It's... well... the other story, is....” she stammered slightly.

“The Hunchback of Notre Dame?” he supplied, unable to hide his amusement any longer. “I do remember that one, if only vaguely.”

She nodded in mortified silence. Severus chuckled peacefully.

“If memory serves me, the hunchback was a deformed, hideous creature, at a mercy of a taunting mob... and then, a beautiful gypsy witch called Esmeralda was able to see past his ugliness,” Severus murmured. “And it made him love her. But she did not love him...”

“And the King ordered her to be put to death,” Hermione whispered. “The hunchback could not save her... and after that.....”

“The hunchback cried out, Behold, everything I ever loved! -,” Severus said thoughtfully. “Very fitting, Miss Granger.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled meekly. “I suppose I should have just named him Mike.”

He laughed out loud, collecting his books into a pile. “Don't be sorry,” he told her gruffly. “It is the most ridiculous and dim-witted thing anyone had ever done for me.”

From now on, whenever I look at your son, I will think of a beautiful witch, named by the color of Lily's eyes.

“You are welcome, then,” she said in a quiet voice.

Their books were gathered, and he watched with fascination as nearly half his library disappeared in the average-sized charmed suitcase they had brought in.

“Tell me something,” Severus asked suddenly. “Does Mr. Potter know the reason for you naming your son Hugo?”

She shook her head. “He gets violently angry whenever either of us mention that we still believe you. Four years ago, Ron tried talking to him... Harry punched him. Anyways.... they made up, but.... nothing got resolved. We did not back down, but neither did Harry. By the way, two years ago, Neville tried to publish an article in Quibbbler, with Luna's help, kind of a theory of your innocence... Harry had the paper seized, and nearly sent Neville to Azkaban for a month. It took a lot of effort to talk him out of it... Anyways, eventually, it became sort of an ... unspoken agreement between us. We do not discuss your guilt or innocence... In fact, we do not mention it at all around him. If we do, it just... seems to do more harm than good.”

Severus chuckled. “So your son became a secret message.”

“Kind of,” Hermione whispered. “In Les Misérables, they had a language spoken in secret...the language only understood by those who are in the know, but no-one on the outside... the language of misery, they call it... or the language of the dark.”

“Ah,” Severus murmured. “Well then, given the current political climate, I suppose we had better become proficient in it.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Professor, I am quite certain you already are. I am willing to wager a year's salary that you could write a lexicon.”

...To Be Continued...