Ashes of Armageddon

When Ron and Hermione brought them to their place, Severus was surprised to find that it was an ordinary Muggle house, contained in a fully Muggle neighborhood.



“A block away from my parents' place,” Hermione explained. “I wanted to be close to them, so when this property came up...”



“It's a lovely place,” Severus said absently. The house was painted a pleasant blue, with white trim. The garden had bedflowers of tulips and lilies planted in neat rows.



The first floor contained a large living room with a long coffee table, a couch, and three armchairs. It also had a fireplace, connected to the Floo Network, Hermione said with a mischievous smile. She then took Severus on a brief tour, showing him the enormous dine-in kitchen, and then the second floor, that had the Master Bedroom – and Hugo's room. The only guest bedroom was on the first floor, adjacent to the living room – a small cozy den had been converted to accommodate visitors.



“Lovely,” Severus said again.



“Ron, do you need to be back at work?” Hermione called to the living room.



“No, Harry got me a day off for 'supervising' the Professor,” Ron said with just a touch of annoyance, but it was obviously not directed at Severus, as only the word 'supervising' was marked with absolute loathing. “You are stuck with me for the rest of the day.”



“Oh dear, how shall we ever survive,” Hermione murmured, clearly delighted, and then glanced up at Severus. “I'm going to make lunch. Perhaps, you would like to go and relax?”



“I could help,” he offered unexpectedly, even for himself.



“Very well,” she said, “But I cook everything the long, tedious, Muggle way, when I have the time, and today happens to be just such a day.”



“Ah,” he smirked, flexing his sore hand slightly in a discreet way under the table. “Well, let's see if all the years of chopping and dicing potion ingredients are finally going to be of some use.”



She nodded with a smile that showed no happiness, and walked away to the fridge. Opening it, she stood for an incredible length of time, staring absently inside, as if taking an inventory of every single item inside. On an impulse, Severus followed her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned her face away from him at once, but he circled around her, and saw that her cheeks were streaked with tears, flooding from her eyes.



“Sorry,” she said contritely. “I cannot tell you how sorry, how...”



“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Severus found himself saying, his voice reserved. “This... predicament may not be to my liking but it is, I am sad to say, what I need.”



“Penance,” she murmured with distaste, clearly recalling their first conversation after his awakening from the coma. “You mean to say that Dumbledore had intentionally set it up to be this way? Why would he do that, if you were acting on his orders?”



“Because,” Severus said simply, “Some sins are less forgivable than others. And some, not at all.”



“Explain,” she demanded, pulling out seemingly random produce items from the refrigerator and setting them on the table in a neat, orderly row.



He took a cantaloupe in his hands and looked at it with amusement. “Well, Miss Granger. Where slave-bonds are concerned... Some sins may be forgiven easily and completely. For example, let's say that my Master orders me to wear a formal robe for his arrival. And let's say, I am so overjoyed when I hear his footsteps, that I forget all about his instructions, and rush out to meet him.”



Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought, and Severus himself could not suppress a faintly disdainful smirk. “It is a transgression, but it does no harm; and thus, easily forgiven, should he choose to do so.”



“On the other hand,” Severus continued, “Let's say that I lose my temper and punch my Master. A retribution will be required – even if he were willing to just forgive me, the slave-bond would not allow it, until the price had been paid.”



She was looking at him with nearly perfect confusion. “I know all, that, but...”



“Then,” Severus said softly, “Imagine that I cause deadly harm to my Master. Even if he himself sanctions it, there can be no forgiveness for that. How can there be? He is gone. The only thing that remains now is ... retribution.”



She dropped something on the floor that splattered loudly, and gazed at him. “You... no! Dumbledore was your Master?”



The corner of his mouth twitched slightly in annoyance. “Don't be so shocked. It was necessary. The connection we had was purely emotional and magical, but the bond was exceptionally strong, regardless. Think about it: what other bond would help overrule the instinctive urges to obey the Dark Lord's wishes, that were pouring into my very awareness through.. .this?” he glanced at his forearm, where, under the sleeve of the shirt, known to everyone, lay concealed the image of skull and serpent.



“But then... oh, my God!” she whispered.



“Me killing my Master has shortened my natural lifespan by more than a half,” he said. “Left to my own, I may have ten years remaining to live. ... but not much longer than that. The only way I can still live out a normal lifespan would be ...”



“Within a new slave-bond,” she completed for him. “But even so, there can be no forgiveness... because even though your old Master is gone, your body still carries the remnants of the old bond...”



He nodded. “Yes... certainly, not the fire of it... more like glowing ambers, or, perhaps, ashes. But the demand for retribution is reborn, time and again... much like the Phoenix bird. If the suffering was not inflicted upon me externally, my own mind and body would generate appropriate... substitutions. Which would not be pleasant either. And that is why I am in the most perfect, and the least desirable place at this time, and for as long as I shall live.”



She covered her mouth, looking positively ill. “How could Dumbledore make you do something like that?” she demanded. “It's .. inhuman!”



“It was the only way,” he said sharply. “We were at war, as you might recall. He himself was suffering greatly. Draco's life was at stake, and even his soul; not to mention the lives of his parents. And even the Dark Lord's patience with me was wearing thin – had I not done that, I would not have been able to remain a spy until the war's end.”



She sniffled. “So now... to be with someone like that – who treats you this way...”



“For it to constitute a bond's penance, that's the only way it can be,” Severus said. “It's no game. Mind you, given a choice, I would have opted for Dementor's Kiss, but apparently, no Dementor was willing,” he added with a smirk. “But why dwell on the unpleasant? We have lunch to prepare.”



She stood stiffly for a moment, and then, with surprising swiftness, took his right hand in hers. He was stunned – he had hoped she would not notice. But the hand did not look particularly bad, he noted with relief – only a few bruises, and two small cuts, nothing more than that. Before she made a move to pronounce a healing spell, he shook his head slightly and withdrew his hand from her.



“I am going to kill him,” she vowed.



He looked at her with surprise. “If his behavior angers you so much, why are you still friends with him?”



She blushed deeply. “I think, in part, we are still waiting for him to snap out of it. Whatever state he had driven himself into... At times, I imagine, all of this is just a nightmare, and one day, we will wake up, and life will be normal.”



“I know the feeling,” he conceded softly. “But that doesn't happen, does it?”



In absolute misery, she shook her head. “It only gets worse. He gets worse. Slowly, very slowly... but he gets darker every month... every year. Like something in him grows...consumes him... or transforms him... It is terrifying to watch.”



“And yet you find yourself watching it, much the same way you watch a train-wreck,” Severus chuckled unhappily.



“Worse,” she whispered. “Much worse... it would be much easier to just bail and run.”



“Why don't you?” Severus insisted.



Her face reddened deeply, and she bowed her head in shame. “Because... we still love him. In spite of what he has become... we can't let him go... Some days we stand by him because of friendship and love... though, I admit, some days, it is out of pure fear.”



“Fear that he might do something to your family, if you were to express your disapproval and distance yourselves?”



She glared at him, with stunning defiance and fury, but when she spoke, her voice was peaceful and measured: “Not at all. We fear for him,” she explained pointedly. “I keep asking myself, what if young Tom Riddle had friends standing by his side, never rejecting him, but always speaking to him, urging him to choose well? And I suspect that if we let Harry go now, we may never find out the answer to that question.”



A chill was born at the nape of his neck and ran down his spine at her words. “You really do think it is this bad?” he murmured.



She nodded. “Yes. We both do. And that is precisely why we can't let him go.” She cast a cautious glance in the direction of the living room, where Ron and Hugo were engaged in a playful wrestling match. “To be honest, ten years from now, we do not want to see Hugo Weasley spending his summer holidays searching for Horcruxes of Harry Potter.”



... To Be Continued ...