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Ashes of Armageddon	By : emilywaters Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 96542 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Saturday passed uneventfully and peacefully. Harry slept until early afternoon, and then left, heading back to King's Cross. He returned extremely late and went straight to bed, without saying a word to Severus.

Sunday, Harry went back to King's Cross again; but this time, he returned at a decent hour. Just as they were sitting down to dinner, a door bell rang, and Harry went to open the door.

Severus barely recognized the tall, slightly round-faced young man who joined them in the dining room, as Neville Longbottom.

Harry invited Neville to join them, and Neville did, eying Severus with caution and awe. Severus made a move to stand up and go upstairs, but Harry shook his head slightly, and Severus remained. They ate, with Harry and Neville talking about some work related issues, Hermione's whining about inhumanity of having Dementors guard Azkaban, Neville's work on perfecting the Polyjuice potion, and Minerva McGonagall's upcoming retirement from Hogwarts.

When the dinner was done, Harry cleared the table. Neville cast a cautious glance at Severus again and then blushed a little.

�What?� Harry demanded.

�This is unreal. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard,� Neville said quietly. �At first, I thought it was one of George's stupid jokes. I mean, seriously..?�

�Seriously.� Harry said, a little smugly. �So, Neville - what's on your mind?�

Neville muttered something.

�Come on, mate. I know you well enough. You want something. So what is it?� Harry prodded.

Neville issued an embarrassed sigh. �I could use some help,� he muttered reluctantly.

Harry was watching him with amusement. �I am listening.�

Neville gave him a resentful glare. �You know what I mean. It's been a while since ... I had... any breakthroughs in the lab. I mean...�

�Neville, you've never had any breakthroughs in the lab,� Harry said bluntly, and a little impatiently. �Your research on Medicinal Herbology and Healing Potions has always been mediocre at best.�

�I don't think so,� Neville said quietly. �I know what I am doing � and I think I am quite bright. But I haven't had any fresh ideas, or insights for quite a while. Hermione, on the other hand,� Neville continued with distaste, �manages to get a new idea every week... at this rate, her team will take the Silver Cross award before mine will have a chance to say Waddawazi.�

Harry laughed out loud with delight. �Neville... you've gotta be bloody kidding me. She only spends a day and a half doing research � the rest of her time is taken up by administration. And you still can't beat her?�

Neville swore under his breath. �You don't need to rub it in, Harry,� he muttered. �I don't know how she does it. I just know that I want to win, just once.�

Harry snickered. �So you want to borrow the greasy git, huh? Milk him for ideas, techniques, get him to help you compete against Hermione's team, without having to give him any credit? I'm impressed, Neville. That's ... almost Slytherin.�

�Come on, Harry,� Neville pleaded quietly and desperately. �We go way back, you and me. Please? What is it to you if he helps? All I want is to level the playing field a bit. And besides... do you really want him sitting at Godric's Hollow all day long, pawing at your family albums while you are gone?�

That obviously struck a nerve, as Harry laughed unhappily. �You definitely have a way with words, Neville. Yeah, that's fine. Pick him up tomorrow at six in the morning.�

Neville shuddered at the suggestion. �Harry, I disagree with the very notion of six in the morning, as a matter of principle.�

Harry snickered. �You are such a lazy-arsed bastard, Neville. No wonder you don't make any progress at work. Anyways, whatever. Hermione has been getting on my nerves anyways, so I wouldn't mind seeing her taken down a notch. So... Borrow him. Have him help you. He'll be good, I guarantee that.�

Severus listened to the entire conversation with a quiet undercurrent of silent fury brewing within. He felt a vein beginning to throb near his right temple, as was always the case when his temper was about to burst out. He had been silently praying for a chance to get out of Godric's Hollow and do something else � anything else during the day, and this was as good a chance as any � he realized that... but the idea of having been assigned to help an apparently mediocre, lazy, and unscrupulous young man to compete against one of the two people in the entire world, who were believing him and supporting him, was insufferable. Not that he would put his best efforts into something like that � but still, he found the mere suggestion of it sickening. And hearing Harry speak of Hermione Granger with sudden contempt only added to his distaste.

He shot a quick, and not at all friendly glance at Neville, who suddenly looked like he was about to faint. Harry noticed it and snapped angrily:

�Oh, for fuck's sake, Neville, grow up! School is out, and you don't need to mentally dress up Snape in your grandma's clothing to keep yourself brave.�

Severus did not quite know what to make of that mental image, nor was he sure he wanted to inquire.

Looking more faint than ever, Neville left shortly afterwards.

Just as soon as the door closed behind him, Harry walked up to Severus, who was still seated at the table; and towered over him.

�I saw that look,� Harry advised him calmly. �You think we are are repulsive. You think our behavior is... unethical...� Harry mused mockingly.

Severus shrugged. �It doesn't matter much what I think,� he said dryly. �What matters is what Mr. Longbottom will think of himself five years from now, when he is showing his Silver Cross award to his children.�

And then, before Severus had a chance to get up, he felt a body-binding spell cast on him, securing him to the chair. Quickly and unceremoniously, Harry grabbed the back of the chair, and shoved it, along with Severus, towards the dining table.

�You think you are in any position to pass moral judgments?� Harry demanded. �You have forgotten who you are, I think. I believe it is time to remind you.�

Harry walked away, and Severus remained seated and waiting. When Harry returned, it was with an unusually long piece of parchment in his hands, and a quill, that looked vaguely familiar. Severus looked at the quill, noted the absence of ink, and his lip curled into a sneer of its own accord.

�Blood Quill, Mr. Potter?� Severus asked, raising an eyebrow. �I have just one question: what took you so long?�

Harry's hand reached Severus' chin and lifted it. �Strange. I almost began to feel sorry for you. Until today.�

�Well, I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have come to your senses,� Severus said scornfully.

Quickly and unexpectedly, Harry delivered a sharp, stinging slap to his face.

�Let me remind you what you are,� Harry said softly. �You are a traitor. A murderer. And a coward. You are a coward, because you've spent your entire life dancing on the fence between the Light and the Dark, convincing both sides that you were with them, so that you'd have your arse well-covered, no matter who won. You are a murderer, because you've cast the Killing Curse on the man who loved you. And you are a traitor, because while Dumbledore had trusted you enough to grant you access to school grounds, the first thing you did, was convey an overheard prophecy to the Dark Lord � without any hesitation or doubt in your mind.�

Harry folded his arms, staring at Severus without blinking. �I know when it happened, too,� Harry said softly. �I know when you betrayed us. Halloween seems to be your lucky day, Severus. And that's exactly what I want you to write. The date of your betrayal. All Hallows Eve, Nineteen Seventy Nine. Write it out in script.�

Severus glanced up at him, with surprise, and he realized that his resolve to protest and fight was no longer there. Once again, he had to bow his head to Harry Potter's dark sense of justice � the assignment was not unfair, and not even particularly cruel, in the light of what had transpired on the date of October 31 st, 1979, and the consequences of that action. And once again, Severus realized that his pride and arrogance gave way to the utter and complete self-loathing that was his legacy for the last two and a half decades.

Harry was watching his face intently. Noticing the change in his expression, Harry cast a spell on Severus to free up his right arm.

�Write,� Harry said. �You will be at it all night, of course, but it will be well worth it. A thousand lines should do the trick, if recall correctly. Maybe it will finally help you remember what you are, what you have done, and what little right you have to judge others.�

�Maybe,� Severus said impassively.

He brought the quill to the parchment and wrote out the line:

All Hallows Eve, Nineteen Seventy Nine.

As he wrote, the skin on his right hand hand parted with a blindingly sharp cutting sensation. He watched in benumbed fascination, seeing the cut open, and then close up and heal itself, leaving only a faint, barely visible line of text. He clenched his fist automatically around the quill, without uttering a single sound. Standing next to him, Harry laughed quietly.

Severus did not dignify him with a single look. As he continued to write, the injury on his hand was re-cut and re-healed, over and over again, each time, the scar becoming just slightly more prominent; but from that moment on, he did not clench his fist, or bite his lip, or even as much a move a muscle on his face to express any ache.

For about an hour Harry watched, never taking his eyes off the victim, smiling slightly.

�Good night, Severus,� Harry said finally, standing up. �Keep at it. Don't take too many breaks. I want to see a thousand lines, and a permanent impression on your hand, come morning.�

Harry went to bed, leaving Severus immobilized at the chair, with only his right hand free for writing.

Darkness descended, and he was alone, restrained, let with nothing but the blood quill, the parchment, the dancing of the flames of the fireplace, and his memories.

Hours passed, but still, he wrote.

He wrote; without stopping, without taking breaks, almost entranced by the activity. Eventually, he was not sure who was punishing him anymore � whether it was Harry Potter, or just he, finally punishing himself, in a way that finally amounted to something more than cold self-disdain. He felt the blood trickle down from his hand, and stain the parchment, and the surface of the table, but the sensation did not unnerve him even slightly. Old memories rose up, and consumed him, blocking out the pain, the humiliation, and the utter helplessness of his current situation.

He remembered that evening all to well. He remembered the pull of the Dark Mark, and the nudges, the urges pouring into his mind through it, with him being only half-aware of them, at best. He remembered hearing the words of the prophecy, and knowing he had to convey that information... it seemed harmless enough, at the time, and yet dramatic enough to merit mentioning it to the Dark Lord. The thought of keeping his mouth shut about it did not even enter his mind at the time. A single piece of information, conveyed thoughtlessly, and a lifetime of regrets, for all involved.

Maybe he did die from Nagini's bite, after all, he thought idly. Maybe this was hell � and Harry Potter was just a figment of his imagination, forcing him to pay for his crimes, over and over again; and laughing at him while he did.

When early morning came, Harry came downstairs, and inspected his bloodied hand.

�Well done,� Harry said with feigned seriousness. He cast several cleansing spells, making the blood vanish from the table surface, and even from the Severus' hand. Only the freshly healed scar remained, bearing witness to the treason that took place nearly quarter of a century ago.

When Harry released the restraining spell, Severus moved � and was rewarded by an explosion of pain in his neck, back, and shoulders. He winced only slightly. He stood up and stretched himself, his back and arms protesting with every move. He was tired, both mentally and physically, so tired that he could probably sleep for days, and it still wouldn't be enough.

Harry glared at him coldly. �Clean yourself up and get ready to go. Today, you'll be working for you second least favorite student, and I imagine, once he grows half a spine, he'll do more than smack your hand with a ruler to punish you for years of emotional abuse you had inflicted upon him.�

... To Be Continued ...

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Ashes of Armageddon