A/N: I have to say I've been dreadful at keeping up with this story; not even updating a single chapter since this summer! To tell you the truth I got bored with it and went off to actually DO stuff with my time, since a good chunk of my summer was taken up by writing this. However, I've always promised myself that I WONT be one of those authors that start something and never finish it, so I WILL finish it, I promise you. Anyway, I'm thinking that since it's been so long since I've written on this story, I need to re-read it after I complete this chapter. That, coupled with my writers block (I KNOW where I want to go with it, but I'm unmotivated to do so) and the sheer…amount of chapters, has brought me to the decision to split this story into two parts. I believe it would be easier for me to do so, and thus I intend to do just that. This will be the last chapter of Invictus, Part One, and I believe you will see the first chapter of Part two within a month of this last chapters debut. Please keep reviewing and let me know what you think; it will help me keep updating. Thanks!

Chapter 24: Devastation of the Soul

War raged. It was not apparent to the members kept safe inside Hogwarts castle, for they did not see all there was to see from their small haven. But rage it did, as muggles died or went insane by the thousands, witches and wizards were killed, turned, or in hiding. The catastrophes were only beginning to spread worldwide, but it was rumored that The Dark Lord had followers everywhere; no one was safe and everyone was terrified.

The war was a secret one. Muggles were terrified, scrambling to assess damage and to put blame to something—someone—but they weren't yet aware of the large wizarding presence in their lives. The darkness, fear, and oppressive maliciousness had not yet spilled so far over into the muggling world that the presence of wizards was revealed.

But nonetheless, terror reigned. And nowhere stronger or more frightening was the presence of war than the place it had begun; wizarding Britain. Shops closed, houses were abandoned, and the wizarding community was largely dispersed.

Those inside Hogwarts remained informed by venturing out for a look or letters flown in to Luna and her paper; but none could see the greater magnitude of this war.

Harry sat on Severus' couch, his book laid to the side so that he could stretch a moment. Severus was in his lab, brewing, and Harry contemplated joining him, if only for the company.

He was about to propel himself from his seat when Snape walked in and sat in the armchair, pinching the bridge of his nose and summoning the scotch from the bar.

"Not going well?" Harry asked sympathetically.

"It's fine." Snapes reply was terse, and Harry wondered at the distance that had grown between them the night of the latest battle.

Silence ranged between them, and Harry was at a loss for words. What did one say, under the circumstances?

"You should probably spend the night in your own room tonight, Potter." Harry nodded. They'd gone through this every night since the battle, and currently he was too weary to fight it.

"Fine." A pause, as Harry considered what to say next. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Potter. Are your delusions about being with me beginning to wear thin?" The older man snapped, glaring at him.

"Are you projecting your anger and frustration onto me?" Harry asked instead of answering.

"You've really got to stop reading Freud. That man was unsound in more ways than one." Somehow, Harrys' quip had released the tension, and Snape actually sounded…wry.

"I'm not reading Freud. Hermione is reading Freud." Harry supplied innocently.

"And I take it you've spent hours being her guinea-pig for muggle psycho-analysis, mh?" Harry rolled his eyes.

"You've got that right! I love her, but sometimes…she is frightening when she wants to try new things." Snape hummed in agreement, and they sat in what might have been their first companionable silence in days.

"Look…" Harry broke the silence awkwardly, feeling worse as Severus actually met his eyes and held them. "Whatever is wrong, whatever is bothering you…I'm here. I know it's a bit ridiculous, because there are a lot of things wrong, and many things that are bothering all of us, but I mean it just the same. I know we're both tired of talking about the war, and planning, and feeling hopeless. But…I…I care for you, very much. And I hate it when you're upset, even though we're all upset right now. Please don't forget that I'm here, for whatever you might need or want." I almost said I loved him. I stumbled; I was going to say it, but I backed down. I'm too scared; scared he'll reject me, scared it's not true. Scared that I don't know enough about love to begin proclaiming about it. But I almost said it, anyway. What does that mean? Harry thought as he watched his professor contemplate his words. The other man was looking down and away, staring at something unseen.

"And what happens, Potter, when this war ends? If we come out alive, do you really believe that either of us will still want the other?" Harry was quiet in turn.

"I don't know. But I'm willing to see, to try." He finally answered; feeling like the statement was woefully inadequate to describe the fierce emotions that were tumbling through him at the mention of 'later'. Fierce protectiveness—of course they'd live through it, Severus had to live through it, even if Harry didn't—raged through him, indignation at the sheer thought of the mans death. Fear at the thought. And hope, wild hope, that 'later' would prove to be as glorious and wonderful as any relationship could possibly be.

"That's not enough, Potter." Snape said harshly, even cruelly.

"What? What do you mean?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"I think you should leave now. Please don't return without my permission." Confused and hurt, Harry left, not bothering to protest.

Harry lay awake in bed, running through the conversation in his mind over and over. Finally, he went to find Hermione, who was thankfully still awake and reading.

After explaining it to her, she tut-tutted and shook her head.

"Honestly Harry, you're such a boy sometimes."

"Whaf? Whaf I do?" Harrys mouth was full of Hermione's secret chocolate stash, and she eyed him speculatively.
"Well, perhaps you're more like a very stupid girl." Harry's face quirked into an even larger state of confusion.

"Whaf do you meaph?" Hermione held him by the cheeks with one hand and commanded him to swallow the chocolate before responding.

"Girls eat chocolate when they're upset about their romantic life. Actually, they scarf it. Boys, on the other hand, hit things or do something aggressive and masculine." She explained patiently.

"I like chocolate! It's good all the time, not just…NOW!" Harry protested, not enjoying the comparison. "AND I was flying earlier, before I came to see you. I even hit some trees with a few exploding spells." He sounded proud, as though this masculine feat settled the matter. "Anyhow," he said as she smirked and opened her mouth to reply, "What did I miss? What did Snape say, that a girl would get, but I wouldn't?" Hermione sighed.

"Answer yes or no to these following questions, Harry. Did you basically ask Professor Snape to become more emotionally and mentally intimate with you, by making it clear that you were there for him?" Harry nodded slowly. "And when he asked you, in his Snape-ish way, how you felt about him, and where this relationship is going, did you say that you really didn't know, but were willing to figure it out?" Harry nodded again, this time with a look of imminent comprehension. "And are you REALLY all that surprised that, when you asked a very private and personal man for intimacy—offering him nothing in return—he turned you down?" Harry was now slowly hitting himself in the head against the stone wall as Hermione finished her Socratic questioning. Hermione patted him on the back.
"I think, Harry, that you need to figure out how you feel, and tell him as much, before you start asking him to give you more of himself. Professor Snape is very private, and likely very cynical about your relationship. He most likely expects that, after the war, you will look at him and see an old man. You will leave him for someone handsome, someone your own age. And if he gives you the intimacy you ask for now, he will be more hurt, later, when—and he is sure that it's a when, Harry, not an if—you tire of him later on. Do you understand?" Harry nodded solemnly.

"Thanks Hermione. I think I need to go for a walk or something, to think this through." Hermione nodded knowingly and watched him leave the room with a worried cast to her features.

"Please, give that boy some piece of grace." She asked the quiet, still room.

Harry was sitting in a large window at the end of a corridor, as high up in the castle as the original wards extended. The night outside was speckled with stars and the reflections on the lake, a dark forest surrounding the grounds.

Harry Potter didn't know what love was. His only experience in love was that of friendship, and the sacrifices of his parents on his behalf. He had nothing to compare his feelings for Severus to, and no amount of wondering could make him certain. He realized that he had held off so long about being certain, because he knew what it would do to Severus if Harry had thought he loved the older man, but had later found out he was mistaken.

And yet…he wanted. He wanted more from Severus, more from their relationship. He wanted to give more of himself. He wanted…so many, many things.

He had been sitting there for hours. What was this thing, this love? He wanted to be with the man. He was sexually attracted to him; their sexual encounters went far beyond anything he had ever experienced, anything he could imagine. He lived for the times they were together, even if all they did was sit in silence as they read. He asked himself the last question; the question that seemed to him to be the most telling—could he imagine his life without Severus?

The answer was yes, he could. But he could not imagine ever being so happy as he was, now. Even with war, death, and destruction swirling around him, he was happier than he had ever been, or could ever imagine being—because of that dark, complicated man.

Life without him would be…blank. Devoid of…of something bright, something pure.

If Harry Potter was not in love, he was dangerously close to a condition that had haunted the human race for centuries; an emotion that had caused and ended more wars, battles, disputes, deaths, and lives than he could ever imagine.

Harry raced down the halls towards the dungeon. Even though he had not come up with a completely satisfactory answer to Snapes unspoken question—a question the man pessimistically believed he already knew the answer to—Harry felt that he had to share what he was thinking, anyway.

Upon reaching the outer door to Severus' chambers, Harry felt a horrible wrench, as though time, even space, had shifted. Then, darkness for an instant, like a cloud passing over the moon. Terrified, he drew his wand and crashed through the door, blindly thinking only of the other mans safety. The room was a shambles, a large hole in the ceiling of the unprotected side of the room gaped in accusation at Harry, for allowing Snapes' pride to outweigh his safety. Harry looked frantically about, calling for his professor. Seeing something dark on the wall closest to the hole, he approached cautiously, dreading to read what looked to be a poem, inscribed in blood.

Death is coming for his love

And the boy will challenge the stars above

Get him back by killing shadows

He has little time to seek the shallows

Prophecy marked him, twice for certain

The third warning in this blood is written

Lose the world to save another

Lose one life to life recover

Known in ancient skies above

The boy will choose his selfish love

And the world shudders as it weeps

What the darkness takes, the darkness keeps

All Harry could see through the tears that had begun streaming down his face was the one line 'Death is coming for his love…' Severus, dead. They would surely kill him, if he wasn't dead yet.

And in that instant, Harry knew the devastating truth that he had only moments before been seeking.

Love.

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY YOU MUST READ THIS: The first chapter of Invictus, Part Two, is up and here. Now the story has been separated into two, so this will be the LAST chapter written under this title. For the rest of the tale, please refer to Invictus, Part Two. AND DONT FORGET TO REVIEW, I LOVE REVIEWS, I LOVE THEM LONG TIME BABY.