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365 Days (1 year)	By : wherdatcomfrom Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 17501 -:- 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
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AN: Decided on a two-fer. Posted the first two, simultaneously. Happy Day to all my readers. Hope this gets your interest and your reviewing juices start to flow. How and where do you think this one will go?
Chapter Two: Days Go By
The battle had been over for several hours and the surviving prisoners were forced into holding cells in the Ministry's lower halls. In one cell, every living Weasley male was placed, together with two Slytherins that had failed to take the dark mark or otherwise join Voldemort's forces.
Ron and Charlie had been injured and Bill was doing his best to help them while Arthur and George tried to calm down a panicked Percy.
“What are they going to do with us? Are they just going to let us die? Ron's still bleeding, can't they see that?”
“Percy, son. Bill has the bleeding under control. Look, Charlie is waking up, now. Come and sit.” Arthur pulled on his son's arm as George pushed from behind.
“But, they just shoved us in. They don't care about us.”
“And that's a good thing, Red. If they forget us, then they won't be torturing us. I prefer it if they just leave us to rot.” Blaise Zabini said from the corner where he sat with Gregory Goyle.
“Bill?” Charlie moaned as he crawled to his knees. “What's wrong with Ron?”
“Two shots to the ribs and one to the hip. He'll live, but without potions, he may never walk again. How's your head?”
“Feels like a wall fell on me.” Charlie moaned and Bill nodded.
“Part of one did.”
“Where's Mom and Ginny? Where's Fred? He was right next to George, just behind me.”
“The rest of that wall fell on him. We never saw him again. They separated the men from the women. Don't know where they took em.” Bill shifted over so there was room near Ron's body. “Can you help me? I'm gonna try to realign his leg. Maybe it'll set right.”
Charlie crawled over and held his brother's hips while Bill pulled on Ron's left leg. After a few grunts and groans from the eldest, Ron cried out and a snapping sound spoke of a bone movement.
Goyle curled up as he and his fellow Slytherin huddled together out of the main activity, but not forgotten by the red haired family. “I know you, don't I?” Arthur said as he squatted in front of the two. “You're Grant's son.”
Greg nodded and Blaise sneered, “He's not his father.”
“No, I should say not. Grant isn't here, is he?”
Greg pulled up the tatters of his sleeve to show a dirty expanse of white skin, without a trace of the Mark. “I never took it. Dad wanted me to, but I saw how Vince started acting. I didn't want to be like that. I couldn't.”
“It's okay, boy. We understand.” Arthur turned back to see how his youngest was doing and Greg put his head into Blaise's shoulder and sobbed.
“Hey, we're still alive. We'll be fine. We're Slytherins. We'll come out on top, somehow.”
Neville had just drifted off to sleep next to Seamus and Dean, the moans of other prisoners had kept them awake until they were just too exhausted to keep their eyes open, when a clanging sound marked the opening of some of the doors. He stirred, hoping not to wake his fellow Gryffs, but Seamus came up with a start and scurried to his feet and up to the bars. “They're coming.” It was a simple statement, but it carried so many unanswered questions that others whimpered and stirred at the sound of it.
“Relax, Seamus. If they come, they come. Don't make it worse by fretting over it. Now, come and sit down. They may not take us, again.”
“But, they took those Ravenclaws and they only brought that one back,” Seamus said pointing at an older boy in the corner.
“My name is Roger.” the boy commented. “They kept Ernie and Anthony, because a couple of death eaters wanted something to play with. I guess I'm no fun, or maybe it's because I'm a pure-blood. They said something about halfs, and that's what those two were.”
“And so am I.” Seamus rasped.
“So what, Seamus. I'm muggleborn. Just think what they'll do to me.” Dean snorted and rolled over so that he wouldn't be seen by the passing guards.
“You. The little guy. And that one, Gryffindor. Come on.” the guard shouted and Neville crawled to his feet, pulling Seamus behind him. He kept a tight hold on his friend, even when the guards connected them to a line of chains that tethered them to three others, from different cells. “Hey, Weasley. I've got orders to take those Slytherins with me. Get your family away from the doors. Come on, boys.”
Neville perked up at the sound of his friend's name and managed to catch a glimpse of Ron and George through the bars. He would have waved, but his hands were connected to the chain. He nodded though, and George nodded back. Ron looked bad, his eyes were opened, but he looked like he was not able to focus them. He was laying on the floor, too, and stayed there even when his brothers all got up and moved back so that Goyle and the Italian Slyth could come out and be joined to their little parade.
By the time that they started up from the lower levels, their group had grown to twenty captives and some were slower than the rest. The guard was tetchy by then and snapped at the group every time he had to stop and let them catch up.
“Any idea where they're taking us?” Goyle asked and Neville turned and looked at him. He was more shocked by the tiny sound of the big boy's voice, than by the fact that he had asked a Gryffindor for information. It occurred to him that he had rarely heard Malfoy's goons talk, even in class.
“Roger, one of the Ravenclaws in our cell, said that they took them up to the Auror level. There are interview rooms there that are big enough to keep us all in while they question us, or whatever they're gonna do.”
“Oh.”
“I think you gave him more information than he needed. You could have just said upstairs.” the darker boy from Goyle's house said.
“Sorry. He asked.”
“He's still in shock. He thought his father would keep him out of trouble, even though he didn't take the mark. He thought wrong, of course.”
“He may still come through. They haven't really hurt any of us, yet. Maybe there's still hope that this will go easy on us.” Neville hardly believed his own words, but thought he owed the bigger boy for upsetting him earlier. “I'm Neville, Neville . . .”

“Longbottom. We know. I'm Blaise, and I suppose you know Greg?”
“Knew he was Goyle, but I'm glad to meet you, Greg. You too, Blaise. Sorry, I can't shake your hands, but I would if I wasn't chained up.”
“Consider your hand shaken. Right, Greg?” Blaise asked.
“Yep, shaken. Malfoy would brain us, you know that, Zabini? Making friends with a Gryffindor, especially Longbottom.”
“Haven't seen Malfoy since the middle of the battle. He disappeared right after Potter got killed. Doubt we'll ever see him, again. His dad was in the soup, so he won't be climbing out of this one alive.”
“He might. He's surprising. He lived through Him staying in his house for months, and he got us out of the Fiendfyre, course that was cause Potter and his friends saved us. Never thought I'd see Granger on a broom. Thought she hated flying.”
“What are you babbling about, Greg? YOU hate flying.”
“Yep, and I'm never gonna do it again. If I get outta here, that is.”
Severus Snape was a practical man. His time in Slytherin had taught him to use every downfall to his best advantage. He wanted to run, fast and far, from the Dark Lord, but his training, and a certain dark potion, kept him on his knees, groveling before his master, hoping that in time Voldemort would be pleased enough or grow tired of him, and he would be set free.
The Elder Wand flicked and swirled, initiating the drifting black hairs that covered the floor around the potions professor. It was not Sectumsempra, so Severus was not afraid, but the cuts still came close to his face and chest, so he froze in self-protection. The temptation to flinch, after the curses and beatings of the last few hours, was great, but he was more concerned that a break in the skin might cause an infection that was harder to heal than the simple bruising that he now bore. He doubted he would be treated for any injuries he received. When the task was completed, Voldemort looked him over, nodded to himself and aimed the wand at him again. The slashing had begun by cutting away the black robes that Severus had worn, leaving only his skin behind, but now his hair, from all over his body, had joined his clothing in tatters on the floor. He knelt there, naked and bare, all but bald from the shaving of the curse, and the air in the room was cold, so he shivered. “I plan to make an example of you, Severus. You will be . . .”
Before the Dark Lord could pass sentence on him, another death eater, one who was still in Voldemort's good graces, entered the room and bowed to the new ruler. “Yes, McNair?”
“We have the prisoners that you asked for, My Lord.”
“Good. Bring them in. Back in your cage, Snape. You will watch this from there and do nothing to interfere. Go!” Severus crawled back to the enclosure he was coming to think of as home. The box was three feet tall and only half as wide. The bars were widely set, and crossed both horizontally and vertically, and the floor of it was coarse cement. The only way to sit in the thing, was to lean against the back with his knees pulled up to his chest. With the new lack of clothing, the abrasive floor was chafing his buttocks and feet.
Once he was inside, and the door was locked, Voldemort waved to McNair and the man opened the door and led the chain of prisoners inside. “Separate the purebloods from the halfs. I need to know how many family lines have been tainted or could be lost.”
Neville was yanked off the line, as were Goyle, Blaise and two others. They were rounded up to the side, where he noticed a man squeezed into a cage, with so many bruises he could not recognize his old potions professor.
The remaining prisoners were forced onto their knees while their names and a drop of their blood were listed on a sheet of parchment. Afterwards, all but two were taken out of the room on their tethers, and the door closed behind them with a resounding click. Seamus and a boy in hufflepuff colors were standing away from the purebloods when the Dark Lords spoke to them.
Seamus stood where McNair had left him while the Hufflepuff twitched beside him. When Voldemort waved him forward, he took two slow steps before he was shoved and fell to his knees.
“What is your name, boy?”
“Seamus Finnigan, . . . .Sir.”
“Address me as 'My Lord', boy. Now, that name is muggle. What was your mother's name?”
“Lannie O'Connell, S . . My L-lord.”
“O'Connell is an old wizarding name. I've made an extensive study of them, you know.” Voldemort lifted the Elder wand and aimed it at the young Gryffindor. “Heritage Deluviatis.”
Seamus jumped when the spell hit him, but other than that he felt fine.
“You will rebuild your mother's line. From now on, you are an O'Connell. What is your name?”
“ Seamus Patrick . . . .O-O'Connell.”
“Very good. Take off those clothes. We have no house affiliations in my reign. You are no longer a Gryffindor, you are a slave. Strip off and move to your new home.” The Dark Lord waved his wand and another cage appeared near Snape's. Seamus took a step away from it, but before he could go far, he was held in a spell that kept him from moving any further. “I thought we could do this the easy way, but you are not going to allow that, are you? Imperius.”
The act of stripping and crawling across the floor and into the cage was as painful as it could be when the inside of the mind was at war with the actions of the body. Seamus wanted to rebel, but his body acquiesced without any further arguments. When within his new confinement, his mind was freed and he grabbed the bars, finding them freezing to his skin, so he released them and curled up in the middle of the cage.
Voldemort had gone on to the other boy, but his family was of little account to the Dark Lord, so he was released to the custody of the executioner. The only condition McNair had on his activities, was that the boy was not to be killed, without prior approval Voldemort himself. When McNair had trussed the boy up and delivered him to his house elf, the Dark Lord turned to the pure blood young wizards.
“You are the hope of our new order. You will be reconditioned and assimilate by the time your first children are born. I have plans for the next generation, and you will be the conduit that I use. For now, you will be assigned rooms, you will begin your training and I will oversee all of you. You may go. All of you, except that boy.” A long bony finger pointed to the side of the group and they all turned to look at the dark skinned Italian boy.
“McNair, take the rest to their new rooms. I'll deal with this one, myself.”
When the group had been removed from the room, Voldemort walked up to the lone remaining pureblood and put his hand on the boy's chin. In a swirl of black smoke, they were gone and all that remained in the room were the two cages that held the two naked wizards, one young and frightened, one older and so tired that he could no longer expend the energy to turn and look at the other slave.
“You've gotten yourself into a very tight place, Mr. O'Connell.” Snape said and Seamus turned to look his way. “But, since I am in that same location, I have no advice for you.”
“Professor Snape?” Seamus choked out.
Harry was now in the middle of a forest, or it had been one, before the fire. The smell of smoke clung to the air and the soot stuck to his feet. He was still alone and there was no sign of another human to be found. The loneliness was worse than the filth and the effort it took to lift one foot after the other. He despaired in scenery like this, thinking about the fate of his friends while he was lost in this god-forsaken place. It was their faces, and that of the others he knew, that kept him moving.
At the edge of the forest, a dry stretch of grassland was exposed, and the only thought that linked them in his mind was, “How did the fire not spread here?” as he stepped out of the lines of blackened trunks and into the stalks of straw and bare patches of cracked earth and headed across.
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365 Days (1 year)