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Onward into the Breach	By : QueenB Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 8398 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in anyway, shape or form. The rights of such belong solely to J.K Rowling. I do not make any money or accrue any monetary benefit on this story.

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“You say you don’t know who is responsible?” Severus intoned.
“No. I was just told by Yaxley that someone unknown infiltrated the Ministry of Magic!” Amycus chattered excitedly.
Severus leaned over the desk and fixed his eye on Amycus. He resisted the urge to offer the man tea. That would have been Albus’s strategy. “Could it have been Potter and his little entourage?” he asked, managing a credible sneer.
“Who else? Yaxley had it from Mafalda Hopkirk that someone stunned her then pretended to be her in order to poison some poor soul and trick him into going home. It’s been a right mess, I can tell you, Severus. What I don’t get is why Potter would do something so crazy. From what I hear from Yaxley, he accomplished nothing from raiding the Ministry ‘cept to save a bunch of wretched Mudbloods,” Amycus said with a frown. “Fancies himself some kind of bleeding hero, I s’pose.”
Severus shrugged his shoulders in elegant disdain. “He’s a Gryffindor. I imagine rescuing such unfortunates would fall under his idea of chivalrous behavior, foolish and crazed though it was.”
“Stupid Gryffindors. I’m just hoping when the Dark Lord gets Potter out of the way once and for all, he gets rid of that moronic house. Never met a single one of them with brains. Bad as Hufflepuffs, they are,” Amycus snorted.
“Still, I wonder what Potter thinks he’s doing,” Severus mused. “He’s in hiding. Why risk it to infiltrate the Ministry to rescue a lot of strangers? Surely, defeating the Dark Lord would be a higher priority. Then none in the Wizarding world need fear our Lord.”
Amycus shrugged. “Beats me, Severus. Gryffindors have more nerve than sense. Can I go now? I’ve got the DADA class in fifteen minutes and I want to get there early. If any of the little louts are late, I’m giving them detention.” He was positively salivating at the thought.
Severus was loath to let him go just yet. Amycus had been unsparing in his rant against the infiltrators of the Ministry but maddeningly vague on the details. “Thank you for this information, Amycus. It strikes me as odd that none of this has appeared in the Daily Prophet. This sounds like the sort of thing that would sell newspapers.”
“The Dark Lord has the Prophet in his back pocket, Severus,” Amycus chuckled. “Nothing gets printed there without his say-so. Guess he don’t want anybody knowing the Potter boy managed to sneak in and out under his nose so it’s being hushed up. If Dolores Umbridge had her way, though, she’d have the whole thing splattered across the front pages.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Dolores Umbridge? What does she have to do with this?”
“Didn’t I mention? Guess it slipped my mind. In all the fuss, her family locket got lost. She claims she was wearing it around her neck and someone pinched it. Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Potter would do but she says the attack on the Ministry is when it went missing. She wanted to take out a spread in the Prophet offering a reward for it. But, like I said, no one will print it. Guess she’s out of luck.”
“She probably misplaced it.” Severus waved Amycus out. When he was certain the man was gone, he decided to leave the Headmaster’s office and take a stroll. He needed to do some thinking. Severus didn’t bother to inform Albus about this conversation. He was certain the listening portraits (those that weren’t napping in their frames) would inform the departed Gryffindor Headmaster of the gist of it.
Amycus’s information was sketchy but it was heartening if true. Voldemort was still in hiding. He had not come forth to rail against the attack on the Ministry, meaning his attentions truly were elsewhere. Harry and his friends had escaped safe and sound and were still on the loose.
There was even better news: One of the missing Horcruxes had been found. What other reason could Harry have for taking Umbridge’s locket?
Dumbledore had stated Voldemort had split his soul six times. That meant seven Horcruxes, a magical number that would have suited the Dark Lord’s fancy. Two had been destroyed: the diary and the ring. That left five, the final one being in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. Harry had a Horcrux in his possession. But did he know how to destroy it? It was no easy matter, dealing with dark objects. Severus desperately hoped Harry was being careful.
But where was Harry now? That Amycus was not able to tell him and this was what Severus wanted to know above everything else.
He alternated between worrying about Harry and fretting over his own bizarre situation. The more he learned about this new world, the less sense it made.
People were not fighting against Voldemort. There were rumors bruited about by a band of rogue dissenters on the wireless. But there was no active resistance.
A little digging revealed the appalling truth. Old newspapers he managed to unearth from the school archives were filled with disturbing references to Harry being hailed as some sort of savior.
Were these people mad? Harry was no messiah, come to rescue the world from its sins! He was only one person, barely even an adult, and they expected him to do their dirty work and rout the most pernicious Dark wizard ever to tread this earth since Grindelwald was sent to Nurmengard!
“The Boy who Lived? What nonsensical title is that?” he snorted, as he scanned the yellowed back issues of the Daily Prophet. “Why not call him the Boy Who Breathes or the Boy Who Walks? Imbeciles!”
More recent articles were far less flattering. The truth about Dumbledore’s death seemed known to no one save himself. To his horror, the papers implicated Harry in the former Headmaster’s murder, fueling the belief that his hand-fasted fiancé was a cold-blooded killer, one who should be arrested or killed on sight.
Lies, no doubt perpetrated by Voldemort and his malicious followers. If the Dark Lord didn’t manage to kill Harry himself, one of his minions or a member of the cravenly public would be certain to do the job for him.
So Harry was touted as either a fiend or a divine rescuer. What an awful burden to lay on such frail shoulders.
He paced faster down the hall, sourness twisting his guts. Part of his distress he laid firmly at Albus’s door. The old man would say nothing more than that Harry was doing his part and that his two fellow Gryffindor friends were enough to help him.
That was another blow, hearing that his dear Harry was a…Gryffindor. He had no particular dislike of that house, unlike most of the other Death Eaters. But its members hardly compared to the brilliance and subtlety his Harry was capable of. As a Gryffindor, he stood far less chance of surviving any encounter with Voldemort. His father had been a Gryffindor and look what had happened to him. Dead – in both realities.
What had happened to warp matters this way? Even Dumbledore seemed to have no answers. He merely stated that the last time he spoke to the Severus he knew, the man had been going to the Astronomy Tower to pounce upon amorous students, no doubt docking house points. After that, he had no clue as to what could have brought a happy, hand-fasted Severus into Hogwarts. His knowledge was limited. As he pointed out, he was only a portrait.
Severus snorted. As if an image of Dumbledore could ever be just a portrait.
In between patrolling the halls, dealing in petty squabbles and disputes between the houses as the tension brought on by the dementors, snooping Death Eaters and squalling children mounted, he was having a difficult time resolving his own predicament.
He hated this world. He wanted to go home. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up next to his precious Harry and find this place nothing more than a hideous nightmare. He’d been scouring the Hogwarts library, including the Restricted section, looking for clues as to how this shunting into this hell dimension could have occurred and how he might find a way back. But, with no idea where to start and on his own, he had turned up nothing useful.
He considered going into Hogsmeade again to see what Flourish and Botts had on their shelves. Then he dismissed the idea. He had been to the store twice since his abrupt arrival here and found nothing satisfying. The shopkeeper had been notably reluctant to help him too. No doubt his Death Eater status had preceded him and the man both feared and hated having him on the premises.
There was always Knockturn Alley. But the places there were far from secure. He didn’t need wagging tongues airing the fact that Hogwarts’s newest Headmaster was seen skulking in places he had no business being.
There might be records in the Department of Mysteries. But the Ministry of Magic was in the hands of Voldemort’s minions. He knew all too well how untrustworthy his fellow Death Eaters were. No one there would…
His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of wand blasts. Flattening himself against the wall, he whipped out his wand, appalled, as red jets flew across the corridor. When he came closer to the offending students, he was shocked to see Draco and his cronies casting spells at Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley and a Ravenclaw girl he only vaguely remembered.
Startled at his sudden appearance, Neville dropped his guard. A well-timed Body-Bind Spell hit him and dropped him to the floor.
“That’ll teach you lot to be more careful!” Draco sneered. “Constant vigilance! Remember that one? Trust a Death Eater to be the only one to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts properly!”
“MR. MALFOY!” Snape roared.
Draco jumped at the bellowing tone. “Headmaster?”
“You know that students are forbidden to use wand magic in the corridors outside of class.”
“But, sir, they were…”
“I didn’t see any of them casting any spells, Mr. Malfoy,” he said coldly. “Ten points from Slytherin.”
Draco stared. Beside him, Pansy Parkinson gaped. The stupid cowlike expression was echoed by the two enormously bulky boys standing with Draco. Spitting images of their fathers, these two walking tree trunks would be none other than Crabbe and Goyle.
“Sir?” Pansy squeaked. “Did you just take points from Slytherin?”
Damn, had he made a mistake? Too late. Their shock was giving way to expressions of outright suspicion.
“Just so,” he answered, striving to recover. “Don’t think because the Dark Lord put me in charge that you’re going to have an easy time of it here. Any of you.” He waved his wand and released Neville.
The young man jumped to his feet and glared at him. “I don’t need your help…sir.” This close, he could see what looked like bruises and cuts marring the boy’s round face. Obviously things were not going well for those in Gryffindor House.
Ginny Weasley shuffled away. Something in her movement struck Snape as strange. “Stop right there, Miss Weasley. What do you have under your robe?”
“Nothing, sir. I’m walking stiff because Parkinson hit me with a Leg-Locking Jinx.”
“She’s lying, sir!” Pansy protested shrilly. “They were sneaking out of your rooms!”
“That is impossible, Miss Parkinson. Only the Headmaster can get into the Headmaster’s quarters.”
“But they did. They were up to something,” Draco snapped. “Use Legilimency on them! They can’t be trusted, sir.”
“Says the Slytherin! You’re nothing more than a Death Eater-wannabe, Malfoy, headed for Azkaban just like your crazy aunt Bellatrix!” Neville snapped back. In spite of the Headmaster’s presence, none of them had lowered their wands.
The chubby Longbottom boy radiated hostility, just as Flitwick had. He was glaring at the Slytherin quartet and they were glaring right back. They were poised on the verge of warfare; only Severus’s timely entrance had stopped them. The easy camaraderie between the houses was completely gone.
Recovering himself, he snapped, “You are all loitering. Mr. Malfoy, you and your fellow Slytherins may go. I suggest you head to your classes quickly before you lose any more points.”
The Slytherins left, though not without casting narrow glances in his direction. This would never do. Word was bound to get back to the Carrows about his unorthodox behavior. From now on, he would need to watch his step.
When Ginny, Neville and the Ravenclaw girl – he remembered her now, a distracted female called Luna – tried to edge away, he held up his hand. “Not you three.”
Ginny halted, her expression holding equal amounts of terror and defiance. Now that he was closer, he could see something poking through the top of her robe. Before she could move away, he dashed forward and grasped the offending object, yanking it from her in one easy movement.
It was the sword of Gryffindor. His eyes darted from it to the miserable students. “How did you get into my quarters?” he demanded.
Nveille’s lips tightened but he didn’t answer. “Very well. I am forced to deduct 30 points from Gryffindor and 30 from Ravenclaw.”
“Like any of that matters,” Ginny muttered, her arms crossed mutinously. Luna said nothing. Her typically dreamy expression hadn’t altered in the slightest, even during the altercation with the Slytherins. They could have been discussing the luncheon menus for all the lack of anxiety she displayed.
“And you will all report for detention in the dungeon at 7 p.m. sharp. I advise you to be on time.”
“We’ll be there, Headmaster,” Luna said, startling the other two. Severus was good at reading the expressions of others. They doubtless had had no intention of attending detention with him and were dismayed at her acceptance. But where were they planning on going to avoid him?
Too many questions and it was obvious none of them would be answered, at least not this moment. He clutched the sword and began making plans for its safe storage elsewhere.
__________
Harry rubbed his chest where the locket had recently lain. He felt like a right idiot and a complete failure to boot.
Weeks before this whole mess had started, Hermione had been making preparations for their escape, enabling them to run at the first opportunity. She’d packed books, remedies for illnesses and sent away her parents so Voldemort wouldn’t find them. What had he done? Managed to bungle a rescue at the Ministry, lost their safe hideaway at Grimmauld Place and failed to get food.
His cheeks burned with shame as he recalled his venture into Hogsmeade to get something to eat. He was a wizard, for Merlin’s sake; it should have been an easy job. Instead, his Patronus had failed to appear and he’d been nearly caught – again.
The inability to summon his Patronus had frightened him badly, more so than he’d let on to Ron and Hermione. He had been able to summon it since he was 13 years old. To have it fail and at such a crucial moment was very troubling.
He glanced at Hermione. She was cooking up some more disgusting roots for them to eat along with the fish she’d caught. Briefly, he wondered why she couldn’t make the food taste better. She’d been brilliant at Potions. Didn’t that translate into being a good cook?
Harry scowled. Thinking of potions made him think of Snape and a dark, ugly hatred welled up in him every time he did. It scared him, a little, the depths of that rage. Letting himself get dragged into a pit of hate was hardly likely to put him in the right frame of mind to topple Voldemort.
Voldemort was supposed to be defeated by love. But more and more Harry was coming to wonder if that wasn’t just a load of bunk. That white-faced bastard was always killing people now. Those visions Harry intercepted from him showed him pointing his wand willy nilly at folks and murdering them on the spot when they didn’t give him the answers he wanted.
Surely he must have killed other people trying to protect their loved ones. Love didn’t save those people. What had made Harry so special?
“Harry, Ron,” Hermione called. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Dinner, she says,” Ron grumbled. “Oh, wow, nummy roots, twigs and leaves. That’d be lovely…if we were rabbits.”
“It’s not just that this time and you know it, Ronald Weasley,” Hermione snapped. “I actually managed to snag a fish so you could at least be grateful for that.”
Ron’s mouth twisted, giving him a truly nasty look. Hermione turned away but not before Harry saw her lip quiver. He wanted to shake the other boy. Ron constantly complained about the quality of the food. He should have gone hungry for days like Harry did when he was being kept by the Dursleys. Then he’d appreciate food, no matter where it came from.
“My mum could make food out of practically nothing,” Ron groused, taking a tiny bite out of the fish.
“You can’t make food out of nothing,” Hermione protested. “You can freshen food that’s going bad, increase the amount of food or create an edible dish out of the proper components. But it can’t appear out of nowhere. It’s against one of Gamp’s Five Laws of Elemental Transfiguration.”
“Like I bloody care!”
“Ron, if you don’t want your fish, I’ll eat it,” Harry threw in.
The redheaded boy answered by hunching over his food. Ron made exaggerated smacking sounds but ate without further comment. Dinner was consumed in tired silence.
They’d be moving again tomorrow and Harry sighed as he ate his meager meal. It seemed that they were spinning in circles over these Horcruxes. They couldn’t think of what the next Horcrux could be or how to destroy the one they had.
Voldemort’s visions weren’t helping either. He was obsessed with getting himself a new wand and somehow Gellert Grindelwald was tied up in the whole business. Harry had been floored to learn that the golden-haired thief in Voldemort’s mind was none other than the infamous Dark wizard now held prisoner in Nurmengard. What could he possibly have taken that You-Know-Who would want so badly?
The visions left nothing but headaches and more questions Harry couldn’t answer. His musings were interrupted when Hermione stopped eating. Her head jerked towards the tent flap. “Hermione? What is…?”
“Shhh, Harry. I hear someone moving around outside,” she whispered frantically.
Harry held his breath. Had their hiding place been discovered? If whoever it was came too close, it might come to a wandfight. He sincerely hoped not. With his wand so badly damaged, they might be outnumbered. He hated the thought of being helpless like this and once more cursed Voldemort for messing up his life.
Hermione rifled through her bag and pulled out three Extendable Ears. Silently thanking the twins, Harry and the others pressed them into their ears and strained themselves to listen to every word.
The conversation was revealing, to say the least. There were humans –Ted Tonks; Dean Thomas, a fellow Gryffindor; Dirk Cresswell – and a pair of goblins, Griphook and Gornuk. The two goblins declared they would take no sides in a wizarding war. They were in hiding because they had resigned their posts at Gringotts. Apparently, the bank was no longer run exclusively by goblins and they had quit in a huff.
Nevertheless, they had gotten a small measure of payback. They had remained silent when Severus Snape had placed a fake sword of Gryffindor in a Gringotts vault for safekeeping. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried looks when they heard how Ginny and two other Gryffindor students had been apprehended while trying to steal the sword.
After they’d gone, Hermione began whispering excitedly to Harry. “Why were Neville, Luna and Ginny trying to steal the sword?” she wondered.
“Maybe they heard Dumbledore had left it to us and wanted me to have it,” Harry ventured.
“That makes no sense, Harry,” Hermione argued, her brows scrunched up. “They didn’t know about the will. I didn’t tell them and I’m sure Scrimgeour wouldn’t have broadcast the news. Did you or Ron?”
“Oh, I’m included in this conversation, am I?”
They looked at Ron. The redhead was curled up on his makeshift bed, his face cold. “Ron? What’s wrong?” Hermione quavered. She’d never seen her boyfriend looking so furious.
“What’s wrong?” he snarled. “Gee, where should I start? I’ve been Splinched so I can barely use my hand. We’ve been running around in circles for weeks with nothing to show for it…”
“That’s not true! We’ve managed to get the locket!” Harry protested.
“And we haven’t a clue how to destroy it! Is it too much to ask that you actually know what you’re doing?” Ron yelled.
“I’m sorry, Ron. But Dumbledore didn’t give me much to go on. You knew things were going to be tough when we started this, so why are you complaining now?” Harry was stung at the accusation, more so because it was actually true.
“Because I’m sick of all this! My sister is stuck in Hogwarts with that murderous greasy git and you don’t seem to give a toss!” Ron yelled back.
“Ron, you know that’s not true! I’m right fond of Ginny.” Ron snorted. “Well, I am. I’m worried about her too!”
“That’s not the way it looks to me. My family’s in danger because of Voldemort, my sister is probably suffering who knows what and you’re dithering around this sodding forest without a blessed clue. You can afford not to care! Everyone you ever loved is dead!”
It was like a red haze had dropped over Harry. It was a shock how much those words hurt and he wanted nothing more than to charge across the tent and punch Ron so hard his parents would feel it.
Hermione whipped out her wand and yelled, “Protego!”
The Shield Spell popped up, forcing apart the two, although they continued to glare at each other. Hermione took a deep breath and spoke into the growing tense silence.
“Ron, you know better than this. Harry cares for all the Weasleys. You and your family have been the closest thing to real family he’s ever known. Who was it who rescued Ginny from a basilisk in his second year at Hogwarts? Who was it who alerted people that your father was being attacked by Nagini? Who was it who saved you with a bezoar stone when Slughorn accidentally poisoned you?”
Ron’s face quivered. Little by little, the rage faded from him, leaving his face faded and gray under his freckles. “Harry…you know I didn’t mean…” He gestured vaguely with his uninjured hand.
Harry swallowed. “No worries, mate,” he said in gruff tones.
Hermione waited until she was sure there’d be no fighting before dropping the spell. “Ron, I think it’s time Harry took the locket. You may have been wearing it…a bit too long,” she finished sheepishly.
Ron hesitated before dragging it over his head. “Uh, yeah.”
Harry let it drop over his neck, suppressing a shudder. The weight of the locket was far heavier than it should be, even for something made out of gold. As it nestled against his chest he felt the string of his moleskin bag and got an idea. “Ron, if you really want to know what’s happened with your sister, we could always consult the Marauder’s Map.”
“Good idea, mate. Shoulda thought of that before,” he muttered.
Harry didn’t know which of them Ron meant but decided to let it go. They’d barely avoided a major row and he wasn’t willing to stir up another hornet’s nest. He pulled the paper out. “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good.”
On some level, magic would always amaze him. As the map revealed itself on the blank paper, it was like he was seeing the spires of Hogwarts again. Would he ever get to walk on its grounds once more? Or would Voldemort finish him off before he got anywhere near it?
“Show me Ginny Weasley.” A small dot bearing Ginny’s name appeared…in Snape’s quarters!
“What’s she doing with that git?” he muttered, his jaw clenching.
“What? Let me see,” Ron demanded. The blood drained out of his face only to rush back with a vengeance. “That murdering bastard!”
“Easy, Ron. He probably just gave her detention,” Hermione reasoned.
Ron argued, “After he caught her stealing the sword? He’d think detention would be too easy for her!”
Harry wasn’t about to voice his suspicions about what Ron’s sister could be doing with Snape. But he’d rip the man apart if he so much as harmed a hair on Ginny’s head.
“Maybe we can ask Phineas Nigellus to let us know what’s happening with Ginny,” Hermione ventured.
“No way! He’s just another Slytherin snake! Why should he tell us anything?”
Harry said, with a slow smile, “Because we’ll torch his portrait if he doesn’t.”

TBC
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Onward into the Breach