- Rating:
- PG
- House:
- Schnoogle
- Characters:
- Harry Potter Hermione Granger Severus Snape
- Genres:
- Drama
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
- Stats:
-
Published: 03/03/2003Updated: 03/09/2003Words: 8,558Chapters: 2Hits: 1,643
The Breaking Web
sethnakht
- Story Summary:
- An irreversible dark charm is placed on Severus Snape. But without his memory, how will he survive? A Snape-Hermione friendship story, with Harry thrown in along the way.
The Breaking Web Prologue
- Posted:
- 03/03/2003
- Hits:
- 884
- Author's Note:
- Reviews are very welcome.
The nightguard at the Department of Mysteries was of the gangly sort, despite his age; bony and knobbly-kneed, with a high-pitched, fluting voice he didn't like to use and short, thinning black hair. The bald spot just above his receding line gleamed softly under the light of a Burns-Perpetually torch, set in an iron sconce on the stone wall. His uniform was faded and rumpled; the silver Ministry badge on his lapel hung haphazardly, as if it had been pinned there with haste. The desk he sat at was unusually low. He had long arms, long enough that when he let them down at his sides the general impression was that they'd been pulled from his shoulder sockets and painfully stretched. When he put his elbows down on the desk and bent them so his hands came back to rest under his chin, he looked like some kind of grotesque insect.
The desk was made of dark, glossy wood, and the parts of it that could be seen reflected the light from the torch. Most of the desk was covered in strange gadgets -- contraptions that whirred and spun and clicked and projected glowing runes onto the wall. Each was different: some were silvery, some were polished hardstone, some were wooden -- there were fragile glass gadgets and bulky steel ones and others that let out beautiful chimes, and then some that were dull and heavy and didn't seem to do anything at all.
Gadgets. Were it not for the gadgets, the guard would never have agreed to sit at the uncomfortable desk. As it was, he had a great weakness for odd devices and thingumbobs.
It took someone with expertise to handle the gadgets on the front desk of the Department of Mysteries. Most were unpatented; some were still volatile and needed monitoring. All of them were top secret -- if one didn't count the occasional commercial Sneakoscope and the Foe Glass for security, that was. There was a wide variety of gadgets. Some were for spying and the war. Others were for communication, private, untappable lines the Minister could use instead of Floo. The guard wasn't exactly sure what all the gadgets were, or how they worked, and he liked that arrangement. Knowing too much would ruin the mystery of it. His sole purpose was to make sure they weren't stolen. And to check on a few of them, of course. The Department ran several gadgets actively, and gave him a list each night of ones to check.
Oh, but they were beautiful in the torchlight.
Tonight's list was short. The Minister wanted his Floo Tapper cleaned -- he claimed that its reception had gone muddy -- and some of the Aurors wanted monitors checked. And then there was Auror Potter's new project: some revolutionary amalgam of a communication and movement gadget that he'd put to use monitoring someone -- he'd have to call Auror Potter up if it beeped. So far it had been quiet. In fact, aside from the soft whirrs that meant the gadgets were working, it had been a rather quiet night. And he'd already cleaned the Minister's Floo Tap (the Minister's highest level gadgets were kept in an even more secret room than this one, with a top level agent).
Nothing to do until his next shift change. Except admire the gadgets, of course.
The room they kept the gadgets in was small, and the long desk made it seem even smaller. The guard was used to it and no longer resented the confining space, or the Burns-Perpetually torch (which smelled and sputtered, despite its brand name). Sometimes, when he was bored, he'd dare himself to touch the more solid looking gadgets. It was amazing what those born with magic could do, really -- creating such fine gizmos out of thin air simply boggled the guard. He leaned in closer a gadget, wrinkling his nose. Auror Potter's new monitor was the latest addition to his desk, but privately it disappointed him. He'd expected something more . . . substantial. . . than a thin, dull green glass plate that didn't do anything.
The guard was hasty to correct himself into marveling at its magnificence.
He turned his gaze from the monitor to a long, willowy rod propped on a slatestone base. This was a Hearing Aide, he believed -- the information it recorded went straight to the heart of the Department, where dozens of secretaries furiously worked to scribble everything down. Apparently the Aide captured every bit of conversation within five miles of the Ministry; the guard wasn't quite sure of the details. Wizards didn't tend to trust Squibs with such sensitive information.
No matter. He moved to another gadget, a --
Why, Auror Potter's monitor had lit up. It was a limeish sort of green now, rather ugly really -- then bright purple words flashed across it --
APPARATION POINT: MALFOY MANOR
The words pulsed on the screen, in time to a loud, irritating beep. The guard pushed out his chair and backed out of the room, to the side annex with a private Floo network. Obviously this was some sort of emergency; he had better contact the Auror, yes that was the thing to do --
He took down a torch from a sconce and grazed it over the wood in the grate, lighting fresh flames, and took a jar labeled FLOO POWDER down from a shelf. A shake of it into the fire and the flames had turned green, meaning the line was open.
"Auror Potter!"
Only the Department Floo Line could contact Harry Potter; his whereabouts were supposedly top secret. A moment later, the famous Auror's tousled head had poked out of the green flames, along with a disembodied hand that was wiping his eyes.
My, thought the guard for a moment, taken aback, he looks like a child.
Potter glared at him with brilliant green eyes; jammed a set of round spectacles onto his nose. "Yes?" he said testily.
"Sir," said the guard, "sir, your monitor's gone off, sir."
Instantly Potter was on his guard. He visibly tensed. "And did it say anything?"
"Er . . ." He knew this, he really did. . . after all, it the words had been flashing in purple . . .
"I'm coming in," said Potter brusquely. "Let the barrier down."
"Yes sir," the guard said hastily, at once glad Potter could solve the problem alone and disturbed his privacy was to be interrupted. He reached for a lever by the grate and pulled it down one notch. The green flames danced higher, inches from scorching the top of the grate, then disappeared entirely as Potter himself appeared in their place.
Potter didn't waste a moment. He sprang out of the grate, covered from head to toe in gray soot, and sprinted out of the annex into the main room, eyes tracking the desk until he'd found what he was looking for. The green monitor was blinking more rapidly than before, and the beeping loud enough the guard winced and put his hands over his ears --
Auror Potter's eyes blazed as he read the purple words. He swept the monitor
into his pocket with a muscle throbbing in his cheek.
"I told him not to go back. . . strict orders and the git still wants to get himself killed . . ."
"Sir?" the guard asked, standing as far away from Auror Potter as he could.
Potter glanced up sharply. "Thank you for warning me," he said, taking quick steps around the desk. "I'll return the monitor later tonight."
He reached the annex door, but did not go in immediately. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at a set of buttons inlaid in the doorjamb, moving his face closer to inspect them as he began pressing in passwords and codes. The guard knew from past experience that he was calling up an entire squad of Aurors, though he didn't know how the buttons worked -- they were unlabeled and a nondescript gray.
Finished, Potter turned from the door and into the Annex, at which point he took out his wand and began mumbling the usual wizarding mumbo-jumbo. Probably taking down the Apparation Barrier, the guard thought. Only top-ranking Aurors were given the key to the Department's Barrier, and from what the guard knew the key changed every day. That redhead Auror Weasley was always complaining --
From inside the annex, the guard heard the cry "Apparate Malfoy Manor!" He didn't bother to look inside; he knew Potter was gone by now. That Apparation business was always rather slick, except when the wizards splinched themselves. He'd been lucky to never see that before.
Whistling an old nursery rhyme, the guard sauntered back to his chair at the uncomfortably low desk and fingered a rubber gadget. Thank goodness for those Aurors. They always gave his life a little edge.
+++++++
It was difficult to think straight. Knowing that Snape had not only disobeyed orders but risked his life yet again made Harry's brain turn to mush. On the one hand, Snape was a git; and yet on the other, on that deep-rooted side that spoke to Harry's Gryffindor sentimentalities, he was unspeakably brave.
Harry still thought him a git. A git to be respected, but a git nonetheless.
Still, he didn't want him dead -- and that was exactly what the git was currently doing, trying to get himself killed. Only Snape had access to the monitor, only he was able to work it. What could have possessed him? What kind of idiotic thing was it to return to the enemy when they knew you were a spy? Sometimes Harry wished he understood Slytherins a little better.
So now Harry stood before the iron gates of Malfoy Manor, trying to come up with a plan to get past them. The night was misty and cool, and when he looked through the rods of the gate and between the tall evergreens fringing the grounds he could see the looming blackstone eaves of the mansion. He stamped his feet on the dried mud. It was damnably cold.
His best hackers were lowering Malfoy's wards and Anti-Apparation barrier. That would bring him inside.
What if you're overreacting? What if Voldemort doesn't move against him today?
He shut out the voice. It didn't matter if Voldemort did nothing; Snape had disobeyed orders and needed to be watched. Besides, instinct told Harry he needed to be here. Something in the way his skull was throbbing -- there was something irregular in the air, that screamed to his senses as something vile and wrong. Something was at work behind the manor's glimmering, candlelit windows, the exquisitely manicured lawn. Evil seeped from behind its stone walls; that much he could feel.
And he intended to check it.
He grimaced and paced. He needed to know what Voldemort was doing. He couldn't just step onto enemy territory without some kind of knowledge of what to expect . . .
Behind him he could hear the others whispering.
How is Snape worth this, someone said. How is one bloody spy worth the trouble?
Harry blanched and attempted to plug his ears. He was rather insecure about being a Leader. Sometimes he thought he'd only got the position for his famous name -- most of the others seemed to think so, except for Ron. His judgment had never been openly questioned before . . .
A plan. Come up with a plan.
But he was only drawing a blank.
What the hell is going on in there?
He pressed his face up to the cool iron of the gates, wrapping his hands around the sturdy rods. It wasn't a comforting gesture; the rods were sharp-edged and nicked his skin.
"Damn," he muttered, backing away.
"Say, Potter, we've broken it."
Harry looked up from his hands to the Auror addressing him -- Terrence Boot, his lead hacker. Boot was looking at him with some distaste. He was, apparently, a squeamish chap.
Harry didn't bother to look down at his hands; he knew they were bleeding. "Good. Let's get a move inside."
As they moved through the gate, Ron Weasley, Harry's tall, redheaded best friend, sidled up next to him.
"Harry, do you have a plan?" he asked in a low voice. "Not to pry or anything, but this isn't exactly a standard mission."
"No mission is ever standard," Harry intoned, shooting Ron a wan smile. "Just trust me, Ron."
Ron nodded uncertainly, but wisely said nothing else. Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve and healed his hands.
My little spy. . .
Suddenly he was no longer on the ground; his scar was sizzling with a murderous heat and he clapped a hand to it in pain
how clever of you to last this long. I admit you have proven somewhat . . . entertaining . . .
only to be washed over by a wave of icy cold
I don't understand, my lord . . . my loyalty has always been to you . . .
fear
has it? perhaps it once was . . .
and deep, deep, pain.
Through flashes of white and red, he caught glimpses of the world -- of an enormous room with creamy marble floors and walls -- of a dark, broken figure sprawled on the floor, vainly attempting to back away from a silent half circle of hooded figures with his arm clutched to his chest -- and there was a domed glass roof and gilded gold doorjambs and a chandelier and a horrible, cold laughter that rebounded off the walls and echoed and rattled and burned itself in his brain --
-- and then all of a sudden he'd been slammed back onto his feet, and he was panting heavily; white and bloodless in the face.
"Harry!"
He drew in a gasping breath, turned his head up. The entire group was staring at him. "It's okay," he said, tightening an arm around his chest. "I . . . I think I know where they are."
Justin Finch-Fletchley, a big man with wide eyes, blanched. "How's that, Harry?"
Harry tapped his scar reverently. "This sucker," he said. Some of the Aurors laughed, not noticing the way he swayed on his feet.
"They're in a ballroom or something," Harry said after a moment. "The room was huge -- it couldn't be anything else."
"Well, that saves some time," said Boot. "No searching spells to worry about."
"Too bad our word means nothing against Malfoy's," said Ron bitterly. "If we could manage to trap a couple Death Eaters and get Fudge over here, maybe we'd actually accomplish something tonight."
"Malfoy won't go to Azkaban on our word," Harry said. "This isn't the place to start trying to indict him, either. I think saving Snape's arse is accomplishment enough."
"Are you sure he's even here?"
"Yes," said Harry flatly, turning to face the manor.
He suddenly remembered the monitor in his pocket, and pulled it out. It was no longer beeping, and the glass had settled back to an ordinary dull green. Harry tapped his wand to it, speaking in Parseltongue (he'd chosen a Parseltongue password for heightened security) until the monitor began to trace out an outline map of the manor.
The monitor wasn't the best map source, as it didn't show people on it, but
it was accurate and to scale. Harry found it better to use than a Point Me
spell, simply because it wasn't a spell. In Harry's experience it was
harder to track an enemy that was navigating without magic than one that was.
There was only one room big enough to be a ballroom. Harry plotted a course to it easily enough.
Another Auror took out a scanner. It warned of upcoming wards and spells, and approaching persons. Boot sharpened his highly classified and brand new Ward Cutter. Ron stood behind Harry protectively, looking over his shoulder at the monitor.
"How d'you expect to deal with You-Know-Who?" he asked Harry.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Same way as last time," he said. "We storm in and he Disapparates. I don't deal with him at all."
Ron looked unconvinced. "How do you know he'll Disapparate this time?"
"He could care less about Snape," Harry said, hating the tremendous pounding in his scar. It made him weak. "All right, everyone -- let's storm the door."
There were soft cheers. Harry's group was young but highly experienced; they'd all been through raids before, and facing Death wasn't that big of a deal. They felt no nervousness. Still, there was a giddy electricity between them, as if the air around their heads would burst into sparks any moment. It was elevating; their senses felt sharper, and their legs filled with warmth and an irrepressible urge to jump and move. Harry raised his wand to them in mock salute, and they laughed.
"I'm going in now," he said.
+++++++
It was possibly their most disorganized rescue attempt, ever. The gadgets they'd brought from the Ministry got them through Malfoy's wards smoothly, but they had no apparent plan or course of action. They were going to rescue Snape. That was it.
It occurred to Harry as they Stunned a passing House Elf that he perhaps should have been more cautious; that this was no longer a mission where he was solely with Ron and could afford to wing things. He was somewhat amazed by his own flippancy at approaching Voldemort -- what if he slipped up and died? He certainly wasn't ready to duel the Dark Lord, let alone kill him. What if he had to face him? What if this all turned into disaster?
do tell me, Severus. . . do you recall our old friend Igor? Yes, I see you do . . .
(bow to death, Harry)
They'd been lucky so far. He was going to ride on his luck and bet it stayed with him. Anything to get his mind off dueling Voldemort.
Hard to do, with his scar burning the way it was.
"Three more rooms," whispered Ron over his shoulder. The other Aurors -- there were eight of them in total, or four partnered pairs -- nodded.
Malfoy Manor was decidedly impressive. Every floor tile was of what Harry thought a very high quality marble, fine grained and creamy; there were beautiful statuettes and small trees, flawlessly sculpted into swirls and spheres; rich Persian carpets of a luxurious thickness; exquisite oil portraits and landscapes in heavy frames that had cost as much as the painting itself, all of the wizarding type and moving. (Harry still found it disconcerting; something in the back of his mind was firm in the belief that portraits should stay in one position at all times.) There were bookcases in most rooms, lined with thick (but not dusty) tomes; the pristine white walls were trimmed with mahogany and cherry; and the couches were a glossy black leather. Each hall was lined with candelabras in sconces.
There was a slight draft in the hall, and the light kept flickering.
"You stepped on my foot!" hissed Angelina Johnson, the only female
in their group. Harry couldn't quite place her -- they'd all put on Do Not Notice
and Footfall Silencing charms -- but he apologized anyway.
"This should be it," said Ron nervously, jerking his head toward a set of wooden double doors. The hall was at a dead end; the only way to go forward was to go through the doors.
"Right," said Harry grimly, pocketing the monitor. "Scan the door."
you do make a such a splendid show, Severus. such control . . . it's such a pity you had to lose your sense, you would have been useful to me . . .
Boot and an Auror by the name of Adrian Pucey moved quickly to the door, and commenced scanning -- one for wards and the other for Death Eaters.
"Looks like there's a right big lot of them," said Pucey, pulling up from a kneeling position on the floor: "Sixteen on my scan."
We've taken twenty before.
"And that includes Snape," added Harry, noticing nervous looks pass over faces. "Nothing we can't handle. Now if you please, your wands out, ladies and gentlemen."
The Aurors exchanged edgy grins. Trust Harry to keep them together, no matter his tendency to run them into things they'd rather avoid.
They pulled their wands from their sleeves.
"Now remember," whispered Ron, "we're looking for a great, slimy git."
"Ron," Angelina chided.
"I'm blasting open the doors," Harry announced. "Be ready to shoot off every spell you've got, but don't use the Killing Curse unless you haven't another choice."
They all nodded. Harry tightened his lips into a grim line, then aimed his wand at the doors and cast off a rapid succession of spells. The doors shot open, smashing into the walls with a sharp crack.
"In!" shouted Harry, gesturing with his arm. "In!"
The Aurors didn't hesitate; neither did he. The floor, however, was slippery after walking the plush carpeted hall -- and overestimating his ability to run on it, Justin Finch-Fletchley went skidding into a Death Eater.
Chaos erupted.
There were spells being exchanged left and right; frantic curses and countercurses, hexes and charms -- beams of all colors went bounding across the room, sometimes ricocheting off the marble walls and floor, sometimes hitting targets, often doing nothing more than clouding the room in shavings of fine, creamy stone. Harry stuck close to Ron, his eyes out for Snape.
Voldemort did not participate in the dueling. His bloodshot red eyes narrowed in irritation, he kicked the unconscious bundle of robes at his feet, letting a cold smirk flit across his thin lips.
"How very touching, Severus," he murmured. "A rescue party. I wonder . . . should I let them have you?"
He studied the bundle for a moment longer, completely unbothered by the noise around him. His Death Eaters could handle themselves. And yes, the Potter boy was here, but they would meet again, under better circumstances. Both of them had other things on their minds right now . . . and Voldemort wanted to defeat Potter in grand style, not in the secret ballroom of Lucius's manor . . .
No, his focus now was Severus Snape.
"You don't deserve death," Voldemort sneered. "I think I have better uses for you . . . yes, though I certainly wasn't planning on letting you survive . . ."
He fingered his wand with one spidery, chalk-white hand, considering possibilities.
"You were loyal to me once, you know," he said thoughtfully. "And you have always been so useful. Perhaps . . . perhaps if you were to forget your past . . . if you were to start all over again . . . perhaps then you would come back to me . . ."
He smiled perplexedly at the bundle, a ragged set of black robes clinging to a skinny body in a black frockcoat and with a tousled head of black hair. The body had a thin, pale face, and moaned subconsciously.
"Yes," Voldemort said, his smile widening, "I'm glad to see you agree."
He pointed his wand at the floor, sending a jet of silver light over Snape's broken body -- Snape's fellow Death Eaters had been very disappointed with him, and he'd been hit both physically and with some rather delicious dark curses -- and felt a sudden and inexplicable surge of delight. He threw back his head and laughed.
The room quieted at once.
Voldemort grinned through a cloud of pulverized marble, straight at a livid Harry Potter. "He's all yours, Potter," he said with satisfaction. "I'm afraid I won't stay to see him go . . . do take adequate care of him until we meet again, would you?"
He laughed coldly once again, his thin nostrils dilating to help his frail body catch its breath, then Disapparated in a bang and cloud of smoke.
The other Death Eaters took this as their cue to leave. They Disapparated before the shocked Aurors could find the presence of mind to Stun them.
Harry grimaced.
Angelina was closest to Snape. She ran to his side, kneeling next to his puddled black form, and pushed back his robes to check his face.
And then screamed.
+++++++