SNAPE

Chapter Fifteen: SNAPE

Azkaban, even without the Dementors, was still a horrible place. Snape drew his robes closer about him as he was escorted through the lower levels, trying to ignore the inherent feeling of misery he felt exuding from the very stones.

The waiting area he was led to was darkly lit, bare except for a heavily scarred wooden table and a couple of chairs. Snape had found it ironic that Draco's fate was so similar to Hermione's; but where Hermione was trapped in her mind, Draco had been condemned to spend the rest of his life in a solitary cell, denied access to the outside world and simple human contact.

The Wizengamot, in their wisdom, had cursed Draco to the same fate Lucius had cursed Hermione. Snape thought perhaps death, in this case, would have been more merciful.

In the distance, he could hear a steady dripping, his sensitive nose smelling wet mold and stagnant water, his ears catching the occasional moan. Try as he might, it was hard to believe the dapper and dangerous young Draco, a boy he had known almost since the day of his birth, was living in a place like this. Lucius, gods rot him, was probably spinning in his grave.

'Since when am I allowed visitors?' he could hear Draco now, muttering as he was brought down the hallway, his steps and the accompanying tread of a very large guard echoing loudly. 'I was told no visitors – ever! Do you suppose it's someone who wants to write my biography? I'll allow no one to profit from my confinement, you hear me?'

Snape rose to his feet, fingers gripping the table tightly, and waited for Draco to enter the room.

The boy still looked exactly the same, except for the clothes. His platinum blonde hair was somewhat longer, but still swept high off his forehead, showing off his aristocratic features. The lip still had that familiar disdainful sneer, and the eyes were still an icy blue. It was obvious he kept himself as neat as he could – his finger nails were trimmed short and impeccably clean. He wore his gray prison uniform as if it were the highest fashion.

Draco looked at him silently for a moment, cocking his eyebrow and curling his lip in his father's patented sneer. 'Professor Snape. I wish I could say I was surprised to see you still alive, but unfortunately that would be a lie. Bad news has a tendency to travel, even through walls as thick as these.'

'How have you been, Draco?' Snape replied civilly, sitting back onto the scarred wooden chair when the younger man sat down as well.

Malfoy waved a hand airily, 'The accommodations aren't quite up to my usual, but the guards normally manage to keep the riffraff out. Why are you here? I know it's not out of concern for my well-being, godfather.'

The last word was fairly spat out. Snape sighed and leaned forward, 'I would have helped you if I could have, Draco. Unfortunately, your father had much more influence over you than I ever did. I am sorry you are here, but I was glad to hear you had survived the final battle.'

'You're a traitor.'

'That depends on who you speak to.'

The two men sat quietly for a moment, before Draco broke the silence. 'My father trusted you. I trusted you! How could you...'

'Your father didn't trust me, boy. He barely tolerated me and the feeling was mutual, I assure you. As to you, what did you expect me to do? Tell you I was a double agent, working for Dumbledore? You would have run to daddy immediately and I would have been dead before the end of the day.'

Draco sneered at that, 'Maybe I would have, but you'll never really know now, will you? I may have surprised you.'

Snape nodded his head at that, before replying, 'You may have, but it was a chance I wasn't prepared to take. I am sorry, Draco.'

The younger man snorted. 'Do you know what it's like, being stuck here? No one to talk to; nothing to do. They won't even give me anything to read. At night time, the walls groan. I can hear the rock creaking and sighing, telling stories I'm sure no one wants to hear. There is always water dripping somewhere... listen....' his voice trickled off, his head cocked to one side, and Snape could once again hear the echoing drip he had recognized earlier. Draco scowled. 'The dripping is even louder at night. It never stops – never. I haven't seen the sunlight in almost two years. The air tastes moldy, and when I complain the guards ignore me or laugh. I wish I had taken the Dark Mark, than at least I'd be dead instead of trapped in this infernal hellhole, losing my mind!'

'Draco, I...' Snape began, but was quickly interrupted.

'Save it, Snape. I know why you're here.' The younger man's eyes glinted starkly in the flickering light of the candle flame as he smirked. 'You want to know about father's curse.'

Snape said nothing.

Draco started laughing, 'I can't help you. I don't know what he did.'

'But you knew about it.'

'Of course I knew about it! Do you honestly think my father – Lucius Malfoy – would ever waste an opportunity to point out his own brilliance?' Draco's tone was derisive, his laughter subsiding into spurts of hiccoughing giggles. His eyes were glittering wildly now. 'You were right – he did hate you. He started developing that curse even before he knew you were a traitor. He was going to hit you with it and then claim some Auror had taken you out. He wanted you out of the picture.'

'And instead he hit Hermione.'

'Oh ho! Hermione, is it? Her – my – o- nee....' The younger man's voice dragged out the name in a derisive sing-song, 'Stupid mudblood bitch. At least Lucius managed to rid the world of her.'

'She's not gone, Draco. She's merely trapped, in her mind. I've spoken to her.'

Draco grinned, 'Are you sure, or have you finally lost your mind, Severus?'

Snape shrugged, 'I'm sure.' He looked at the boy, assessing, 'I was hoping you could tell me what you know about the curse.'

'I know that you'll never free her, if that's what you're thinking of. It's unbreakable.'

'But it wasn't designed for her, it was designed for me.'

'I'd keep that in mind if I were you.' Draco's voice was gleeful, malicious and giddy at the same time. 'My father was a brilliant man.'

'Your father was a deluded psychopath.'

Draco smirked, 'As I said. So, Severus... tell me about Hermione... does your skin tingle when you touch her?'

Snape didn't reply, but he did stiffen, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully as the younger man started giggling again. 'It's in her, you know. And it's hungry, Severus... so hungry.'

The younger man said nothing more until the guard declared it was time for him to return to his cell. As he was pulled to his feet, his eyes pinned Snape's, suddenly sad and desperate. 'I wish you'd brought me a potion so I could kill myself. I don't want to be alone anymore.'

'Draco...' Snape began, but found he couldn't continue. The tall young man, being dragged from his cell was no longer the little boy he had wished to save. He had turned into his father.

'You'll get it in the end, Severus... you'll see. My father's already won!'

~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing once more on the shore where Azkaban prison rose in the distance through a shroud of fog, dim light, and anti-Muggle spells, Severus found himself reluctant to return to Hogwarts. Albus would be waiting for him there to hear of any helpful information this meeting might have produced, but the experience was too fresh in his mind to relate just yet.

He needed to think. Draco had been more helpful than the younger man probably realized.

Half-consciously snatching a destination from memory, Snape apparated from the foggy shores and reappeared in the center of a panoramic scene bathed in yellow sunlight. He was not surprised to find himself standing in the field where the final battle had occurred. He had not been back since the time he had come to gather flowers for Hermione, the day before his first visit to her at St. Mungo's. It felt a bit ironic to be here again, as if all loose ends of the circle were trying to close upon themselves and create the inevitable ending to the past two years.

The field was nothing like it had looked a month after the final battle, still scarred and pockmarked by curse-burnt trenches and black puddles where Death Eaters had once lain. Now it was filled with wild flowers and knee high grasses, and a perfume of earth and renewed life hung heavy in the air. Kneeling down in the tall green stalks, Severus closed his eyes and allowed himself to truly remember that day.

The yelling and screaming had been ferocious – that was easy enough to recall. The bodies of students, Death Eaters, and Aurors alike had littered the field around him. In death they were all empty vessels that had suffered the same fate, regardless of affiliation. The air had smelled of charred flesh and blood, and the taste of magic on the back of his throat had been near nauseating. So much hate, so many curses, so much magic twisted by bitter emotions and malevolent intentions. The air on the battlefield had nearly pulsed in pain with every spell that was cast.

Among the throng he had moved steadily, black robes billowing, silver mask already discarded, and single-mindedly determined to reach Potter's side. None of the other Death Eaters, not even Voldemort himself, had realized that Snape was not with them – that he had long ago realized he would rather die for the Light than live the rest of his miserable life kowtowing to a deranged madman, bent on destroying the world. There was no regret in his mind when he decided to give over his magic to the annoying teenager, only the self-satisfaction of knowing he would die with all his debts repaid.

He could remember Lucius' voice clearly, passionate and cold, when he realized Snape had betrayed them. There was the hot release of his own magic into Potter – the younger man absorbing it at a rate almost too fast for Snape to control. His momentary fear that he would be reduced to a squib if this kept up, soon replaced by a fearful urgency that Potter take it all before Lucius reached him and broke the connection. And then, he had seen Hermione.

She had been fighting her way to his side as his magic deserted him, hair wild and eyes practically glowing from the incredible amount of magic being harnessed by her will. She was a beautiful vision of a vengeful spirit, and he could admit that observation freely now in the comfort of his mind. Under her aim two Death Eaters had fallen before she was suddenly in front of him, throwing herself bodily between him and Lucius to absorb the brunt of the spell. She had fallen into his arms then, Malfoy's enraged scream sweeping over them as the last vestiges of his magic left him. He remembered the few silver-gray strands that had wrapped around her, thinner than spider webs, and how they brushed his skin, enveloping him in a bone-deep coldness, words echoing in his head as it stroked his skin – 'it's him, it's him, it's him, it's him....'

The flow of magic between him and Harry had flickered and faded, but not before an icy chill had swept through his wand hand, jumping across that final filament of shared power before the connection died completely.

He remembered her eyes, empty and mud-colored, completely devoid of the glow which had inhabited them only moments before. They had reflected back at him blankly, acting as mirrors to his own bleak future. He had wanted to sink into them, they were calling to him, urging him to drown in their flat embers and let it all end. But across the field someone was screaming, roaring words of power, and Potter's final stand after seeing his last friend fall carried every desire of those who wished to see the Dark Lord dead.

The shockwave had been tremendous, picking up Severus and Hermione to carry them end-over-end away from the center of the blast. His arms had somehow stayed around her, taking her with him, and around him Death Eaters screamed in keening finality as they dropped like flies, their voices echoing in agony across the battlegrounds. There had been a horrible pain that spread like wild-fire through his body, prompting him to release Hermione as his throat screamed his agony along with the rest. He'd felt every second, every seared nerve burning then dying, every patch of flesh being reduced to a molten gelatinous mess before sliding from his bones.

The pain was unbearable, worse than crucio, and through it all her eyes had been on him. He had felt the remnants of Malfoy's curse in her – in him - and his body seemed to grow colder in the places where they had touched even as his flesh burned off his bones. There had been a voice inside his head, screaming, 'have him, have him, have him....'

Blinking through the tears at the edge of his eyes, Snape retreated from the painful memories. His legs shook as he pushed himself upright, the dry stalks brushing his calves and snagging on the edges of his robes. The last thing he honestly remembered before oblivion had overtaken him was her; the overwhelming need to get Hermione to safety. Those thoughts had overridden the pain and fear, and he'd been consumed with the desire to save her in some way – save her as she had saved him. Without even realizing it then, but sure of it now, he had focused on her empty gaze and somehow drawn forth the last shred of magic he possessed to send her away. That place had been, it seemed, straight to the ancient sanctuary of Calanais.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Snape arrived at Hogwarts, he was surprised that someone was there waiting for him. Just beyond the main entrance, standing inside the foyer, Minerva had given him a small smile as he stepped past the large oak door.

'Hello, Severus. Did things go well?'

'As well as could be expected,' he replied, his voice lacking its usual bite. The visit to Holly Meadows had drained him, and he was in no mood to trade words when he was late for an appointment with the Headmaster.

He began walking in the direction of Dumbledore's office, but was surprised when McGonagall fell into step beside him. 'Is it alright if I walk with you?'

'If you wish.'

After a few seconds, she spoke again. 'Severus...I know I haven't been as supportive of your research into finding a cure for Hermione as I could have been, but...'

Snape interrupted her, 'I know, I know – she's always been your favorite student and you've been worried about my intentions.' His voice was, surprisingly, not bitter when he said this. Minerva sighed.

'It's not that, Severus. I do care for her, of course I do – but I care for you too. I just didn't want to see you getting caught up in something that we had all come to believe was incurable. I admit, when you first told us you were able to communicate with her I was – we all were – skeptical. Not because you have ever been anything less than truthful with us, but because the notion just seemed so unbelievable. I've always thought that you trying to help Hermione is a way for you to try to redeem yourself, and I've felt that unnecessary. You have nothing to prove to me; to any of us, for that matter.'

'That's nice to hear, but why are you telling me this now, Minerva?' Snape was genuinely curious. Her words had angered him somewhat, but his usual biting reaction to such emotions was greatly tempered by the underlying affection he had always had for the older woman.

'None of us have treated you fairly, Severus. Of all of us, I think you have suffered far more than even Harry did during our fight against Voldemort. It's been hard to break 20-some-odd years of perception and action.... While Voldemort was still alive – even when we just suspected he was but couldn't quite prove it – I had to treat you with suspicion and derision, so as not to raise alarm. You had to act as you did towards the students and the rest of us to avoid having your loyalties questioned. I suppose after 20 years, treating you in a certain way has become habit. I wanted to apologize for it – for making you feel as if we didn't value you. For refusing to recognize the war is well and truly over, and we no longer need to act as if we distrust you for the sake of appearances. And I'm glad that you've finally found someone you seem to love.'

Snape grimaced, 'Even if it's your favorite coma-ridden Gryffindor? Not that I admit to anything.'

'Especially if it's her,' Minerva replied. 'She's the only one I know who could possibly give you a run in the brains department.' She stopped walking, and placed a hand on his arm, forcing him to stop as well. He looked at that boney hand, slightly wrinkled with the beginnings of sun spots, and realized that Minerva was getting old. 'Just promise me Severus, that you won't become so immersed in saving her that you lose sight of who you are – and what you mean to so many people. I want Hermione back – of course I do – but I don't want to lose you in the process.'

Her serious words made him shift uncomfortably. He was not prepared for this, today of all days – he didn't think he could handle her earnest declaration of care and concern, nor what was obviously a heart-felt apology.

'Promise me, Severus.'

'I can't, Minerva,' he finally replied. 'I'll do whatever I have to to free Hermione. I promised her first.'

The older woman grimaced and was about to say something else when Hooch and Trelawney rounded the corner of the hallway, a couple of older students walking with them. When Hooch saw him, her eyes gleamed.

'Sybil!' she said in a bright, overly loud voice, 'tell me, has Severus been to see Miss Granger yet this morning? How's his aura look?'

Snape stiffened and glared daggers at the pompous woman while Trelawney, wisely, didn't reply. With a stiff nod at Minerva, he spun on his heel and walked past the two, feeling his temper rise as the older students with them tittered behind their hands.

Behind him, he could hear Minerva speaking to Hooch in her iciest tones, 'Xiomara, was that really necessary?' By the time Hooch made her reply – if she ever did – he was already out of range.

It was bad enough that his colleagues felt free to laugh at him and discuss him behind his back, but to make their comments in front of students was entirely inexcusable. He could feel the anger that had been absent the majority of the day, buried under atypical sadness and remorse, returning to burn viciously at the forefront. By the time he was less than two hallways from Albus' office, his righteous indignation was looking for a suitable outlet in which to express itself. It was then he heard his name and stopped, slipping into the shadows as a gaggle of giggly young students stopped their forward momentum a mere 20 paces from him.

'I'm serious!' one girl – Ravanna Hickles, Hufflepuff, 3rd year – protested loudly. 'My cousin said it was obvious he loved her even when she was still a student!'

'No way,' this was Alicia Bones, Bertie Bones' younger sister. 'Snape has never been in love with any one. It's beyond him – he doesn't have a heart.'

'Everyone has a heart,' scoffed a third girl, 'even the black bat. I think it's rather sweet, actually.'

'It is very romantic,' agreed Ravanna, sighing. 'It's a tragedy that the only girl he ever loved was stolen from him and now he'll spend the rest of his life sitting by her sickbed, longing for her... I mean, he is a hero – he deserves some happiness!'

'He's a bastard,' this was Merry Parkinson. 'And I think it's disgusting – he's twice her age. The thought of what he might be doing to her, when she's locked away in her rooms downstairs, makes me sick.'

Ravanna rolled her eyes. 'You make me sick,' she retorted, 'always thinking the worst. I think it's very romantic – he's like Darcy.'

'Who?' the unknown girl asked.

'From Pride and Prejudice; Muggle studies? Really, Eugenia, you should pay more attention in class!' Ravanna chided, before turning to her friends and sighing. 'Honestly, I think he wears so much black because he's in mourning...'

'He's always worn black,' Merry scoffed, cheeks slightly red with anger. 'And if this is the way he acts when he's in love, I'd hate to see him when he's in a bad mood!'

'But you shall,' Snape hissed from the shadows, before stepping forward and pinning each girl in turn with his eyes. 'You insufferable, moronic chits! Bad enough I have to teach you and your ilk in classes everyday, trying to ensure no one blows themselves, their fellow students or – worst of all me – to pieces! But to have to stand here and listen to your malicious gossip and disgusting innuendo,' he hissed the last bit of this, his voice more sibilant than a snake's, 'is something I. Will. Not. Do! Fifty points from each of you, and detention for a month with Filch starting this evening! Do I make myself clear?'

The girls were shaking, their faces red with mortification. 'Yes, Professor Snape, sir,' they murmured softly. Ravanna inched forward slightly, 'We're sorry, sir.'

'Not as sorry as you're going to be, if you all don't get out of my sight!' he roared. The image of them, running down the hallway as fast as they could, coupled with his cathartic outburst, helped improve his mood somewhat. Smirking darkly, he continued towards Dumbledore's office.

Insufferable, melodramatic, hormone ridden charlatans! How dare they compare him to some romantic figure from Muggle literature – Hermione was the only one allowed to do that, and only because she had earned the right. She knew him, in a way those simpering idiots did not and never would. He would have to remember to tell her about the conversation he had overheard and the girls' reactions when he had popped from the shadows and surprised them all. Hermione would find it terribly amusing, he was sure, and since not one of the irritating twits was from Gryffindor she could not reproach him for taking so many points from them. Keeping his sudden grin hidden, he realized he had finally reached Dumbledore's office.

Based on how his day had been going so far, he shouldn't have been surprised that Albus wasn't alone. Potter was there as well, and the younger man did not look happy to see him.

'I'm back, Albus,' Snape offered in way of greeting, not even bothering to acknowledge Potter. 'However, if this is a bad time I'll be more than happy to return later.'

Dumbledore smiled benignly at him, 'No need, no need, Severus. Sit down. Gum drop?'

'Thank you, but no. You know I detest candies.'

'And I keep telling you that a regular intake of these sugared delicacies might sweeten your disposition!' Albus replied blithely.

Potter snorted and Snape finally turned to acknowledge him, eyebrow cocked and sneer at the ready. 'Do you plan on leaving anytime soon? I have something I need to discuss with Albus and you are definitely not invited to contribute.'

Potter scowled at him. 'I heard all about your aura, Snape. You're happy, are you? Full of passion and sexual energy, are you?' The boy spat out the last of this, his voice hoarse with anger. 'What are fuck are you doing with Hermione?'

'Precisely!' Snape replied coldly. 'I've always been fascinated by necrophilia, Potter, and it makes things especially titillating to have an observer such as Nettie Pomfrey in the room while I have my evil way with Hermione.' He smirked at the embarrassed flush creeping up the younger man's face, before sitting back in his chair and adjusting his cuffs.

'I assure you Potter – though I don't know why I should – that I only have Hermione's best interests at heart. It is imperative that a cure for this curse is found, and I intend to do so. Regardless of the way you feel about me, or the way I feel about you, I think we can both agree that saving Hermione is of utmost importance. I don't have time to waste my energy trying to reassure you that I am not forcing my attentions on her. You will believe what you will, with little regard to anything else. Now, if you have any more questions regarding my visits with Hermione, I suggest you speak to Nettie Pomfrey and leave me alone.'

The younger man didn't reply, his mouth set mulishly on his face as he turned to face Dumbledore. 'You'll think about what we discussed?'

'There's no need, Harry,' the older man replied gently, 'No need at all.'

'Fine then. I think I will go find Nettie.'

'Try to take a moment to talk to Hermione while you're there, Potter.' Snape was sarcastically judicious as Harry rose to his feet and headed towards the door. 'She says you never talk to her anymore, and your puppy dog eyes and droning sighs are depressing her.'

He smirked when the door slammed, before turning back to the older wizard. 'Now Albus, instead of offering me a tea, how about a glass of Old Ogden's instead? It's been a very trying day.'

Too Much Love Will Kill You by Queen

In the end.