Azkaban
That night the empty corridors
Were full of forms of Fear,
And up and down the iron town
Stole feet we could not hear,
And through the bars that hide the stars
White faces seemed to peer.
He lay as one who lies and dreams
In a pleasant meadow-land,
The watchers watched him as he slept,
And could not understand
How one could sleep so sweet a sleep
With a hangman close at hand.
His soul was resolute, and held
No hiding-place for fear;
He often said that he was glad
The hangman's hands were near.
He sat with those who watched
His anguish night and day;
Who watched him when he rose to weep,
And when he crouched to pray;
Who watched him lest himself should rob
Their scaffold of its prey.
An auror had walked her to the visitation room after her wand was weighed and confiscated at the front desk.
Snape was there already, his hands and feet immobilized by heavy chains. He was unwashed, in a plain gray jumpsuit.
Minerva was struck by the change in him. Dementors were terrible things. She could feel them, even now, at the edges of her consciousness.
Images of her brother’s corpse continuously intruded into her mind. She had to remind herself that this would pass, that she would be gone from this place soon. She could not imagine having to stay. She could not imagine wanting to stay.
“I have a message, from Albus Dumbledore.” She placed her hands primly in her lap and maintained an emotional distance from the prisoner before her.
He did not show any response to indicate that he’d heard her. Minerva wondered if he had already gone mad in this place.
When he did not respond, she continued. “He says that you need to eat.” Her lips pursed unhappily but otherwise did not betray her feelings about this errand.
She had not wanted anything to do with Severus Snape. Minerva could not see how his alleged role as Albus’ spy could justify pardoning the crimes of a death eater. No doubt he had tortured, poisoned, and killed others in his role.
Why should the families of his victims be denied justice? Because he did not have the constitution to support his convictions and changed sides?
Still, it was not her decision to make. She had delivered her message and was anxious to leave.
Minerva stood to her feet but stopped when Snape began laughing. The sound creaked from his chest like feet treading on rotten stairs.
The hair on her arms stood on end, and she wished for her wand. The dementors had driven him mad.
Against her expectations, he spoke. His voice cracked and broke from hours of screaming. “Dumbledore sent you to the North Sea to tell me I need to eat my Weetabix?” He lifted his head from the table and stared at her with red-rimmed, dark eyes.
“Mock me if you will.” She could not believe that he could still ridicule her even in this position.
“You misunderstand me.”
How could she understand him? He was the antithesis of everything she stood for. He went against every wish she held for her students. Severus Snape was a failure. Every choice he made caused harm. He delighted in grief and celebrated wickedness. How could she ever understand him?
He cleared his throat with a dry rattle and she wondered when was the last time he’d had a drink of water. “It is an absurd directive. He should leave me be and allow me to die in my own way.”
She sneered at him, “Were your victims afforded the same luxury?”
“No, they were not.” His face was blank, and he showed no remorse. “But I was quick.”
“You disgust me.” Minerva felt the words pulled from her against her will. It had to be the influence of the dementors. She hadn’t meant to say it because it was unproductive. She was an emissary; she did not need to have opinions.
The haggard man nodded sagely as if confirming something he’d known all along.
She hated him for doing this to her, for always bringing out the worst in her. He seemed to enjoy it.
“Dumbledore has said the same.” He watched her with open interest. His expression, for once, unguarded. “‘Is that which is holy loved by the gods because it is holy? Or is it holy because it is loved by the gods?’”
“You can ill afford to philosophize in your position, surely?” He could make her so angry.
Snape’s body shook with laughter. “Can’t I? Azkaban is a cave of sorts. There is no lack of shadows here.” He leaned forward in his seat and placed his hands on the table. “Tell me, am I your only business here today? Or are you going to see Black, as well? Is he still loved by the gods?”
Minerva clenched her jaw, eyes full of fire. How could he still be so arrogant, here, of all places? How could he still have power over her, even in the cave?
“Do you still carry the humiliations of childhood?” She gestured wildly, finally losing herself to her frustration. “James Potter is dead. Peter is dead. Sirius Black will suffer in this place for as long as he lives while Dumbledore, even now, works tirelessly to ensure you receive a full pardon. What more could you possibly want? What more do you feel entitled to?”
She heaved for breath, shocked by the depths of her bitterness and resentment.
“There,” he whispered, looking half mad. “I feel as though I am meeting you for the first time.”
Minerva recoiled from him. “You know nothing about me.”
He seemed to consider her words for a moment. “Perhaps. I suppose it is too late, regardless.”
“Is this as far as you go, then?” Minerva lectured him, her hands on her hips. “I will admit I can’t understand it, but Albus believes you have some role to play in the days ahead. He claims you are remorseful. If you are, then let your actions speak for you.” She pointed down at him emphatically. “Or will you make him a liar and take the easy way out, coward?”
Snape snarled at her, angry for the first time. “I am no coward. It appears I can do nothing right in your eyes. Either I accept Dumbledore’s grace and escape punishment or end my life as penance and am a coward.”
“Death,” she said quietly, her voice shaking as she thought of her brother, “is not penance. It is only the end. If you truly suffer the way Dumbledore insists you do, then you will choose to live. You will wake up each day and bear your cross.”
He watched her, his dark eyes boring into hers as if he could somehow see into her soul.
“He is not yet finished with me.”
“No, it seems not.”
Severus looked bitterly down at his hands. “He did not keep his end of the bargain.”
Minerva was startled. She had no knowledge of what bargain Dumbledore could have made with the former death eater. “None of us keeps the ledger, Snape. We are lucky that each of us never gets all that we deserve.”
And what was the price of her self-righteousness? Was it fair that her beloved students had perished or betrayed her while Snape still lived? Was it fair that they were now allies?
Walking down the stone hall, she wondered if she had erred. If Snape decided to live due to her influence, would she be responsible for his future actions? He had the potential to do tremendous good or terrible hurt.
No, Minerva had done her job and nothing more. She put her faith in Albus Dumbledore.
I know not whether Laws be right,
Or whether Laws be wrong;
All that we know who lie in gaol
Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,
A year whose days are long.
But this I know, that every Law
That men have made for Man,
Since first Man took his brother's life,
And the sad world began,
But straws the wheat and saves the chaff
With a most evil fan.
This too I know—and wise it were
If each could know the same—
That every prison that men build
Is built with bricks of shame,
And bound with bars lest Christ should see
How men their brothers maim.