Third Chance

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN, read Severus as he sat on his bed, his mouth open and eyes wide with horror. Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Amycus Carrow, Alecto Carrow, Augustus Rookwood, and Walden Macnair have escaped Azkaban. Further investigation will be conducted. The Ministry of Magic advises residents to watch out for strange activities and alert officials if you think that they are in your area. Other suspects include Severus Snape, a Death Eater who has been reported dead for three years, but, as reports show, is actually alive and hiding at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and may have helped the six others escape. However, Severus Snape was granted a full pardon and it will take time to decide whether or not the Death Eater is on his old colleagues’ side or not. Pictures of the Azkaban prisoners are listed on the left. For more information on Severus Snape, refer to Rita Skeeter’s newly published book- Severus Snape: Saint or Scoundrel?, or May 1999’s edition on page 8. 

Minerva and Dahlia were sitting on the edge of his bed, looking anxiously for his reaction. 

Severus’s face drained of all color it had left and he collapsed against his pillow, dropping the newspaper so it fluttered weakly to the ground. 

“‘Saint or Scoundrel?’” he whispered, shaking completely now, tears beginning to fall. “‘Saint or Scoundrel?’”

He swallowed a sob, curled up on the bed, and began rocking back and forth. Dahlia went closer and hugged him, patting his back soothingly. 

“You aren’t a saint or a scoundrel,” Minerva reassured him. “No one’s a saint, and you’ve done too much good to be a scoundrel.”

“Now they know I’m alive, and they’ll come for me. I’ll have to sit through court after court, get mocked and teased.” Severus began to weep softly. “And they’ll come for me. They promised they would, if I’d escaped.”

“Who-”

“Bellatrix.” Severus’s cries started to get louder. “They’re coming. They’ll capture me, torture me, keep me alive until I beg for death, and refuse it. I can’t- I can’t-”

Severus gave one big shudder. He was drowning in the anxiety and the overwhelming terror. He couldn’t breathe. It was swallowing him up. Bellatrix’s face loomed in his vision. Dolohov’s mouth twisted. Amycus let out a wild, unruly cackle that made Severus’s skin shiver. 

Pain jolted up his body, seized him. Too many emotions responded badly with his weakened body. His muscles began to act of its own accord. Severus jerked on the bed, stifling a groan into his blanket as cramps crawled their way up. His right arm thrashed out, giving an involuntary spasm, which did nothing but give him more agony. 

Dahlia waved her wand, and he immediately calmed down, his face relaxing and his muscles letting loose. She hurried forward and poured Calming Draughts, Pain Potions, and a Sleeping Draught down his throat. Severus was asleep within seconds, his face blissfully at peace.

Minerva was quite shaken. 

“How many times has this happened?”

“I don’t know. Too many times. This is a side effect of the panic attacks triggered by the people who tortured him, and the amount of crucio that he was under messed with his nerves, so it causes him to, well, you just saw it.” 

Dahlia sighed, running her hand through her hair.

“But he’s getting better. He’s trying to control his emotions, but, yeah. Usually, when he wakes, he’s still agitated, and that’s what we’re trying to work on.”

Minerva suddenly perked up. 

“There’s something that might actually help,” she said, and then quickly turned into her cat Animagus form. Swiftly, she bounded up onto Severus’s bed and curled up against his chest, purring. 

“Oooh, yes. Minerva, you stay here, and I’ll make lunch- Severus loves my spaghetti, and you might, too!”

Dahlia disappeared into the kitchen.

If the Death Eaters were at large again, then they were all in danger. But they can’t possibly revive their master…Voldemort is dead. Dead for sure. But Bellatrix is close enough to Voldemort…maybe she would try and copy his ways?

Dahlia shuddered just thinking about it.

An hour later, Severus woke to find Minerva the cat curled up with him, sleeping, and managed to find comfort in her small body- although he was slightly repulsed by the fact that Minerva, the woman who taught him and was his colleague, was sleeping on the same bed as him. 

Minerva loved the spaghetti, which made Dahlia grin madly.

“Just you wait,” Severus croaked weakly, “your cooking will be as good as Molly’s.”

Dahlia’s face immediately fell.

“Oh, no. I hope not. If I do, I’m sure Molly’ll have my head…she secretly loves the title of ‘Order’s Cook’.”

Severus snickered, a wheezy, raspy sound. 

“Could this be possibly linked to Macmillan’s escape?” Minerva asked curiously. 

“How? I mean, maybe. Perhaps they were so out of order because of their boss’s leaving that they forgot to take care of the prisoners?” 

“Impossible!” Minerva snorted. “Dahlia, those people, they can’t just forget. The only way the Death Eaters might have escaped is if they broke out and killed all of the guards, or one of the guards let them out.” 

“That must be it, then,” Dahlia mused. “One of the guards let them out.” 

“No,” Severus said. “I overheard two guards talking when I was there- they’re sworn into protecting and maintaining the prisoners. Each guard takes the Unbreakable Vow before getting the job- it’s very high paying. The guards cannot help prisoners escape, or they will die.”

“But, if they’re willing to go this far, they might not mind dying,” Minerva argued.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But until Kingsley sorts this out, we may never know.”

His gaze drifted away as he began to stare into blank space again, his mind elsewhere.

An hour later, after Minerva was long gone, Severus snapped out of his foggy state. 

“Oh. She’s gone. I didn’t quite notice her leaving.”

“That’s alright,” Dahlia said. “She understands. Minerva told me to tell you to eat.”

Severus scoffed, and then leaned back in his bed with his eyes closed.

It was strange to think about how much life had changed. Four years ago, Severus was still working undercover, risking his life each day and talking to a bloody portrait. He very much disliked Harry Potter and his friends, and spent most of his days tucked away in his office. Three years ago, he was probably sobbing in his cell in Azkaban, begging for it all to end. And now…now there were times when he spaced out and couldn’t think properly, almost like falling asleep. But he wasn’t talking to someone dead anymore. He had people around him that he cared for, and liked, and he certainly didn’t hate Harry Potter and his friends. 

Four years ago, he would have recoiled at the thought of having someone take care of his, well, everything, from feeding him to helping him take baths. He would have hated the idea of not being able to walk or talk with words that were slightly garbled, and the thought that he couldn’t brew, or even write. But Severus supposes that the life he’s living now isn’t that bad, because it’s clearly more than he deserves. 

Yet there’s been an awful, nagging thought at the back of his brain…What if I’m not needed, not wanted? 

Severus had been needed for his whole life, from doing one deed to the other, being controlled like a puppet with two puppeteers pulling thousands of strings so that he could dance to two different songs. When has he ever gotten anything that he’d wanted? Now, however, without those two masters, Severus felt…empty. Unsure. In Azkaban, the only thing he’d thought about was trying desperately to ignore his pain. But now, he was free, and Severus didn’t quite know anymore.

He felt disconnected from himself, from his body, from even his thoughts. The venom had made his mind sluggish and foggy. Nightmares plagued his thoughts each night, whether it be Potter dead or Lily screaming at him or Nagini’s fangs. Always Nagini’s fangs. 

Severus raised a hand to the scarred mess on his cheek and neck, practically feeling the sharp fangs tear through his throat and the burning, ripping sensation that followed. He didn’t even notice as Dahlia started stretching his legs, trying to make him stronger.

With each passing day, he did feel stronger. A few days after that picnic day, Severus started doing exercises to help strengthen his legs, his core, and his arms, and started taking potions to build up that muscle. 

Maybe there was hope after all. Maybe, in a year’s time, he’ll be striding the hallways of who-knows-where, his cloak billowing behind him. Maybe he’ll be giving a poor, unfortunate child a death glare. Maybe he’ll be himself again. A better himself.