Disclaimer: The characters and the HP world belong to JK Rowling.

A Prison Tale

Chapter 4

The Key

"I could use a butterbeer," he muttered to himself, when he woke up at dawn, dirty and chilled to the bone. Vil was already up and busy with the flower. She needed something in which she could collect the dew from the fairy lily's petals so Snape gave her the empty potion bottle of the Felix Felicis. She managed to extract a surprisingly large amount of dew, and she asked Snape to pour a few drops on her, not more than two or three. Due to his experience with potion making, Snape could handle even the smallest amount of liquid with a sure hand. He poured exactly three drops on her. The healing effect of the dew was undeniable: Soon she looked healthier and stronger. Snape made a mental note of what he had seen. If he survived the adventure, he would research the effects of fairy lily dew on humans, especially as a possible potion ingredient. Vil, who was too small to carry the potion bottle herself, asked him to keep the rest of the dew for her.

For breakfast, they had to make do with some berries, which could be enough for Vil, but left Snape as hungry as he had been. There were no more mushrooms, which he interpreted as a clear sign that he had better not count on the Felix Felicis any more. Nor did they have much time to spend on having breakfast, since the trees had moved back to their places at sunrise and the guards might continue the search during the day. Vil, however, wanted to test her renewed magical skills. Unfortunately, she could not conjure food out of thin air any more than wizards could; instead, she put her hand on Snape's forehead and kept it there for a while. At her touch, a pleasant, warm feeling began in Snape's head and streamed down all over his body. He was not cold any more.

"Very well," she said. "Now I can see to the more difficult job. At least," she added with some hesitation, "if you still want to try."

"I do," he replied. "I'd rather not stay here."

Vil was apparently looking for a suitable spot on the ground when Snape noticed something.

"You have grown," he said, astonished.

She turned and looked up at him, beaming.

"You are almost twice the size you were," he continued.

"I really appreciate the compliment," she said with a smile, "but I'm trying to do very difficult magic at the moment and I must concentrate."

Snape did not say more but waited in silence. Vil concentrated and began to murmur something that he did not understand. Finally she stamped her foot three times on the ground. The ground cracked and a hole appeared in front of them. Snape leaned over it.

"This is the entrance to the tunnel," she explained, "which leads us to the other side of the barrier."

His eyes could not make out any tunnels, but the opening was undoubtedly there.

"Are you coming with me?" he asked.

"If you don't mind," she nodded. "This is the only way out for me as well."

Snape saw with some alarm that she looked paler and smaller again. She had obviously shrunk. He sat her on his shoulder, told her to hold on tightly, and climbed into the tunnel. As soon as he reached the bottom, he heard a noise. He looked up and saw that the opening had closed again. It made him feel imprisoned.

"Well, at least you can be sure that none of them will follow you here," said Vil

"Right," he answered with determination. "I want to go ahead, not back, anyway."

The tunnel would have been completely dark and cold, if it had not been for her beam of light, which revealed a long way to go ahead. It was a suspiciously quiet place. There seemed to be neither danger, nor magic anywhere as he walked, and he was just about to share this observation with Vil, when he noticed that they were approaching a dead end. Getting nearer, he saw that the tunnel was closed down by a large door. He looked round but the door was clearly the only way to go on. Cautiously, he tried the door handle, turned it, and slowly opened the door. The dark tunnel seemed to continue on the other side - at least until he closed the door.

Instantly, a strong light filled his surroundings and he froze at the sight in front of him. Hundreds of candles lightened a large, windowless room, full of wizards and witches. It did not take him long to recognize the place. He appeared to be in a large Ministry courtroom, which he had often seen in the newspapers, and which he most certainly did not want to see in reality. Nearest to him, he saw the audience, murmuring softly and looking expectantly towards the centre of the room, where no doubt the members of the council were sitting, forming a semi-circle around a large, empty chair. Snape had seen similar chairs in the papers often enough to know what it was and he wondered with some apprehension who was going to be seated there this time. The most prominent seat in the semi-circle, opposite the empty chair and exactly opposite Snape, was occupied by a black-haired man bending over a pile of parchments placed in front of him on a desk.

Nobody in the room paid any attention to Snape. He could be a newly arrived spectator.

"It is not ... real, is it?" he whispered to Vil nervously.

"Not in the usual sense of the word," she explained, "but, for the moment, it is real enough for us."

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

"Go on," she answered encouragingly.

He looked round once more and now he noticed the other door in the room. It was opposite the one through which he had entered, behind the back of the black-haired man. Behind that door was probably the way to go on.

"Suppose," he said to her, "I want to open that door... What do you think will happen?"

She did not respond. Snape was thinking. Just going there and opening the door would be too easy. Whatever magic was at work in the tunnel, the room and all those people were not there for nothing. He tried to get a better view of the door and he saw that it was locked with a large padlock, oddly Muggle-type, except perhaps for its size.

"It's locked," he said. "I must open the padlock."

"Sounds logical enough," she said.

"I haven't got a wand," he continued, ignoring her mild sarcasm.

"So?" she asked.

He traced a finger in front of his mouth.

"So I must find a key," he concluded. "What do you think?"

"I think," she replied, "if you need a key to go on, then the key must be in this room somewhere."

He looked round for the third time. It was not probable that the key would just be lying somewhere waiting for him to pick it up. What was he supposed to do? To steal the key? To take it by force from whoever was keeping it? To duel for it, perhaps? He knew he could not duel without a weapon and a Muggle-style fistfight was not his strong point, especially when the opponent did have a wand. Anyway, how would he find the key in the first place?

His eyes were searching the room, first sweeping past the audience, then observing the council members - where should he start? His gaze reached the man in the middle, who had just finished studying the parchments and was slowly raising his head. Their eyes met across the room and Snape almost jolted backwards. His lips whitened and it seemed his legs would soon fail to support him, as the features of the man sitting by the desk became contorted with a twisted, malicious smile. He knew now who was keeping the key. He also knew that he was facing magic he had never met, heard or read about before.

The man made a hardly perceptible nod towards him and raised his hand in a gesture of invitation. Snape saw that he was holding a wand.

"How is it possible?" he murmured to Vil.

"Anything is possible here," she said softly.

"He's got a wand," he said.

"Yes."

He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down as much as he could. He needed a cool head now and he could not give way to fears and weakness, otherwise he would stay standing at the entrance forever. A few moments later he opened his eyes. The audience had become a little restless. It was probably time for the hearing to start. The black-haired man, however, was leaning backwards in his seat in a leisurely way, still watching him, evidently amused.

"Fine," he said under his breath, clenching his fist. "Don't worry, I'm coming."

He began to walk across the room towards the man. Vil, who was still sitting on his shoulder, moved closer to his head and whispered into his ear.

"There is a rule that you must know," she said. "Only one of you can go through that door. Remember that."

"What will happen to the other one?" he asked.

"The other one," her voice trembled a little, "will stay here for ever."

"Well," he said, frowning, "he could stand up right now and reach the door before me. If he's got the key..."

The man, however, did not seem to be in a hurry to leave the room. Now his eyes were fixed upon the empty chair, apparently in anticipation of what was going to happen, but his attention was turned to Snape once again as soon as he reached the desk. Snape stared silently at him, observing his features in details. The heavily lined pale face was framed by long black hair and dominated by cold black eyes and a large, hooked nose. His thin mouth was still curled into an unpleasant smile. He was wearing black robes, with a hood hanging on his back. He was about forty years old, twice Snape's own age.

With another gesture, the man offered him a seat on his right. He accepted without a word.

"Don't worry about the formalities, Severus," said the man sardonically. "I know your name, of course. As for me," he added after a moment of pretentious silence, "I am known by everyone as the Prince."

His voice was smooth, calm and cold. He glanced at Vil, and his smile became decidedly contemptuous for a while. The experience was rather like looking into an enchanted mirror which reflected images in a twisted, distorted way. Snape's "reflection" was certainly distorted by age and by something else that he could not name. The Prince began to rap lazily on his desk with his wand.

"You have arrived just on time. I'm sure you will enjoy the show."

Snape only half-listened to him because he had jus noticed a large key on the desk, upon which the Prince's left hand was resting casually. He was pondering the possibility of snatching the key without further ceremony. How long would it take to open the padlock and the door? The Prince had a wand and the guards would probably act on his orders. He waited. Suddenly there was movement in the room and he looked up to see what was happening. He felt a sudden chill spreading all over his body as two hooded creatures glided in, leading a blindfolded prisoner into the room and pushing him into the empty chair in front of the two Snapes. The chair chained the prisoner at once. Snape could feel Vil's hand on his temple and the chill began to dissolve. The Dementors retreated into the back of the room, causing quite a commotion, as some members of the audience hastened to find new seats far away from them.

Snape looked at the prisoner and he could almost feel the chill return. The blindfold covered a part of the prisoner's face, but there was no way he could be mistaken about the windswept black hair, the outlines of his face, his figure and his posture. James Potter did not look a day older than he had been at his graduation from Hogwarts. It was strange, considering the forty-year-old Prince in the council, but Vil had told him that anything was possible in the tunnel. The Prince turned to him again.

"Here is the enemy," he said with apparent pride and satisfaction, "and this is the day I have been waiting for."

Snape's eyes flicked between the prisoner and his sneering older self.

"The hearing will be short and easy. The evidence against him is overwhelming. But I thought we could start with some fun. Have you got any suggestions?"

"Suggestions?" He stared blankly into those malicious eyes. The Prince shrugged.

"I thought I'd offer you a chance. Personally, I think a few simple hexes would do for a start and then ..." the cold eyes glinted with slightly mad delight "... a full Levicorpus. There are enough spectators, don't you think so?"

There were hundreds of spectators.

"After the hearing," the Prince finished, throwing a loathing glance in the direction of the prisoner, "there will be time for more serious things."

Snape did not look at the prisoner. He was watching his twenty years older self overcome by hatred, as appalling lines of cruelty appeared on his face. He did not like what he saw. He was revolted by the idea that he had to share his identity with this monster.

"This is insane," he said. "I don't want you to do this."

The older man let out a mirthless laughter.

"You have no idea, young man, how much I have worked for this! Give me a reason ... just one good reason why I should not do it. "

"Because it is ... wrong," he said. "Torture hurts. I know."

The contemptuous curl in the corner of the Prince's mouth made it clear that the argument was a rather weak one. Of course, torture hurt. That was the point.

He tried again.

"It is not good for you either. It makes you horrible." He paused. "You are not a happy man."

The Prince's face became rigid and grim.

"No," he admitted. "I'm not. Neither are you, of course. But there are still small pleasures in life for me." With his head, he indicated the prisoner.

The people in the room were becoming impatient now and the Prince rapped on the desk with his wand again. The audience froze in silence.

"Wait," he said hastily. "There is another reason... Lily. You are hurting her, too."

The Prince regarded him with unfathomable eyes.

"I don't know Lily," he answered coldly. "I have no idea who you are talking about. But this is beside the point anyway. I suppose certain memories are at least as vivid in your mind as in mine. After all, you are closer to certain ...experiences. Today is the day of revenge... the day of satisfaction, the day of justice."

The last few words sounded rather like the hissing of a snake. He raised his wand but Snape grabbed it and, although he could not take it away from the older man's grip, he pushed hand and wand alike towards the desk, which was immediately hit by the spell. There was an explosion-like sound and a large burned hole appeared on the wooden surface. They both jumped to their feet. The next moment the wand was directed at Snape.

The guards did not move without getting orders, and the audience seemed to be interested in the changed spectacle.

"Idiot!" spat the Prince. "Why did you do that?"

He was eyeing the wand, trying to imagine what it would be like getting cursed by himself.

"I told you I did not want you to torture him."

The wand in the Prince's hand made a dangerous movement but nothing else happened. Enraged, its owner was merely glaring at the youngster who had spoiled the fun for him. The youngster, however, was beginning to understand the reason why no curses were coming. Hurting me, you would hurt yourself, too, you coward, he thought with a sense of triumph.

"In fact, I don't want you to torture anyone," he continued, "and I don't want you to forget Lily."

"You are in no position to lecture me, young man!" growled the other one. "You hate him, too, I know! You see you don't even deny it! Tell me who wanted revenge in the first place? Who had been indulging in dreams and fantasies about vengeance long before I did?"

He leaned close to him, and Snape took a step backwards.

"I never meant it this way," he said quickly.

He was on the defensive now, and his opponent seemed to be getting the better of him. He could not deny that he had been fantasizing about revenge and about Potter's humiliation, but his fantasies usually featured one-to-one duels between himself and Potter, ending, of course, with his own complete victory. Other fantasies included some splendid, grand or heroic deed on his part that had invariably made even his enemies respect him and his powers, and there was always Lily, who at last discovered how much worthier Snape was of her love than Potter or anyone else.

"You stupid kid," sneered the Prince condescendingly. "Fantasies are fantasies but I can show you how revenge works in reality."

He knew that his older self was right and he felt ashamed of his teenage fantasies, which he had almost forgotten in the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers. Most Death Eaters had personal aspirations, and their master rewarded their services with small favours and sometimes with great favours, but only those who had already moved up the organization ladder high enough could think about realizing really ambitious wishes. Even then, the Dark Lord's will was first and foremost. Snape had to admit that the manner of revenge that the Prince was showing him was painfully more realistic for a Death Eater than anything he had been fantasizing about. Still, he was sure that he did not want revenge at the price the Prince was paying for it.

"Don't throw away the possibility," hissed the older man. "Remember what happened and enjoy the revenge for everything Potter did to you, for everything that he had and you did not have and also for ... for... for..."

Suddenly he seemed to be choking, his face distorted with pain.

"For Lily," said Snape quietly.

The older man groaned, his breathing still uneven. Swiftly, Snape grabbed the wand and snatched it out of the Prince's hands, mercilessly taking advantage of his moment of weakness. Now he was holding the wand, directing it at his opponent.

"Be careful," said the Prince with forced calmness. "You can't do anything against me."

Snape regarded him with the most impertinent smile that he could produce.

"Don't be so sure of that," he answered.

"The spell that hits me will hit you, too."

"So what?" he whispered very slowly, enjoying the startled expression on his own older face. "Perhaps ... you don't know ... that the Dark Lord has recently tortured me ... quite thoroughly. Yet ... I'm here ... and I'm ready to endure a little more pain ... if I can teach you a lesson."

"Fine," the Prince retorted, quivering slightly with anger. "Why don't you torture me then instead of torturing him? You fool!"

Snape remained composed.

"Let him go free", he said firmly. "Release him ... now!"

He waved the wand around.

"I'm not joking," he continued. "You must know it ... you know me, don't you? You know that I can go far ... quite far ... if I really want something."

"Don't be stupid. I can't do that," growled the Prince.

"Oh, yes, you can. I'm not stupid and I can tell that you are the boss here."

"It is contrary to the ... custom."

"Who cares?"

The Prince sighed.

"Have your way then," he said with a malicious glint in his eyes. He turned to the room at large, where the audience and the council became noisier and more active at once. "I have compelling evidence in my hands," he announced, lifting the parchments," proving that the accused is not guilty. The prisoner ... is free!"

The momentary baffled silence was followed by general uproar. What had just happened was indeed unheard of.

"Silence!" he bellowed. "The hearing is over! Everyone must leave the courtroom!"

The audience as well as the rest of the council and the guards obediently began to move towards the door through which Snape had entered. Snape's attention, however, was completely caught by the freshly released prisoner. The chains and the blindfold had fallen off him and he stood up, looking towards the two Snapes with obvious amazement and disbelief. He was indeed Potter - and yet, he was not. He had Potter's features, his nose, his mouth, his chin - but instead of Potter's hazel eyes, he had green, almond-shaped ones. Lily's eyes... Snape gasped. The boy turned and followed the other people in the direction of the door. All of a sudden, a woman's cry filled the room.

"Harry...!"

The boy stopped, listened, and then hastened his steps towards the exit. Nobody else seemed to heed the cry. Snape knew whose voice he had heard and was desperately trying to spot Lily in the still crowded room. She was nowhere. His hands were clutching the edge of the desk. He had seen Lily's eyes in Potter's face and he had heard Lily's voice in a room where she was not present. What did that mean? He was shaking with shock.

"Severus, look! There!" screamed another voice directly into his ear.

He wheeled round. The Prince was edging towards the back door with the key in his hand.

"Impedimenta!"

The Prince stumbled. Cursing, he turned to see his twenty-year-old self glowering at him angrily. With weary steps, the Prince walked back to the desk.

"I have almost forgotten how quick your reactions could be."

Side by side, they watched the last of the crowd, the Lily-eyed Potter among them, leave the courtroom.

"You can still send a curse after him," suggested the Prince.

He shook his head.

"I'm not going to. Did you see his eyes?"

He looked at his older self and saw with some surprise that the Prince's face twitched ominously as though with pain.

"I don't care about his eyes!" he snapped. "I don't give a damn about anyone's eyes! You have got what you wanted, and now you must suffer the consequences. I'm leaving you. Goodbye, little boy!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Let me go!" the Prince spat furiously. "You can't hold me up forever, so why don't you just give it up now?"

"Accio key!" he shouted.

Nothing happened.

"That would be a bit too easy," sneered the Prince. "This key cannot be summoned and I'm not giving it to you. It is mine. I have paid for it."

He was holding the wand firmly in his grip, trying to think of a suitable spell. Should he carry out his threat and attack his other self, making both of them suffer? Would that make the Prince give up the key? They were glaring at one another, each pondering his next move. Suddenly he knew the word that he needed, and it was not even a spell...

"Lily," he said quietly but clearly.

He saw the face of his older self twitch again and he saw the same shock in the Prince's eyes that he had felt catching a glimpse of the boy's eyes...

"Lily," he repeated a little louder this time.

The Prince groaned with pain.

"No," he pleaded throatily, "don't do that."

"Lily," he said again, louder than before. "Lily, Lily, Lily..."

The Prince's hands were looking for support. He found his chair and sank into it.

"Stop," he croaked. "I don't want these memories ... They are hurting me .... I don't want ... to ... remember."

He buried his face into his hands.

"Give me the key," Snape said.

The other one did not move.

"Give me the key," he repeated.

The Prince slowly looked up at him.

"Don't you think that it is unfair?" he asked, still panting with pain. "You have taken away my wand, you have taken away my revenge, the fruit of my efforts, and now ... you want the key, too. What do I get in return?"

Snape was considering the question. What compensation can one give to a part of his own self who - as Snape was quite certain now - should not even exist?

"Give me the key ..." he replied, "... and I will make sure that you will never get here ... that you will never do any of this." He indicated the courtroom with his hands.

"It is too late for you, boy," snarled the Prince.

He seemed to be attacking, and Snape tried to protect the wand, but the Prince merely grabbed hold of his left arm and roughly pulled up his sleeve.

"Can you see that?" he hissed, forcing Snape to look at the Dark Mark.

"This is your ticket to Azkaban now that the Dark Lord is not protecting you any more. Unless you get killed by the Death Eaters, you will end up in this courtroom, only in a different chair." He pointed at the chair with the chains. "There is no reason for you to want this key. You'd better stay here and let me go on."

Snape was staring at the Dark Mark. Not even since the Dark Lord's splinching, had he thought his life and freedom certain enough to start making plans for a possible future. What would happen if he managed to escape from the island? What would he do, where would he go? He did not know. The Prince was right again. He had good reason to fear the aurors and Azkaban as well as the Dark Lord.

"What about you?" he asked. "I have already turned away from the Dark Lord, and he wants to kill me. You can't go back to him now. He does not give second chances... It is too late for you to take my place now."

The Prince sneered.

"Yes, I know about the mess you have got yourself into. You have a talent for that. You have come here just to spoil everything for me. But I won't have it, little boy ... I won't have it."

Snape needed all his willpower to remain calm.

"How would you escape the Dark Lord's wrath and how would youavoid Azkaban without his protection?" he demanded.

The Prince stepped quite close to him now, a pair of black eyes boring into a pair of black eyes.

"I am older than you, and I have not wasted my time," he whispered. "With my knowledge and my powers, I have little to fear. Iwill be able to deal with the aurors and I will be able to avoid the Dark Lord if I go on. I will watch them fight... waiting for my time to come ... and it will come... It will come."

The Prince laughed disdainfully.

"So if you care about your name at all ... let me go. Thanks to me, you have one last choice to make. Severus Snape can be a poor run-away Death Eater kid killed by the Dark Lord - or a pathetic little criminal who got cold feet and surrendered to the aurors only to be locked up in Azkaban! But Severus Snape, the Prince, can also be a powerful dark wizard, whose name will be feared and respected ... and preserved in wizarding history for ever!"

He was helpless, hesitating... Was it the truth? Was there no other way for him? Would he escape the Dark Lord only to be arrested by the aurors? Or would he spend the rest of his life on the run? How long could that last? Was it worth it after all? Still, the alternative that his older self was offering ... it could have been attractive to him before, but now... now it sounded like another form of death to him.

He was suddenly aware of a strange pain near his head. He immediately realized that it was Vil, shifting, perhaps trembling, on his shoulder, holding so tightly onto his hair and his neck that it hurt. Vil... She had tried to help him ... What would happen to her if the Prince won? Snape remembered the contemptuous look that the Prince had cast at her. Would he take her out of the tunnel, to freedom, to life? Would she be safe in the Prince's hands? She had once been hurt, perhaps tortured by a servant of the Dark Lord. Would it happen again? Would he let it happen?

The Prince was glaring at him, the anticipation of triumph already detectable on his face. He met his gaze defiantly. If only for Vil, it was still worth going on.

"I don't care," he said stubbornly. "I want the key. Whatever fate awaits me out there, at least I will not forget Lily."

"Idiot boy!" hissed the other one, displaying the already familiar twitches of pain. "The Dementors will do to you just that. They will take away all your happy memories."

"Then," he answered "I will keep the unhappy ones and I will still remember her."

The Prince laughed but it sounded rather artificial.

"What do you want to remember her for?"

"I am the night and she is the day," he said. "Nothing would be worth remembering if I forgot my memories of her." After a pause, he added, "If I had forgotten her, she would probably be dead by now."

The Prince turned even paler than before and stared at him without a word, for a long time. Finally, he let out a groan.

"You will get the key, you poor wretch," he snapped. "But I want my wand back!"

Snape hesitated for a moment then hurried towards the door. He stood there, directing the wand at the Prince until he followed him.

"No tricks," Snape warned the Prince. "You will let me go through this door. Swear it!"

"Very well," the Prince replied with a dark, twisted smile. "You are quite smart after all. I will not stop you if you give me that wand. You have won. You will see whether you get to regret it or not."

The Prince kept his promise. As soon as the key was in the padlock, the door opened and Snape stepped out of the room. The door closed behind him and disappeared immediately. With Vil still clutching his hair, he was standing in the dark tunnel again.

He leaned against the wall. He could feel nothing but fatigue and a desire to rest.

"Well done, Severus," trilled a silvery voice close to his ear.

He moaned.

"What is this tunnel? Tell me ... did I ... did I see the future?"

"Only a possibility," she answered. "One of many."

He picked her up from his shoulder and held her in his palm in front of his face.

"Did you know?" he asked accusingly. "Did you make it happen? Did you make it so difficult?"

"I thought you would understand it yourself," she said earnestly. "I had the power to open the tunnel for you, but I can't influence what you find inside. Everything that is here ... is your own creation."

He heard the words echoing in the tunnel. Your own creation....

"Then," he said ruefully, "I wish I had made it easier for myself."

"Yes," she agreed. "You could have made it much easier for yourself."