Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.
This story is dedicated to scatteredlogic for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.
Chapter Thirty Seven: Inner Demons
Minerva stood by the small window in her cell and looked down into the courtyard below her. In the unusually clear light of morning, she could see several guards and laborers working diligently to repair and rebuild the ancient structure in the middle of the open space at the center of the prison…the gallows. There was no escaping the sound of the nails being pounded one by one for hours on end. It occurred to her that they were doing the work without magic simply for her benefit. Nothing else made sense. Her cell had been moved from the sea side of the prison to the inside, which overlooked this place where they once performed executions before the Dementors took over, simply so that she could watch the preparations for her death move forward. It was one form of torture that they could easily get away with.
For the last hour, they'd been testing the hinged platform on which she'd stand. Testing it over and over again. It had worked quite well the first time and every time since then. All thirty-four of them so far. They'd more than made their point. Now, they were simply driving it into the ground.
Lately, time had somehow ceased to follow a coherent line, and mentally, she found herself in the past as often as in the present. Memories glittered temptingly and jostled each other for her attention, and she found herself picking and choosing amongst them, trying to relive only the good ones. Why delve into the horrors of her life when every horror she'd ever experienced was being given form outside her window? Yet even things that began as good memories could sour so easily.
The fresh faces of students, past and present, kept appearing and disappearing. Some she could put names to and some, she realized to her dismay, she could not. Teaching had been a true joy in her life. Helping students to learn the skills that they needed to be successful in their lives was one of the most satisfying things that she'd ever done. When she read about their successes, once they'd left school, she felt proud to have helped them on their way.
Now, if she was convicted, all of these students, who might once have remembered her fondly, or at least with grudging respect for what she'd been able to give them, would only remember her as a murderess. It was so disheartening. She'd spent so many years trying to live an exemplary life, to help all the children who'd crossed her path, to set a proper example for them, and now it all came down to this…public censure, scorn and ridicule, and, finally, death at the end of a rope.
How could one incident that she didn't even remember end up destroying everything so completely? Her future, her reputation, her career could all be gone just like that. No matter how she tried, she simply couldn't imagine doing what they said she did, even with those damning pictures to prove it. A great number of other people didn't seem to be having any trouble with that, though. After they'd peered into that pensieve from her past, her guilt apparently seemed quite easy to believe. Once again, she cursed her inability to see the actual pensieve itself, though if the copy was a true one, it might not matter, especially since her memories of the incident were completely gone.
How could she ever bring herself to face all those people at her trial? Clearly, it would be open to the public. Albus seemed to think that Minister Gallagher wanted to turn the trial into a showpiece, a public spectacle that would sweep him into office permanently. So, without a doubt, there'd be hoards of eager reporters there to take her picture and post it up everywhere. People she knew, friends, acquaintances, enemies, they'd all vie for a seat in the courtroom, simply to see if it was true. Even people she'd known her entire life would end up wondering if they'd ever really known her at all.
A ragged sigh escaped her. Sometimes she wondered the same thing herself. If she was truly the woman she'd always thought herself to be, then how could something so horrific really exist in her past? None of this made any sense at all.
Albus didn't doubt her though. A pallid smile crossed her face. He'd been steadfast in his belief in her innocence from the moment he'd heard of the charges. No matter what evidence he was faced with, he'd always stand by her. She knew she could count on that, and it meant the world. Just this morning, she'd been presented with a note from him, telling her that she'd be brought to the Ministry of Magic late tomorrow to await her trial early the following day.
His words had been hopeful and upbeat, telling her not to lose heart. He promised that he'd see her there, and that everything would go well. Though that could simply be his natural optimism and the desire to buoy her spirits. No, she realized suddenly with a start, that wasn't quite right. He hadn't said that he'd meet her there. He'd said that "they" would meet her there. Who would "they" turn out to be, she wondered? Could he have meant that Severus would be with him?
Her vision blurred slightly, and she blinked to clear it. Oh, she wanted to see him again, so very much, yet at the same time, she was afraid to. Afraid that if she did, she'd break down and beg him to hold her in his arms once more. Afraid that she'd just embarrass him with her emotionality, or worse yet, harm his reputation in front of spying eyes.
What must he think of her now? He'd been right all along. She should've told Albus what Ian was up to, right from the start, instead of trying to handle it all on her own. Keeping Albus and the school clear of any scandal had seemed like the right move at the time, but she'd failed to realize how much a part of Hogwarts she'd become over the years. No matter what she did, or how hard she tried, she couldn't ever truly disassociate herself from the school, and it had obviously been foolish of her to try.
With a tightening of her throat, she turned away from the torture of the window and lowered herself slowly onto her cot, trying to ignore the aches that plagued her with any movement now. Constant exposure to the extreme cold and dampness of this place hadn't done anything good for her aging joints. She felt so old at the moment, old and tired and simply worn out.
If Severus could see her now, he'd probably be appalled…and repelled. Who would he choose for his next lover? As much as the thought pained her, she couldn't help but wonder. He'd seemed to enjoy the benefits of having a regular lover far too much for him to go back to doing without too easily. Surely, he'd find someone to take her place in his bed. Their involvement hadn't been love for him, after all. Oh, he'd become fond of her. Her thoughts drifted back to that last embrace they'd shared, his concern for her safety, the gentleness of his touch. No, there was no doubt in her mind that he'd come to care about her, perhaps a fair amount, but caring and fondness didn't compare to her feelings for him.
Sadly, she bowed her head and buried her face in her hands. She missed him so much. Why had she ever allowed herself to care so much about him? Why had she been so foolish as to actually fall in love?
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The darkness was impenetrable. No matter which way Severus turned, he couldn't see anything. He could hear, though, and feel and smell. He was in Azkaban. There was no doubt about it. Once you've spent any amount of time there, you could never forget that smell. It lingered in your mind like a trap that could be sprung without warning at the least touch of memory.
The scent was one of dampness and decay, of sweat and blood, and fear, overwhelming fear. It permeated everything. The walls, the food, the meager clothes that they allowed you to wear. It was everywhere. There was no escape.
Cold wind cut through his robes and caused him to shiver as he tried to figure out exactly where within the labyrinthine prison he was, and how he could reach his goal. Because he had to find her and soon. Time was running out. Those self-righteous idiots at the Ministry were going to kill her, and somehow he had to stop them. Nothing else mattered.
Carefully, he stretched out his arms into the stygian abyss and tried to touch something. There had to be walls here somewhere, but no matter which direction he turned, his fingertips remained free, touching nothing but air.
Slowly, he became aware of sounds that reverberated around him, resolving themselves into the measured tread of several pairs of feet moving along together. Three or four people perhaps, he couldn't be sure. They were moving away from him, their steps echoing off the stone floor. One set seemed lighter than the others, more reluctant, scuffling slightly, but every time those steps faltered for a moment, they were hurried along once more, as if one person was shoving another into place in a moving line.
Voices drifted to his ears, mere snatches of sound just beyond the edge of comprehension. He frowned as he continued to grope blindly for his bearings and tried to make sense of what he heard.
Then without warning, he touched a wall, and vision abruptly returned to his eyes. Not that the view he had was particularly encouraging. He appeared to be in the middle of the prison in one of the smoky, torch lit corridors listening to the nearby dripping of water, and he realized with a shiver that those echoing footsteps had stopped. He held his breath. Why had the footsteps stopped? What did it mean?
Then he heard them again. This time though, it was only two sets, and they no longer echoed off cold stone. Instead, they were striking wood. Someone was climbing stairs made of wood. Two people…a man…and a woman.
It was Minerva. It had to be. She was somewhere nearby; he knew it, without a doubt, but he was suddenly seized with the certainty that if he didn't find her soon, it would be too late.
He began to run, trying to follow the sound of the steps, but they echoed falsely. Sometimes seeming near and sometimes seeming so very far away. He ran blindly, his heart beating faster and faster with every step. Every time he came to a corner and turned it, he was faced with yet another long empty corridor with no end in sight, but he couldn't give up. He couldn't stop. So he simply kept running…on and on.
Slowly, he was descending, but no matter how fast he ran, he didn't seem to be making much progress. Then quite suddenly, he heard voices.
A man's…harsh and mocking. "Any last words, Professor?"
He froze.
"I'd only be wasting my time."
Minerva's voice.
A brutal laugh. "Hell, I always thought that wasting time was the whole point, but that doesn't seem to be your style, I will admit. Okay. I don't mind moving on to the main event."
Muffled rustlings of movement were followed by a silence that was so full of foreboding that it hurt to listen to it. Then his heart skipped a beat at the sharp sound of wood hitting heavily against wood. Echoing laughter filled his ears and made them burn.
No! He couldn't be too late! No! He ran faster and faster, and suddenly just when he never thought he'd find a way out, he turned a corner and saw a faint light in the distance.
Desperately, he plunged onward, his footsteps ringing sharply against the stone, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps; finally, he burst out of the gloom of the prison walls into the harsh gray light of day. Immediately, his breath stilled in his chest as his eyes fastened on the only thing in sight. Indeed everything else fell away to nothing. All that remained was the sound of his breathing…harsh and shallow…and the sight of Minerva's limp form dangling from the end of a rope.
The sound of slow footsteps scraping against uneven ground assaulted his ears, but he failed to recognize them as his own as he moved slowly towards her. The icy wind that cut through him like needles tore at her hair and the rags that she wore, and gave the illusion of movement to her body, where clearly none should any longer be.
No matter how he tried, he couldn't take his eyes from her bound and swaying figure, suspended from the gallows. He was too late, after all…too late.
Suddenly, he was plunged into darkness once more. Then a light came up behind him, and he turned to see a shining coffin laid out on a bier. Once more, he moved forward to stare down at her quiet face as she lay there before him, finally at rest. Unbidden, he slowly reached out a hand and touched her cold cheek, caressing it gently. But there was no life to her skin any longer. No pulse at her throat. No breath from her lips.
A cold pain flooded through him as he looked down on her. He'd failed her. She was counting on him, and he'd failed.
Then without warning, her eyes suddenly snapped open, and she sat up to face him as shock made him gasp and stumble back. He found himself staring into her eyes, and for the first time ever, they looked back at him with disgust.
"You're too late, Severus," she accused. "You let them kill me when you knew the truth. You should've stopped them. I was innocent. I didn't deserve to die. You could've stopped it, found the proof to free me. Why didn't you save me? I was counting on you. Didn't I mean anything to you?"
"Of course, you did! I tried." He forced breath through dry lips. "I tried to find the answer. I ran out of time…" His voice trailed off helplessly, and he simply stood there and looked at her.
"Once again your efforts weren't good enough, they've never been good enough, have they? All your life, you've been a failure. You were a failure as a son, a failure as a student, you weren't even a good Death Eater. It's only a matter of time before you fail as a spy as well. And now you've failed me, too. You were too slow finding the proof. Without it, you couldn't convince anyone of the truth. Why didn't you try harder? I believed in you, depended on you, cared about you, but you didn't care whether I lived or died."
"No," he begged. "No, that's not true. I tried my best. I didn't want anything to happen to you. I never wanted anything to happen to you." His voice crackled with pain, and all he could force into the cold darkness was a whispered confession of something he'd buried too deeply to fully acknowledge before. "I never wanted to lose you…I love…you…"
Her face softened for a moment, and she held out an entreating hand. "Then help me, Severus…before it's too late."
He reached out for her in return, but before they could touch, the darkness descended once more, cutting him off from her and wrapping around him like a smothering shroud. His hands clawed at the black thickness flowing over him, twisting, tightening…
"No," he yelled sharply, as he forced his head upwards from his folded arms and found himself sitting at a long table, within the depths of the library, and being watched by a very worried looking Irma Pince.
His wild eyes stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then he shook his head sharply and pressed the heels of his hands deeply into his eye sockets as he leaned back in his chair. It was only a dream…a nightmare. She wasn't dead. Not yet. There was still time to save her. There was still time.
Panic seized his heart. How much time? How long had he slept? He dropped his hands to the tabletop and stared across it at Irma Pince.
"How long have I been asleep? What time is it?" His voice rasped harshly.
"It's approaching midnight, actually. You haven't been asleep that long," she said reassuringly. "A couple of hours, maybe."
"Two hours? How could you let me sleep for two hours? We don't have that kind of time to waste." He glared at her angrily.
Irma shook her head. "Severus, you were obviously exhausted. How long do you think you can survive without sleep? You were still here when I left last night, and you were here when I arrived this morning. You've been doing nothing all day except moving methodically from one book to the next. The circles under your eyes look as if they've become a permanent feature. Did you get any rest at all last night?"
He glanced away and tightened his lips, refusing to answer though that was answer enough.
"It won't do Minerva any good if you make yourself ill trying to find this spell, you know." Irma frowned across at him.
Angrily, he turned back to her with burning eyes. "It's not going to do Minerva any good if we don't find the spell at all!" he snapped.
Irma looked unhappy. "I know, but…"
"No! You don't know!" He cut her off sharply, slamming his fist into the polished mahogany surface of the table.
Irma jumped in surprise. His haggard face looked furious and haunted. She'd seldom, if ever, seen anyone so close to the edge as Snape seemed to be right now. His intensity burned into her as if he'd taken one of the magical torches and thrust it up under her face. His reaction sent fear racing through her body, making her fingers tingle as she clutched them into anxious fists.
"What don't I know?" she asked in a hollow tone, afraid to hear the answer.
He froze and simply stared silently at her for a heartbeat. Then he dropped his eyes back to the table and drew the nearest book towards him across the tabletop.
"Nothing…never mind," he murmured. "Let's just get back to work. I assume, since you didn't awaken me, that you didn't find anything while I was asleep."
For a moment, she debated whether or not she should persist with her query, but ultimately, she felt that it would only anger him and waste valuable time. Yet his reaction, this intense sense of desperation, which oozed from every inch of the man, struck fear into her heart as she looked at him. He knew something that he wasn't telling her. Something that wasn't good for Minerva. It was tearing him apart, whatever it was, and driving him onward relentlessly. Therefore, if she trusted him, she should allow it to drive her, too, even without knowing what it was.
So she shook her head. "No, I haven't found anything yet, but we will," she offered timidly. "I'm worried about her, too, you know." Hesitantly, she extended a hand and laid it gently on top of his as it lay on the table still contracted into a fist.
Haltingly, he raised his head and stared at her for a long moment, while slowly the clenched fist relaxed under her touch until his long fingers lay flat against the wooden surface. His eyes, sunken with fatigue, were full of something that she couldn't quite identify. Something it pained her to see.
Without speaking, he slowly lowered his gaze once more to the book in front of him, and she quietly withdrew her hand from his to begin searching her pile of books for answers once more.
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Next chapter: Minerva is moved to the Ministry of Magic to await her trial.
