Chapter Seven: Narrow Escape

She didn't succeed. Try as she might Alexandra couldn't get Severus Snape out of her head, couldn't ignore the humming of the mirror forever. So she started consulting Dumbledore again and together they planned another visit to Azkaban. This time she had to wait three weeks before she was granted a visiting permit - plenty of time to prepare new strategies of argumentation.

But when she arrived at the gate she was told that the prisoner was ill and too weak to see her. Alexandra's heart sank. No, this couldn't be true, he could not die before she had a chance to get him free!

"I want to see him," she demanded with as much authority as she could muster. "Take me to his cell."

"He's in the infirmary."

"Then take me there."

The guard looked at her doubtfully. "It isn't allowed."

"I don't care. I insist on seeing him, I've come all the way from London and I haven't made this journey for nothing!"

"Visitors are not allowed in the infirmary."

Alexandra was close to tears. She had to see him!

"Why are you so heartless! He may be dying."

The guard snorted. "So what? Merlin, he's just a prisoner, all of them die sooner or later."

"He's a human being and he has the right to be treated as such."

She tried very hard to blink back her tears. The guard rolled his eyes. He had been trained in dealing with hysterical female visitors recently, had thought it a complete waste of time, but now it looked as if he could use the newly acquired skills. 'Be polite, but firm. Show compassion, but always refer to the rules. If in doubt ask your superior officer' the instructor had said. Right.

"I must ask for permission."

"Then ask, for God's sake."

The man shrugged and wrote something on a piece of parchment, which he then folded and sent flying along the corridor. Alexandra paced the small room, studied the wall, counted the stones to calm her nerves. It seemed ages before a fluttering sound could be heard and something white landed on the guard's desk. He unfolded it and studied the message carefully. Alexandra bit her fingers with impatience.

"As I've said. Sorry, but you can't see him."

The guard shrugged apologetically and picked up the Daily Prophet he had been reading.

"But why? I must see him. Please."

"Lady, didn't you hear me? It's against the rules. Now please leave the building."

Alexandra felt as if she was drowning in a sea of despair. She stared at the thickset figure of the guard, her breath coming in rapid gasps she tried to find words to persuade him, but nothing came out of her mouth and then the walls began to sway, she heard the man utter a curse and lost consciousness.

She woke to a stinging smell in her nostrils which made her shudder with disgust.

An elderly woman was bending over her, a small bottle in her hand. "There," the woman said with a smile, "as I said, Sir – these smelling salts could wake you from the dead."

"Thank you, Liz."

A tall, heavily built man with long, curly brown hair and the robes of a high-ranking Auror came into Alexandra' view.

"Good morning, Ms Moody, I'm Hieronimus Hawe, the director of Azkaban. How are you?"

His voice was polite, but she could sense wariness and disapproval behind the façade.

Alexandra sat up. Apart from a faint feeling of pressure in her head she was fine.

She smiled at the director.

"Fine, I think. I'm sorry for causing such an inconvenience, low blood pressure, you know…"

"It's alright. So you wanted to see prisoner Snape?"

Suddenly it all came back to her. He was ill, they wouldn't let her see him! She sat up eagerly. Perhaps this man could help her.

Mr Hawe looked at a parchment. Alexandra recognized it as her application form.

"You're writing his biography? Interviewing him about his life?"

She nodded. The director shrugged.

"The man's dying. Leave him alone," he said coldly.

Alexandra jumped from her chair.

"But…"

"Can't you people see when it's time to stop harassing someone?"

Now his anger and disgust were obvious.

"Let him die in peace. His death will most probably boost the sales of your book, so there's nothing for you to complain about, is there?" the Auror sneered.

Alexandra froze and stared at him open-mouthed. What did he think of her? Right, she was working for the Daily Prophet, whose ethics concerning truth and privacy were not very high, but she herself had never been hunting after sensations or exploited other people's tragedies for her writing. That was not her idea of journalism. She was taking a deep breath intending to defend herself, when a thought struck her. If this official cared for the dying prisoner then maybe telling the truth about her visits would persuade him into helping her.

"I 've always filled in this biography-thing as a reason for my coming to see him, but in reality…" she had to pause to get rid of her tears and to make her voice work again.

"In reality I've come to see him as a friend."

"As a friend?" Incredulously the director stared at her.

"Yes – yes, well, I – I like him – and I think he's - wrongly imprisoned."

There was a few minutes' silence, the director and his secretary exchanging embarrassed glances, while Alexandra tried to make her tears stop.

"I've always thought he didn't have any friends," the director said quietly, ignoring the statement about Snape's innocence.

Sobbing, Alexandra shrugged helplessly.

He studied her for a few minutes, then sighed.

"Alright, you can see him," the director finally said. "Come with me."

Severus Snape was floating, pleasantly defying gravity, floating in two places at once.

He was in a cold, dark tunnel and was slowly drawn towards its far end, where there was warmth and light. It was not the harsh, white light of the infirmary lamps, but a warm, yellow light, soft and promising. There were voices in the light, voices he recognized. Albus' voice and Narcissa's voice, Narcissa, unfortunate wife of Lucius Malfoy who had died at the hands of the Dark Lord together with her son Draco. Another woman's voice - his mother…The voices were calling him, calling him to join them and he drifted out of the cold darkness towards the light, slowly, gently, steadily.

At the same time he was floating near the ceiling of the infirmary room, looking down at his own body in the narrow bed. The healers had finally left him alone, with the curtains drawn around his cubicle. His body was covered with a grey blanket so that the chain locking his right ankle to the bed was invisible. Rigid with pain was this body, this weak and ill, this dying body. Up here there was no pain. Slowly he did a lazy somersault to have a closer look. It was very still, this body, there was a bluish tinge in the thin face. Interesting, was that what death looked like?

Suddenly there was a commotion. A tall man in an Auror's robes entered the infirmary with a woman in tow. They had a quick word with a healer and then came over to his corner. He recognized the man. The director of Azkaban. He recognized the woman as well. Alexandra Moody, the only person in the world who believed him innocent. Stupid woman. What was she doing here? Why couldn't she leave him alone? It was over.

He saw her sit down on the stool next to the bed. First she just looked at him, then she took his hand into hers and held it. He could feel her soft skin on his. Amazing, how did this work, after all he was up here? She said something, he could see her lips move, but he couldn't hear the words. Strange, what was wrong with his senses? Why could he feel, but not hear? He would have to go down a bit, get a bit closer. She touched his cheek with her fingers. It was a caress, soft and gentle. Pleasant. Now he could hear her. What did she say? Oh, just his name. Severus. Since when had they been on first-name terms? But it was soothing to hear her say it. Severus. Nobody had ever pronounced it this way before…

"Severus, don't go!"

There were tears in that voice. Tears and something else. But what? The other voices, louder now, calling him from the light, inviting him to join them. He had to go. This was the moment he had been waiting for all these years. However – Alexandra Moody's voice, her touch – he didn't want to leave them just now. He remembered her being inside his mind. He still didn't understand how she had managed to do this, he wanted to learn more about it, he had to find out the reasons for this connection…

"Severus, please."

Merlin! He had heard this phrase before! Albus – that night on the tower. He had been reliving the scene over and over again, had heard the phrase in his dreams ever since. It meant death. Or did it?

"Severus, please, don't die!"

Yes, there were tears in the voice. Die? What a harsh word. He merely wanted to join the other voices in the light. The light looked so promising, warm and welcoming. The voices, more insistent now, pulling him towards it, lulling him into following them. Albus, Lucius, Draco, James Potter, Sirius Black … Sirius Black? James Potter? NO! WAIT! He didn't want to go where they were. He certainly didn't want to follow when they were calling. Albus had always taken their side – would this just continue down there in the light? NO! Albus would have to wait, Narcissa as well, all of them. He wasn't ready. Not yet, not like this! After all, here, right next to him, was this gentle hand caressing his skin, this soft voice pronouncing his name in such a unique, loving way. He didn't want to leave her, he wanted to experience more of her voice, of her touch. Resolutely he started fighting against the pull of the light and the voices, frantically moving his arms and legs to get away…

Severus Snape opened his eyes.

"Severus!" There was joy in her voice now, joy and excitement. With an immense effort he turned his head and looked at her. Her cheeks were wet, her eyes red from crying. Had she been crying for him? How extraordinary.

Ms Moody, he wanted to say, but out came only a hoarse croak. Her hand on his hand – slowly he made his stiff fingers move, bending them, closing them around hers, squeezing her hand gently. She smiled. Their eyes met. He let himself fall into these eyes, they swallowed him, making him welcome, taking him home…

Noises, loud, rapid steps. A woman with high heels.

"Sir!"

Alexandra started and looked over her shoulder, as if suddenly becoming aware of the director's presence again. She coloured slightly.

The director, who had been watching the scene from the background, turned and left the cubicle quickly. He was irritated about the interruption, embarrassed at being found out of having witnessed such an intimate scene.

"What is it, Liz?" he asked roughly.

His secretary panted, a role of parchment in her outstretched hand..

"An express owl from the ministry, Sir, an urgent message…"

The director sighed. Ministry officials! What was it this time they considered so urgent? He tore the letter open and read it. Frowned, read it again. Then he turned and cast a thoughtful look at the half-opened curtains of the cubicle through which the woman's back was just visible. Snape. This couldn't be a coincidence. He scanned the letter once more. New evidence – a new trial – innocence. Great Merlin! If it hadn't been for Alexandra Moody the man would probably be dead by now! He was too ill to appear before the wizengamot. He needed medical care, more than they could provide here in Azkaban. He had to go to St Mungo's.

The director returned the letter to his secretary and, asking her to prepare an express owl to the Ministry, sent her to her desk at once. Then he went back to Snape's bed.

"Ms Moody," he said softly and when she looked up he had to clear his throat before he could go on.

"You can stay with him for a while if you want to. I must go back to my office. Prisoner Snape will most probably be transferred to St Mungo's within the next two hours. The ministry wants to re-open his case. Obviously there is some evidence of his innocence. Seems as if you were right, Ms Moody."

He smiled wryly, nodded and was gone.

Alexandra turned to Snape again. Had he heard? The prisoner's eyes were closed, he had lost consciousness again. Alexandra intensified her grip of his hand and hoped that the transfer to St Mungo's would be in time for him to survive.

Late at night she returned to London, tired and exhausted, barely able to climb the stairs to her flat. She felt weak from not having eaten all day and her vision was blurred with fatigue. But it was done. Snape was out of Azkaban, they had established a special floo-connection to St Mungo's and taken him there. Despite her pleas she had not been allowed to accompany him and had started her journey home, the director himself seeing her to the boat. It all felt like a dream.

She didn't bother taking off her shoes and her jacket, but went straight to the chest of drawers to speak to the mirror. But Dumbledore appeared to know already, he smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling more than ever before, his half-moon spectacles glittering in the lamplight.

"Well done, Ms Moody, congratulations."

"I didn't do much and I still don't understand what happened," she replied wearily.

"It's very simple. He nearly died, you made him come back," the old wizard said and nodded gravely.

"You mean, he nearly died and so the letters appeared?"

"Exactly, Ms Moody."

More smiles, more twinkes.

Alexandra yawned. Her mind still didn't want to be too optimistic.

"He's very ill. And there was something about a trial. He's not free yet."

"Don't worry, Ms Moody, all will be well."

And when she yawned again and swayed a bit, clutching at the drawer for support, the old wizard added gently, "And now go to bed, Ms Moody, you need your rest. All will be well."

Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these fascinating characters