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Chapter Seventeen

A violent coughing fit ended in a sharp stab of pain in his chest. A broken rib. He shivered and tried to draw the threadbare blanket closer around his feverish body. Would this be the end of his life? Two years in Azkaban had robbed his body of all resistance against the illness.

Pneumonia. He recognized the symptoms, and he knew which potion could help if it was available. But they didn't waste valuable potions or medical care on prisoners like him. They didn't waste any care on prisoners like him. Severus Snape clutched his chest as another coughing fit seized him. Two years! He remembered them as an endless sequence of days full of misery and humiliation. He could recall every moment:

His arrival on the island on a dark, rainy day. They hurried to get out of the rain, but when he entered the fortress and heard the main gate of Azkaban close behind him, he realized that he wouldn't feel rain and wind again for a very long time. The trial had left him numb, but now despair overcame him. Now he really was a prisoner with rough voices barking commands, rough hands handling him. They made him hand in all his personal belongings and told him to undress. They gave him a shower and shaved his face and his head. Then they handed him his prison uniform of coarse cotton cloth and a pair of wooden clogs. He became a number – DE 2564. A blanket was pushed into his arms and he was told that he was to inhabit cell 026, was entitled to two meals a day and a shower and a clean set of clothes every four weeks. Then they took his arms and led him to his cell. He had to go down many stairs and could sense the air become colder and damper and his despair grew. When they finally stopped and he heard the harsh opening noises of a heavy wooden door, the mouldy smell from the cell behind made him lose his head and he panicked. He dropped the blanket, pushed away his guards and started to run. It was folly, of course, he couldn't see, he couldn't move fast in the clogs and stumbled and fell even before they were on him. They dragged him back to the cell and threw him in. He hit his head on something and passed out.

When he awoke with a terrible headache, he found his wrists and ankles bound with heavy shackles and despair returned and descended on him like a heavy blanket. He longed for death and remained lying on the cold stone floor until he heard the door open and footsteps enter the cell. A heavy boot kicked him in his side.

"Awake, Snape? Do you like your bracelets? This is what you get for attacking guards and attempting to escape."

Another kick.

"Here's food. Not that Death Eater scum like you deserve any."

The guard left. Severus realized that his mouth was parched. Perhaps food meant drink as well. Slowly he got on his hands and knees and started crawling around his cell, carefully feeling the floor in front of him until he found the metal tray with a jar of water and a bowl of something like gruel. He drank greedily and then continued exploring his cell. Suddenly something was holding him back and he realized that the fetters around his ankles were connected to another chain, which seemed to be fastened to a wall. He followed this chain and reached a bunk covered with a thin mattress. Further examination showed that they had placed the blanket on it. He followed the wall and found a bucket in the far corner. He went on as far as the chain would allow him, but there was nothing else in the cell. So he felt his way back to the bunk and sat down, head in his dirty hands, desperate tears running down his face. This was going to be his life for the next 20 years. This was what he had come to, he, Severus Snape, Half-Blood Prince, Hogwarts teacher, potions expert, master spy, double agent - chained to the wall in a damp underground cell like a dangerous wild animal?

Perhaps it was what he deserved. "Death Eater scum" he was after all. He had done terrible things. Anyway, happiness had never been meant for him, he had been destined for misery and loneliness since birth. He brushed the tears away. Well then, he was going to accept it.

And he withdrew into himself, not speaking to anybody, not responding to the guards' questions or insults, just dumbly following their commands. He learned that there was a sympathetic guard who put food right in front of the blind prisoner, often placing the bowl of soup into his hands, telling him to eat while it was hot, and a sadistic one who would "accidentally" spill the water or place the tray on the floor somewhere near the door, so that Severus would have to go down on his hands and knees to find it, which he often didn't bother to do. They "forgot" his monthly shower every so often and sometimes the bucket in the corner wasn't emptied for days. But all this drew no reaction whatsoever from the prisoner, who lived in isolation in a world of his own, allowing nobody to break through his misery, least of all Claire, who he sometimes felt approaching his mind. He didn't want her to know about his situation, he resolutely blocked any communication. He was alone again…

The only flicker of hope in these dark months was Snape's realization that his sight was returning, partially at least. He still couldn't see clearly, but he could discriminate between darkness and what little light the tiny window near the ceiling of the cell brought to him and he could recognize the blurred shapes of his guards when they came with their torches.

So two years had passed in this way and now his malnourished body was an easy prey for the illness. He drew the blanket closer. He was going to die. How often had he wished for death during those long forsaken months. But now as it was drawing near – the idea of never seeing real daylight again, of ending his life in this cell, dirty and stinking, alone and in chains had lost its attraction. What did they do with prisoners who had died? Throw them into the sea without any ceremony? Most likely. Would they inform anybody about his death? Perhaps the Daily Prophet would have two lines saying that Severus Snape, the notorious Death Eater and traitor had died in Azkaban. Nobody would mourn for him, on the contrary, people would be glad that he was gone. Would anybody inform Claire? Claire – suddenly there was a painful urge to see her again. He missed her, he longed for her. And Susanna, his daughter!

"No!" he let out an agonizing cry, before sinking back on the stinking mattress, coughing and crying bitterly. He didn't want to die like this!

The sympathetic guard found him with a high fever and barely conscious. He put his arm under Snape's head and held the water jar to his parched lips. Then he covered the shivering man with an extra blanket he had just taken from the cell whose occupant had died the previous night. It was against regulations, but nobody could have anything against a last gesture of mercy towards a dying man.

The guard left, certain that on his return in the morning another prisoner would be dead.

Thanks to J.K. Rowling for the inspiring characters.