Chapter Fifteen
December, 1976
Severus had never been to Azkaban.
It was remarkable, really. Recently—twenty-two years from now—he had been far too busy running the school for (and against) the Dark Lord to aid in shuttling however many Muggleborns to the prison. The Dark Lord hadn't needed Severus' assistance with the breakouts of '96 and '97—the Dark Lord's control over the Dementors was quite enough to ensure success in those particular endeavours—and there was really no call for a school teacher to visit a prison, so Severus had given Azkaban very little thought between 1981 and 1996 (with the obvious exception of being very, very pleased that Sirius Black was rotting away inside…until 1993, at which time he had become very, very irate that Sirius Black was not, in fact, doing so).
But what was truly remarkable was that he had managed to avoid even a temporary stay in the prison after the Dark Lord's momentary downfall; in retrospect, he realised that Dumbledore had hidden him within Hogwarts until Severus' name had been (marginally) cleared. (At the time, his usually-formidable observational skills had been somewhat dulled by the experience of having his heart, such as it was, metaphorically ripped from his chest.) As far as he knew, aside from himself, only Malfoy had been able to avoid a passing familiarity with the prison in the winter of '81—the other suspected followers of the Dark Lord, thanks to Bartemius Crouch's zeal, were at least held there until their trials commenced (if, of course, they were lucky or well-connected enough to receive trials at all).
But now, thanks to this selfsame Bartemius Crouch, sixteen-year-old Severus Snape—unMarked, ostensibly never having cast an Unforgivable—was following his Potions Master down an over-long pier over the crashing, tumultuous waters of the North Sea.
Azkaban was, naturally, surrounded by an exceptionally strong Anti-Apparition barrier, and Floo travel was restricted to only the senior-most Ministry officials (none of whom, if Severus were to hazard a guess, were fond of frequenting the prison). As such, Jigger had Side-Alonged Severus to this unmarked pier, where a small boat awaited to transport them to the island.
A middle-aged wizard, clad in uniform DMLE robes, offered Jigger his hand for balance as the Potions Master stepped into the boat, which had, fortunately, been magically tethered to the pier. Severus, however, was left unaided and, forgetting that he was yet two inches shy of his adult height, misjudged the distance down into the boat. He stumbled slightly and caught himself with both hands on the boat's edge.
The DMLE wizard shot him a sympathetic smile. "I've got a boy your age," he said. "All arms and legs. You'll grow into it, lad."
"Do watch your balance once we're inside, Mr Snape," Jigger said tiredly.
"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said, taking his seat and wishing he would just finish growing.
(To eliminate inadvertent clumsiness, of course. Not to be closer to Master Jigger's height. That would be entirely petty and inane.)
The DMLE wizard leaned towards Master Jigger and, as though Severus couldn't hear him quite plainly, asked, "Not to pry, but you do have the boy's parents' permission to bring him here…?"
Jigger scowled and, to Severus' pleasure, snapped, "I am the boy's Master and legal guardian. He'll do as I direct and, moreover, it is his potion being tested."
The DMLE wizard lifted his hands in an attempt to pacify him. "My apologies, sir, I didn't mean to intrude," he said. "It's just—the guards are, ah, especially fond of younger…souls, as it were. It can be quite hazardous."
Jigger just raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that I would expose my apprentice to unnecessarily risk, Mr Hawkins?"
"Of course not, sir," said Hawkins. "Just making sure you'll have Patronus charms at the ready."
"Naturally," Jigger said. When he offered no further comment, Hawkins tapped his wand against the side of the boat, and off they sped toward the distant, hulking shadow of Azkaban.
The mist hit Severus' face, distorting his vision through his glasses, but Severus wasn't certain that violating the Restriction for Underage Wizardry in front of an agent of the DMLE on their way to prison was an advisable action, so his vision remained blurred and his face remained damp. As for his "younger soul"…
Severus wondered if his soul was 38 or 16, and if it truly remained whole either way.
Perhaps he had double the quantity of soul.
How did one measure soul? Clearly it could be quantified in some way, as one could, obviously, split one's soul in twain (or, as the case could evidently be, in eahta). But as to whether it was possible for the soul to be measured against some standard unit—
A slap of frigid water met Severus' face and shocked him out of his reverie. To his annoyance, the DMLE wizard chuckled. "You'll probably want drying and warming charms, lad," he said. Severus, glad for tacit permission to defy the Restriction, wordlessly cast the two charms in quick succession—followed by a wordless Impervius to his glasses. Hawkins nodded his approval. "You may do just fine inside at that," he commented quietly. Jigger harrumphed.
As the boat drew nearer to the prison, the fog grew thicker—Severus was unpleasantly reminded of the dismal weather in England circa 1997—and he was, surprisingly, relieved when the boat finally reached the island shore; at the very least, they would be going indoors.
Hawkins directed the two of them to disembark—Severus, gratifyingly, doing so without incident—and led them to a small, steel door in the shadow of a rock. He quickly tapped the door with his wand in an intricate pattern that called to mind the entrance to Diagon Alley, and it shortly swung open to admit them. Severus and Jigger followed Hawkins inside.
The small, dimly-lit room within was, it turned out, practically as misty as the prison's exterior, and although it was naturally less windy, it was, if anything, chillier. Once they had entered, their guide—who had made no move to remove his cloak once indoors—flicked his wand at a fireplace in the corner of the room. Once the flames reached a decent size, Hawkins flicked his wand once more and, with a mutter, produced an oversized, moderately bright Patronus—some kind of large sea mammal; a walrus?—which settled easily in front of the hearth.
Seeing Severus' glance, Hawkins explained, "The guards never enter this room, but I find keeping an active Patronus helps with the mist. It gets far too damp in here otherwise." He gestured toward a small table and indicated for them to take two of the four chairs there. "Please, have a seat," he said. "I'm sure you're eager to perform your tests, but I wouldn't feel right sending you in there without a cup of tea."
Jigger frowned, but relented. "Very well," he said. "Briefly." He sat, and Severus joined him at the small, wooden table. Severus glanced around the room; its floor and walls were, unsurprisingly, made of stone, which could not have detracted from the pervasive chill. Aside from the tables and hearth, the room contained a worn-looking cot, a short bookcase, and a sink and stovetop. One large, steel door with several locks sat in the wall opposite the door to the outside, and an open wooden door on a side wall appeared to lead to a small lavatory.
Hawkins' Patronus sat, unmoving, in the centre of the room.
"I hope you'll forgive me, Master Jigger," Hawkins said, as he busied himself with a kettle, "if I go over Azkaban safety regulations with your young apprentice."
"By all means," Jigger said drily.
"Thank you," Hawkins said. "Now, lad, there are Dementors stationed throughout Azkaban. All are utmost professionals and have been notified that two civilians matching your descriptions will be visiting the prison this evening." Hawkins reached for three mugs, into which he placed—to Severus' dismay—rather dusty-looking teabags. "They have all been instructed to maintain a distance of at least ten feet from you at all times. But if they begin to get over-curious—or if you begin to experience any of the, ah, side effects of Dementor exposure—at any time, you are welcome to engage the Patronus Charm." The kettle began to whistle; Hawkins turned off the stove and poured water into each of the mugs, which he Levitated over to the table.
As he took his seat, he said, "If you keep those simple instructions in mind, you should be fine. Heaven knows Master Jigger has been here often enough. But, ah, if there is an absolute emergency—which we don't at all expect, mind you," he added earnestly, "—there are emergency levers located at fifteen-foot intervals throughout the prison corridors. Pulling any one of those will cause this bell"—he indicated a large bell near the large, metal door—"to ring, and I'll immediately Floo the Ministry for Auror assistance and, in the meantime, send Wally—that's my Patronus, there—to your side."
"Will the bell also alert the other guards?" Severus asked, disliking the prospect of one fat Patronus standing between himself and a Kiss.
Hawkins frowned, clearly (inexplicably) puzzled. "Well, ah, I suppose they'll hear it, but I'm not sure what you think they'd do—I mean, once a few get into a frenzy, it eggs the others on—"
"Mr Hawkins," Jigger interrupted. "Mr Snape is, I believe, inquiring as to other human guards."
Hawkins blinked. "But we don't have—oh." He turned to Severus. "I guess I didn't explain. We don't need human guards around here—the Dementors keep the prisoners well enough in line. It's just, ah, me this evening."
"Just you?" Severus repeated.
"Rogers left after we did the meals," Hawkins said, as though that explained everything.
Severus' head hurt.
"I understand what we're to do if we encounter trouble from the Dementors," he said, "but what about from the prisoners?"
Hawkins appeared confused. "That's not at all likely," he said. "As I said, the Dementors keep them well enough in line. A few of the ones you'll be interrogating—oh, yes." He Summoned a sheaf of paper from the bookshelf across the room, which he handed to Jigger. "I've listed out the cells they're in. I believe you have the questions for them? Yes. Anyway, some of them are a little feisty, but they're the ones who've been here less than a year. But the rest, well, once they've been here long enough…" He shrugged. "But if one of the prisoners gives you trouble, just Stun him, and try to make sure he's back far enough away from the bars." Hawkins sipped his tea, swallowed, and then, as an afterthought, added, "With his mouth closed."
When Severus didn't reply, Hawkins urged, "Please, drink your tea, before it gets cold."
Severus, the chill of the prison seeping through his robes, took a sip of his mediocre tea.
Jigger flipped through the parchment Hawkins had handed him. "This appears to be in order," he said. "May we?"
"Yes, of course," Hawkins said, rising from the table. "Like I said, use your Patronus when you need to, pull the lever if you have to. You should have no problems with the prisoners."
"Yes, Mr Hawkins," Jigger said, "I believe we understand that." Severus smirked inwardly.
"All right, well," Hawkins said, as he quickly undid the locks lining the large metal door, "Best of luck. Knock back here when you've finished."
With that, Hawkins pushed open the door, and Jigger and Severus stepped into the main corridor of Azkaban prison. The door slammed shut behind them, and Severus listened as Hawkins re-engaged the locks.
In the corridor, it was neither eerily silent nor full of the wailing lamentations of prisoners; instead, a low murmur—a mélange of low conversation, pacing feet, and quiet cries—wafted down the halls and pooled around Severus' ears. It was quite chilly, and rather damp, and their footsteps echoed as Severus followed Jigger at a brisk pace down the corridor.
Other than the mist and the chill, Severus saw no evidence of a single Dementor.
Jigger drew them to a halt some fifteen yards down. "The first subject is #73," he said in a raspy whisper. "You recall the particulars?"
Number 73—Convicted in 1974 of the premeditated murder of her husband through poison and given a life sentence in Azkaban; the Wizengamot ruled to spare her the Kiss because of extant, but inconclusive, evidence that the man had been abusive. Moderate Occlumency skills. Crouch's direction: Find out who sold her the poison.
"I do," Severus replied in a low voice.
"As we discussed, I will Legilimize her first without, and then with, the potion," Jigger said. "You will have the proper dose prepared."
"Certainly," Severus confirmed, and then Jigger led them both around the corner to a cell containing one small, over-thin woman, who lay unmoving on the worn, grey sleeping pallet.
"Seventy-three," Jigger said, smacking his hand against the bars. "Awake. Come here."
When the woman didn't move, Jigger scowled and flicked his wand at her—"Ennervate"—and, looking quite impatient, waited for her to sit up. Once she had, he repeated, "Seventy-three. Come here."
The woman stood and walked shakily to the front of her cell. "We've had meals today," she said, brown eyes wide. "I know we have. Haven't we?" Her eyes filled with tears. "Am I starting to forget…I thought we had meals."
"You have," Jigger said shortly. "Calm yourself."
The woman, if anything, cried harder. "I knew we had meals," she said. "I knew it, I knew it."
Jigger's lip curled. "Stop these hysterics at once," he said. "We're here to ask you a question. You will answer us truthfully. Understood?"
The woman took a step backwards into her cell. "I don't know anything," she said wetly.
"Who sold you the poison you used to kill your husband?" Jigger asked.
She shook her head, shivering. "Nobody. I made it. Nobody sold it to me. I told the Wizengamot—you can ask Professor Slughorn, he would know I could—nobody sold it to me."
"Somehow, I doubt the esteemed professor would be eager to speak in your defence," Jigger said drily. "Look at me, 73—legilimens."
Severus watched as 73 fell silent, her eyes locked with Jigger's. A full minute went by—and, suddenly, 73 was blinking and shaking her head.
"Excellent effort," Jigger said. "Perhaps that image would have been more convincing if you had pictured a laboratory that did not look identical to the Hogwarts Potions classroom."
She shook her head. "No, that's where I brewed it. That's what it looked like," she babbled. "I did, it's where I brewed the looking that…I did."
"Calm down," Severus ordered. "I'm going to give you a new nutritive potion that the Ministry has mandated for prisoners who don't eat enough." Jigger raised an eyebrow at him, Severus shrugged slightly.
"How do I know it's not poison," 73 said warily.
"If they were going to poison you, they'd put it in your food," Severus snapped. "Now come here and open your mouth."
Seventy-three, amazingly, seemed to accept that argument, and stepped forward. Severus reached through the bars and placed three drops of the Mind-Opening Potion on her tongue; she swallowed.
"Seventy-three," Jigger said, and—"Legilimens."
Not twenty seconds went by before Jigger broke the connection and said, "Why ever would you go to such efforts to protect a Knockturn Alley salesman whose name you don't know and whose face you didn't see?"
"I should have brewed it," 73 said wretchedly. "It was mine to make but I couldn't make it, couldn't make it work, I couldn't do it like he always said I couldn't, I was useless at it so I had to go and buy it, bye it, supplied it wasn't mine and I lied it wasn't—"
"Thank you, 73," Jigger said loudly, over the woman's disjointed jabbering. "Go lie down."
Seventy-three staggered back to her pallet and lay down, muttering to herself. Jigger hit her with a mild somnolus.
"Very promising," he remarked to Severus. "Let's move on to 82."
Number 82—Convicted in 1975 of killing, via Killing Curse, a member of the Wizengamot; suspected member of the INLA (as Severus understood, it was a Muggle terrorist group). It was also suspected, but not proven, that the attack had been made possible through inside information about the Wizengamot member's whereabouts. Master Occlumens. Crouch's direction: Find out who his Ministry contact was.
Severus nodded.
"I suppose you'll be prying into my mind next, then, eh?" piped a man's rather high voice from the cell opposite 73's. Severus turned around; a short, pale man of medium build was leaning against the bars, regarding them with a steady gaze.
"You'll be eighty-two?" Severus said.
The man nodded. "At your service," he replied.
Severus was, momentarily, surprised by the man's apparent lucidity. Then again, Occlumency was the single best safeguard against Dementor exposure, and 82 was purportedly a Master Occlumens—and, perhaps more importantly, he had been in the prison for only a little over a year.
"Eighty-two," Jigger said, stepping forward, "you'll be assisting us in a potions trial this evening."
"I'm guessing I won't be needing to consent," 82 replied.
"Correct," Jigger said. "Please tell us, 82, who your Ministry contact was when you were planning the murder of Ogden Bones."
Eighty-two snorted. "I told the Wizengamot that there was no conspiracy," he said. "Frankly, I find this insistence that I was working as some kind of spy rather insulting."
"Noted," Jigger said, and then he was pointing his wand into the cell. "Legilimens."
This time, a full three minutes—Severus kept count—went by before, suddenly, Jigger was staggering backwards. "Damn," he said, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Eighty-two looked on from inside his cell. "What was her name, Arsenius?" he asked, smirking.
Jigger, still breathing rather heavily, pointed his wand at 82. "Silencio." Turning to Severus, he said grimly, "Give him the potion."
Severus was, frankly, disappointed in Jigger's Legilimency skills, having assumed they were at least equal to his own—although, in retrospect, he had no grounds for that assumption. "Without a second attempt?" he replied cautiously. "In our other trials—"
"Hang the other trials, Apprentice, and give him the potion," Jigger snapped. "I've no desire to risk lowering my shields in this prison again."
"Please, allow me," Severus said. "I would welcome the opportunity—"
Jigger snorted. "This is neither the time nor the place to try your hand at Legilimency," he said, and Severus belatedly realised that, although sixteen-year-old Occlumenses were rare, they were not nearly so rare as teenage Legilimenses. But—
"I would very much like to try," Severus said, and before Jigger could speak a word in refusal, Severus turned to the still-silent 82 and prepared to enter the man's mind—
Only to feel a prickle of warning at the nape of his neck, which soon turned to a growing chill and a sinking feeling as—yes—he turned around to see two Dementors approaching from the left corridor—
And another Dementor approaching from the right corridor.
"Leave us," Jigger commanded the wraiths. "We are not your prisoners."
Eighty-two retreated to the far side of his cell. From within the opposite cell, 73 whimpered.
Severus immediately recognised his mistake.
Occlumency was an excellent protection (one of the few protections) against Dementors. Legilimency required, even at the highest skill level, a slight lowering of Occlumency barriers. Of the four Occlumenses in this corridor, one's barriers had recently been destroyed completely; one's Legilimency attack had backfired; one had, barely, defended himself against said attack; and, finally, Severus had just lowered his barriers in order to look inside 82's mind—
Making this corridor home to four suddenly-opened minds.
Evidently, the Dementors had not been able to resist.
They drew closer.
Jigger promptly cast a textbook-perfect Patronus—it was, it turned out, a rather large eagle—which proceeded to chase the first two Dementors away from them; the third Dementor remained, and continued to glide towards them. Jigger glanced back at Severus, expectation clear on his stern face.
By reflex, Severus' formidable mind turned to his standard inspiration: James Potter had failed to protect Lily Evans' son, and he, Severus, was succeeding. "Expecto patronum," Severus said, and was rewarded with the merest wisp of silver smoke.
The chill grew as the Dementor drew closer.
Severus' vision dimmed as the Dementor approached. It seemed his eighteen-year means of conjuring a Patronus were, suddenly, no longer adequate. Cold seeped through his scalp, past his lowered Occlumency barriers, and sank into his very mind. He lifted his wand again—he could not form the words—his vision closed and re-opened on a different plane where he was calling Lily "Mudblood" and then she was dead, killed by his own actions when he told the Dark Lord of the Prophecy—and then he was on the North Tower and Dumbledore was dead, falling, killed by his own hand when, again, he did the Unforgivable—and Lily's eyes in Potter's face were twisted, twisted with hate just like his own and there was nothing he could do—
There was a sharp crack and a flare of pain, and Severus found himself blinking up at Master Jigger, who had struck him across the face.
Brown eyes bored into black. "Your patronus," Jigger said, "now."
Severus blinked. James Potter had failed to protect Lily Evans' son and—
But Lily Evans' son didn't exist.
"Now," Jigger repeated, and Severus was kissing Lily under a tree in Hogsmeade and James Potter would never touch her again—
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
An enormous silver doe erupted from the tip of Severus' wand and cantered around the two wizards, driving the remaining over-curious Dementor back into the main corridor of the prison.
Jigger turned his attention back to Severus. "You led me to believe that your Patronus was adequate," he said.
Severus, still feeling rather weak about the knees, found himself leaning against the cold, stone wall for support. "I—I thought it was," he said.
"Whatever memory you initially chose to operate off of was clearly insufficient," Jigger said. "If we have another such visit, I trust you'll keep in mind the thought you were able to employ successfully."
"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said.
Jigger continued to stare at him for a moment longer. At last, the man sighed and reached into a pocket, pulling out—to Severus' total disbelief—a bar of Honeydukes chocolate.
"Take this, since you clearly did not prepare properly for this excursion," Jigger said, thrusting the chocolate into Severus' hands.
Despite his best efforts, Severus' fingers shook slightly as he unwrapped the chocolate. A moment later, the confection was sending warmth back into his mind and his extremities. "Thank you," Severus breathed.
"You will keep your mind closed, Mr Snape, as long as we are inside this prison," Jigger said, clearly irate. "Of all the foolish—to lower your mental shields—Hawkins said the guards are especially fond of younger souls."
Severus blinked and swallowed. "My apologies," he said. "I certainly did not intend to misjudge my—"
"You did," Jigger snapped. "I should send you back to Hawkins and complete the trials myself."
Anything but that. "Please, sir," Severus said. "It won't happen again."
"If it does, it'll be your life, Mr Snape," Jigger said. "Finished?"
Severus Vanished the chocolate wrapper. "Yes."
"Good," Jigger said. He stared at Severus for a long moment and, at last, said, "Follow me. Closely."
Severus followed Master Jigger down the corridor, an eagle ahead and a doe behind.
Hours later, they Apparated into the back alley behind the apothecary. Severus unlocked the door and held it open for Jigger, who preceded him inside. The older man stopped, though, by the desk at the back of the shop, on top of which had been left a creamy parchment envelope. A scrawled note beside it read, "This came for you this afternoon—S.C."
"What could Horace possibly want," Jigger muttered, which prompted Severus to notice the 'S' embossed on the envelope. Jigger tapped the missive with his wand; the parchment flew out of the now-opened envelope and into Jigger's hand.
After a brief moment, Jigger rolled his eyes and handed the parchment to Severus, who read:
My dear Arsenius—
I'm having a little get-together at the school Saturday next, a bit of Yuletide cheer if you will, for a select group of students and honoured guests. Consider this your invitation! You really must attend this year, and bring young Mr Snape with you. I simply can't wait to hear from you both how his apprenticeship goes—one of my most promising (former) students you know! Drinks and hors d'oeuvres at six.
All best,
Sluggy
Severus glanced up from the parchment. His eyes met Jigger's.
"You realise we are obligated to attend Horace's… fête," Jigger said with evident disdain.
"We are?" Severus replied with matching distaste.
"As you are surely aware, Horace's web encloses us both," Jigger said, scowling, "especially you." He plucked the parchment out of Severus' hand and gave it a thorough look. "I shall Apparate us both to Hogsmeade at six o'clock Saturday next," he said. Looking back up at Severus, he added, "You will, of course, make yourself presentable."
Severus, who was, after all, still feigning the appearance of a teenage boy, affected a scowl. "Yes, Master Jigger," he said.
"Have Ms Cadogan work that day," Jigger continued. "Make sure you take one of her weekday shifts, or else I'll have to pay her," he said dismally, "overtime."
Severus restrained the urge to smirk. "Of course," he said.
"Good," Jigger said. "Be sure to brew him something…amusing."
"Amusing?" Severus repeated.
Jigger shrugged, a quick, jerky uptick of his thin shoulders. "Something frivolous yet complicated," he said. "No need to pre-emptively decant your Felicis"—Severus refrained from starting at the reference to the potion he'd had simmering for nigh on six months, which Jigger had not heretofore acknowledged that he'd noticed—"but anything requiring skill to brew and a certain…flightiness to enjoy will suffice."
"I see," Severus said, as he did—but what, exactly, to brew?
"Arrange matters with Cadogan and have something brewed by Saturday," Jigger said and then, inexplicably, added, "I will procure the candied pineapple." Then, he reached into the desk and pulled out, unbelievably, another bar of chocolate.
"Here," he said, handing it to Severus along with Slughorn's letter. "Eat this before bed."
Severus blinked. "Thank you, sir," he said, taking the items.
"Don't ever endanger yourself in such a way again," Jigger said, brown eyes flashing. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Severus said, although he still didn't, quite, understand why Jigger hadn't seemed more concerned with his own safety. After all, the man's eagle Patronus had been quite otherwise engaged when Severus was failing to produce his own.
"You'll have tonight's trials written up by tomorrow morning," Jigger said. "We should be able to submit our full report to the Board of Potioneers by January at the very latest. It—" Jigger swallowed. "Despite your incredibly foolish actions early this evening, your potion is, on the whole, a success."
Severus had known full well that it would be, so there was absolutely no reason for him to feel so incredibly gratified as he nodded and said, "Thank you, sir."
"Don't ever do that again," Jigger repeated, and then he exited the shop, leaving Severus standing near the staircase with a bar of chocolate and an invitation to Horace Slughorn's Christmas party.
My dear Lily,
I would like, if I may, to express how very grateful I am to have you in my life.
Sincerely yours,
Severus
[Enclosed: A dried campanula blossom.]
A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews! Coming up. . . well, it's Horace Slughorn's Christmas party, of course.