Note: Ok, two updates in one week. I bowed to peer pressure. *Glares at NCD and Amy.* This is NOT going to be a regular occurrence, but hey, I was excited about this chapter too.

Note2: I'm sorry, I have to do this. *Affects tune of Cliff Richard's 'Summer Holiday'.* # We're all going on an, evening jailbreak…#

Chapter Three

The First to Fall

As soon as Severus had reached his destination, all thoughts of Minerva and the foreboding task ahead of her had to vanish. He was so used to this process of becoming a blank slate that he did it without a second thought, an instinctive reaction to the call. He felt as if he truly became a different person in the presence of the Dark Lord, accessed a different part of his psyche, one that he had no desire to live in on a regular basis. At the time, it seemed the most natural thing in the world, but once he came away from the malignity, and he felt the blackness begin to ebb away, the split to his personality made him shiver.

"You're late, Severus." The cold voice came from his left, and Severus turned to face his pseudo-master. The Dark Lord was not looking at him, instead staring out into the middle distance, where the ever-present thunders of Azkaban roared with an even greater violence than the spy had ever known. The powerful magic that protected that formidable fortress had been broken down, and the fury of the storm was out in the open for all to witness. A flash of forked lightning on the horizon lit up the Dark Lord's pale visage, which seemed to smile imperceptibly at the thought of the carnage that was being wreaked by his command but not by his hand. Severus wondered idly if the lightning had been caused by a natural electrical storm or the wand of a colleague.

"There were certain matters I could not leave unattended, my Lord."

"Was Minerva McGonagall amongst these matters, Severus?"

The Dark Lord's tone was conversational, but the former potions master had long since learned to divine the bristling undercurrent of danger in the words.

"She has taken Dumbledore's place as the figurehead of both Hogwarts and the Order," he replied levelly. "Naturally, I assumed that it would be in my best interests to ingratiate myself with her to the same end as I did with the former headmaster. If, of course, you would prefer it for me to sever my ties with the school completely, I will not hesitate to do so."

The Dark Lord stood in contemplation for a long time, perfectly still, his twisted, inhuman face completely unreadable.

"No, Severus, I believe this is the right course of action. We have so many hands within the ministry already, and it seems such a shame for us to lose such an important one within the final bone of the spine. If Minerva McGonagall is anything like her predecessor, then Hogwarts will prove the toughest of the three to crack. Your presence, your trusted presence, will be an asset." The Dark Lord's face became thoughtful. "Of course, once the Ministry is ours, it will naturally be within our power to deal with her on a purely bureaucratic level…"

"Whatever you wish, my Lord." Severus did not, at that point in time, care for how he got back to Hogwarts, just as long as he did so, in accordance not with Dumbledore's wishes, but with Minerva's. He knew that once the Ministry fell, his return was guaranteed. No-one would fight a decree of the new governmental order. If Severus Snape was to return to Hogwarts, then it would happen without a doubt.

"I am curious, however, as to how you managed to assure her of your continued trustworthiness in light of what happened atop the highest tower that fateful night."

Severus looked into the Dark Lord's politely questioning eyes. He had known that the question would arise and he had already prepared an explanation. After all, a very good excuse was needed for resuming peaceful contact with someone whom, in light of his past deeds, should want to kill him on sight.

"She is under the impression that Dumbledore was cursed; as good as dead already. In a twisted way it was mercy that I provided, not murder."

The irony of the fact that this supposed lie was in fact the truth, and that Minerva knew it was the truth from Dumbledore's own mind, was not lost on Severus, but the Dark Lord did not need to know that. Let him think that Severus was merely an adept liar who could make what appeared, on the surface, to be a farfetched story, utterly believable. Let him think that Minerva was so gullible as to accept the tale. On the other hand, if the Dark Lord knew how good a liar he was, then Severus might be suspected of lying to him… It was a risk he had to take.

The Dark Lord, seemingly satisfied by this brief explanation – Severus had learned that the briefer and simpler the explanation, the greater the likelihood of its being believed – turned back in the direction of Azkaban as a particularly brilliant flash of green light shot across the horizon, leaving spots dancing in front of Severus's eyes. He wasn't sure, but he would bet highly that he had heard Bellatrix's mad cackle even at this distance.

"Your comrades appear to be taking everything in hand very nicely," said the Dark Lord, as nonchalantly as if he was stating the weather. "I believe, however, that there is still work to be done if you would care to join them." It was an order, not a suggestion, and Severus said nothing in reply, merely disapparating towards the invisible island from which so much magical turbulence was emanating.

Azkaban was in ruins. There could be no other way to describe the twisted, mutilated mass of enchanted stone that had once been the west wing. As Severus landed in the dust and rubble, mixed into slimy mud in the incessant rain and roaring waves, he caught an all-too-familiar voice on the wind next to him.

"So glad you could join us, Severus," drawled Bellatrix. "Finally decided you would look in on our little operation?"

"I was detained by the Dark Lord," said Severus coolly. Bellatrix merely sniffed disapprovingly and turned to her next unfortunate victim. From the bodies scattered over the crumbled remains of the wing, there could not be many humans who were not inmates left on the island for her to kill, but she had still managed to find one, a grey-haired, middle-aged administration witch, trembling in the magical grasp of Bella's spell, her feet a metre and a half above the ground, flailing wildly. For a moment, Severus pitied those drafted in to guard Azkaban in the wake of the Dementors' desertion. Everyone knew that it would only be a matter of time before the Dark Lord returned to Azkaban to collect his own, and these helpless witches and wizards knew that they would be the first victims of his efforts in that respect.

"I remember you," the younger woman said conversationally. "You were the one who filled in all my paperwork before I was sent for my little soirée here."

"Please," gasped the shaking woman. "Please don't kill me."

Bellatrix smiled, almost pleasantly.

"Sorry," she said. "Perhaps another time?" She squeezed the fingers of her wandless hand and with a sickening crack, the witch fell lifeless into the sludge, her neck evidently broken. Severus could not suppress a shudder of revulsion.

"Shouldn't you be assisting in the jailbreak instead of killing the unnecessary for sport?"

Bellatrix glowered at him.

"There are only so many required to blast a few of our compatriots out of their cells, Severus, and naturally someone has to stay behind to ensure that our escape route is clear." She paused and a malicious smile spread over her lips. "Speaking of those required, I seem to believe that Rowle has been taking an awfully long time in his set task. Perhaps you would care to assist him therein?"

Severus needed no further excuse to leave Bellatrix's toxic presence, and he apparated into the main administrative centre of the prison, where the prisoners' files were kept. Rowle had been tasked with obliterating the records; of wiping the slate clean for the next stage of Azkaban's life and usage – at the beck and call of the Dark Lord for whomsoever he saw fit to incarcerate under the new regime. As he appeared there, Severus felt a pang of sympathy for Rowle. His was an interesting history, and suffice it to say that he was not the most enthusiastic of their corps. He had learned quickly that to survive in this dangerous game, obedience and subservience were key, and he had adhered to this lesson well. As long as he kept out of sight, he kept himself nicely out of the firing line. It had not surprised Severus in the slightest to learn that Rowle had volunteered himself for that boring task that most of their bloodthirsty compadres would baulk at.

As he materialised, however, he saw that Rowle's hopes for a quiet life had been unfortunately dashed by the file-keeper, a young man whom Rowle was now duelling spectacularly in the centre of the foreboding record-room. It was ironic that this fight, fought ostensibly to protect the administrative hub, should be destroying it so thoroughly. It was clear, however, that Rowle was not going to win such an evenly matched bout in a hurry, and time was wearing away. Severus cast a simple stunning spell to the unprotected back of the file-keeper's head, and he fell to the ground with a thud. Rowle looked up and nodded his thanks, too winded from his battle to speak. Together they made short work of the remaining folders, watching as the names of their colleagues went up in a glittering fireball. Their task was over, and it was time for them to join the main event, as belated as they might be. The two Death Eaters ventured out of the record-room and into the main prison, and they immediately took a step back to avoid having their eyes gouged out with flying wands. The Carrow siblings were working their way down the corridor, blasting each of the doors a few times until the charmed hinges finally gave out and released their colleagues before moving on to the next. The wands, clutched tightly in Alecto's grubby fist, had been collected from their various places of safety over the past few days and were enchanted to return to their owners of their own accord, a sort of pseudo-summoning charm, but Alecto's inherent lack of delicacy meant that the wizard in question would often have to grab his wand as it went sailing past him at ear level. Severus was sorely tempted to clap his hands over his ears at the incessant noise – the Carrows had a reputation for being as loud as physically possible when it came to destroying things – but Amycus caught his eye.

"Still a couple above us," he said, displaying a gap-toothed grin as the latest door splintered into pieces under a particularly vehement curse. Severus sighed and disappeared again, knowing without a doubt that he would be able to break his colleagues out of their confinement with the minimum of destruction, the minimum of noise and the minimum of timewasting. The first thing that met his ears when he rematerialised on the floor above the wanton blasting, however, was a guttural and ear-wrenching howl.

"WILL SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF HERE?"

Severus rolled his eyes. Dolohov had never been renowned for his ability to wait.

"Patience, Antonin, patience."

"Severus, I've been rotting in here for a year! Don't talk to me about patience," growled the man from within his cell. "After spending sixteen years of my life in this hellhole I was hoping not to have to see it again!"

By the time his angry speech was finished, the two men were standing face to face. Severus smiled benignly at his colleague.

"I believe Alecto Carrow has your wand on the floor below us."

Dolohov swore in Polish before making his way past Snape and into the corridor, muttering.

"I'd better rescue it. Which idiot trusted that harpy with my wand?"

"That would be your remarkably patient wife, Dolohov," Severus called after him before moving on to the next cell and its blessedly quieter occupant.

Lucius Malfoy's time in Azkaban had done him no favours.

"Severus. Thank Merlin." That was all the man said as he stepped out of his confines, and together they made their way back towards the Carrows. The roar from outside the fortress seemed to be lessening, and halfway to their destination, Severus had to duck to avoid being smacked in the face by Lucius's wand. They were to be the last to leave, and the last to arrive back at the Dark Lord's side.

"At last," said the voice that Severus knew too well. "Our ranks are complete once more, apart from a few necessary absences…"

The Dark Lord tailed off as a shape materialised into being beside him, a shape that should ostensibly have been one of the absences.

"He's getting away!" panted their comrade, his voice half-hysterical with anger. "Potter's getting away!"

Unseen by the Dark Lord, Severus allowed himself a fleeting smile of satisfaction. Minerva had picked up on the hidden meaning in his words. If the Death Eaters were collating their energies on the jailbreak, then there would not be as much attention focussed on Potter and his movements. Minerva could use the momentary lapse in security to get him to safety, and from the sound of his colleague's exasperation, she had risen to the occasion admirably. He paid little heed to the Dark Lord's barked orders, sending various people here and there and the sheer wrath in his voice getting higher and higher with each word. Eventually he seemed to calm, satisfied that he had expended enough manpower to capture Potter, and he surveyed those who were left, mainly those who had just been so newly liberated. His scarlet eyes finally alighted on Lucius.

"Lucius… We have not had the chance to speak since your little escapade at the Department of Mysteries…"

Beside him, Severus felt Lucius give a deep sigh. They both knew what was coming. Unseen by their master, Severus found Lucius's wrist in the darkness and gave it a brief squeeze, a momentary reassurance. It was often underestimated, thought Severus, but the calming effect of the human touch was a magic more powerful than any that could be cast with a wand. The former potions master closed his eyes and wished he could do the same for his ears, focussing his energies on anything but listening to the choked screams of his once so-proud friend. He thought of Azkaban, lying in ruins and littered with the bodies of its guardians. The first bone of the spine had been broken. The first institution had fallen. How long would it be before the others followed suit?

At length, there was silence, and Severus opened his eyes to find himself alone with Lucius, who was trying and failing to pick himself up from the shingle on which they stood. Without a word, Severus took one arm around his shoulders and hauled the other man to his feet.

"I wish I were dead," Lucius mumbled.

"Don't tempt fate, tovarisch," muttered Severus. But then there was nothing more to be said, and he disapparated, ready to reunite Narcissa Malfoy with her broken husband.

Note3: I did warn you at the beginning that I have something of a worrying affinity with the DE's. We'll be back with Minerva in the next chapter. In the meantime, does anyone feel like leaving a review?

Note4: tavarech now corrected to tovarisch. Ta NCD :)