Chapters 101-110

Grateful Dead

‘This,’ Shacklebolt said solemnly, ‘is a ministerial pardon. It is irrevocable. Your husband will be free tonight.’

She stared at the scroll. Three heavy seals dangled from the parchment: small and red, the official Ministry seal; medium-sized and blue, the Minister’s personal seal; and last but not least, huge and golden, the seal attributed to Arthur Pendragon, irrevocable, and infused with mythical and magical powers.

Kingsley gazed at Hermione with his cocoa-coloured eyes. His voice was smooth as honey. ‘I do understand that magical law and wizarding society required a trial for Severus Snape. After all, he did kill Albus Dumbledore and was present at other murders, if perhaps not directly involved. But whatever Severus Snape has done, whatever he had to do—without him, we could never have defeated Voldemort.’

The Minister sighed. ‘I cannot express adequately how sorry I am that your marriage was used as a reason to put him into Azkaban. This is a perversion of justice unworthy of the wizarding world.’

Shacklebolt straightened. ‘I assure you, the Chalice of Neith will be put where it belongs now: into a museum.’

A knock sounded at the door. ‘That will be Harry. I assume you’ll want to go to Azkaban right away in order to retrieve your husband.’ The minister’s eyes darkened with sympathy, as he continued, ‘I’ve given orders that the costs for any medi-magical services you should require will be covered by the Ministry.’

‘Thank you, Minister,’ Hermione whispered. She felt dizzy, light-headed with relief and fear.

oooOooo

So this was Azkaban.

A dreary rock in the North Sea, frozen and weather-beaten, the epitome of hopelessness. And that was an improved and cheerful Azkaban, an Azkaban withoutDementors as guards. But Harry could sense their presence all the same, in the cold that seeped into his bones, his heart and his thoughts within mere seconds after his arrival, in the way the colours faded around him, leaving only black and shades of grey, grief and guilt.

He shoved some chocolate into his mouth and another piece into Hermione’s hand. He tried to remember what Lupin had told him, just a few years ago at Hogwarts, about how bad memories made the effects of Dementors worse.

Harry had even more bad memories now than he’d had back then.

He glanced at Hermione. White-faced and shaken, she was clearly carrying her own share of horrible memories by now.More than her share, he thought bitterly. Quickly he reached for her hand and squeezed it hard, as they followed a watch-wizard in the grey robes of Azkaban to cellblock C.

‘Just a few minutes, and we’re out of here, Hermione. Poppy, Mugwort and Alina are waiting for us at Hogwarts. Everything will be okay.’

Hopefully.

oooOooo

Hermione dashed into the cell as soon as the guard tossed open the heavy iron door. A moment later, Harry heard the sound of choked sobs, and Hermione appeared again, her eyes wild and blurred with tears.

His heart tightened. She really loves Snape, he thought. She truly does. Just the way I love Ginny. Shit. Who’d have thought that’s possible.

‘Ha– Harry—I—I need your robes, and I—I can’t get him up on my own.’

She was trembling all over. Harry was out of his robes and holding them out to Hermione the moment he stepped into the cell.

He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings—and stopped dead.

The cell was icy. A crenel high in the left-hand wall was the only window, just wide enough to let in wind and rain and almost no light. The stones of the walls and the floor were dark and damp. Snape lay on the floor in the farthest corner of the tiny room, curled into ball, unconscious, intermittent shivers chased over his skin. The man was completely naked and rail-thin. Bruises darkened his back, his ribs, hips and thighs.

Obviously Dementors were not the only beings you needed to be scared of in Azkaban.

A fine rage was beginning to simmer in Harry’s blood. He’d never liked the man who lay in the corner of this dungeon. But he owed him so much. And no one, no one, deserved to be reduced to—to this—this husk, this shell of a human being.

The watch-wizard’s smirk was not lost on him. Harry glared at the guard and was gratified to see how the swarthy man wilted under his stare.

Harry strode over to Hermione’s side. She had dropped to her knees next to her husband and was carefully wrapping him into Harry’s robes now.

‘If you support him from the left, and I from the right, we should manage,’ Harry suggested. Hermione nodded shakily. Between the two of them, they eventually got Snape up, if not exactly on his feet.

‘Too bad you can’t use wand-magic in here,’ Harry muttered. The corridors and stairs to the Apparition point seemed endless. But at last they arrived. Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione. If she wasn’t able to Apparate safely, they needed more help.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘If you don’t feel up to it, we can get more help. It will only take a few minutes.’

Hermione inhaled a shuddering breath, clutching the lifeless weight of her husband closer. ‘I’m—I can do it.’

Suddenly her eyes grew round as she really looked at Harry for the first time since they had entered the prison. ‘You’re wearing a ‘Grateful Dead’ t-shirt to Azkaban???’

Harry glanced down a the ratty t-shirt that hung haphazardly over his Levis 501 and grinned. ‘Not my idea. Duds has developed a weird sense of humour lately. He seemed to think it would be an appropriate statement.’

‘Wait a minute, Harry—Dudley Dursley gave you a t-shirt of an American rock-band to wear to Azkaban today?’

Harry’s grin broadened. ‘Yep. He did.’

He tightened his grip on Snape and reached for Hermione’s free hand at the same time.

‘Let’s get your husband home, shall we?’