A Cloud Before the Moon

Chapter 11

Letha dreaded her visits to Azkaban. As much as she despised the Death Eaters, she could not help feeling that there were few beings, if any, who deserved to be subjected to such horrible conditions, and particularly, to the dementors. Although, she thought, Lucius Malfoy would have deserved the misery of Azkaban if he had ever had to spend any time there. The Lestranges belonged there, perhaps a few others. In that small number who deserved to be prisoners of Azkaban, she suspected she would include the two prisoners she had come to see that day.

Upon entering the gates of the prison, one was immediately overwhelmed by a sense of utter bleakness and hopelessness. She reached into her bag and pulled out a large hunk of chocolate, which she had packed along with her files and documents. An unfortunate reaction on her first foray to the prison had taught her of the importance of being prepared. She broke off a piece of the chocolate and shoved it into her mouth. She showed the guard her identification, and then was led down a long corridor to one of a series of massive gates, adorn. Each gate separated one area from the next by virtue of its massive size, locks and a variety of spells. Finally, she was led by two guards into a small squalid room. A wooden table stood in the center of the room, with a chair at either end. There was no other furniture or ornamentation in the room.

One of the guards, a sullen, disagreeable man named Glorf, left them there and returned a few minutes later. "The prisoner will be right in directly," he announced. She prepared herself; she knew he would be accompanied by an inevitable dementor at his side, and could feel the misery and despair that seemed to fill the room like a dark cloud as it approached. She reached into her bag and quickly shoved another small chunk of chocolate into her mouth. At that moment, a door opened on the prisoner side of the bars, and an immense, silent hooded figure came gliding in. Instinctively, she closed her eyes to block out the sight, but she could not block out the desolate chill that emanated from it.

When she opened her eyes again, the prisoner was seated across from her, the dementor by his side. A haggard figure slumped across from her. His greenish-gray skin was stretched across an emaciated visage that appeared to have once been quite handsome, and which was framed in filthy disheveled hair. She could not say she felt any sympathy for him; the man's barbarous behavior was well-documented. He had betrayed his dearest friends, resulting in their deaths at the hand of Voldemort. When another close friend confronted him, he had killed him mercilessly, massacring a dozen innocent Muggles at the same time. Letha shook her head. So much for the value of friendship.

"Sirius Black! My name is Letha Faraday," she said. "I represent Bartholomew Crouch, Ministry of Magic, Criminal Prosecution Division. You are accused of participating in criminal acts against society, as a Death Eater, and individually. I am here to offer you an opportunity to present information that may provide evidence of duress, coercion or other mitigating factors. You also may..." As she recited the standard preliminaries, his eyes met hers with surprising focus and clarity for an Azkaban prisoner. After she finished her little speech, she began with the prescribed initial questions:

"Are you now, or have you ever been, a Death Eater!"

"NO!" he responded, clearly and emphatically.

"Have you ever participated in any activities in support of the Death Eaters, in support of - their leader?"

"No. I have not. But I don't expect you to believe me; all the evidence shows that I did what I am accused of." He looked at her steadily, directly. "I am not a Death Eater; I am merely a fool."

"I see," Letha responded. Wearily, she recited the standard response, "You were tricked into supporting the Dark Lord and..."

"No!" he croaked. The dementor glided toward him, and his body shuddered with wracking agony. Reflexively, Letha shouted at the dementor, "Go away!" She shrank back as it turned its hooded face towards her. "It's good to know there are still some people with decent instincts," said Black appreciatively.

"Funny thing for YOU to say," Letha responded coldly.

"Maybe you're right," said Black. "If there is any chance that Pettigrew is alive, I will find him and kill him." He had an expression of intense hatred on his face.

Letha could not believe what she was hearing. "Is this a confession?"

"I did not kill Pettigrew, though I wish I had." He paused to collect his thoughts. "I know what it looks like, and I cannot say I am blameless. I did something very stupid, and the results were more horrible than I could ever have imagined. But I was never a Death Eater. I have nothing else to tell you." The interview was concluded.

Here was a puzzle. Letha had interviewed accused Death Eaters who refused to talk. While the Lestranges had refused to talk, it was because they were unrepentant and wore their life sentences in Azkaban with pride. Some were terrified of the consequences of betraying their fellow Death Eaters. Other Death Eaters who denied having been supporters of Voldemort, or claimed to have been under an Imperius Curse. But in those cases, they denied any wrongdoing as well; they certainly did not confess to murderous impulses. Those who did confess always blamed someone else, which Black did not do.

Her mind turned to the thought of Lucius Malfoy, who claimed he had always been opposed to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and all they stood for. No one would be gullible enough to believe that - except the Ministry of Magic, of course! It was unfortunate she had never had a chance to confront Malfoy directly. Even though she had done the bulk of the work on his case, the file had been officially assigned to George Bailey. George wasn't the hardest worker, but his family's lineage gave him sufficient social status to presume to interview Malfoy. We wouldn't want to offend a Death Eater, would we? she mused bitterly.

Black was a different matter. His denials, as preposterous as they sounded, had the ring of sincerity to them. Perhaps, she thought, he is insane. That would explain why he seemed relatively unaffected by the dementor. But it made no sense to think he was insane because he seemed to be abnormally sane. At any rate, Black could not, or would not explain, why scores of eye-witnesses had described how he'd blasted a hole in the street, killing Pettigrew and a dozen Muggles. And had the nerve to say he'd do it again! Except he claimed he hadn't done it in the first place...it just made no sense.

Letha told the guard that the interview was over, and the dementor accompanied Black out of the room. Letha then informed Glorf he could bring in the next prisoner to be interviewed. The guard left, and returned a few minutes later with another wretched-looking creature. This one presented with the same greenish-gray complexion, the same emaciated frame. His hair hung in greasy black strings; he made no effort to push it out of his unfocused eyes. The Wizard slid down into the seat recently occupied by Black, regarding her dully, with no sign of recognition.

She had come expecting to gloat, but could not bring herself to feel any delight in his deplorable condition. She reminded herself that he had committed heinous acts, that he was a disciple of You-Know-Who. Worst of all, she and her family had welcomed him as a friend, and he had betrayed their trust. She could never forget that - or forgive him.

Letha pulled out the file. "Severus Snape!" she read off the parchment, as if he were a complete stranger. In fact, she thought, he is a complete stranger.... He did not react. The dementor moved closer to him. As with Black, a wracking chill shuddered down the length of his body. He opened his eyes and looked out in her direction, though she was uncertain that he was actually looking at her. His eyes were blank and lifeless; they seemed incapable of focusing on her or anything else. She wondered whether there was really any point to interviewing prisoners this way, but knew there was a certain protocol to follow.

She forced herself to address the dementor. "I cannot question him like this. You really must back off a bit," she pleaded. It glided back to its prior position, but no further. She would have to make the best of it.

"My name is Letha Faraday. I represent Bartholomew Crouch, Ministry of Magic, Criminal Prosecution Division," she intoned. "You are accused of participating in criminal acts against society, as a Death Eater, and individually. I am here to offer you an opportunity to present information that may provide evidence of duress, coercion or other mitigating factors. You also may..."

He hoarsely uttered a few words, which she could not understand.

"Could you repeat that?" Snape tried to say something, but he began coughing raspily. Letha asked Glorf if the prisoner might have a drink. He looked uncertain. "For goodness sake, I need to hear what he has to say!" she chided him. He told the other guard to bring some water.

After he took a long drink from the cup that was proffered to him, Snape looked up. His eyes still looked blank, but at least he seemed to be speaking to her now. His voice still harsh and croaking, he flatly informed her, "I have nothing to say to the Ministry."

She could feel a ball of anger rising inside her stomach. Did he think he had any options? Of course, he was not the first Death Eaters she had encountered who had this defiant attitude; they considered themselves above the law. She stared at him in disgust as she considered how to proceed. Letha stood up and moved closer to him. Slowly and clearly she hissed the word "Morsmordre!". She snarled in his ear, "Are you going to tell me you never uttered that word?" He curled his lip into a sneer, but said nothing.

"There is a certain incomparable thrill you get when another being is helpless at your feet, is there not?" She motioned as if with a wand. "IMPERIO! When some poor wretch is at your mercy - CRUCIO! - and he whimpers with the excruciating pain you have inflicted upon him. This is what gives you pleasure, is it not?" He did not react.

"Or perhaps you derive most enjoyment from the Killing Curse, is that it? Is it the power to cause death with a mere two words that you find most gratifying?" She brought her face very close to his and hissed, "I am mistaken, am I not, Mr. Snape? I suspect you are too weak and impotent to perform the Unforgivable Curses yourself. You carried out your master's orders by playing with your little powders and nostrums, is that it?" She smiled at him unpleasantly. "Fussing with your silly potions to be used by those with real power."

He sneered back at her, turning red, but clearly trying to maintain his self-control. "Shut up!" he hissed back at her.

"I know what a slimy, pathetic creature you are, Snape," she said quietly. "Skulking around, passing along information to those with the guts to use it."

His face contorted with fury and he spat at her, "You idiot, you don't know what you are talking about!"

This was more than she was going to tolerate. There was ample documentation of his crimes - and she knew the official reports did not tell the whole story. She was absolutely certain he had something to do with her grandmother's death, which had resulted in her father's unwarranted dismissal, humiliation and suicide. Surely he was at least partially to blame for all of those things. It was time to really put some fear into him.

In a soft, venomous voice, she said, "I don't recommend insulting the very person who is trying to help you. Particularly when you have a dementor for company." She smirked. "At any moment, I could decide," she glanced up at the dementor, "that it is time for a kiss!" The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, because the dementor apparently took her words to be its cue. It because it began to slide forward and raise its hood. Letha felt an icy chill pierce her veins. "No!" she shouted frantically, "I didn't mean it. Go away!" The dementor continued to remove its hood, inching closer. Snape had turned a ghastly chalk-white and was drenched in a cold sweat. He cringed in his seat, but seemed unable to move. The dementor stood over him now, with its mouth open. Letha threw her arms around his neck and placed her head over his. "Stop! Stop!" she screamed. Glorf stood gibbering hysterically, totally useless.

Letha did her best to gather her senses, and concentrated. After her very first visit to Azkaban, she had decided she would never ever set foot in the place again, unless she knew how to produce a Patronus "just in case". She had spent hours after work practicing, for weeks on end. She'd managed to do it, but had hoped - and believed - she'd never actually need to put her new skill to the test. Now, there was no choice. She clutched Snape's neck tightly and remembered all those years ago, when she'd thought he was her friend, when she looked forward to each new morning as a chance for new adventures, a chance for new conversations, a chance to gaze into his intense black eyes that had bewildered her with their strange effect of setting her young heart a-flutter. She could actually hear their soft padding footfalls on the rich summer-warm loam of the forest floor, and when a small red fox came scrabbling up after them, she scarcely recognized her own Patronus, until she felt the chill begin to dissipate. She opened her eyes and watched as the dementor backed away and slowly re-hooded itself. Letha took a deep breath. In a shaky voice, she whispered in Snape's ear, "I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry," over and over, until he shoved her away and she sank into her seat, shaking.

She watched him anxiously, while he sat silently and motionless, with his eyes closed. He seemed to be making a great effort to compose himself and focus his thoughts - surely not an easy matter under the circumstances. Not a word was spoken for several minutes. Glorf cleared his throat. "Is the interview over?"

"No, no, she responded hastily. "A little longer." She turned back to the prisoner.

"Listen to me carefully, Faraday." He began to speak in a voice so soft, she had to strain to hear him:

Then he slowly opened his eyes and looked at her. They regarded one another intently for a moment, as if trying to read the other's thoughts, until Glorf guffawed idiotically. "What kind of stupid thing was that to say?" he asked.

Letha glanced at Snape. "Oh," she answered.

Glorf indifferently, "he's probably going mad. Not too surprising, is it, after what happened?" Glorf smirked and nodded his head vigorously.

What did his riddle mean? And why should she care? She felt bad that her attempt at intimidation had gone so utterly awry, but even that had not been sufficient to persuade him to give any meaningful answers. He was not going to betray his fellow Death Eaters, apparently. She took another look at the face of the prisoner, this man who had once, however briefly, been her dearest friend. If there was any question about it before, surely he despised her now.