Casting Shadows

Chapter 3

An Old Friend

Watery grey dawn hesitated at the windows, reaching weak fingers of light into the room to caress the soft monochrome shadows that surrounded the bed. Ella stared at the sleeping form of her son, a shapeless mound of blankets in the middle of the bed, shifting slightly with each steady breath.

So. Another night had passed and Celsus was safe, and Persephone was still gone.

Ella unfolded her protesting limbs, rubbing the back of her neck, her arms aching and her toes tingling. Sudden cramp in her calf set her teeth on edge and she swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching and flexing and trying to ease the pain without disturbing her son.

She had tried to stay away, to trust in his safety and remain in her own bed, but her resolve had wavered as the shadows had lengthened and the new moon had offered no solace. Her husband had not come to bed and she knew in her heart that comfort would neither have been sought nor offered, had he done so. She had crept into Celsus' room, her heart pounding with dread only to skip a beat upon seeing his small frame spread-eagled across the bed, and she had climbed on to its foot, curling her knees up to her chest and hugging herself, eyes wide open and fearful of losing sight of him.

Her head thick and aching, she stole out without disturbing him and went to perform her morning ablutions before facing another empty, endless day.

The note was waiting for her on the kitchen table, its copperplate script as familiar to her as her own.

"Ella."

She unfolded the thick parchment and sank into a chair, her eyes filling with tears.

"I can wait no longer. I am going to Azkaban to interrogate Skeeter and Malfoy myself. Look after our son, and take heart. I will not return alone. Severus."

No, she could not sit idly by and allow him to go to that place alone. He was the proudest, strongest man she knew, but she had talked long with Sirius about Azkaban and she knew that a man like Snape, who guarded jealously the cornerstones of his life and kept them hidden from view, would crumble when exposed to the wraithlike insistency of the Dementors. They would leech every happy memory from him and would feast on his self-loathing and secret neuroses until he was driven mad and shrunken into a desperate shadow of himself. Without Ella there to offer her unconditional love, he would not have the ability to protect himself; nor would he maintain any sort of equilibrium when interviewing his old foes.

Ella was his rock, and he was hers. They needs must be together, and therefore, she realised, she would have to entrust Celsus into the care of someone else for a short while.

The prospect filled her with dread. Ella considered herself to be, on the whole, a contented person. She had married the love of her life and they shared two delightful children (her heart wept as she wondered where her daughter was and how she fared). However, she knew very well that her contentment relied a great deal on her feeling completely in control of her life.

Sometimes she questioned her lot in life. She had spent so many years running from her past, and then even when she had met Severus she had done her level best to drive him away, to deny herself a chance at happiness. Only after her sojourn at Beauxbatons Academy and a great deal of support from Sirius Black had she found the strength to surrender herself to her love; and only with her insistence had Severus been persuaded likewise.

Even then, she had on occasion found herself trying to drive him away. Several months after the birth of their son she had felt herself close off from everything and everybody save for the tiny new life whose face was uncannily like her own and whose cries could be turned to laughter by no-one but her. She had insisted that no-one could possibly care for him as well as she could, and from that viewpoint it was but a small step to believe with all her heart that it would be nothing short of disastrous if anyone else were even to try.

Ella had managed to convince herself that if Celsus was so much as taken for a walk by his 'Aunt Hermione', he would suffer some serious accident and die. If his own father, her beloved husband, was left in the house while Ella walked with Persephone into Hogsmeade, then the house would surely be nothing more than a charred pile of rubble upon her return, the corpses of her husband and her son buried within.

Severus had found her impossible to deal with, although he could understand what twisted motivations drove her psyche; for wasn't she, in her own way, as damaged as he? Only the conviction that they were each other's life's mate spurred him to cleave to her side rather than allow her to distance herself from him.

Despite his silent, unswerving support, or perhaps because of it, her morbid ideas had gathered apace over the months until irrational fear had encompassed every part of her family life. Soon, her husband could not even sit in his armchair late into the night without her convincing herself that he had died there and was stiffening silently beside the dying embers of the fire. Raw terror would suffocate her in its grip and she would lie in the marital bed not daring to breathe, listening for a cough or a creak, some sign that he lived still, too paralysed with fear to leave the claustrophobia of the bed and descend to the library in search of reassurance.

All she needed to do to avert these disasters was be there. Simply the fact of her presence would be enough to ensure that nothing would happen to her family. She gathered them close around her and kept them there, and all was well.

As the years passed and she recovered herself, she forgot about the night sweats and the racing pulses, the anxiousness and the bitten fingernails, particularly after Voldemort's fall had faded from her mind. However, Persephone's abduction had brought all of her old neuroses back to the forefront now, and she could not bear the idea that she could not both supervise Celsus and be at her husband's side.

***

Snape drew his travelling cloak tightly around him, as if by so doing he could keep out the chill of despair that clutched icy fingers around his soul as the guards of Azkaban floated to greet him. Brandishing his wand he cried "Expecto Patronum!" and with a blinding flash of light they were repulsed, circling high over his head now and safeguarding him from their reach.

Setting his face into a deep frown of concentration he advanced through the huge stone doors of the ancient fortress, holding his wand aloft in order to supplement the inadequate light of the new moon.

Only since the birth of his daughter had he been able to conjure an effective Patronus. Charms had never been his strongest suit, but he prided himself on a certain efficiency in the field, albeit lacking the flair of, say, Filius Flitwick or even (he hated to admit it) Hermione Granger Lupin. Still, the Patronus Charm had always been beyond his capability until Ella had shown him how to be happy.

Ah, Ella. She would have found his note by now and no doubt would be angry. Still, there had been little else he could do. He was not a man to prevaricate, to wait around for Aurors to do what was ultimately no-one's duty but his. Persephone was his daughter and he would find her.

He had to. The consequences were unthinkable, otherwise.

He crossed the courtyard, the echoing sound of his footsteps deadened by the oppressive prison walls. The Ministry would not sanction his visit, and he knew better than to expect such, but Order members had eased his passage by lifting the security wards so that he was allowed to Apparate directly to the island and supplying the locations of the cells he intended to visit. Now he was on his own with only his Patronus, and his ability to create it, as protection.

His footfalls were deafening in the otherwise preternatural silence of the damp, stone-hewn corridors. He slowed his pace almost unconsciously, wanting to put off the encounter that might help him find his daughter but that would certainly disturb his sense of self. Lucius Malfoy, still the snake in Snape's Eden even after all those years, snatching a relatively normal life from a lonely teenaged boy all those years ago and depriving him of his paradise now. His brows drew together and he almost snarled in self-disgust. Malfoy was no snake, he was a lowly worm and a decade in Azkaban would doubtless expose him as such now.

Thusly steeling himself, Snape took a narrow secondary corridor, following its downward-sloping twists and turns until he reached a set of iron bars, thinly spaced.

A voice, rusty from lack of use, carried mockingly from the shadows.

"Ah, Severus, how delightful! But really, old friend, bad form! Had I known to expect a visitor, I could have made a little effort with the old place!"

Lucius Malfoy emerged from a dark corner, waving his hand in a self-deprecating fashion, a small moue of disappointment expressing faux embarrassment at his surroundings. Even after ten years of deprivation, he still exuded an air of arrogance.

His once handsome face was lined and greyish but still wore an expression of hauteur, and his hair was lank and thin, yet it still cascaded down his back in a silver wave. He tilted his chin arrogantly.

"Still the same Lucius, I see," Snape observed. Cold grey eyes looked him up and down appraisingly and Snape's flesh crawled as he felt the other man's quicksilver gaze.

"The years have been kind to you, hmm? And how is that little half-blood you married? Still a firebrand in the bedroom?" His mouth twisted into a mocking smile as he saw Snape bristle, and he approached the bars of his cell.

"How is my boy?" he asked conversationally. Snape's eyes narrowed. Malfoy had shown callous disregard for his son's welfare eleven years before and now, as a father himself, he was disturbed by the lack of any genuine concern in his adversary's eyes.

"As well as can be expected," he answered brusquely. "He is living at Hogwarts now."

"Indeed. Narcissa was so hurt that he preferred to make his home there instead of taking his rightful place at Malfoy Manor."

Snape did not comment. Draco had spent two years in St Mungo's after his father's arrest while the doctors tried to piece together the jigsaw shards of his mind, ruined by a combination of Imperio and Cruciatus. And probably, Snape thought angrily, a lifetime of psychological abuse.

"I need information," he said baldly. "I need to know what Death Eater cells are still active, and where I can find them."

"Hah!" Malfoy laughed, incredulity bringing on a fit of rasping coughing. "You and the Ministry, both! What on earth makes you think I am party to such information? I have been, shall we say, a little out of the loop these last years; this cell is a little too cramped for a soiree, don't you agree, old friend?"

"Narcissa visits you."

"Twice a year, yes...you can imagine, we spend all our allotted time discussing strategy," he drawled sarcastically. "Tsk, tsk, really now Severus! Even a man of limited sensibilities such as yourself can surely imagine a better use of our time! Or does your wife spurn your fumbling advances now that she has no need of your protection?"

Snape's flexing fingers curled into fists and he struggled not to react to Malfoy's calculating provocation.

"I am sure Narcissa finds a way to pass on information to you," he persisted.

"Then why not ask her? Oh...oh, I see, you already have...did my pretty little songbird keep silent? How loyal she is to her poor, unfortunate husband!"

"Aurors have administered Veritaserum. She knows nothing of any relevance, as you must well know, Lucius!" Snape growled. "As for loyalty, she is a typical Black, interested in saving her own neck rather than put it on the line for anyone else, even you!"

Malfoy sneered unpleasantly but Snape continued before he could comment.

"Any information she might have passed on to you would have been without her knowledge. An innocuous message from a family friend could contain any number of coded meanings."

"Meanings referring to what, Severus? What has happened that is so grave it brings you all the way to Azkaban and makes you forget all the usual social niceties, such as a bottle of firewhisky for your gracious host?"

Steeling himself, Snape gave Malfoy the crumb of information for which he had been scrabbling.

"Persephone has been abducted by Death Eaters."

Malfoy took a small step backwards and huffed in surprise.

"Well! How breathtakingly audacious! How very precious!" And then he laughed, loud and long. It took all of the self-control Snape could muster to leave his wand up his sleeve and not hex the blond wizard into smithereens. When Malfoy finally stopped, Snape had the taste of copper in his mouth. He had been biting his lip, and he ran his tongue over the swelling. Malfoy noticed, of course, and raised his eyebrows mockingly, knowing he had needled the other man.

Snape spoke through gritted teeth. "What do you know about it, Malfoy?"

Malfoy dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head, turning away and walking slowly to the other end of his cell. Snape heard a low, sardonic chuckle and braced himself to hear the worst.

"Little Seffie Snape, taken away by the bad man? Ah, how her halfblood mother must be wringing her hands! And you, Severus, beaten down at every turn for years...a return to type for you, eh? Tell me, what is it like to imagine all our old tricks being employed against your own daughter? Does it thrill you? Oh - secretly, of course, for propriety's sake - but does it? Hmm?"

Snape's fingernails were digging so sharply into his palms that they pierced the tender skin there, but he embraced the pain. If he gave in to the almost irresistible urge to kill Malfoy now, the Dementors would swoop down and feast on his soul and he could not afford to leave the search for Persephone to others whose devotion to her fell far short of his. Malfoy's eyes were coldly appraising as they calculated the sum of the effects of his words on his erstwhile friend and protégé.

"Tell me where she is, Lucius."

"I don't know!"

"You must have some idea!"

"Should I? And ought I to tell if I had, for old times' sake? Ah, Severus, I'd sooner kill you...if I but had the means!" His voice dropped almost to a whisper, filled with venom. Snape ran a hand through his hair and turned to leave. Any further pleas would be demeaning and ultimately fruitless.

Malfoy knew nothing; Snape had heard the avidity in his voice, a sick interest that Lucius had never been able to conceal when fed a morsel of someone else's suffering. He would make an excellent Dementor, Snape mused, wondering how those fiends selected candidates suitable to swell their ranks. Perhaps Malfoy would one day be able to fulfil his most base desires by sucking the life from the wretches of Azkaban. At least they probably deserved it, unlike the miserable Muggles he had been so fond of torturing. Sickened, he did his best to ignore the low, manic chuckle that mocked him as he ascended the dark, dank corridor once more.

A familiar silhouette was outlined against the stormy night sky as he neared the end of the main corridor and the courtyard beyond. His heart lurched and his step faltered.

"What are you doing here?" he croaked, the sight of her enough to tear down the defences he had strived so long to maintain.

"I couldn't let you do this alone, Severus," Ella replied softly, clutching her cloak around her and casting fearful glances up into the sky where the wraithlike Dementors silently circled.

They embraced and he felt his wife tremble in his arms as she tried to give him comfort. She was terrified and her worry and pain were palpable, and yet as he held her to him he could feel her determination wash over him like a wave. She pushed herself away from him firmly, still holding him around the waist, and looked into his eyes. He entered her mind gently and was overwhelmed with sorrow and concern and love.

"Ella, I - "

"It's alright," she said. "I need to be here. I need to be with you."

"And...and I you," he answered simply.