Chapter Forty-Four

A/N: I'm taking some liberties with the Wizengamot (and law in general) here and in future chapters. I'm letting the Wizengamot act somewhat like the Crown Court with an indictable offense (or eight) and somewhat like the Wizengamot, and I've blended some wizard and Muggle charges together. Many, many thanks to Persevero and to my father for aiming me toward and away from certain charges and defenses. All liberties taken and mistakes made are fully and completely my dunderheaded own. As always, I am in debt to Shellsnapeluver, RedOrchid and OpalJade for their faithful betaing of this story. Special thanks to Irishredlass, whose support got me through this week and this chapter.

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On the morning of the hearing, Hermione slipped from their bed before dawn. The mattress creaked and shifted, and he opened an eye and watched as she tiptoed from the room.

There were sounds in the house that he had become accustomed to--female sounds. The sounds of heeled shoes and the suck of a lipstick tube as it opened. The swishing sound of a comb through her wet hair. This morning the house seemed alive with them, and he felt the alien tingle that told him that there was charm work going on in the bathroom. He sat up.

Snape put on his white shirt and buttoned it all the way to the top as he had not since the day he had finally removed it. It was grayish in places and obscenely wrinkled from wrist to shoulder, so he rolled the sleeves to his elbows and stepped into the denims that were slightly too short for him. Let her charm her hair to impress them; he would go exactly as he was. For that was to be the point of the thing, was it not? To find out who he was? To unearth all his secrets?

It was not as if a new set of robes would be the thing that set him free, and what he could not explain to her was that to wear them would be to admit that he cared what they thought of him, that their judgment meant something to him, and he would not undo the work of a lifetime in a single morning. Let them think whatever they wanted to think; they always had. He would not shame himself with trying.

He tucked his hair behind his ears and sat down on the edge of the bed to lace his boots. He could hear her clicking down the stairs and rummaging in the kitchen. He sat quietly for a moment, listening to her moving through this house and thought vaguely how strange the world was. Hermione Granger was cooking breakfast in his childhood home. He heard juice poured and eggs cracking into the frying pan. Today he would appear before the Wizengamot.

He rose and headed for the kitchen with the intent to tell her not to bother. Her eggs were abysmal, and he simply would not be able to stomach anything this morning besides. Shacklebolt was due at seven to escort them to the Ministry, and somehow the thought of the man having to take his arm and Apparate him into the Ministry like a Squib made his stomach feel small and hard inside him.

But as he descended the steps, he saw her. Her hair was not charmed sleek and straight as he had expected, but pulled into a thick knot at her neck, and her robes were long and black and severe, buttoned from throat to foot. She stood taller than usual, whether through some Illusion or high heeled shoes he could not yet tell, but the thing that struck him most was an indefinable air that clung to her like a fine mist. There was a woman in his kitchen.

Her brow was furrowed, and her lips were pressed together firmly. She wore makeup, but it could not disguise the tightness of her features and the evidence of the strain she had born for the last two weeks, for the last year. Her hands moved deftly over the countertop, slicing mushrooms and throwing them into the pan where they sizzled among the eggs. She worked without looking up, though he knew that she must be aware of his presence.

He felt frozen there upon the steps looking at her. This was not the girl who had stood in his doorway in the middle of the night.

And what struck him in the gut as he stood there was that he now knew what her gift to him had been. It was not the way that she had bought only food that she knew how to prepare without magic. It was not the robes, or the newspapers, or the way she let him slink through the house like an unperson. It was not the way she lay between him and the door so that sleep could finally come, or even the way she had gone out into the world for him like some avenging angel. It was the girl in the doorway, her shirt hanging down to nearly knobby knees, her hair a disheveled cloud of curls. It was the fact that no one but him would ever see that girl again. What they would see was the woman who stood in his kitchen. She had given him something no one else could have, and no one else could take away.

He turned and climbed the stairs again. Without considering what he was doing, he dug the robes from where they lay at the back of his closet in a crumpled ball of wool.

In the bathroom, he found a small and rather useless looking pair of scissors among her things. He worked carefully, trimming his hair away from his face, but finally he had to admit that he could not do the back himself. He stalked to the kitchen and wordlessly held the tiny shears out to her.

"Oh, Severus," she said, almost under her breath. She took the scissors without further comment and finished his hasty haircut. It was choppy, and perhaps slightly longer on the left side, but he had no wand with which to even it, nor to smooth the wrinkles from his robes, and she did not volunteer.

The eggs were burned when she turned back to them, and she apologized and hastily scraped them into the bin, but he only shrugged and went to the window again.

Shacklebolt appeared with a pop onto the front step and knocked on the door. Snape did not rise, but watched Hermione as she opened the door and welcomed the Minister inside. If she wanted to be the official face of the Snapes, he would let her.

Shacklebolt strode into the sitting room and held out his hand. "Severus. Good morning," he said.

Snape did not cross the room to take his outstretched hand. Instead he said, "Shall we skip the pleasantries and get on with it? You are anxious to begin, I'm sure."

Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "Yes, I suppose the sooner we begin, the sooner this will all be over. Witnesses for the defense have been checking in all morning. Unnecessary, of course, as this is only the preliminary hearing. Still, I'm sure you will be glad for the show of support. The Weasleys have already--"

"Indeed. I imagine there are quite a few families who wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Severus," Hermione said in a warning tone.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"

She did not continue, but stared back at him stonily.

"Yes, well, I'm sure Hermione has already gone over this, but just so that we're all clear... We will Apparate into my office at the Ministry. From there we will proceed to Courtroom Ten."

"Courtroom Ten?" Snape drawled. "Just like old times, then?"

"Dumbledore's portrait is permanently fixed in Courtroom Ten," Shacklebolt said, almost apologetically. "We're not--it's not meant to be reminiscent of--"

"No, of course not," Snape said.

"Thank you, Kingsley," Hermione said. "I think we're ready."

The three of them walked to the front step of Spinner's End. Hermione took Snape's left arm and Shacklebolt his right, and between them, they did for him what he had done for himself since he was seventeen years old.

***

The Minister's office was jarring no matter how many times she visited it. Hermione supposed that it was because she always expected it to be impersonal--the bland representation of a government official, not the colourful expression of a man she knew. Or perhaps it was that she had grown accustomed to the muted countenance of Spinner's End, and the vibrance of the place seemed to burn her eyes.

Kingsley seemed to feel that they would like a moment alone, a concession that made her simultaneously grateful and nervous. He hastened from the office, telling them that he was going to see that the courtroom was ready for them, and shut the door behind him. She turned to look at Snape who appeared somehow dwarfed inside his rumpled robes. He did not wear them the way he had worn the green brocade of the same cut, and it seemed strange to her that she longed for the man who could rise up inside his clothing like the right hand of the Dark Lord. Where had he put that part of himself?

"I do not think..." he said after a moment, "I do not want you to have false expectations."

She nodded. There seemed no appropriate response.

"It may be that things are said about you that--"

She huffed impatiently. "Honestly, Severus. Do you imagine that I haven't heard every possible thing that people are saying about me? In Madam Malkin's alone, three witches called me a whore, and one said I should be rotting in Azkaban like the other Death Eaters. I am fully prepared for what may be said."

Snape flinched slightly. "Hermione, I--"

"You don't have to say anything. This is not your fault."

"No," he said heavily. "But it is not yours either."

Her eyes closed involuntarily as she accepted his gift into herself.

"I will not ask their forgiveness. Do you understand me? I will not court their good opinion like a schoolboy."

"I know that."

"I do not wish you to think that because I have agreed to wear this ridiculous--"

She held up her hand. "I know. May I straighten your robes?"

He nodded almost imperceptibly.

She drew her wand from her pocked and pointed it at him. He stood as still as a statue, and she felt such a wave of sympathy for him that her knees nearly buckled. It was not what she might cast at him that left him so rigid, but simply the evidence of her magic. When she had finished, she reached up and adjusted his collar, though it sat flush and stiff against his neck.

Kingsley tapped slightly on the door as he opened it.

"Are you ready?"

Snape followed him silently from the room, and she walked just behind him. They took the lift to the Department of Mysteries and then descended a series of stone steps to a long corridor that reminded Hermione forcibly of Snape's dungeons at Hogwarts. At the end of the hallway there was a heavy wooden door.

"When I open the door, everyone will stand. Severus, you will walk to the center of the court and take your seat. Hermione, you will join the other witnesses for the defense on the lowest tier. I will take my place as Head Prosecutor, at which point the court will be seated. At that time, the charges against you will be read. Do you have any questions?"

"Kingsley, you do believe--" she began.

"No questions," Snape said curtly.

Kingsley reached out and seized the heavy iron handle and pulled the door open. Hermione looked up at Snape, who stared through the open door, his face a perfect mask of indifference. She breathed deeply and drew herself up as high as she could as Kingsley stepped aside to let them pass, and she slipped her hand inside Snape's. For a moment, his hand was completely limp, and she wondered if she would continue to hold onto it--if there were more dignity in persevering or letting go--but suddenly his fingers laced through hers, and he squeezed her hand tightly. Beneath the pressure, she felt him nearly vibrating. She stared straight ahead in an unconscious mimic of him.

Together, they stepped through the doorway.

The room was enormous, like an enclosed stone amphitheater, with rows of seating raised one after the other around the circumference of the circular courtroom. The members of the Wizengamot sat clustered together in the higher rows opposite the door, and the witnesses for the prosecution and defense sat in the lowest seats, across from one another. To her left, Hermione saw Arthur Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Ron, George, Harry and Ginny, Luna Lovegood, Mr Ollivander, Professor McGonagall and Kreacher. They were such an motley group, and so determined looking, that they reminded her of the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army--all those brave faces, having no sense of what they might actually be fighting, but determined at least to try to stand up to it.

There were whispers in the courtroom as they entered, but Hermione did not look anywhere but at the faces she knew best, drawing comfort from their fixed expressions. She had to release Snape's hand to let him take his place in the large chair in the center of the room, its arms covered in chains. She turned quickly away from it, hearing the chilling sound of the links binding her husband to his seat. She slipped into the defense's row beside Luna Lovegood, who stared around the room with serene interest. She glanced into Luna's face, hoping to catch her eye, but Luna's gaze had fixed on a portrait that hung behind the Minister's head. Dumbledore sat easily inside his frame, his legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees. He looked as maddeningly calm as ever.

Kingsley rose from where he sat, surrounded by the plum-clad witches and wizards of the Wizengamot.

"Good morning," he said, his amplified voice ringing through the cavernous room. "Preliminary Hearing of Severus Snape on the eighteenth of May, nineteen hundred and ninety eight. Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic; Gawain Robards, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Tiberius Ogden, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Court Scribe: Percy Ignatius Weasley. These proceedings will be open to the press; however, no photographs may be taken inside the courtroom."

Hermione glanced to her right and saw a cluster of reporters by the door, Rita Skeeter and Dempster Wiggleswade among them. Rita Skeeter was staring at her with keen interest. Hermione looked quickly away.

"Please be seated. I trust I will not have to ask for silence. We will now present the charges, and Mr Snape will be given the opportunity to respond. The Ministry of Magic hereby charges Severus Snape with the following War Crimes..."

Hermione's eyes locked with Snape's as Kingsley's voice droned on and on.

"...Murder by Unforgivable Curse; Membership in a Terrorist Organization; Conspiracy to Commit Murder; High Treason; Espionage..."

Snape blinked steadily. His dark eyes never left hers, and his face gave no sign that he heard Kingsley speaking at all.

"...Aiding and Abetting the Use of the Unforgivable Curses; Use of Magic in the Presence of Muggles; Unauthorized Use of Memory Charms; Destruction of Property; Accessory to Kidnapping..."

Hermione struggled to keep her eyes open and her face impassive. As she stared at him, she felt as if she could send her thoughts directly into his mind, and she thought fiercely, "Do not listen to that; it means nothing. Close your mind; it means nothing..."

"Mr Snape, you may now answer the charges. How do you plead?" Kingsley's voice cut sharply across her litany of thought.

Hermione's eyes dropped, and her very cells seemed to stand still. Her heart did not beat; she did not breathe. Severus had never told her how he intended to plead. It was mad, inexplicable, she knew. Harry had hounded her for days, reminding her over and over again that all her research was for nothing if Snape meant to plead guilty, but she simply had been unable to bring herself to ask him what he planned to do.

Now it was time to see if she was right, or if she was very, very foolish.

Many nights she had lain in bed, either in the cot in the room Snape had relegated her to, or beside him in the master bedroom, and thought of this moment. Somehow it had seemed to her that she knew him, that she knew something fundamental about him that traveled through the air in the room as they slept, some residue that he left behind when he touched her, something amorphous but real that was simply Severus. Mr Weasley had taken her aside the night before and gently asked her why she refused to speak to Snape about his intentions, and all she had been able to say was, "Because I know him. He needs to come to this on his own or not at all. And if I don't give him any reason to thwart me, he won't."

That was not the real heart of the matter, and she knew it. But, in fact, the key to her husband was something rather hard to measure. Snape loved truth. Even when he was mistaken about what the truth was, he was obsessed with finding it, obsessed with revealing it, and whatever he said today, it would be because he believed it to be perfectly true. Did he consider himself a Death Eater? Did he think that he had murdered Albus Dumbledore?

The seconds seemed to tick by. The courtroom was silent, and slowly Hermione raised her eyes to her husband's face. She knew that everyone stared, that everyone watched him for some movement, some sign. But he looked only at her, and very quietly, but very clearly, he said, "Not guilty."

She exhaled so sharply that for a moment she was afraid she might vomit, but her distress was almost completely unnoticed in the in the din that erupted from the stands. Luna touched the back of her hand lightly.

"That was very brave of him," she whispered into Hermione's ear, which seemed funny, given all the things Severus had done that might be considered brave, but she nodded tightly at her friend.

Kingsley admonished those present to stay in their seats and remain quiet as he stood. "May it be entered into the record that Severus Snape has officially entered his plea. The trial will commence Monday morning, June the first, at nine o'clock a.m. Mr Snape will now be returned to confinement." He motioned to two Aurors that Hermione did not know, and they descended from their pew to join Snape in the center of the room. Kingsley signaled for Hermione to approach.

"Why isn't he in Azkaban with the other criminals?" Skeeter shrieked from the doorway. There were several cries of assent from the upper seats.

Kingsley cast a Shield around them.

"I will remind you that the court is under no obligation to answer your questions, Ms Skeeter. You will maintain decorum, or you will be asked to leave," Kingsley said. "However, I will tell you that in deference to the invaluable help that Mr Snape is providing the Ministry in identifying the Death Eaters and their various activities during the war, I have granted him permission to reside outside of Azkaban for the remainder of the trial. Rest assured that Mr Snape is without magic or means of escape. His location is perfectly secure. That is all for today."

Kingsley touched his wand to the chains that bound Snape to the chair, and they lifted. Flanked by the Aurors, with Kingsley in the lead, they made their way from the courtroom. Hermione was very glad for the Shield Charm that surrounded them, but despite its presence, she ducked several times as people launched themselves at her.

"Was Ms Granger of age when you married?"

"Hermione! Look at the camera! Are you a Death Eater?"

"How many times are you going to switch sides, Snape?"

Severus did not bow his head, nor hide behind his hair. He simply walked on, expressionless. Hermione strode beside him, her legs straining to keep up.

***

The knock sent something that felt remarkably like magic singing down his spine, all the way to his toes. He was on his feet in less than a second, and his hand groped wildly around in his pocket for his wand.

"Go upstairs," he hissed at Hermione.

"What? Severus, you go upstairs," Hermione whispered back, drawing her own wand.

The realization that he had no wand--and that it would be useless to him even if he did--parried briefly with the fear of who was on the other side of the door for a moment, two different terrors struggling for dominance in his mind.

She was heading for the door, and he cut her off at the pass. "Are you being deliberately foolish? Do as I say!"

"You need to listen to me," she said, low and calm. "The likelihood that whoever is outside has come to hurt me is small. I'm armed, and I'm perfectly capable of--"

He longed to wrench the wand from her fist and banish her to the upper floor or shake her until she saw he was not going to be disobeyed--that he was opening that door, and she had best be far away when he did.

"Severus? Hermione?" called a voice from behind the door.

He turned toward her on his heel in a move that would have been quite impressive had he been wearing a robe and not his father's old denims.

"Why is Arthur Weasley at the door?"

"How should I know?" she said hotly, reaching past him and letting the balding wizard into the house.

"Hello, Mr Weas--"

"What are you doing here?" Snape barked.

"I brought the papers," Weasley said calmly, holding out two rolled bundles of parchment. "And I wanted to see how you were."

"Indeed," Snape said nastily. "I noticed Molly failed to join us today."

Weasley met his eyes. "Molly is at home, mourning our son," he said.

Hermione stepped between them and laid her hand on the man's arm. "How is she?"

"About like you'd expect," Weasley said, deflating slightly. "Anyway, I didn't know if you'd heard. They're bringing the Malfoys in from Azkaban."

"The Malfoys?" Hermione said with alarm.

"Come now, Hermione," Snape said. "Surely, you didn't think that Lucius and Narcissa would want to miss the fun? I'm sure they have plenty of fond recollections to share."

"It's my understanding that they want Draco's testimony in particular."

"I see. Well, I thank you for the happy tidings," Snape said acidly, snatching the papers from the other man's hand. "And now, if you'll excuse us, Hermione and I were just sitting down to dinner."

Weasley looked slowly around the room, as if to point out that no meal was in evidence, before saying, "Thank you for inviting me in, Severus. I wish you the best of luck. Hermione, we'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione followed Weasley out, presumably to apologize for his behavior, Snape thought, as he stalked to the couch and unrolled the papers. One was the Prophet, the front page alive with a moving photograph of the two of them exiting the courtroom. Hermione looked as if she was nearly running to keep up with him, and he felt a vague stab of guilt over that. Notorious traitor, Severus Snape, leaves the courtroom with his child bride, the caption read. The headline: Snape Switches Sides Again.

No, he thought, I suppose he wouldn't want me to miss that.

But the second paper was the Quibbler, and before Snape could throw it down in disgust and begin to berate the other wizard's taste in reading material, he saw the words, Severus Snape Saved my Daughter.

Bloody Xenophilius Lovegood.

What had he done in that courtroom? The whole thing would be over now if he had only said the word. The papers would shout it from the rooftops--"Guilty," says Severus Snape!--for a few days, and then the world would forget him again.

He heard the door slamming and Hermione's shoes clacking on the stairs. He stood up and snuffed the sconces with his fingertips.

She had every right to be angry. The papers would crucify her. Over and over again, for however long this took.

Snape climbed the steps in the darkness and paused outside the doorway to the bedroom. Without his magic, he could not sense her as clearly as he had in the past, and he did not want to open the door to find her absent.

He imagined trying to explain it to her. Why had he done this?

Because he wanted them to have to know. They did not have to believe--in fact, he was sure that they would do their very best not to believe--but he wanted them to have to know, to be burdened with the knowledge of what he had done. He wanted them to know that while they had wrung their hands and eaten meatballs in the Weasleys' kitchen, he had followed orders. And while they constructed safe houses, he had writhed under the Dark Lord's whip. He wanted it to haunt their dreams.

This was not true, or at least not entirely so, he knew, but he refused to think it through any further. Because he'd had to do it, he thought angrily. For the same reasons he had done anything these long, cruel years. Because there was no other choice.

She was already in bed when he entered the room.

When he eased between the sheets beside her, she did not move.

"Please don't do that again," she said quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Arthur Weasley. His family is in great pain, and yet he is trying to help us."

Snape fumed for a moment before replying. "I was not to blame for Fred Weasley's death."

"No one is saying you were, Severus! Merlin, why does it always have to be about who is to blame? Can't we just feel sympathy for them without it having something to do with guilt?" She flounced over onto her side and huffed into the pillow.

Snape lay stiffly on his back in the darkness. She was deluding herself. Of course it had to do with who was to blame. Everything did.

***

Walking in the second time was no different from walking in the first. Hermione's hand folded itself into his moments before the door opened, and he walked slowly into the room as if it didn't matter that in a few short steps, he would be bound to a seat in the center of the room with hundreds of eyes fixed on him. It was not terribly different from appearing before the Dark Lord--as public and as dangerous--but without his magic, he had no Occlumency with which to shield himself, and so he turned his disciplined mind to the task of registering almost nothing. He stared straight ahead.

"Good morning," Shacklebolt began. He stood at the Minister's platform, his arms spread wide as if to welcome the accumulated witches and wizards to a formal celebration. "Please be seated."

"As you know, Severus Snape has been charged with numerous offenses related to his time as a member of the terrorist group led by the Dark Lord Voldemort, hereafter to be referred to as the Death Eaters. It is the court's first aim to determine Snape's role within the Death Eaters, his participation and knowledge of their activities, and the extent of his service to Voldemort. To that end, we will begin with questions concerning the night that he took the Dark Mark."

Dumbledore's voice suddenly rang through the courtroom, and Snape raised his eyes almost lazily to the portrait that hung from the far wall, though he could not help but be aware of the anxious shifting going on in the seats surrounding him.

"Do I need to remind this court that Severus Snape has already been cleared of all charges resulting from the first war? Unless it is your intent to try him again, I don't see how this line of questioning is relevant."

"Dumbledore!" Shacklebolt angrily retorted. "While the court appreciates your presence, and you will be given the opportunity to testify, I must remind you that I am the Interrogator. Speaking out of turn will not be tolerated. No charges have been presented from the first war. But I do not consider Snape's status as a Death Eater irrelevant. These questions are necessary to determining whether he joined and remained with the Death Eaters of his own free will."

Snape listened to their bickering with only half his mind. With the other, he took in Lucius Malfoy, who was being led into the courtroom by two Aurors. Lucius's hair was dingy. Not dirty, not stringy--it was clear that Azkaban was not what it once was, and Lucius's eyes were not hollow or empty, but their same icy gray--but his hair had lost its glossy shine. It was sad, really, Snape thought absently. Like seeing a Veela marry, or some other beautiful thing defiled. He noted that Lucius was fitted with a heavy gray bracelet identical to his own.

Lucius sat in a chained chair beside Snape's in the center of the courtroom--sat in it as if it were a throne. Nothing about his mannerisms had changed at all.

"Please state your name for the court."

"Lucius Malfoy."

"Mr Malfoy, were you present on the night that Severus Snape received the Dark Mark?"

"I was."

"What can you tell us about the process? Did all new Death Eaters take the Mark?"

"There were family legacies," Lucius said. "Witches and wizards who were inducted immediately upon coming of age. Others... whose bloodlines were less pure... were asked to serve a time of apprenticeship. After that, if the Dark Lord was satisfied that the recruit was worthy, he would bestow the Mark."

"And it was a formal ceremony? The applicants knew exactly what would occur?"

"It was, and they did."

"And were the recruits pressured to go through with the ceremony in any way?"

"As I have said, some of us were encouraged to join by family connections. There were expectations among the most powerful Pureblooded families, and I regret that I--"

"Mr Malfoy, if you will," Shacklebolt said. "Was Severus Snape pressured to join the Death Eaters?"

Lucius chuckled, and Snape thought briefly that it was really too bad that the Dementors were no longer utilized at Azkaban.

"Gracious, no. Severus was all but frothing at the mouth to join up. I daresay he thought there would be wealth in it. Have you seen that house he grew up in? He was exceedingly anxious to rub shoulders with those of us of... greater means. It was a bit unseemly, as I recall."

"I see. And were there other recruits who were more reluctant?"

"Others who got so far as a Marking ceremony? Not that I recall."

"You never saw a recruit leave a Marking ceremony?"

"No. By the time the Dark--Voldemort, that is--had prepared an apprentice for the Mark, he liked to be certain."

"But it's very painful, is it not? I was under the impression that it was like a brand of some sort. No one feared the pain?"

"Perhaps," Lucius said disdainfully as though the Muggle connotations of the word 'brand' had offended him. Snape could feel Lucius looking at him, though he did not turn his head. He knew the look that Lucius wore. I will go if I have to, the look said, but I'll be damned if I'm not taking you down with me. "But most seemed to feel that it was an honor to take the Mark. Not everyone was asked."

"And Snape told you that he felt honored?"

"Not in so many words. But I recall that he arrived at the Manor two hours before the ceremony."

"The ceremonies were held in Malfoy Manor?" Kingsley asked sharply.

"Occasionally," Lucius said, and Snape thought he heard a tinge of discomfort in the man's voice.

"But the ceremony in which Snape took the Mark was held in your home?"

"Yes."

"Interesting. Can you tell the court a bit about what was required of newly Marked Death Eaters?"

"It was Lord Voldemort's custom to assign a job. Severus was usually sent to spy on Dumbledore, as he had only recently left Hogwarts and could ostensibly be seeking the Headmaster for some legitimate reason."

At this, Tiberius Ogden spoke. "So Voldemort had Snape spying from the beginning?"

Snape could hear the smile in Lucius's voice. "Severus has always had talent in that vein, and the Dark Lord liked to use his followers' gifts."

"You feel that Snape was a talented spy?" Shacklebolt broke in.

"Oh, Severus may not be the most attractive man," Lucius said, "but he has a talent for getting what he wants from people. It has something to do with that manner of his. People assume that no one that unpleasant could be holding anything back."

A twinge of something like amusement crept into Snape's secluded mind. Lucius would want a parting shot, at least.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy. That will be all for now."

The Aurors arrived from somewhere behind Snape to unlock Lucius from his chair. He heard the courtroom doors open and close, but he did not look around him.

"Let it be noted that the court has heard the testimony of Lucius Malfoy regarding Severus Snape's induction into the Dark Lord Voldemort's employ," Shacklebolt said. "We will redirect our questioning to Mr Snape." He seemed to collect himself for a moment before turning back to Snape.

"How old were you when you joined the Death Eaters?"

"Eighteen years old," Snape said. He offered nothing further, but sat rigidly in his seat.

"Then you joined shortly after leaving Hogwarts?"

"Two months thereafter."

"Mr Snape, did you have many friends at Hogwarts?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Would you have considered yourself a popular student?"

"Forgive me; I was under the impression that this was a trial, not a psychological evaluation," Snape said acidly.

"Will you answer the question, or shall I hold you in contempt of court?" Shacklebolt replied evenly.

Inwardly, Snape sighed. This was what he had expected; this was what he had feared. They had him where they wanted him now, and they would not rest until they could shame him.

"I had several acquaintances within my house."

"Name them, please."

"Avery. Mulciber. Rosier."

"And did you have friends outside of the Slytherin house?"

Snape stared forward without speaking for a long time. He knew that Shacklebolt had viewed his memories in the Pensieve, and he knew the answer that the man required now. He did not want to give it. He did not want to hand over this particular part of himself for their inspection, for their ridicule or their pity. He looked hard at the Minister.

"I did."

"Can you name them, please?"

"Lily Evans."

***

Hermione went rigid. She could feel Harry looking at her from her left side, but she did not meet his gaze. She had begged Kingsley not to show the Pensieve memories to the Wizengamot, arguing that every idea represented therein could be covered in testimony by the players themselves. She was here, Harry, Minerva, Dumbledore. He could ask anything he liked, she had pleaded, if he would not show the memories themselves. She knew, in the same way that she had known how Severus would answer the charges, that if he were forced to share himself that nakedly, he would not recover from it. Kingsley, it seemed, had kept his word.

Severus, she thought, looked blind. His eyes were dead as he answered their questions, and she knew that he must be nearly speechless with horror if he was allowing himself to feel anything at all.

"And how did you become acquainted with Lily Evans? She was a Gryffindor, was she not?"

"She was. We met before Hogwarts."

"So you were childhood friends."

"Yes."

Tiberius Ogden broke in once more. "Forgive me, Minister, but how is this relevant to the case at hand?"

"It seems to me that young people are rather influenced by the people closest to them," Shacklebolt said mildly. "It should be noted that Snape had only one friend outside of Slytherin--and incidentally, only one friend who did not become a Death Eater."

Ogden did not look appeased, but he said nothing more.

"How would you characterize your relationship with Albus Dumbledore at that time?"

"He was the Headmaster. I was a student."

"Was your relationship friendly?"

"I was a Slytherin."

"I'm sorry; I'm not following. Could you elaborate?"

"Dumbledore treated me as he did the rest of the members of my house: with suspicion."

"So your relationship was antagonistic?"

"I was often punished."

"Can you give an example?"

"During my sixth year, I was given three months of detention for leaving school grounds after hours."

"And you felt that was an unfair punishment?"

"I had been lured into the Whomping Willow by Sirius Black. He intended me to find Remus Lupin in his werewolf form at the end of the tunnel."

"And Black's punishment?"

"He was forbidden to visit Hogsmeade the next weekend."

"So you felt persecuted by Dumbledore."

"No more so than any other member of my house."

Tiberius Ogden seemed unable to contain himself any longer and redirected. "Malfoy characterized you as 'eager' to join the Death Eaters. Would you agree with that assessment?"

"Yes."

Hermione flinched. This was pure Severus, and she had expected nothing less. But still, she longed to jump up and stand between him and Ogden, to try to explain.

"What drew you to Lord Voldemort?"

"Power. Wealth. An interest in the Dark Arts."

"I see. We are given to understand that you rose through the ranks rather quickly. Was that the case?"

"Yes."

"Was that due to your talent, as Mr Malfoy called it, for spying?"

"I suppose that had something to do with it."

"What else would you say 'had something to do with it'?"

"I had a talent for Potions. And I did as I was told."

"Can you give the court an example?"

"The Dark Lord asked that we engage in petty acts of thievery. Mugglebaiting, I believe, is the term. I became adept at stealing automobiles. It amused the Dark Lord."

"I see. So you grew to hold a relatively powerful position among the Death Eaters?"

"I did."

"Would you have considered yourself a favorite?"

"So far as he had them."

"And so you found the power you had hoped for with Lord Voldemort?"

"I suppose."

"And yet you say you left the Death Eaters and joined Dumbledore, a man you claim treated you unfairly, in August of 1980."

"Yes."

"And what motivated that decision?"

"The Dark Lord... threatened someone I cared for."

"Your mother?"

"My mother died in 1978."

"Your father?"

"Hardly. My father was shiftless imbecile who left my mother when I entered Hogwarts."

"Mr Snape, are you deliberately avoiding the question?"

"I was not aware that I had been asked any questions outside of those I just answered."

"Who was so important to you that you would be willing to risk your life to leave the Death Eaters?"

"Lily Evans."

The courtroom erupted with whispers, and Hermione steeled herself for what was coming, half hoping that Snape felt nothing and half hoping that he would give some tiny flicker of humanity--something for them to seize on outside of the blank mask, the toneless delivery.

"We will have quiet in this courtroom," Kingsley shouted. Gradually, the hum abated, and Kingsley focused on Snape once more.

"Mr Snape," Kingsley said, "I apologize for the interruption. You said you joined Dumbledore because Voldemort threatened Lily Evans."

"Yes."

"But she was Lily Potter by then, if I am not mistaken."

"Indeed," Snape said.

"Were you romantically involved with Lily Potter?"

"No."

"But she was important enough to you to risk changing sides."

Snape said nothing.

"Mr Snape?"

"Yes?"

"I said, she was important enough to you to risk changing sides?"

"She was."

"I am not sure that I understand."

"Lily Evans--Lily Potter--was... dear to me. I approached Dumbledore because I had hoped that he might have enough power to protect her."

"You have already testified that you were held a prominent position among the Death Eaters, that you were, in fact, a favorite of Voldemort's. He would not spare Lily Potter on your behalf?"

"He agreed to spare her if it was my wish."

"But then why--"

"Because the Dark Lord was unpredictable at the best of times, and Lily Potter was not. I knew that she would not allow her husband and son to die without a fight."

"And you believed that Voldemort intended to kill James and Harry Potter?"

"At that time, he knew of the Prophecy. He intended to murder the Potters before their son became a threat to him."

"And how did Voldemort receive word of the Prophecy? Our records in the Department of Mysteries indicate that the Prophecy was delivered to Albus Dumbledore alone."

"Lucius Malfoy has already testified that I spied on Dumbledore at the Dark Lord's request."

"So you gave Voldemort the information that put the Potters at risk?"

Without realizing it Hermione dug her nails into her forearms so deeply that she began to bleed. Watching this was like watching them cut him open and hold his heart up to the light. She had never hated herself more in her life.

Snape's head tipped forward and lock of his hair slipped from behind his ear and brushed over his cheek. She could see the furrows in his forehead deepen, and he shut his eyes.

"I did."

***

That night he had forced her to go to bed first. She had sat beside him, quiet as the dead, in front of the fireplace in the sitting room until he thought he would go mad. She had been waiting for him to speak, he knew, waiting for him to say something, anything, about what had happened that day.

Dumbledore had spoken next, had told them what he had demanded in return for protecting Lily, and how the plan had failed. Dumbledore told them of his grief and of his promise. He told them of his Patronus.

There had been questions about the validity of Snape's remorse--if he had been a man who needed a master, if he had simply stayed with Dumbledore because Voldemort had fallen.

Perhaps it was true. Perhaps he had never made a decision on his own in his life. It could be that even now he obeyed. They said answer, and he spilled forth his entrails for them to read like fortunes. And here was Hermione, wanting something, always wanting something from him.

He sat there, staring into the fire, until finally she had stood, shoulders round with defeat, and left him alone.

His exhausted mind drifted back to the courtroom. The reporters had screamed his name, demanded to know how long he had loved Lily Potter. Weasley did not have to bring the paper. He knew what the headline would read. Snape Loved Another Man's Wife. He wanted to be like us, they would say. He wanted what we had.

Disgusting. He shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, the room was lit only by the glowing coals of a fire gone down. Hermione stood before him in her nightgown, her hands held out to him.

"Go back to bed," he said thickly.

"Come with me."

"No."

She stood there resolutely, her chin thrust out, her hands still offered.

"No, Hermione."

"Then I'll stay here."

She sat down beside him, and he sighed heavily. But when her head fell against his shoulder, he did not shake her off, and when her hand slipped into his, he did not yank it back.