Potent Circumstances

Potent Circumstances

He had done it. He had sent her away. Hermione walked slowly and numbly down the hall.

She had outworn her welcome at last. She scraped against the cold, hard edge of his voice as she recounted their exchange. Embarrassment flamed up within her, fueling an abrupt urge to escape.

She panted as she flew, floor by floor, to the entrance hall.

"Miss Granger, a word?"

Hermione whipped around to face Maire, her heart banging wildly against her ribs.

She advanced angrily.

"That-that-decision the Board reached was a load of nonsense!" she shouted. "I'll bet the real reason they're throwing him out is because of those articles. Somebody here violated his confidentiality very publicly, and now he's miraculously cured?

"I haven't noticed Healer Millar here in a while," Hermione went on. "I suppose St. Mungo's would like to wash their hands of the rumors before they begin. And now they're sending Snape on his way, too. There's no way they could give him a clean bill of health in his state. They just don't want the publicity, and you know it!" Hermione cried.

Maire smiled wryly. "I imagine that mind of yours was both a joy and a trial for your teachers, Miss Granger," she said.

"Tell me I'm wrong!" Hermione challenged belligerently. "Just tell me I'm wrong, Maire!"

Maire shook her head. "Duty requires me to obey the Board, Miss Granger," she said quietly, "and decency demands that I speak the truth. I shall hold my tongue in this instance."

Hermione crossed her arms and drew up her shoulders. She knew that she should have long ago shed the illusion of childhood, the myth that there were competent, benevolent adults who could manage the world more wisely than she. She should have lost that illusion at age twelve when she realized that Dumbledore had blithely set Harry on his perilous quest with his father's Invisibility Cloak and an anonymous note. Nevertheless, it seemed that Maire's words had wrenched from her a final, vital shred of her childhood.

"There are avenues for protesting such decisions, Miss Granger," Maire said softly, "but eventually, Mr. Snape will have to leave. He must have a place to live."

Hermione brought her hands up over her face. "I know," she murmured. "I know. I just don't know what to do about it. And," she whispered, "I don't think he ever wants to see me again."

Maire drew close to Hermione and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Did he say that, Miss Granger?" she asked. "I didn't hear him say anything of the sort."

Hermione sniffed. "You heard him. He told me to leave."

"He reminded you of an appointment you had," Maire corrected.

"He screamed at me!" Hermione countered indignantly.

Maire rubbed Hermione's arm soothingly. "Do you remember one of our first conversations, Miss Granger? I believe I told you Professor Snape had a lot of healing to do and that it wasn't all physical.

"Don't expect him to suddenly become happy with his circumstances. He has some daunting hurdles to clear. No one could face such obstacles with perfect equanimity."

Fragments of her conversations with Maire flitted through her memory: "Even if his wounds were miraculously healed, he would still suffer the enormity of what he has experienced."

Enormity.

The word that Hermione had so assiduously avoided slipped over her like a spider web, some loathsome, clinging thing she had walked through in the dark.

"Were you aware, Miss Granger, that all patients and their representatives have the right to request a copy of grievance procedures from any member of St. Mungo's staff? Any staff member at all." Maire's eyes sparkled.

Hermione grinned shrewdly. "So I suppose I could request them of you?" She almost giggled at the Healer's exaggerated, sideways glance. "Healer Glamorgan, may I please have a copy of St. Mungo's grievance procedures?"

Maire reached into her lime green robes. "If you must, Miss Granger," she said, feigning an air of resignation as she withdrew a sheaf of parchments. "The rules are the rules."

Hermione felt a surge of genuine fondness for Maire. "Thank you so much!" she breathed gratefully.

"Let's not have you late for your appointment," Maire responded with a wink. She turned on her heel and strode down the hall, full of dignity and quiet authority.

Hermione glanced at her watch: 9:55. Even if she Apparated straight to Shacklebolt's office, she'd have a hard time making the appointment on time. She took off at a run and did not stop until she burst through the exit doors.

She was breathless when she reached the Ministry's phone booth and procured her visitor's badge. She tapped her foot impatiently as the lift made its way down into the Ministry's bowels, and when the door of the lift opened on Shacklebolt's floor, she pushed through a crowd of irate witches and wizards and ran down the hall.

She sighed in relief when she reached an imposing mahogany door with the words "Kingsley Shacklebolt: Minister of Magic" engraved upon it in gold. She straightened her robes and ran a hand through her hair and pushed the heavy door open.

"Welcome, Miss Granger!" Kingsley Shacklebolt boomed. Hermione glanced around the office as she caught her breath.

Rita Skeeter sat smugly in a leather wingback chair. A haughty, well-dressed wizard sat on her right.

The wizard's eyes raked over Hermione appraisingly, and his lip curled with the slightest show of contempt. "I really must protest," he said. "Miss Granger should have enough respect for the new Minister and for these proceedings to arrive punctually."

Shacklebolt looked mildly amused. "Miss Granger is right on time, Mr. Smythwyck," he said with a glance towards the clock. "She was instructed to arrive at 10:17, not five minutes before." He faced the wizard directly. "And the new Minister is quite capable of demanding respect on his own."

Smythwyck's eyes widened imperceptibly. Hermione wondered if he had manipulated the previous Ministers more easily.

"Do sit, Miss Granger," Kingsley instructed. With a wave of his wand, another leather chair appeared. Hermione sat nervously.

"We are here today to investigate recent breaches in security protocol concerning Severus Snape. Present at this hearing are Hermione Jane Granger, caregiver to Severus Snape and guardian ad litem to the same, Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Prophet, and Susurrus Smythwyck, publisher of the Daily Prophet.

"Due to the glut of cases facing the Winzengamot, as well as the immediacy of the threat the Ministry has perceived to Mr. Snape's security, I have called this hearing at my own discretion," began Shacklebolt.

"We are not here today to try anyone for a crime. You should all know, however, that what is disclosed in this hearing may be used to bring criminal charges, and the decisions reached in this hearing are binding."

To Hermione's annoyance, Rita Skeeter smirked openly at Shacklebolt and rolled her eyes. The Minister smiled imperturbably.

"The Ministry has also requested the presence of Mr. Abelard Tiffington," said Kingsley, nodding towards a tall, serious, middle-aged man to his left, "head of the Animagus Registration Department." Behind those garishly bejeweled spectacles, Rita Skeeter's eyes grew round. She hiccupped suddenly, and Hermione coughed to camouflage the laughter that spontaneously bubbled out of her.

Susurrus Smythwyck raised an elegantly manicured hand. "Respectfully, Minister, might you tell me how the Daily Prophet and this esteemed reporter," he began, gesturing towards Skeeter, "could possibly be connected to Severus Snape's security?"

"I thank you for bringing us directly to the heart of the matter, Mr. Smythwyck," Kingsley replied with a smile. "One of Miss Skeeter's articles was published in the Daily Prophet on Sunday, 25 July. The article made mention of Professor Severus Snape's role in the war."

"The Daily Prophet is in the business of reporting news and human interest stories. Mr. Snape's unique career fell under both of those categories," Mr. Smythwyck parried smoothly.

"I am aware of that," Kingsley replied. "However, the article mentioned Snape's convalescence at St. Mungo's. This information was supposed to have been kept under strict confidentiality, and its disclosure led to dire threats being sent to Mr. Snape.

"Take, for example, this letter." Kingsley opened a large dossier and withdrew a tattered letter. "Dear Professor Snape," he read aloud, "I am very glad that someone was there to save your life the night that Voldemort went down..."

Mr. Smythwyck gestured impatiently. "I thought these letters contained threats. These sentiments sound more like a friendly greeting."

Kingsley smiled indulgently. "The writer goes on to clarify his sentiments: '... because I will be waiting outside of St. Mungo's to kill you with my bare hands, you sick, Death Eater bastard.'"

Hermione glanced quickly at Mr. Smythwyck and Rita Skeeter. Their disaffected stares drew a cold, hard fury up from somewhere deep within her. She wished bitterly that they could experience, for a single day, the torments that Professor Snape battled constantly. The two of them had lived comfortably during a war that had destroyed the innocent and the principled, while Severus Snape had been abandoned to his solitary anguish.

Smythwyck's voice broke into Hermione's ruminations. "That is certainly troubling, Minister, but should you not be investigating the writers of these letters? I fail to see how the Prophet could be held responsible for such threats."

For once, Shacklebolt did not smile. "The Ministry has taken these threats quite seriously. So seriously, in fact, that we have already arrested three different people suspected of plotting to harm Mr. Snape. You may confidently leave the apprehension and prosecution of suspects to the Aurors and the Wizengamot, Mr. Smythwyck. We are here today to talk about you."

A faint stroke of scarlet brightened Mr. Smythwyck's pallid cheeks. "Severus Snape was a polarizing figure during the war. People were curious about him. The Prophet fed their curiosity. We provide a service, Minister," he said in clipped tones. "I don't see why Mr. Snape should be held in higher regard than any other veteran of this war."

Vultures perform a service too, Hermione thought viciously, but no one pays them.

"Severus Snape played a vital role in bringing down Lord Voldemort," Kingsley replied calmly. "As you pointed out, the public's view of him is polarized. We are obliged to protect him to the fullest extent."

"Severus Snape also murdered Albus Dumbledore," spat Smythwyck. "It's interesting copy."

Hermione erupted. "Professor Snape was cleared of all wrongdoing by the Ministry. And human suffering should never be reduced to 'interesting copy'!" she cried.

Rita Skeeter smirked and rolled her eyes. Smythwyck regarded her distantly, as if she were an annoying but ultimately harmless insect.

Kingsley smiled at her. "As Miss Granger pointed out, Mr. Snape was cleared of wrongdoing.

"The Ministry has worked to insure that all veterans of this war, regardless of the side they took, receive adequate protection. Even those we know to have served Voldemort. Until verdicts have been reached, we are obligated to prevent vigilantism from running rampant."

"A verdict was never reached in this case, Minister," Smythwyck said. His eyes glittered, and his lips curved upward. To Hermione, he resembled nothing so much as a giant, predatory bird that had just spied its prey. "A verdict was never reached because the Wizengamot never held a trial. You took it upon yourself to pardon Severus Snape without the benefit of a trial, on evidence the public knows little about. The public is very interested in Mr. Snape's case, Minister. They are curious about how he eluded a trial yet again."

"Not even the most vigilant of publishers," Kingsley said smilingly, "or reporters can know all the facts at any given time, Mr. Smythwyck."

Rita Skeeter looked up from inspecting her gaudily polished nails. "Oh, please. If this is about that drivel that Potter spouted, that's nothing but hearsay. It would never have stood in a court of law, and that poor child has a different hysteria every other day."

Hermione leapt from her chair. "You've always been after Harry, you horrid woman!" she shouted. "You've hounded him since he was fourteen years old. You haven't faced half of the horrors he has, and you still dare pass judgment on him, or on Snape?"

"Oh, yes, the poor Potter orphan," Skeeter replied in honeyed tones. "That young man has suffered atrocities that few of us could understand. No wonder he's somewhat...labile, shall we say?"

Hermione had the jarring thought that Rita Skeeter was the human embodiment of Muggle antifreeze: seemingly sweet and ultimately deadly. She grinned involuntarily as she realized that Skeeter's trademark quill was precisely the right color.

Skeeter's eyes hardened as she stared defiantly at Hermione.

"Miss Granger, Miss Skeeter," Kingsley admonished, "you are not to address each other. If you have evidence germane to this hearing, you are to address me respectfully."

"Yes, Minister," Hermione mumbled.

"Of course, Minister," Rita Skeeter chirped.

"Minister, we have yet to see how the Prophet brought any of this about. We have an obligation to provide information to the public. That is all we have done. Can we not, as you say, leave Mr. Snape's protection in the capable hands of the Aurors?" Smythwyck drawled.

"Very well, Mr. Smythwyck," Kingsley said, fixing his authoritative gaze upon the publisher. "Barring any further interruptions, I shall get directly to the very heart of the matter. Which, as far as you are concerned, is the evidence that the Daily Prophet obtained Mr. Snape's personal information...most particularly his location and his physical state...through illegal means."

"If that were the case," Mr. Smythwyck retorted angrily, "then perhaps a trial...with the option of legal counsel...would be a better avenue than a private hearing at the new Minister's discretion."

"You may have your day in court, if you so desire. I will warn you, though: disruptive or disrespectful behavior during these proceedings will earn you the same charge of contempt that it would in a full trial before the Wizengamot."

Mr. Smythwyck sat back in his chair, tight-lipped and pink-faced.

"Moving on now," Kingsley continued. "We have evidence that someone acting upon the Prophet's behest used illegal means to influence a St. Mungo's employee to breach Mr. Snape's protocol."

"And where, Minister, is this evidence?" Mr. Smythwyck insisted.

Shacklebolt smiled and picked up a small, brass, trumpet-shaped device on his desk and spoke into it. "Delilah, please send in our guest."

"Yes, sir, Minister!" Delilah lilted invisibly from the trumpet.

Hermione smiled triumphantly when Healer Millar shuffled in. Her grey curls were wildly disheveled. Her eyes lit briefly upon Hermione, who stared back at her savagely.

"This is Calliope Millar. Mrs. Millar, please take a seat." Kingsley Summoned another chair, and Calliope sat nervously.

"Mrs. Millar, what is your profession?" Shacklebolt asked politely.

"I used to be a Healer," Calliope said bitterly, "at St. Mungo's." She glared pointedly at Rita Skeeter.

"Did you provide care for Severus Snape?" Shacklebolt inquired.

"Yes," she said stiffly.

"Are you still employed by St. Mungo's?"

"No," she quivered. A tear glistened in the old woman's eye.

"Why not?" Shacklebolt continued.

"I was fired," she mumbled.

"Why?"

"The Board believed I had violated the terms of my contract."

"How?" Kingsley prodded.

"By giving Mr. Snape's private information to Rita Skeeter."

"Had you done so?"

Calliope looked down shamefacedly. She sat quietly for a moment before she quietly responded, "Yes."

Dumbfounded, Hermione watched as Rita Skeeter's self-satisfied smirk expanded. She imagined the unscrupulous reporter plying Calliope with flattery, luring her to break one of the Healing profession's most sacrosanct codes. Skeeter had exploited the pitiful old gossip's weaknesses, never allowing her to believe that she might one day sit in dishonor as Skeeter looked on gleefully.

"So Millar provided Snape's information to Rita," Smythwyck said dismissively. "She broke her professional code, but neither Rita nor the Prophet is bound to that code. We've broken no law."

"If you interrupt these proceedings again, you will be charged with contempt, Mr. Smythwyck," Shacklebolt admonished.

"Mrs. Millar, did you contact Miss Skeeter with this information?" he went on.

"No!" Calliope shouted. "She approached me!" She glared venomously at Rita Skeeter, who stared back smugly.

"How did she approach you, Mrs. Millar?"

Calliope pursed her lips and looked down.

"Healer Millar?" Shacklebolt urged.

"She asked me if I was one of Mr. Snape's Healers," she whispered, "and I said yes before I even thought.

"Then, she asked me if I could give her any details about 'im: who was visitin' 'im, if he said anything, what 'is condition was." Her voice broke. "And I said no. I said that was confidential information."

She looked up with glistening eyes. "Then, she said she understood. She said she appreciated my professionalism," Calliope spat. "She asked if she could have me to tea and interview me about my life as a Healer." She sniffled loudly, and Shacklebolt passed her a handkerchief.

"I thought it'd be nice to be in the paper, so I went to her house for tea. She started off askin' me questions about my life, just general questions. Then she said that I was such an ethical person, such a professional Healer, and..." Her words were swallowed in sobs.

"Go on, Mrs. Millar," Shacklebolt encouraged her gently.

Calliope shut her eyes tightly, wringing out the tears that trembled upon her lashes. "And she asked me if I had ever broken any of the rules. She asked if I'd ever given a patient the wrong potion and then lied about it, or if I'd ever left anything off of a chart. And..." her voice rose, "...and..."

"Yes, Mrs. Millar?"

"And I said yes!" her voice crescendoed. "I couldn't stop talking. I told her everything she asked, and I couldn't c-con-t-t-trol myself!" She covered her face with her hands and wailed unabashedly.

"Minister, this... woman," Smythwyck interrupted disdainfully, "is clearly incapable of restraining her tongue. It is Rita's duty to get the facts, and Mrs. Millar complied freely."

"I did not!" Calliope snapped. "I would've never given that information away freely. She dosed my tea with Veritaserum, I know she did!"

Smythwyck stared aloofly at Calliope. "Your word against hers, Healer Miller," he sneered.

"Mr. Smythwyck, you have been warned. Please see my secretary when we are finished. She will apprise you of your fine," Shacklebolt said sternly.

Smythwyck's face turned a mottled purple as he bit back his protest. Shacklebolt met the man's glare with a distant, unruffled firmness before turning towards Calliope once more.

"Mrs. Millar, was that the last of your dealings with Rita Skeeter?" he asked.

"No," she whispered hoarsely. "She met me outside of St. Mungo's one day and showed me this parchment she had with everything I'd told her on it. She said she'd take it to the Board if I didn't give her the information she wanted on Mr. Snape."

"Did you?"

"Yes," Calliope murmured, "but that wasn't all. She showed me how she could turn into a beetle and told me she wanted to be there the next time I was on duty for Mr. Snape. She said she'd hide in my hair." She pointed a shaky finger at Hermione. "Ask Miss Granger there; she figured it out!"

Hermione snickered inwardly as she recalled the day she had so gleefully terrorized Calliope with insinuations about beetles. The exultant feeling was tempered, however, by the memory of Snape huddling, weak and humiliated, against the wall at St. Mungo's that day. Anger at Calliope's treatment of Snape tugged her one way while pity for the broken old woman before her tugged another.

"Thank you for your time and your honesty, Mrs. Millar," Shacklebolt said politely. "You are dismissed now. Delilah will assist you on your way to the Aurory." Calliope stood and stared furiously at Rita Skeeter.

"Mrs. Millar?" the Minister called. "The Aurors are waiting for your statement." Calliope glanced up defiantly at Shacklebolt.

"Delilah!" Shacklebolt called into his trumpet. "Please come and escort Mrs. Millar to the Auror's Office."

A plump, dark-haired young woman in well-tailored robes entered through a side door. "Come with me, Mrs. Millar," she said gently.

Calliope stared at Delilah disappointedly. She glowered once more at Rita Skeeter before reluctantly shuffling out the door.

"Miss Granger? Can you corroborate Mrs. Millar's statement?" An undercurrent of amusement rippled in Shacklebolt's eyes.

"No," Hermione said. "Not strictly speaking, although I had guessed as much."

Rita Skeeter laughed and clapped her hands. "Little Miss Perfect can't even match her story! You have nothing on me, Kingsley!" she crowed.

Shacklebolt grinned. "I don't believe I've ever given you permission to use my first name, Miss Skeeter," he replied. "You may see Delilah at the end of this meeting. She will inform you of your fine."

"But-wha-but-" Skeeter sputtered.

"Contempt, Miss Skeeter," Shacklebolt said helpfully. "You were warned. Now, Miss Granger, do you have any information that would support Mrs. Millar's rather extravagant statement?" He looked at Hermione pointedly.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I discovered that Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus about four years ago, during the last Triwizard Tournament. Right before Voldemort came back to full power."

"How did you come about this information?" Shacklebolt queried.

Hermione tugged nervously on her sleeve. "Well, nobody could figure out how the Daily Prophet was getting all the information they were embellishing about me and Harry before the Tournament. This horrid beetle kept turning up everywhere we went," she said disgustedly, "and I put one and two together."

"Did you ever find proof to support your guess?"

From the corner of her eye, Hermione watched Rita Skeeter blanche and shift slightly in her seat. "Yes," she answered confidently. She sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap, resisting the temptation to stare Rita down.

"I put her in a jar...with adequate ventilation and nourishment! And I kept her until she would admit it."

Kingsley peered at her intently. "How long did that take, Miss Granger?" he asked. Hermione could see the phantom of a smile at the corners of his lips.

She cleared her throat. "The better part of a month," she squeaked.

"Can you describe Miss Skeeter's supposed Animagus form?"

"Yes."

"Please record this, Mr. Tiffington," Shacklebolt commanded. The thin man on his left smiled for the first time. He produced a quill and parchment and eagerly awaited Hermione's words.

"She is a large beetle, about six centimeters in diameter, and she has yellowish-green marking around her eyes. They rather resemble her glasses," Hermione answered.

Shacklebolt looked at Rita Skeeter. "Is this true, Miss Skeeter?" he asked. "I should warn you, there is a penalty for perjuring yourself during these proceedings," he interposed as she made to respond. "And ascertaining perjury is a perfectly legal use of Veritaserum."

The last vestiges of arrogance drained from Skeeter's face. She swallowed hard. "Yes," she squawked.

"Are you getting this down, Tiffington?" Shacklebolt inquired.

"Yes, sir!" the man replied enthusiastically, causing the flap of skin under his chin...the only excess of flesh evident on his bony frame...to quiver comically. His quill worked its frenzied way across the parchment.

"You will see Mr. Tiffington before you leave today to determine the fines you have accrued since your first transfiguration," Shacklebolt informed the reporter. "He will have an Auror on hand to administer Veritaserum so that we may be assured of levying the proper fee." Rita Skeeter stared balefully at Tiffington.

"You will be happy to know, Miss Skeeter, that recent reforms have abolished the customary prison-term for failing to register as an Animagus," Shacklebolt said cheerfully. "You will dodge a stay in Azkaban. Provided, of course, that you pay your fines."

"But she, she, she," Skeeter blustered, jumping to her feet and gesticulating towards Hermione, "she imprisoned me! And she blackmailed me! That was false imprisonment!" she howled.

Hermione's stomach flipped over. She clasped her sweaty, clammy palms together in her lap as she awaited Shacklebolt's word.

"You have an amazing knowledge of the law, Miss Skeeter," Shacklebolt commented smilingly. Hermione's nails dug into the numb flesh of her hands.

"So I am rather surprised that you did not realize that Miss Granger is not accountable for any crimes she committed as a juvenile."

Hermione exhaled and shook in relief. Rita Skeeter's eyes goggled and her mouth hung agape.

"You are also under suspicion, Miss Skeeter, of using Veritaserum, which is a controlled substance, without legal clearance to do so," Shacklebolt continued. "I believe you admitted to using it on Bathilda Bagshot in an interview with the Prophet last year."

"That's not a legally binding statement!" Skeeter cried anxiously.

"I suppose not, but it does cast a pall of doubt over your actions. And, Mrs. Millar has accused you of using Veritaserum on her without her consent. I believe she has just given a sworn statement to the Aurors to that effect," Shacklebolt pressed on. "Since this is a crime, you will be tried before the Wizengamot if formal charges are made."

The blood drained from Rita Skeeter's face. Her attire took on an even more lurid hue against her ashen complexion.

Shacklebolt addressed Susurrus Smythwyck next. "As Miss Skeeter's employer, you stood to gain from her illegal Animagus status and her use of Veritaserum," he said coldly. "What did you know about this, Smythwyck?"

Smythwyck had visibly distanced himself from the distraught reporter, whom he now appraised scornfully.

"I assure you, Minister," he answered coolly, "The Daily Prophet does not endorse the acquisition of information through illegal means. Furthermore, Miss Skeeter is a freelance journalist. We are not, properly speaking, her employer." Rita Skeeter gawked at Smythwyck, her mouth opening and closing dumbly.

"Perhaps. That will be investigated," Shacklebolt answered back. "The Daily Prophet has enjoyed a long and privileged relationship with the Ministry of Magic. Under the circumstances, I find it necessary to reevaluate that relationship. Until we have investigated these matters to the fullest extent, your paper will no longer have the use of an expanded press pass at Ministry events."

Mr. Smythwyck stood angrily. "Your countrymen would find it interesting, no doubt, Shacklebolt," he said sharply, "that you intend to curtail freedom of information."

"Nothing prevents you from telling them so, Smythwyck," Shacklebolt returned smoothly. "I seem to recall, though, that your paper profited from the stranglehold the last regime placed upon the press. I am sure there are those who would remind our countrymen of that."

"You would dare taint the public's impression of my publication, Kingsley?" Smythwyck bit back icily.

"Not I," Shacklebolt chuckled. "There are publishers who will no doubt enjoy conveying that information in the new climate of freedom. You should stand down now, Smythwyck, if you would avoid accruing further fines.

"I believe that concludes our business here. Mr. Smythwyck, Miss Skeeter, please see Delilah on your way out. She will inform you of your fines for contempt. Miss Skeeter, please see Mr. Tiffington downstairs afterwards. The Aurors will soon contact you regarding the Veritaserum allegations. You are not to leave the country before then. I highly recommend setting your affairs in order."

Shacklebolt stood and looked at the people gathered before him. Hermione admired the ease with which he wore his authority. "You are dismissed!" he proclaimed. "Do have a nice day. Oh, Miss Skeeter, Mr. Smythwyck, Delilah's office is just through that door."

Rita Skeeter placed a quaking hand on Smythwyck's arm. "Susurrus..." she croaked brokenly. Smythwyck looked down on her coldly. He peeled her hand off of his arm, then pivoted sharply and exited. Clearly stung, Rita stared after him before she gathered herself and drifted out the door.

Hermione remained standing, dizzy from the pull of wildly disparate emotions. A newfound pity for Calliope, her relief at Shacklebolt's proclamation of her innocence, and her rather vicious pleasure at Smythwyck's and Skeeter's comeuppance vied with each other for dominance. She wondered what Snape would have said if he had been present and was immediately thankful that he had not had to hear his character dissected so carelessly.

Her reverie dissipated at the sound of Shacklebolt's deep, rumbling voice. "Miss Granger? Did you need something?"

She stared into the Minister's smiling face. "Professor Snape..." she murmured, "that letter that you read... it wasn't one of the ones I gave you."

"No," said Shacklebolt. "We intercepted that one the day we began monitoring his mail."

"It was really horrible," she whispered.

"Yes, it was."

"What's going to happen to him?" she asked.

"We are going to protect him, Miss Granger," Shacklebolt reassured her. He turned to his desk and shouldered his traveling cloak. Realizing that he was about to dismiss her, Hermione stepped towards him hastily.

"There is another thing," she said hurriedly. "I need to find out where Professor Snape lived when he wasn't at Hogwarts. He's being released, and he won't go back to Hogwarts or stay with Harry. There's no record of his address at St. Mungo's."

"Severus was always rather secretive on that point," Shacklebolt conceded. "I will have the matter investigated. In the meantime, I suggest you speak with Minerva McGonagall. She will have access to his employment records at Hogwarts. Wherever he goes, he will have every protection the Ministry can provide."

"Oh, right," Hermione said dazedly. "Right!" She felt as if the sun had broken through a dark, dense cloud in her mind.

"Thank you, Minister!" she cried, shaking his hand gratefully.

"I believe I gave you permission to use my first name, Miss Granger," Shacklebolt laughed.

Hermione smile shyly. "Thank you, Kingsley," she said awkwardly. "I suppose you should call me Hermione, then."

"Very well, Hermione. Enjoy what is left of your day. Please don't try to apprehend any unregistered Animagi on your way to lunch."

The laughter she shared with Shacklebolt reassured her. It seemed that something had been restored to her world, or perhaps something had been removed. She felt freer and lighter than she had in months as she made her way out of his office.

The stately mahogany door thudded behind her, and she stood alone in the vast hall. With a start she realized that this was the first time she had been inside the Ministry of Magic on legitimate business, the first time she would be leaving triumphant and unscathed. A chill spread over her body. She fled hastily down the hall.

A/N

Thanks to everyone who nominated/seconded Anthem at TNL! I still can't believe it. Thanks so much!