Chapter 32

XXXII.

Her spell-bound brother coughed again, lifting a hand weakly to his battered ribs. She returned her attention to him. "Shh! Shh--easy, Harry! Just lie there. Don't try to get up..."

"Bastard!" Moody swore, stumping as fast as he could on his wooden leg over to them. "He betrayed Harry? I should've tried harder to kill the bastard!"

"He didn't betray Harry!" Hermione snapped at the aging Auror. "He saved Harry!"

Ron gaped at his friend. "--Hermione, Snape betrayed us! He stopped Harry from killing himself!"

"Snape..." Harry mumbled.

"And by doing so, he was able to pull Harry into the path of the Killing Curse, saving me!

"--Buggering arse!" Mad-Eye swore vehemently. "I should've killed him the moment I saw him!"

"Moody! In doing so, he was able to then bring Harry back from the dead, because Harry didn't have a huge, gaping chest-wound!" Hermione snapped, glaring at the two wizards. "CPR, Ronald! Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation! You just read a bloody pamphlet about it!" she shouted at her freckled friend.

"Yes, but he killed Harry! He didn't have to kill Harry!"

"Yes, he did! And I would've done it myself, if I could! Killing Harry was the only way to destroy the last fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul!" Hermione drew breath to argue more, but Ron paled abruptly.

"--Is it gone?" he demanded quickly. "Really gone? Cast the Soul-Scanning spell!"

Hermione gripped the wand she had dropped near Harry's shoulder in order to have her hands free for CPR assistance, and cast it again over her brother. "Psyscandum! "

The glow of his aura sprang up from his body. It wasn't as strong as before, but then its owner had just gone through a very harrowing experience. There was a bit more in the way of red in his aura...but when Ron crouched and pushed Harry's fringe back from his face, two proofs met their eyes. One, the lightning-bolt on his forehead glowed with the same healthy-toned hues as the rest of him, and two...when she cancelled the spell in soul-deep relief, the scar had faded visibly to a jagged white line. No longer was it visibly pink with lingering freshness. A bruise mottled his forehead from where Voldemort had jabbed Harry with his finger, but the scar was just a scar, now.

Seeing the proof that the Dark Lord's taint was forever gone from her blood-bound brother, Hermione relaxed back onto her heels. Until Harry tried to sit up, groaning with pain at the effort. She quickly pushed him back down. "Don't try to get up, Harry. You've probably got a couple of cracked ribs from the CPR. Just lie there until we can get you a Portkey to St. Mungo's."

"Snape..." Harry breathed. She started to answer him, but realized his eyes were closed and his body was limp, now. He had passed out. His chest still rose and fell, thankfully. Pressing her fingers under the left side of his chin revealed his heartbeat to Hermione, relieving her further. It was slow but steady, and not too weak, all things considered. The Boy Who Had Lived now lived again, thankfully.

"Rest, Harry," Hermione breathed over her brother as more bodies started Apparating into place all around them, Aurors coming to help with a battle that was thankfully now over. She patted his shoulder, doing her best to relax her own battle-drawn tension from her body. "You've earned it."

...

Daphne Granger looked like a pallid angel, lying against the hospital sheets. Hermione's father had pushed a second hospital cot up against the edge of his wife's bed, so that he could hold her hand as he slept. He still wore his pyjamas from home, his face haggard with worry. The attack that had been only two hours ago, Hermione realized, but Jeffrey Granger looked like he had aged two years in that time.

He woke as his daughter's shadow came between him and the light from the nurse's station in the distance. Rousing, he started to ask who it was, then subsided with a look of deep relief. Instead of speaking aloud, he whispered her name, releasing his wife's fingers so that he could hold out his hand to his firstborn. "Hermione..."

"Hullo, Dad," she whispered back. "How's Mum?"

"Shh. Sleeping off a potion. I'll tell you about it, but not here." Releasing her hand, he rolled out of his bed, shrugged into a hospital dressing gown, and nodded at the door by the nurse's station. "I think the tea shop is still open..."

Normally, Hermione didn't think her father would wander anywhere in just a hospital dressing gown and his blue cotton pyjamas, but he'd been snatched from his bed by the Portkey amulet she'd made for him, along with her mother. He didn't even have slippers with him. Taking pity on him, she snatched two facial tissues from the box on the nurse's station, and Transfigured them into a pair of slippers. He gave her a grateful look and a one-armed squeeze, then slipped into them and let her lead the way up to the top of the hospital.

The cafe was nominally closed, but the tables were still available, and there was a pot of coffee and a pot of hot water available for the use of the hospital staff. Hermione filched a pair of cups and two teabags, and steeped both of them a cuppa as she settled across from her father. She had a lot to tell him, too, about what had just happened, but wanted to know what he and her mother had gone through. "So, what happened?"

"There was a flash of light that woke me, and I heard your mother scream, and then we were jolted away, spinning and rushing. I hit my head, landing hard on the floor, and blacked out. When I came to, your Russel was crouched over me, prodding me awake with his wand. He called for Arthur and Molly, and Bill and Fleur came down, too, and they all exclaimed over Daphne..." His hand clenched on his tea mug, and he bit his lower lip. It was an act of uncertainty Hermione hadn't seen in him in a long time. "I didn't understand half the jargon the doctors here said, after we Floo'd to this place, but...I knew she was in a bad way.

"It didn't take them long to fix her up, though. Just poured three potions down her throat, and she was conscious enough to say that she couldn't remember anything about the attack. She'd been asleep. They gave both of us something for the pain, and that was when Harry showed up, just as she was falling asleep. Whatever they gave me wasn't as strong as her potion, though.

"She clutched his hand until she nodded off, and he asked me and the Healers some questions, and told me that we'd been attacked by Death Eaters, apparently." Reaching across, Jeffrey gripped his daughter's hand, removing it from her own steaming mug. "Those Portkey pendants you made us saved our lives. Even if I did end up with a headache because of them," he joked weakly. "And then he said he had something really important to take care of, that you were helping him with it, and that the two of you should be by again soon.

"So, here you are...now, where's Harry? And Russel, for that matter?" Jeffrey asked her.

Hermione bit her lip. It was her turn to explain everything to her father. She squeezed his hand, then released it, cupping her mug as if the brownish contents held the secret to life, perhaps even to the universe. "You know about the war..."

"Yes. I gained a lump on my head tonight, because of it," Jeffrey Granger joked lightly.

"We, erm, had the final confrontation, tonight. It's over. It's over," she repeated, as if that could solidify the fact of Lord Voldemort's death. But...it wasn't over. Severus had fled, and she didn't know how to integrate a known Death Eater, a seeming traitor, and an undeniable murderer back into her life. Someone would eventually tell Harry that Russel and Severus were one and the same, and the truth of that particular matter would tear her sense of family apart. Or rather, tear Harry's sense of family apart.

She already knew which one she'd choose between the two of them, if she had to; she just wished there was a way where she wouldn't have to choose at all.

A warm hand covered her wrist. She looked up into her father's sympathetic brown eyes. "Can you tell me about it?"

Hermione bit her lip, wondering how much to censor. "The attack on you...started the whole snowball rolling, I guess you could say. At least, for the final phase of the war. But it's really complicated. You see, Russel is really..." No, that wasn't the way to start. "It's like this... No, erm... Daddy, it's really complicated, but Russel's true identity is going to cause a whole lot of fuss and bother, because a lot of people don't know the truth about him. He's a spy, but they think he's a traitor. A real traitor...when all along, he's been a for-pretend traitor. I know this, in my heart."

"Because you love him," Jeffrey stated. He smiled wryly at her surprise. "I may only get to see you in the summer and the occasional holiday, but I know you. You're so much like myself and your mother, a mix of both of us. You love as fiercely and protectively as any lioness, I think. Appropriate, given your School House mascot."

"Yeah, I love him," she agreed. "And because of that love, I want a happy ending for him. For us. But...a lot of people hate and revile him, who he really is. They don't know who he really is, just what they think he is...and Harry... Harry is one of those people who hate the person he thinks Russel's true identity is. Outright hates him. Which means the moment Harry finds out who Russel is, he'll go ballistic. He might even snap at me, because I've known for some time who Russel is, and Harry might see it as a sort of betrayal. But Harry needed to focus on the Dark Lord, and that's the main reason why I never told him," Hermione confessed. "I didn't want him getting his priorities mixed up.

"As it was...the final confrontation was tonight...and it was messy. He...um... I know you're going to find this hard to believe, Dad," Hermione stated, searching for the best way to explain, "but the Dark Lord found a way to split up his soul--a very evil way to do it, since he had to kill others to make such Dark Magic work. And one of the pieces of his soul ended up lodged, kind of like a splinter from a bomb or a grenade, in Harry's scar," she said, managing to find the right sort of analogy she needed to make her Muggle father understand.

He nodded slowly. "...I think I understand."

"Well, to kill Voldiedork, we kind of had to kill all of the pieces of his soul...including the one stuck to Harry. And that meant..." Swallowing, she forced herself to go on. "That meant Harry had to die, too."

Jeffrey stiffened, staring at her in dismay.

"He was all set to kill himself with a sword, but Russel intervened, and stopped him from doing it. That kept the Dark Lord alive, because he'd used his magic to tie his remaining life-force to Harry's well-being." At her father's confused look, Hermione realized she'd left something out and quickly added, "Um, Harry had already stabbed Voldemort with the same sword, but there was magic involved, and Voldemort couldn't die so long as Harry continued to live. Since Harry is loved by a lot of people, Voldie thought that no one would want to kill Harry, and thus he would remain alive as long as Harry lived.

"But Harry wanted to end the Dark Lord's reign of terror, and was willing to give up his life. Only Russel stopped him...and..." Her father's fingers squeezed her own, shifting from her wrist to her hand. She squeezed back. "The Dark Lord cast a spell that ended up killing Harry. Quickly and cleanly, and without any wounds. It was actually meant for me, but...Russel cast a spell that pulled Harry into the path of the Killing Curse, so that he died instead of me."

Jeffrey jerked his hand free, sitting back with a gasp.

"--Once the Dark Lord died as well, because he was still horribly wounded and all," Hermione rushed to reassure him, "Russel and I started CPR on Harry, and he came back to life without any of Voldemort's taint on him--by doing it that way, Russel saved Harry's life!" she emphasized firmly while her father struggled to absorb her words. "If Harry had impaled himself, like he'd planned, we wouldn't have been able to bring him back from the dead because of the wound.

"Russel saved Harry...but no one understands that, because Russel and I were the only ones still conscious when it happened. You see, there was a bit of a fight, and a bit of sabotage against all the other Death Eaters, then it was just down to the four of us, and the Aurors and the Order members showed up just as we revived Harry. Well, five, actually, but Draco did his part to sabotage the other Death Eaters, and then left just as the Aurors arrived. After it was all over, so they never saw what really happened.

"It was all a bit of a mess, and someone accused Russel of betraying Harry, and the others turned against him, and he...well, he fled," she confessed unhappily. "I think I know where he went, but unless and until the truth is known about him, until people accept what really has been happening, with him...he's going to remain an outlaw because of everyone's perceptions. And I don't know how to fix the whole mess of it. But I love him...so I have to try."

"Where's Harry right now?"

"He's being fussed over by some Healers, who are trying to repair the torn ligaments and cracked ribs from the CPR we gave him," she admitted. "If I'm lucky, they'll give him a sleeping draught, so I can have some time to track down Se...my husband, and try to work out a way to get his side of the story known, so that people will maybe change their opinions about him. But I had to check on you and Mum, first. I would've come earlier, back when Harry came by, but I had to check some last-minute information before heading off to face down the Dark Lord. But at least it's over--the war, I mean," she added with a weak smile. "The dangerous part is over. The hard part for some of us lies just ahead, but the war is technically now over."

Jeffrey leaned forward and caught her hand again, squeezing her fingers. "Whatever happens, Hermione, you'll still be our daughter. Even if your brother chooses to close his ears because of his antipathy for whoever Russel is. And so long as he treats you and our grandchildren well...Russel will still be our son-in-law, and will be welcome in our home. If you believe in him, that's good enough for me.

"...Unless he proves otherwise," her father admitted dryly. "He and Harry might not get along, but Russel's done well by us, your mother and me. I've seen him looking at you when he thought no one was watching. He'll want to do right by you, I'm sure of it."

"Thanks, Dad," Hermione breathed. She squeezed his hand back, then sipped at her tea. "...I should go find him, soon."

"Yes, you should. Let him know he has your support," her father added, patting her wrist. "Husbands need to hear that from their wives, in times of strife. Just as wives need to hear it from their husbands, sometimes."

...

Hermione Apparated from St. Mungo's to Headquarters. The house was remarkably quiet, no doubt because most everyone was still out there at Riddle Manor, helping the Aurors clean up the place, or watching over the badly burned prisoners being transferred to the hospital. She was tired; the let-down of the battle's aftermath had sapped her energy, on top of a long vigil watching the Hufflepuff cup soak in the murderous tea they had made.

But she paused to check on Crookshanks, rubbing his flanks as he twined himself around her ankles, made sure he and the other cats in the house had plenty of food and water so that they wouldn't be neglected in all of the excitement, and Floo'd from the kitchen to 42 Spinner's End. Whirling out of the fireplace, she caught her balance, then yelped and ducked. Books were sailing off the shelves, startling her.

The horizontal rain of flying tomes slowed to a trickle. Uncovering her head cautiously, Hermione peered around the room. Draco Malfoy was the one who had made the books leave the shelves. Her husband was shrinking each stack that Draco collected, and packing them into a box. Both men stared at her, but only Draco gripped his wand defensively. She quickly considered her options, and attacked first.

"You did a marvelous job with that spell, Draco. If you ever turn yourself in, or get captured, they'll go a lot easier on you if they know how you turned against the others so spectacularly. But then, that was your plan all along, wasn't it, husband?" she asked Severus. He glanced at her, and shrunk the waiting stack with a tap of his wand. She supposed he didn't have any Shrinking Solution on hand, which was why he was resorting to 'foolish wand-waving'.

"'Husband'. You actually admit to being married to him?" Draco challenged her, pointing at the man behind him.

"Why not?" Hermione countered calmly, though her heart was beating a little too fast for true calm. "I am. And quite happily."

That made Draco scoff. "As if! Do you really think he could be happy, married to a Mu--"

Even though he wasn't facing his former teacher, some instinct made Draco cut off what he was saying just as Severus shot him a dark look.

"...Uh, that is... You're a Muggle-born," Draco enunciated with a wince that was half grimace. "And the best friend of the Boy Who Won. We're fugitives, in the eyes of the law. You could hardly go strolling about, arm-in-arm, with him!"

It was weird, having a conversation with Draco on the very point she wanted to argue with her husband. "That's why I'm here. You'll always be fugitives, until you have your chance to testify. In an open court, with the truth spread far and wide--and the truth is, Draco, without you casting that spell I created, we would have lost. Even after most of them fled, when the Dark Mark brand was destroyed, there were still too many of them for our side to have prevailed. But you decimated their ranks! Your blow allowed Harry to attack Voldemort virtually unimpeded!

"And what you did," she added, looking past Draco to her husband, who had flicked another row of books off the living room shelves. "You saved Harry's life, and helped him kill Voldemort at the same time. You're both heroes."

"You're delusional. No one would call us such," Severus muttered, shrinking and packing the stack he had gathered.

"That's because no one knows the truth, yet!" Frustrated, knowing he would only continue to stonewall her on this subject, Hermione sighed and rubbed her head. "Look--stay here, until I get back. This place is still Secret-Kept, so you'll be safer here for the time being than making a run for it, if nothing else. I'm going to go set things up, and when they're ready, we'll get everything--everything--straightened out."

He didn't stop packing the box. Sighing roughly, Hermione concentrated and Apparated back to Headquarters. Tired as she was, she had a lot to do, and convincing her husband to reveal all that he'd done was only the start of it. A fistful of Floo Powder, and the young witch stepped through to Madam Pince's office.

A glance at the clock on the wall showed that it was not quite six o'clock. Dawn had lightened the sky beyond the windows, but only the earliest risers would be up by now, stirring in their dorm-rooms. Hermione nibbled her lip in thought, then Transfigured a scrap of paper from the librarian's desk into a cup, scooped some Floo Powder into it, and stated firmly, "Kreacher, you are summoned!"

The age-withered house-elf appeared abruptly in front of her, glowering at her, but obedient to her summons. "What does Miss want?"

"Lead me to the entrance of the Ravenclaw dormitories," she directed him. He snorted, but trotted out of the office. She had to walk quickly to keep up with him, but it didn't take long to reach a portrait of an alchemist witch, with bubbling retorts and steaming alembics. "Now, gently wake up Luna Lovegood and tell her that I need to see her immediately, Kreacher. Tell her I'm waiting just outside the Ravenclaw portrait."

He popped away, in that peculiar ability house-elves had to Apparate within Hogwarts. Hermione decided that house-elves must somehow be exempt from the Anti-Apparation wards, to be able to do that. It was the only possible explanation. Waiting, she paced a little, stifling a yawn with her free hand. Finally, she saw the portrait swing open, and the wide-eyed blond poked her curly head through.

"There you are. Luna, I need your father's help."

Blinking, Luna stepped through. Her blue eyes still bulged a little more than most, but she had grown up a bit over the several months since Hermione had last seen her. "What can my father do for you?"

"I need him to contact all of the journalists he knows, and have them be ready to watch the trial of the century. Not just the ones who write for The Quibbler, but all of the other wizarding journals, too. Here--this is Floo Powder. You can contact him through the Floo," she told Luna, handing over the cup. "I know it's not allowed in the dormitories, but this is an emergency. I'll let you know when and where the trial will be, as soon as I myself know.

"The truths that are going to come out at this trial will make an actual, live, Crumple-Horned Snorkack look as interested as a flobberworm, in comparison," Hermione stated dryly. "Lord Voldemort is dead, and Severus Snape is going to turn himself in." That made Luna's eyes widen and bulge even further in interest, but Hermione didn't say anything more, just headed back for the library with a wave over her shoulder. "--Thanks, Luna!"

...

A visit to a sleepy but dressed Professor Flitwick let her into his parlour. By the time Hermione was done giving him a terse explanation of the end of the war, and all of the other soul-carrying items, not just his Rowena Ravenclaw wand, he was wide-awake, looking as if someone had poured a pot of coffee directly into his veins. Hermione made her way next to the dungeons, where she encountered Professor Slughorn in his office, rifling through his end-of-midterm exam papers. He hid them when she entered, then relaxed, seeing who it was.

"Miss Granger! You know, I was very disappointed in your not continuing in your seventh year at this institution!"

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione apologized, "but events made it necessary. Now, I need your help. You're the only one who can do what I need done, because you're the only person I know with so many valuable contacts."

The florid, fat wizard made a noise of protest under his breath, but he sat back in his chair with a pleased look all the same. "Well! What sort of service could I provide, and what would be the cause?"

"I need you to contact people in the Wizarding Wireless, and have them attend the most sensational trial that will ever happen in this century--possibly in this millennium! I don't know anyone who works in wizarding radio," she admitted honestly, "and if anyone does, you'd be the man to know."

"Well! Well...yes, I know a Hufflepuff who's one of the announcers... What trial is this?" he asked her. "Surely not...not You-Know-Who?"

"No, he's dead," Hermione returned quickly, almost cheerfully. Slughorn gaped at her, and she grinned. "I saw it happen less than an hour ago. No, I need full, broad, unlimited, unrestricted media coverage of the coming trial--if you have any other journalist friends, do let them know."

"Miss Granger--whose trial will it be?" he insisted, as she turned to walk out of his office.

"Severus Snape's trial, of course!"

He spluttered, frowned, and looked indecisive. Hermione guessed what was going through his mind: Severus was a fellow Slytherin, but Severus had also killed their employer, Albus Dumbledore. She took the indecision out of his hands.

"Anyone who is anyone will be at that trial, and you and I both know it. Snape's trial won't be just front-page news; it'll be a whole Special Edition of The Daily Prophet, because of what he knows, and what he's going to tell. So, will you do it?"

His mustache twitched. "Save me a seat, Miss Granger. And seats for the whole of the wizarding world media! Just one question--who captured him?"

She grinned again as she exited. "I did!"

Her grin faded as she closed the door. Crossing to the other side of the corridor, she summoned the door to Snape's quarters and stepped through. The short passage was still cobwebbed and dusty, but the lights lit in the room beyond as she entered. Resting here was not an option, however. Scraping through the remains of Floo Powder in the pot, she lit a fire with her wand and cast the greyish-green grit onto the flames. "Ministry of Magic!"

Whirling through the emerald flames, she emerged in a shaken beehive of activity. It was just past six, but Ministry employees were arriving left and right, some still struggling into their clothes. No less than four witches and a wizard were still in curlers, the former with their hair falling down as they bustled for the lifts, the latter with his beard tangling with his robes in his haste. Whispered and murmurs and even shouts of excitement and disbelief swirled around her, as the word spread that Lord...Thingy...was dead. They can't even bring themselves to say his name, yet, she thought with a wrinkled nose. I wonder how long that'll be.

The guard eyed her as she stepped up to him. "Name and wand."

"Hermione Granger." She held still as he scanned her with an Artifact, handed over her wand when requested, and waited patiently as he weighed it and handed her a receipt for it.

"You'll get that back when you're done, Miss. Where are you headed?"

"The Law Department. I'm looking for the Department Head."

"You'll want Priscilla Philliston; she just got in about two minutes ago. Fifth floor."

"Thank you."

She felt a bit naked without her wand, but she still had Sigurd to protect her, and that thought comforted her. This was the most dangerous part of her quest, after all. If Madam Philliston, chief witch of the Wizengamot judges, didn't like what Hermione had to say, Hermione might need a fast way out of there. The lift that opened for her was crowded, but she managed to squeeze herself into a corner, calling out her floor number. Someone pressed several destinations for the others, and the lift ascended away from the main floor.

Memos zoomed inside on the next floor, hovering overhead, then zoomed out again, only to be replaced by more. The enclosed space rang with the babble of a dozen excited voices. Grateful when the magical voice of the lift announced her floor, Hermione squeezed herself free, breathing deeply as she stepped into the halls of the fifth level. Signs pointed her towards the International Magical Office of Law, which turned out to be very busy. More signs pointed the way to Madam Philliston' office, but a familiar voice, and a familiar, leonine head, made Hermione duck back out of direct sight.

Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, was discussing something with Madam Philliston. Hermione needed to talk to the woman without the Minister knowing that she--Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Had Defeated Voldiebutt Again, Huzzah--was in the building. Well, without letting him know she was there before she had talked to the witch in that office. Afterward, he could know she was in the building. Casting about, she spotted an empty cubicle and edged into it. Snagging a piece of stationery and a quill, Hermione thought for a moment, and wrote out a note.

Minister Scrimgeour,

I know where D. Malfoy is currently located. Meet me in the entry hall downstairs, in front of the statue of the house-elf, and I'll tell you what I can.

H. Granger

Folding the note into an aeroplane shape, she enchanted it to fly, then launched it and ducked behind the cubicle wall. Half a minute later, she heard an exclamation from the nearby office, and saw a tuft of silvery mane hurrying along the corridor between cubicles. He had taken the bait.

It wasn't a lie; she did know where Draco was located. And she would tell the man what she could: that Draco was located in a Secret-Kept location. Not being the Secret-Keeper, Hermione couldn't tell him where that was...but she could tell the odious man all that she could. Admittedly, Rufus Scrimgeour was a better Minister than Cornelius Fudge had been, but that really wasn't saying much, considering how bad Fudge had been. One of the things she hoped to do with her machinations was blast off the lid of Scrimgeour's policy of persecuting, rather than lawfully prosecuting, anyone involved in the war. She wasn't going to hold her breath, but she was going to hope and strive for the best possible outcome.

A real life with her husband, where neither of them had to hide from the law.

Stepping out of the cubicle, she slipped through the partially open door of Priscilla Philliston's office. Madam Philliston had been appointed the Minister when Madam Bones had been murdered. Hermione suspected the woman was a crony of his, or at least someone Scrimgeour thought he could direct, if not outright control. What Hermione had gleaned from the transcripts of the trials that had taken place was that Priscilla Philliston was much like Barty Crouch Senior had been, back around the time she'd been born. Strict, almost harsh...but somewhat fair.

If she was allowed to be.

Hermione suspected the Minister put a lot of pressure on the Law Department to hold 'prisoners' until the Ministry could dig up actual evidence against them. But once they actually went to trial--which explained why Stan Shunpike was still languishing in captivity; there was not a single credible scrap of evidence against him--justice prevailed. Closing the door quietly, Hermione studied the older woman.

Philliston sat at her desk with her head bowed over something she was writing. Her face was seamed lightly with the lines of later middle-age; given the longevity of wizards and witches, she was probably in her seventies or older, but looked like she was in her early fifties at most. Her hair was a short, bushy mass of steel-wool grey curls, something like what Hermione fancied her own might be, if she ever cropped it that short at that age.

The witch wore a sort of cross between dress robes and a Muggle skirt-suit, long, flowing lines in dusky rose with a pink blouse underneath, and had a couple strands of polished garnet chips strung across her chest. The combination looked approachable, save for the stern frown-lines age-worn into her brow. Finishing what she was writing with a flourished signature, she looked up at Hermione. "Can I help you, or are you just going to stand there?"

"I want to arrange a date for a trial."

Philliston set her quill down and sat back, lifting her brows. "Really? Since when does the Department of Magical Law bow to the dictates of...well, since I don't know you, I can safely say, the dictates of a total nobody?"

"My name is Hermione. As in Hermione, best friend of Harry Potter."

Priscilla's hazel green eyes sharpened, and she sat forward again. "Hermione Granger? Word has it you were there, last night!"

"I was. And Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort--" she watched the older witch wince visibly at the openly-spoken name, "--also known as You-Know-Who and Lord Thingy and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...is indeed thoroughly and completely dead, this time around. I Soul-Scanned the body myself, as he died," Hermione confirmed dryly. "But I'm not here to discuss that. Not directly, at any rate."

"Why are you here, then?" Philliston enquired, arching her brow skeptically. "I trust it's not to waste my time?"

"No, I'm here to arrange for the trial of the century. Now that Moldiebutt is dead, who is number-one on the Law Department's hit-list of people you desperately want to put on trial?" the younger witch asked, certain she knew the answer.

The older witch's mouth compressed briefly. "Severus Snape, I suppose..." Her eyes narrowed abruptly in comprehension. "You know where he is?"

Hermione chose her reply carefully. "He is in a Secret-Kept place. As I am not the Secret-Keeper for that particular Fidelius Charm, I cannot tell you where that is. Nor can I lead you there, obviously. But I can and will bring him to you, on the day and at the time that you appoint for his trial...if you agree to give him a fair trial."

"Not good enough!"

"Then you're not getting him...and your chance to enact a true justice will fall by the wayside," Hermione shrugged with deliberate carelessness.

"Who do you think you are, to make such a demand? If you know where he is, then either you hand him over to the Department of Law, or you will find yourself in contempt and imprisoned for obstructing that law!" Priscilla Philliston argued, slapping her hand on her desk.

"--I'm not Rufus Scrimgeour, for one," Hermione retorted, planting her hands on the Department Head's desk. "I'm not the one still holding Stan Shunpike prisoner, more than a year after his incarceration, without a fair, and just, and prompt trial. When will Stan, a lack-wit attendant for the Knight Bus, have his fair and just trial?" she demanded pointedly. "When Scrimgeour's other lackeys succeed in digging up something to pin on him that you and I both know isn't there? ...Or when they manufacture it, to justify holding him so long without seeing to any of his long-violated civil rights?"

The older witch dropped her gaze to the side; Hermione leaned closer, pressing her advantage.

"Who am I, Madam Philliston? I am the only person who can get Severus Snape to come quietly. Peacefully. You can try to hunt him down, hope and pray he leaves the safety of the Fidelius Charm protecting him and goes somewhere that you can spot, track, and catch him...but you're not going to win. He has layers of protection on him that you cannot even guess. Ways of escaping and eluding even the most talented of Aurors. And even if the Aurors could circumvent those protections, he won't go without a fight. You and I know that it would be a very nasty fight.

"With Dumbledore and Voldemort--" again, Priscilla flinched, "--both dead, he is the most powerful and dangerous wizard alive. But I can bring him in. Peacefully, as I said," Hermione repeated, straightening.

"How?" Philliston challenged her, giving her a scathing look. "You're just a girl!"

"I have my ways. Do you want to set the trial, or not?"

"Not good enough! Tell me how you, a girl who should still be in school, can bring in the Ministry's Most Wanted Wizard, now that Lord...Thingy...is dead," the older witch demanded.

"Fine." Hermione glanced behind her, double-checking to make sure the door was still closed. Leaning over the desk, she looked into the other woman's eyes. "I was Hermione Granger. For a while, I was even 'Granger-Potter'. Harry and I are now blood-bound siblings; we adopted each other magically last fall," she explained as Priscilla gave her a puzzled look. "But I also got married, this last winter. I am now Hermione Snape. Wife of Severus Snape. And I'm the only hope you have of bringing him in to answer for what he's done. Literally answer, in a court of law, in a fair and just trial.

"Whatever the outcome, whatever his answers may be, he must answer the questions that all of us have--and you'll be a fool if you make it a closed trial," Hermione added quietly. "Everyone loved Albus Dumbledore. Everyone needs to know the truth of what Snape did, and why he did it. Part of the bargain is letting the media into the courtroom to record every single word, and share it with the rest of the wizarding world. You promise to do that, and I promise to bring him. No wand, no Veritaserum antidote, just a peaceful, immediate surrender to the wheels of justice. With no waiting and rotting in a jail cell, or having his civil rights conveniently 'forgotten' without everyone being satisfied by full and due process that only an open trial could give to the wizarding world."

"If this is true," Priscilla murmured, hazel eyes pinning Hermione with a calculated look, "if you really are his wife--a fact which I sincerely doubt--why are you offering to turn him in?"

"Because, by law, a wife cannot be forced to testify against her husband in a court of law," Hermione hedged very carefully, skimming over the truth by the letter of what she said, but implying a different spirit. "But nowhere does it say she can be prevented from testifying at his trial, either."

Madam Philliston sat back and pondered Hermione's offer. She tapped a manicured nail on her desk blotter, straightened a sheaf of papers with the edge of her finger, then spoke. "...All of this is predicated on your claim that you are his wife, that you can find him, and that you can bring him in. Without his wand, and without any Truth Serum Antidote in his veins. Yet how can you prove what you say, without actually bringing him to me? I'm not going to arrange a trial until I know he's in custody."

"He will be. In my custody. As for proof..." Hermione resisted the urge to bite her lip. She also kept her hands on the desk, and did not reach for the slight swell of her abdomen. Her bargain might have been very Slytherin in its cunning, but sealing it would take every ounce of her Gryffindor bravery. "I am willing to lay my life on the line, for my word of honor. I am willing to take an Unbroken Vow...if you are willing to do the same.

"I will bring you the genuine Severus Selenius Snape, former Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts professor of Hogwarts, alive, wandless, with no Veritaserum antidote in his veins, and as peacefully as can be expected, to the time and place of his trial. If you will swear the Unbroken Vow of granting him a fair and just trial, open to all, wherein the verdict will not already be pre-decided by anyone. Not by you, nor by any pressure from Minister Scrimgeour, nor pressured to pre-decide his fate before the trial begins by anyone else. A full as well as fair trial. You will agree to not allow anyone to make a mockery of the law, in this matter. No shortcuts, no attacks to end his life, nor torturing confessions out of him, and no censoring anything that he or any witnesses brought in to testify might say.

"If you want Severus Snape--if you want the truth of everything that has been happening since before I was born...you're going to have to lay your own life on the line."

Priscilla stared at Hermione, a young witch barely one fourth her most probable age. Silence stretched between them, broken by the rhythmic ticking of a small clock on one corner of the desk between them, and by the hubbub of voices in the corridors and cubicles outside. A knock interrupted their tableau.

"Enter!"

"...I have the preliminary reports from the first Aurors on site last night, Madam," a dark blond wizard in his mid-thirties stated, entering the room. He glanced at Hermione in curiosity as he handed over a folder, giving her a brief greeting. "Hello, there... Is there anything else you need at the moment, Madam?"

Priscilla took the papers without looking at them. Her gaze remained on Hermione. "Yes, St. James, there is one more thing you could do for me, right now..."

...

Hermione had almost forgotten about Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic. Accepting her wand from the guard in exchange for its receipt, she headed toward the Floo hearths on the far wall. A shout made her jump as she crossed the busy hall.

"You! Stop right there, Miss Granger!"

"Oh, Minister Scrimgeour," Hermione greeted him, blinking as he stalked at her like a lion chasing a hyena from his kill. "I'd almost forgotten about you."

He reddened a little at the insult, but Hermione didn't take it back. "You said you were going to tell me where I could find Draco Malfoy! Talk!"

"Actually, I said I knew where he was, but only that I'd tell you what I could," Hermione corrected him. "Draco Malfoy is currently hiding in a Secret-Kept location. I can tell you that much, though not where that location is, given the nature of the Fidelius Charm." He growled and she smiled sweetly at him. "But I wanted to inform you that, if it weren't for Draco Malfoy's timely assistance last night, we would not have won against the Dark Lord and his followers."

"What?" He blinked at her.

"Oh, yes! Draco Malfoy, in coordination with myself and a trusted liaison, cast a very nasty spell that sabotaged the most dangerous forces of the Death Eaters, last night. He literally burned the masks off their faces," she stated, gesturing vaguely at her head. "Well, except for Bellatrix Lestrange. I had her pinned to the ground without her mask, which is why she wasn't burnt. But, without Draco's assistance, we would most assuredly have lost, last night. Instead, with his help, we defeated Lord Voldemort for good!"

Scrimgeour flinched at the name, as did several of the people passing around them. Hermione lost her patience with the sheep-like lot. Hands planted on her hips, she took care of the problem in the most direct manner possible.

"VOLDEMORT!"

The shout rang through the Entrance Hall, freezing passers-by and silencing conversations.

"For Merlin's sake, people, it's just a name! And trust me--as I was there--he is most thoroughly and completely dead!" she chided all of the wide-eyed wizards and witches around her. "Obliterated! Disintegrated! Every last, fragmented scrap of his rotten, murderous soul has been hunted down and wiped off the face of the planet! Voldemort! ...Get over it!"

Turning, she headed for the hearths lining the wall, intending to head home. Scrimgeour grabbed her arm, stopping her. A shimmering, golden hiss made him release her abruptly; Sigurd had materialized with his relatively small, dragonette form draped across her shoulders, but with his teeth bared in a draconian snarl even after the Minister had removed his touch.

"...Is there a reason why you were manhandling me, Minister?" Hermione enquired coolly as he eyed the artificial beast warily.

He gave her a dark look, his leonine eyes visibly calculating the chance of successfully holding her at the Ministry, versus the implications of that old-fashioned ring-guardian still perched on her shoulders. "You left the scene of the attack, Miss Granger. You still need to give your statements and deposition to the Aurors."

"Oh, I will. In two days' time, Minister Scrimgeour. In the meantime, I have more important matters to attend." Dismissing him in a glance, she headed towards the fireplaces.

"--I'm not finished with you, Miss Granger!"

"For today, yes, you are!" Grabbing a handful of Powder, she cast it into the flames and stated, "Honeydukes, Hogsmeade!"

There was no other hearth she could think of that wasn't in a Secret-Kept location. Once she stumbled out of the hearth, however, Hermione lingered only long enough to orient herself, concentrate, and squeeze her way to 42 Spinner's End. She banged into the living room, just in time to see the last section of books being reduced for travel. The sight of her husband still doggedly packing made her tighten her mouth.

"Put them back, Severus. They're not going anywhere. Neither are you," she added as he glanced up at her. Draco wasn't in view at the moment, but she thought that wasn't a bad thing.

"I am packing, because I am leaving. England has lost its appeal...and I will not be bottled in my own house for what's left of my life, like Black was." He returned to his shrinking and packing.

Hermione could sympathize with him, on that point. She'd seen how tense and unhappy Sirius had been caged at 12 Grimmauld Place during her fifth year. "You don't have to be."

That made him lift his gaze sharply, warily to hers. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you have an appointment in two days, at one o'clock in the afternoon. An appointment to clear your name."

He snorted, a scoffing sound well-suited to his long, thin nose. "And where will this miraculous name-clearing take place?"

"Courtroom Ten."

He stilled, hands ceasing mid-stacking of the miniaturized books he was placing in the trunk on the table. "I am not appearing in court."

"Yes, you are. I've made the appointment, and you will be there to give testimony on your own behalf," Hermione stated patiently as he placed the last few tomes into the metal-edged case.

"--It would be a mockery of a trial!" he shouted, shoving the trunk away from himself. It scraped heavily across the worn table. Brow furrowed deeply, he lifted his fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinching the taut muscles there. "...I don't have time for this. We don't have time for this."

Hermione wasn't about to give up. Not considering what was at stake. She perched herself on the age-worn arm of the chair near the hearth and folded her arms across her chest. Her breasts protested a little, growing more sensitive week by week as her pregnancy progressed. She would prevail, in bringing him to justice. True justice. For the sake of their small but growing family, she had to succeed.

"'We' as in you and I, or 'we' as in you and Draco?"

He flicked her an inscrutable look. "You pledged me two children...but you also ruined my potion. I can hardly impregnate you with the second one from long-distance. Not even I am that talented a lover."

She glared at him. "I am not raising our child in the kind of unstable environment to be found in a life on the run! Merlin's pink arse, Severus! The Death Eaters found and killed Karkaroff within a year, when he ran! What makes you think either of us would live much longer than that? He was one man, easily hidden! We're two people, with a baby on the way. Not even the Potters could hide forever, all those years ago!"

He flinched, at that. It wasn't a very visible flinch, but she knew him, and recognized the twitching muscles for what they were. A wince. He closed the lid of the trunk and latched it.

"Severus, I cannot leave. And I cannot let you leave. We have to stay! We have to go to that trial! The truth must be exposed!"

"The truth will be known when Albus leaps back to life!" he snapped impatiently at her. "--Do you see Albus here? Do you?" Black-clad arms spread wide, indicating the bare-shelved room, full now only of shabby furniture and the two of them. "I will not go to Azkaban! Yes, I may deserve it, but I find that, now that I have survived the end of the war--against all possible odds, I'll admit--that I am disinclined to throw away my life like that! Or my soul! You can bet the current Minister will welcome the Dementors back to Azkaban with open arms, so long as I'm the very first bastard they Kiss!"

"The trial will be just and fair--" Hermione stressed.

Again, he snorted, scoffing her claim. "--As if! I'll be dragged before the Wizengamot, drugged to my eye-teeth, asked meaningless questions for which I cannot give accurate answers, and you expect them to let me go free?"

"More than just your testimony will be exposed!"

"None of it will matter!" he half-yelled at her, thumping himself in the chest. "I am Severus Snape, murderer of Albus Dumbledore, Public Enemy Number One, now that the Serpentine Arse is dead! If I fall into the so-called 'justice' of the Ministry of Magic, I'll be crucified!--At least on the run, you'll still have a husband, and a father for our child!"

"What kind of a life is that, for a child?" she countered sharply. "Never knowing where his or her parents will be getting their food, never being able to stay long enough to make friends, constantly afraid that the 'bad men' will come and take their Daddy away?--And what about me? I'd be an accessory to your evasion of the law! Do you really think they'd let me go free?" Hermione challenged him, rising off of the padded arm of the chair as she thumped her own chest with her fingertips. "Don't even suggest that my 'pristine' record as a student and my participation in bringing down Voldemort would save me! By the time they caught up with us, all of that would be forgotten under the weight of being known and wanted fugitives!"

Hands resting on the lid of his trunk, he stared through it for a long moment, then shifted, grasping the handle of the boxy luggage. "...I am leaving, Jane. I am not staying here to be paraded before the wizarding world, vilified and reviled, spat upon, sneered at, and thrown to the Dementors as my sole thanks for all that I have done. Either you will come with me, or you will stay behind. I am leaving."

From the set of his shoulders, the look on his face, she knew he was determined. There was nothing more to be said...save for her last possible chance at convincing him. Letting herself sigh shakily, she ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing it down as he pressed the edge of one of the bookcases, revealing a hidden staircase.

"...Fine. Then I will go write my last testament and will. I'll give you my key to my Gringotts vault, too. You'll probably have to send someone else to pick up the money, unless you hurry and go now. Madam Philliston, Head of the Department of Law, already knows that I'm your wife. She might think to set a watch on who accesses my vaults."

Severus turned, frowning at her. "What are you babbling about?"

"Well, if you're leaving, then I'll have to set my affairs in order."

He blinked. "...Your affairs in order? Hermione, you're not dying!"

Folding her arms under her breasts, she arched her brow. "You're determined to leave, Severus, with or without me. We both know you're better-trained at magic than I am, and that Sigurd won't allow me to stop you, since he obeys you in preference over me. There is nothing I can do to stop you from leaving, and not appearing at that trial...and when you do not appear peacefully for your trial, wandless and without any taint of the antidote for Veritaserum in your body...I will have broken my Vow to Madam Philliston.

"Because I promised her that you would appear at one o'clock in Courtroom Ten, two days from now. Wandless, antidote-free, and as peacefully as can be managed."

His lips parted, jaw slack with shock at her admission.

"I pledged these things in exchange with Madam Philliston pledging an Unbreakable Vow of her own: that you would have a fair, just, and full trial, one wherein your verdict was not pre-judged before all of the testimony possible had been heard. She has agreed to not let Minister Scrimgeour's own opinions sway the decision of the Wizengamot, and has promised that she will not tolerate any shenanigans that will turn your trial into a mockery of justice. On pain of her own self dropping dead.

"...But then, she doesn't have to worry about that, does she?" Hermione enquired softly. "Her Vows only become pertinent if I manage to fulfill my own. And with you leaving, I drop out of the picture, and she is automatically freed of her obligations. Shall I leave my key on the table, here? I'll have to go back to Headquarters to get it, first. And I wouldn't mind a chance to say one last goodbye to my family and friends--"

"Hermione--" he breathed, staring at her. She hoped the stark look in his dark eyes was anguish, maybe even guilt, but he was across the room from her. Keeping her voice calm, quiet, she cut him off gently, shaking her head.

"...Don't bother, Severus. I told you I was willing to give our marriage a real chance...but I'm not going to force you to stay, if that's obviously not what you yourself want," she prodded him dryly. On the one hand, she hated herself for manipulating him like this. On the other hand, she knew it was absolutely necessary. "A marriage on the run isn't a real marriage. Not as far as I'm concerned. But I guess I'm the only one willing to strive for a chance at a real one."

"--A very slim chance!" he dismissed derisively, scowling at her.

"It's no smaller a chance than we had of defeating Voldemort!" she retorted. "And we did that!"

"This is not the same thing, Jane!"

"Slaying the reputation everyone believes about you is no different! Yes, it is a difficult task, but I have absolute faith in who you are, Severus!" Hermione argued. "I am willing to bet my life on who you really are, and what you've really been doing all along!"

"And the life of our child?" he challenged her, dropping the trunk back onto its table as he closed the distance between them. His hands closed around her elbows, gripping her firmly, but not bruisingly hard. "How can you risk him or her?"

"How can you risk our child, by walking away from your chance at being a free man?" she returned pointedly. "If you walk away now, it'll only be a hundred times--a thousand times--worse, if and when you do want to clear your name. These things must be nipped in the bud now. I am giving you that chance!" She searched his dark gaze, hoping she was getting through to him. "You are not a coward, Severus Snape. You never have been, to me. I cannot believe it takes more bravery to walk into a courtroom, wherein the chief witch of the Wizengamot knows she would drop dead if she allowed your trial to turn into a pointless circus, than it did to tell Sigurd to stand down and to crawl to the Dark Lord's scaly feet and kiss them, the night he tortured you!"

For a moment, it looked as if she had gotten through to him. Then he closed his eyes and pushed away from her, turning away from her. "--I cannot believe you swore an Unbreakable Vow!" Severus whirled to face her, his expression as black as his clothes. "How could you be so stupid as to swear your own life away?"

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze steadily. "You did the same--and I suspect with even less knowledge of what you were getting yourself into. Ron told me last year that Harry overheard you talking to Draco about the Unbreakable Vow you'd made to help him. The Vow that ended up forcing you to take Albus' life in Draco's stead. But it also sounded like you initially didn't know what Draco had to do! Why should I, going into this fully knowing what I was swearing, be more foolish than you?"

"--I knew from the start what Cissy was asking me to do!" Severus countered, startling her with the admission. "I read her mind, here in this very room--seated in that very chair as she knelt in front of me, begging me to help her only son!"

Hermione blinked at him. "Then...why did you go through with it?"

He grimaced, instead of speaking. A breath, and he paused again. Turning away, shoulders stiff, he sighed heavily after a long moment. All of the tension drained out of him, but not in a good way. In a defeated sort of way. It wasn't a good look for such a normally proud wizard.

"...You've won, Jane. I will go to the trial, as you bartered I would. Wandless, without any antidote...and without fighting anyone. It won't be much comfort to me when Madam Philliston drops dead, as she inevitably will...but it might be a last, amusing thought for the Dementors to drain away. An aperitif of sorts, before they feast on my soul."

Unsure what had made him change his mind, Hermione pressed the matter. As much as she wanted to believe him, she'd gambled her life, and the life of their child, on his agreeing to her plan. "Swear it upon the ring, and I'll believe you."

A sound that could have been a growl escaped him, but he lifted his hand, touching thumb to ring. "Hermione Jane Snape. I swear that I will go to my appointed Wizengamot Trial in two days' time, wandless, peacefully, and without any trace of an antidote for Veritaserum in my veins!"

Hermione checked the pattern forming from the scales etching her ring.

...I swear that I will go to my appointed Wizengamot Trial in two days' time, wandless, peacefully, and without any trace of an antidote for Veritaserum in my veins.

"Thank you, Severus," she breathed, closing her eyes in relief. His terse reply snapped her eyes open again.

"Leave me."

It was the same tone he had used when she'd cursed his genitals just over three and a half months ago, telling her in the bathroom of their hotel-suite to get out of his sight. She wanted to stay, to try and heal the breach between them, but Hermione knew now wasn't the moment for such things. Clinging to her faith that enough testimony in his favour could be exposed at the trial, she nodded and turned to face the hearth.

"I'll come back to check on you tomorrow."

A scoffing grunt was his only reply.