Chapter 33

XXXIII.

Headquarters had become a party-zone, when she returned. Lupin was passing around mugs of champagne that Fleur was hastily Transfiguring into proper flute-glasses, Moody was kissing Arabella, and the Weasleys were celebrating by cheering on Ron as he related everything that he knew. Moody was the only Auror present, in fact; Hermione suspected it was because he was technically an ex-Auror, and wasn't needed at the battle-scene or at the Ministry to assist the others in handling the prisoners.

Her arrival, spinning out of the hearth, went unnoticed only for a few moments. Voices died down as soon as Ron spotted her and stopped talking. The others turned to look at what had captured his attention as Hermione dusted off her clothes.

Moody released Mrs. Figg, peering at Hermione with both his normal and his magical eye. "--About time you got here, girl. You've a lot of explaining to do!"

"I don't have to explain anything to you, Alastor!" Hermione snapped, exhausted and cranky and just wanting to lie down and sleep and dream that everything had been straightened out and fixed, and that a happily-ever-after awaited her and her husband.

Unfortunately, Severus was right. The trial was a slim chance of restoring his reputation in the eyes of the wizarding world, and gaining his freedom by it. And unfortunately, she was right as well. Life as a fugitive was no way to live. Not in the long-term sense, anyway.

Bracing herself with a deep breath, she continued. "...I will explain things to you as a courtesy, but my energy is low, my patience is short, my nerves are frayed, and if I hear even one nasty comment about Severus Snape from anyone, I will hex that person's skin inside out!"

Pushing her hair back from her face, Hermione struggled to calm herself with a deep breath.

"...Now, do you have any questions?"

The others exchanged glances. It was George Weasley who dared to ask, "So...Russel--your husband--is really Severus Snape?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted.

"--How long have you know he was Snape?" Fred asked her, frowning.

"Since mid-December, when I tried to steal the Lucrezia Borgia Diary from his personal library. That's why I was out-of-sorts," she added in an aside to Ron. "I wasn't pregnant at the time. I was just trying to cope with a major shock."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Molly demanded. "Christmas Day--you knew he was Snape, and yet you still let us marry the two of you?"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "I like him." Her words, crisp and hard, silenced the mutterings of the others. "Hard as it may be for the rest of you lack-wits to understand, Severus is a complicated man. Partially because of the life he has been forced to live all these years, but there are parts of his personality that most people haven't been able to see, parts that are actually enjoyable! There is as much of the fun-loving, easy-going Russel in Severus, as there ever was the stick-up-his-arse aspects of Professor Snape! And he has been loyal to Albus Dumbledore this entire time!"

"Bollocks!" Mad-Eye swore at her. "How could he be so loyal if he killed the old man?"

"Because he had no choice!" Hermione shot back, feeling her temples beginning to ache. "He knew he had to do whatever it took to appear to be of the Dark Lord's loyal followers. He had to take an Unbroken Vow to do so, and when Draco failed to kill Dumbledore, he did what he had to do to survive and continue to spy upon Voldemort! We only had the one spy! Severus knew his position among the Death Eaters was a resource too powerful to be thrown away by letting himself drop dead!--And before you make an hypocritical arse of yourself whinging about Albus Dumbledore's death, that was one death, compared to the dozens of lives he has saved since he killed Albus, and in doing so, gave himself the chance to stay firmly and safely hidden in the enemy's lair!

"...Somehow, I suspect Albus wouldn't think his life was a piss-poor trade for the safety and well-being of so many others!" she finished bitingly.

The laceration of her retort silenced the others with a wince. Hermione grimaced, herself. Lifting her hands to her temples, she massaged them gently, breathing deeply.

"...Now, if you don't mind, I have a raging headache, and I need to go lie down. If you have any questions, I suggest you save them for the trial."

"What trial?" Arthur asked her, frowning in confusion.

"Severus' trial. Two days from now, one o'clock, Courtroom Ten. Go early, and save yourselves some seats, if you want to know the truth." she added bitingly. "If you actually want to know the truth of anything. If you want to continue to wallow in your misperceptions and disbelief, keep your gobs shut around me!"

Ron touched her arm as she turned towards the back stairs. "Snape's been captured?"

She shook her head, then regretted it, rubbing at her forehead again. "No. He hasn't been captured. I have convinced him to turn himself in. He'll be there in the courtroom the day after tomorrow, at one o'clock in the afternoon. Now, please excuse me. I've had a very long night!"

...

The door to her bedroom banged open. Hermione squinted against the light streaming in from the hall. She'd cast a blackout-curtain charm on the window in her room to give her enough blessed darkness to sleep, but a glance at the clock showed she had only slept for about an hour. Peering at the doorway helped her somewhat; the bastard responsible for waking her up resolved itself into a furious Harry Potter.

"How could you?!" he demanded without preamble. Hermione, shading her eyes against the light from the hall, guessed without effort what he was ranting on and on about. "Ron says you've known who he was for months--for months! And you married him!"

"Yeah, I married him!" she shot back, lifting her head from her pillow, glad she'd donned a pair of pyjamas loose enough to fit over her slowly thickening waistline. It would've been awkward confronting him, if she'd been sleeping more comfortably as she usually did these days, arse-naked. "I married a man who has saved more lives than he could ever have taken--the man who saved your life, Harry, when you tried that stupid piece of self-martyrdom with that sword!"

"--And I suppose you'll claim that he took no pleasure in assisting Voldemort to kill me?" Harry demanded, spreading his arms. "I heard him Summon me right into that spell!"

Shoving up on her elbow, Hermione yelled back, "And yet here you stand, alive and being a blind-headed arse! He wouldn't have been able to bring you back if you'd bled to death with a piece of metal shoved through your heart!"

Harry wasn't listening to her. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll see him pay for what he did to me, and to Albus--and to Sirius, too!" he growled at her, jabbing his finger at her face. "That man is a cold-blooded murderer, and he deserves the Kiss for what he's done!"

Hermione grabbed her pillow and hurled it at him as Harry whirled and stalked out of her room.

"--Get your head out of your arse, Harry Potter, and take a look at what's really happening around you!" she shouted as the pillow hit the edge of her doorway. "He saved my life with that little maneuver, you know! He saved two lives, plus your own!" Harry tried to slam the door shut, but the pillow got in the way as she yelled at him one last time. "The world doesn't revolve around you, Harry Bloody Potter! It revolves around the rest of us, too!"

He kicked her pillow back into her room and slammed the door hard enough to make the window panes rattle. Dropping back onto the mattress, she lay there for a moment, head pounding, heart hurting, then grabbed her wand and Summoned her pillow. It smacked into her head, making her grimace from the stupidity of the blow, for all it didn't actually hurt her.

As she plumped the feather-stuffed pillow angrily, a scratching noise at the door made her stiffen. Three scrapes, and three scrapes more had her re-aiming her wand. Opening the door with a zap of magic, she let Crookshanks in, then closed the panel far more gently than her blood-bound brother had done. The half-kneazle cat trotted over and leapt up onto the bed, nosing at her stomach before padding closer so he could nuzzle her face. Hermione endured the cat-hairs that tickled her nose, scooping her Familiar against her with an arm.

"At least you like Severus, Crooks," she muttered into his fur as he mrraowed and settled down next to her. Petting him helped to calm her headache. Not all of her heartache, by any means, but most of her headache. "Or at least, you liked him while he was being Russel..."

...

Hermione had never been inside Courtroom Ten, but she did know it was on the same floor as the door into the Department of Mysteries. Since that particular adventure was thoroughly branded in her memory--as many of her escapades had been, starting with that mountain troll in the girls' lavatory in her very first year as a young witch--Hermione spent some time crafting herself a Portkey that would take her to the spot in the corridor just past the Department of Mysteries door, up against the wall. Doing so would allow her to materialize without anyone getting in her way. She adamantly refused to travel with the others, given how they kept wanting to argue about Severus with her, even going so far as to retreat with a change of clothes to Severus' Secret-Kept house the day before the trial..

Her husband's face had been grim and drawn when she had Apparated into his bare-shelved parlour, but he hadn't thrown her out. In fact, he had pressed his finger to her lips to keep her from saying a word, and had pulled her up a hidden set of stairs to his bedroom. Once the door was shut, he had taken her to his bed without a sound other than a quickly applied Silencing Charm to protect his houseguest from overhearing. Without a sound, other than the sort of soft moans, shaky gasps, and breathless chant of her name on his lips as their lovemaking demanded. Every time she had tried to speak, he had hushed her. With his finger, with his eyes, with his lips, permitting nothing to be communicated between them other than slow, sweet, aching pleasure that lasted all night long.

She'd woken late the next morning and had gone downstairs to find Draco cursing at the Muggle stove, trying to cook a rasher of bacon and a skillet of eggs. Apparently, given his awkward attempts to poke his wand at the food, he didn't know how to cook the magical way, either. Stepping into the breach, Hermione saved the meal.

They'd worked together uneasily, Draco tensing first when he undoubtedly thought she was going to sneer at him with the superiority of her Muggle-born skills at such things, then when she drew her wand, no doubt thinking she would hex him. But she merely demonstrated some of the spells Molly had taught her, assisted during the more tricky bits of frying tomatoes for piling on the slices of bread browning in the toaster--apparently that particular Muggle machine was the one Draco could manage correctly on his own--and allowed him to serve her a plateful of food without any comment on the burnt bits. Severus joined them at the start of the meal, but didn't say much.

A brief discussion between Hermione and Draco left the younger wizard at 42 Spinner's End. He knew he had to face the law at some point, but Hermione didn't have the same pull with him that she did with Severus. Of course, she also thought it was prudent that the Secret-Keeper for her husband's house remained out of the reach of the Ministry for the moment, just in case things went completely southward during the trial. They'd need a place to retreat to, if they had to flee.

It didn't prevent her from asking for Severus' wand, just before she left. Nor from her pocketing it, before grasping the completed Portkey. She had pledged that he would arrive at the trial wandless. Hermione hadn't pledged a thing about herself arriving unarmed. It was one of the reasons why she choose to arrive by Portkey. If she'd arrived the regular way, she would've had to go through the wand checkpoint, and she wasn't about to give either her vinewood or his ebony shaft to the Ministry. Temporarily could become permanently all too easily, if Scrimgeour decided to bend the law against them.

But arriving by Portkey didn't give her a chance to realize just how crowded and noisy the corridor would be, when she arrived so abruptly. Blinking at the noise and light of what looked like a hundred wizards and witches trying to cram themselves into the courtroom, Hermione was grateful she'd picked the far end of the hall to arrive. Only back here did she have room to appear un-jostled--and this was half an hour before the trial was scheduled to start! As it was, she had to join the throng, worming her way forward with twists of her shoulders and jabs of her elbows.

Twice, Sigurd manifested. He appeared at half his usual dragonette size, draped over her shoulders like a gilded, living stole, but still hissed menacingly at whoever had tried to grope her through the crush of bodies. He stayed on her shoulders after the second time, hissing and snapping his teeth in mock-threat, and once even blowing a miniature blast of fire, startling the wizards and witches around her. That cleared up a bit more room for her to work her way forward. A Ministry worker at the entrance called out that there was now standing-room only as she squirmed past, but Hermione wasn't going to seat herself in the upper tiers reserved for the observers.

She worked her way down the narrow steps carefully, reaching the ground floor and the cleared space in the center of the court, where the chair for the defendant sat all on its own. Sigurd had vanished from her shoulders once she was free of the press of bodies near the top; hopefully he wouldn't have to reappear, later. The less he was noticed, the better, in her opinion. Looking around as she descended the last step, she took in the amenities.

The lowest row behind the encircling wall was reserved for the law-clerks. Above it, a long, podium-like, raised platform stood in front of the chair, which was the judicial bench where the lead witches and wizards of the Wizengamot would sit. And the defendant's chair itself, of course. Harry had described it to her after his own experience in here at the start of his fifth year, along with how the manacles could spring to life and chain a prisoner in place.

Undoubtedly, Madam Philliston would activate those chains on Severus. An unpleasant thought, but Hermione knew it would be a necessary act. Not because her husband would resist, but because public sentiment against Severus Snape would demand it.

There were no other chairs within the circle of the lowest encircling wall, no place disparate from the rest of the room for witnesses to sit. Wizarding trials weren't quite like Muggle ones, since Veritaserum could be used to ascertain the truth of a matter. Witnesses could be called, either by the Wizengamot or by the defendant; the defendant could have a barrister as legal counsel, but one wasn't automatically provided, unless specifically requested. Hermione hadn't asked for one, for Severus. She didn't want any legal double-speak clouding the facts that were about to come to light...though if things went southward, it was always an option.

No, Veritaserum was all that they would need. She hoped. Well, that and a lot of testimony from various witnesses might help.

Drawing her wand discreetly, Hermione moved over to a section of wall to one side of the interrogation chair, fished a kerchief out her pocket, and Transfigured it into a padded chair for herself. Her actions caused a small swell in the noise of the chattering voices around her, but she did her best to ignore everyone else. Seating herself, she crossed her legs, folded her hands in her lap, and tried not to fret as the remainder of the hour progressed.

She had chosen to borrow and wear one of her mother's trouser-suits. Daphne Granger was just a little bit thicker around the waistline than her daughter, which suited Hermione's blossoming figure just fine. The dark blue gabardine of the slacks and the jacket went well with the lighter blue scoop-neck blouse she wore. It was a very Muggle outfit, visually, but Hermione wasn't going to hide who and what she was, anymore. She was a powerful, intelligent, Muggle-born witch, and proud of it.

A brief check of her old-fashioned pocket-watch let her know the time; she had borrowed it from her father's dresser top at the same time as her brief visit to her parents' yesterday to pick up her clothes. Five minutes to one. A snap, and she closed the watch-case again.

A door opened behind the Wizengamot bench, and the plum-robed wizards and witches who sat as judges in all such trials filed into the room. Everyone stood respectfully, Hermione included. When they had seated themselves and everyone else had settled, she remained on her feet. Black trainers, with a sort of boot-look to them. Comfort was more important to her than stylishness, when it came to her feet; the slacks weren't too bad with the shoes.

Madam Philliston, looking imposing--and a tiny bit like Madam Hooch, with that cap of steely-grey curls, and her black, formal judge's robes reminiscent of teaching robes--picked up her gavel, rapped it sharply on its wooden anvil, and stared straight at Hermione. "...Well? Where is he?"

Hermione checked her watch again. Three minutes to go. "It's not quite one o'clock. But he'll be here."

"For your sake, he'd better be," the chief witch warned her. "If you want to live."

Their odd exchange caused a soft murmur of confusion in the crowd.

"I have absolute faith in his punctuality," Hermione replied as clearly and calmly as she could. "He will be here. And then it will be your turn to uphold your own word. For your own sake, I sincerely hope you succeed."

Sitting back down, she crossed her legs again. A touch of her thumb to her ring with her left hand, watch held in her right, and she muttered under her breath, quietly enough that not even the law-clerk behind her could have heard. She wanted to keep the presence of the rings low-key. Not that they could be removed from either his or her finger forcibly, but she didn't want anyone trying to cast counteractive magic against them.

"Severus Selenius Snape..." a check of the watch, making sure of the time, a careful, sub-vocal pitching of her voice, "...you are summoned."

A blur of gold and black appeared in the room. It resolved itself into her husband, one hand cupped over the other. Most of the room gasped at his sudden appearance, some of the more nervous souls even shrieking a little, clutching at their neighbors. Hermione caught a glimpse of a miniature, metallic-gold dragon cupped between his hands, no bigger than the souvenir-style statuette Harry had received of that Hungarian Horntail he'd fought against in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. But it was only a glimpse, for Sigurd vanished a moment later as he lowered his hands.

Severus Snape gave the Wizengamot bench a slight, mocking bow as the wizards and witches up there stared down at him. He had arrived in what looked like his best frock-coat, trousers and boots, his hair clean and brushed and neatly tied back in a queue with a black velvet ribbon. His skin was still sallow, his nose too long, his lips too thin and his eyes too dark, but it was undeniably him. Without his teaching robe fluttering around him, he didn't look quite so imposing when he turned crisply and strode to the waiting chair.

Dropping into the chair, he crossed his legs, braced his elbows on the armrests, and steepled his fingers together, as if this were nothing more serious than a Hogwarts staff meeting.

Madam Philliston cleared her throat. "Uncross your legs and put your arms on the rests, if you please, Mr. Snape."

His lip curled slightly, but he complied. "As you wish."

The manacles snapped into place around his ankles and wrists, pinning his arms and legs to the heavy wooden chair. Madam Philliston cleared her throat. "...I wish to state, before this trial begins, that I am under an Unbreakable Vow to ensure that true justice will be enacted this day. No pre-determined decision as to the defendant's fate has been made, and no opinions voiced to this moment shall be taken into consideration. This shall be a full, and fair trial, with ample opportunity for questions to be asked and answered, for witnesses to be called forth and heard, and none of this trial shall be censored from the media, 'lest I drop dead.

"However," she stressed, as that caused a swell of astonished murmurs around the room, "this court proceeding will not be turned into a circus, nor a mockery of justice, either! Anyone wishing to remain and observe this trial shall be on their best and most respectful behaviour, or they will be cast out of this chamber and banned from returning. I will have order in this courtroom!"

Her words echoed slightly as she snapped them as sharply as if she had banged her gavel again, proving how quiet everyone had become.

"With that having been said," she continued, actually picking up her gavel and rapping it loudly against its base, "thus begins this Criminal Hearing on the Fourth of April, into the offenses committed against wizarding law by one Severus Selenius Snape, residence...currently unknown, previously Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland.

"The Interrogators shall be: Priscilla Almandine Philliston, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Rufus Tiberius Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic; Kenneth Rigel St. James, Assistant Department Head of Magical Law Enforcement--"

"--What?" Rufus Scrimgeour interjected, his greying head turning sharply towards the woman at his side. "The third judge should be my Under-Secretary!"

"It is the right of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to select the three judges required by law in a case such as this. To ensure a fair and just trial, it was decided that a judicial interrogator should be selected," Priscilla returned coldly. "Rather than a political interrogator. This is a matter of offenses against the law. Not of politics."

"You cannot speak to m--" he started to protest, but she cut him off.

"--If you continue to speak out of turn, Minister, I shall have to hold you in contempt of these proceedings, remove you from this panel, and replace you with a more decorous legate from my department!"

"I am the Minister of Magic!" he protested.

"And I am the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot! This is a Court of Law, not a political rally--and the law is very clear about how these proceedings are to be handled!"

The Minister narrowed his leonine eyes and leaned close. Hermione strained to hear his words. Only because she was seated so close, and at an angle to read his lips, could she make out what he said. "Madam, you are two sparks away from being removed as Head of your Department!"

Priscilla Philliston's mouth thinned into a line so compressed, her lips vanished for a moment. Unlike his, her voice was not quiet when she gave her reply. "...Minister Scrimgeour, for the contemptuous act of threatening a judge sitting on an active case, you are hereby suspended from all participation in acts of justice enacted by the International Confederacy of Wizards, and the Wizengamot of Great Britain. Your legal authority as Minister does not extend to ruling over this case! Bailiff, remove him from the bench!"

Hermione twitched, wanting nothing more than to jump up and cheer as the witch cracked her gavel onto its anvil. Scrimgeour scowled and shook off the hand of the wizard reaching for his arm. Rising, he gathered his robes about him--then stopped as the bailiff held out his hand for them. Glowering, he peeled off the outer robe, with its distinctive, silvery W over one breast, and tossed it into the man's hand. Moving away from the bench, he stepped down onto a higher tier and glared one of the spectators out of their seat.

"--No political shenanigans, whatsoever, shall be tolerated in this hall. This is a Court of Law, not a bloody American circus!" Smacking her gavel once again, Priscilla twisted to look at the fifty or so plum-robed bodies behind her. "...The Wizengamot calls Alphonse Girard Lubbock as a neutral party to be an Interrogator. Mr. Lubbock?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. She couldn't let that happen. Standing, she cleared her throat. "...With respect, Madam Philliston, Mr. Lubbock cannot be considered a neutral party."

Priscilla peered down at her with a frown. "Why ever not? He's an Unspeakable, and four times as old as the defendant. As far as I know, the two have never even crossed paths!"

"Mr. Lubbock's life was saved by the actions of Severus Snape, spy for the Order of the Phoenix, on the day of July...13th, I believe," Hermione stated, puzzling out the dates in her head. "Or whenever it was that he was attack by those Death Eaters, last summer."

"Madam, if I remember the incident report in question correctly, it was your actions that saved Mr. Lubbock's life, according to the Aurors investigating the incident," Priscilla returned skeptically.

"Yes, but I was acting solely based on information passed to me by Mr. Snape, who was still acting as a spy in Lord Voldemort's camp."

More than one wizard and witch flinched at the Dark Lord's name; some openly shuddered, others blanched.

The Head of the Law Department sighed. "...Very well. Dolores Jane Umb--"

Hermione coughed into her hand. Loudly. At the other woman's lifted brow, she explained, "Miss Umbridge is a colleague of Mr. Snape's. Former colleague, I should clarify...and they did not get along. In her defence, such as it is, I should point out that Miss Umbridge did not get along with any of her colleagues at Hogwarts, but she would still not be considered a neutral party."

"Fine. Professor...no, they're still colleagues, too," Philliston half-muttered to herself. "Ah! Mercia Medea Thistledown-Pliney. Would you kindly--"

A baritone voice interrupted her. "--I'm afraid I saved her granddaughter's life during a cauldron explosion in my classroom, eleven years ago. She was most appreciative, and considered herself to be nearly in life-debt to me, if merely on her sole descendant's behalf," Severus stated in a bored tone, shocking the room with the admission. "Her treacle tarts were terrible, however. I chipped a tooth on one of them."

Priscilla blinked, and peered up at the matron in the benches above her. "Is this true, Mercia?"

The other witch nodded slowly, though she shot Severus a dark look for insulting her baking.

"Phred Janus Smythely?" Madam Philliston tried next, checking a scrap of parchment she had brought.

An elderly wizard rose from his seat with the aid of a cane and bowed at the waist, shaking somewhat as he straightened. "I am afraid I must decline, Madam, as I have been informed that young Snape, there, spared the life of Miss Kelsey Jenkins, this last autumn. She was a former pupil of his, and recognized him during a raid. She told me that it appeared to her that he purposefully bolluxed said raid, deliberately setting off the Muggle alarm-ward thingies of her home, which scared off the other attackers, and I am far too grateful for her continued existence to consider myself a neutral party in this case."

The dark blond man seated beside Priscilla, Kenneth St. James, frowned up at the old wizard. "--Who the devil is Kelsey Jenkins? You don't even have any children living in this country, Phred!"

"She is the Muggle-born Healer who cured me of a mis-brewed potion accident, just before Christmas. Caught me just as I collapsed on the pavement outside St. Mungo's, trying to go for help. We all know what Death Eaters did to Muggle-borns, and Muggle-born witches," he added bluntly. "If it weren't for his sabotage, my Healer wouldn't have survived unscathed. She wouldn't have still been around later on to scrape me literally off the sidewalk, and I wouldn't have lived to be sitting here right now. So I suppose I owe him a partial life-debt, too."

Easing back down into his seat, the elderly man braced his hands on his cane, adopting an almost regal air of finality in his posture. He would not consider himself a neutral party, and that was that. Hermione struggled to keep her expression neutral, but it was difficult when what she longed to do was crow at these positive testimonials.

"This is ridiculous!" Minister Scrimgeour exclaimed, disgust lacing his tone.

"--I'll quite agree with you, on that," Madam Philliston added, as the enchanted quills scratched away at their scrolls, recording everything that was being said. She peered at Hermione again. "I suppose you'll next say that even Percy Weasley, one of our junior law-clerks, cannot count either, because he's young enough to have been one of Mr. Snape's students!"

Percy, pale and still lacking freckles, but no longer swathed head to toe, rose, swallowed, and addressed the head of his department. "No, Madam. He was a brute in the classroom, personality-wise, utterly unfair to those students not Sorted into his own House...but he knew his Potions inside and out. I could be considered neutral, if that were all...except I am informed that he is also the same man who brewed the Eiterubrenner Salve that saved my life, after I was attacked here at the Ministry on Christmas Eve. He apparently concocted a functional variation on the Salve that did not require fresh buggane bile. Without that Salve, I would have died. For that...I owe him my life."

One of the Wizengamot wizards rose in his seat, peering down at Percy. "I was told that particular variation was concocted by a blond wizard, not a brunette!"

A different Weasley stood, this one seated at the end of a whole row of them a few benches up from the law-clerks. "That blond gentleman was Snape in disguise, sir."

"--Ron!" Harry exclaimed, yanking on his friend's arm with a frown. Ron sat back down again, and the two young men glared at each other. Harry faced forward with an affronted jerk away from Ron, a scowl pinching his brow.

The unidentified wizard cleared his throat. "Well, it doesn't matter if he was in a disguise or not. I must take myself off the list of neutral interrogators, too, as the recipe we received anonymously was for a Salve we can use on extreme burns year-round. Normally, that's something we haven't been able to do in the winter months, because of the hibernation period of the bugganes, over on the Isle of Man. In fact, that Salve variant has already saved a total of three more lives--I want that on the record," he added firmly. "He may have killed Albus Dumbledore, but if he came up with that recipe, then he's saved at least four more people because of that new potion!"

"--Is there no one here among the Wizengamot who has no regard or disregard for Severus Snape?" Priscilla demanded.

A short, wrinkled, white-haired figure rose from her seat with a ponderous groan audible even to Hermione, seated all the way down on the central floor. It clearly marked the woman's very advanced age even before her age-seamed face was visible to all. "...I have neither regard nor disregard for him, Madam Philliston. I will confess that I do remember his outstanding O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s," the familiar witch stated in a firm, slightly loud voice, "but I am of a mind that it is a man's words and his actions, and the harmony or dichotomy between the two, that shows who and what he truly is.

"Test scores only show possibilities. And I have not had any close contact with young Mr. Snape there, save in passing through Hogwarts once a year on my way to oversee the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, and the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. But then, I usually sat at the other end of the Head Table from him."

"Madam Marchbanks," Philliston acknowledged with a bow of her steely-curled head, and now Hermione could place where she'd seen the very elderly witch. A woman who had once claimed she had presided over Albus Dumbledore's own tests ages ago, if Hermione remembered right. "Your impartiality in the scholastic exams is legendary. I trust you will apply it to this proceeding?"

"You may. Erm...you'd better get on with it, Priscilla; don't wait for me to get down there, as it'll take me through the whole starting invocation to navigate the stairs," Madam Marchbanks added as she started making her way slowly towards the stairs. "I'm not as spry as I used to be."

"...Very well. Chief Investigators are: Priscilla Almandine Philliston, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Iantha Marie Marchbanks, Head of the Ministry's Department of Educational Standards and Madam Chairwoman of the Hogwarts School Board of Governors; and Kenneth Rigel St. James, Assistant Department Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Court Scribes are Percy Ignatius Weasley, and Malynda Merriweather Brown. Are there any witnesses for the defence?"

Hermione stood up again. "Hermione Jane Granger-Potter Snape, chief witness for the defence. Others--" She had to pause as the revelation of her married name caused an uproar in the courtroom. Those who were still were members of the Order of the Phoenix, for the most part, wizards and witches who had learnt of the marriage the night of the final confrontation. After Madam Philliston banged her gavel to restore order, Hermione added, "...Others may be called as needed, Madam, depending upon where these proceedings end up going."

"...Yes, as I think we've already seen," Priscilla returned dryly, glancing at Percy, who was overseeing the scribbling quills on his side of the courtroom. Across from him sat the other scribe, Malynda, a short-haired brunette with oval, gold-rimmed spectacles who was overseeing the quills on her side as well. "I thought you were going to testify against him, not for him."

"I'm here to testify, period, what I know," Hermione corrected. "Whether that evidence comes out for or against him will make itself known on its own merits."

"I see. You may be seated, Mrs. Snape. Mr. Snape," the grey-haired witch stated briskly. "As your wife's continued presence among the living indicates, you arrive before us without any antidote to Veritaserum within you. I trust you will not struggle as the Truth Potion is administered to you?"

"So long as it was brewed competently, no," he sneered.

"Horace Fenton Slughorn, Professor of Potions, Hogwarts. You have the Veritaserum the Wizengamot requested?" Priscilla enquired, checking one of the papers in front of her.

"Right here, Madam Justice," the bald, mustached, portly professor stated. He patted his breast-pocket as he rose and made his way down the steps of the courtroom, passing the vial to a bailiff in the plum robes of the Wizengamot. "Just three drops per hour will do it!"

The man slanted the Minister of Magic a quick look. Hermione wasn't sure she'd really seen it, until he uncorked the bottle as he stood at Severus' side, held the other wizard's jaw open--and shook a very large splash of the liquid onto Severus' tongue. Severus choked and spat out the liquid, snapping his teeth at the fingers trying to pinch his lips shut and thus force him to swallow the lot. He spat again as he was hastily released, working his mouth to clear it of the excess Veritaserum. Unfortunately, the liquid landed on his chest, soaking into his shirt. He was too tightly tied down by the chains to spit the potion clear of his body.

"--What are you doing, man?" Slughorn protested loudly, stopping mid-climb back to his seat. "An overdose of Truth Serum could kill him! Accio Veritaserum!"

"Rhys Llewellyn!" Philliston snapped, banging her gavel upon the desk as Snape spat past his arm two more times, though the last time with a sluggish edge to his efforts. "You are in contempt of the proper procedures of this court, and are relieved of your duties!--The next person who steps out of line will not only face charges of obstructing justice, but potentially a sentence of three months in Azkaban!"

Another bang of her gavel, and she brushed back a lock of her hair from her flustered brow. Collecting herself, she glanced at Hermione, then returned her gaze to the man chained into the chair. Severus had slumped back in his seat, his body relaxing beyond its normal visible self-control. Veritaserum darkened his clothes, and a line of liquid glistened on his chin. With his wrists pinned to the chair, he couldn't wipe it away. Eyes closed, head lolling, he looked like he was fighting off the urge to sleep.

"Mr. Snape, are you alright?"

His eyes struggled open. "Nnnh...ffffff...fucking idiot gave me ennnnnough stupid Potion to kill that Umbridge cow..."

More than one throat choked on a hastily suppressed laugh; more than one pair of shoulders shook.

"...Though she looks more like a...ffffrog," he over-enunciated after a pause. "Or a really, really ugly toad..."

"He's been overdosed, for certain," Professor Slughorn observed dryly. "But I think he spat out most of it. If he starts rambling and won't shut up even if you tell him to, it's a sign that he's on the verge of veritapoxia, and will need some of the antidote, or risk brain damage. Another sign would be his face breaking out in spots ranging from green to purple in hue, so you should watch for that, too."

"...Duly noted. Thank you, Professor. Mr. Snape, please state for the record your true, full name," Mr. Kenneth St. James directed him.

"SSSeverus Selenus Snnnape," he slurred, shaking his head slowly.

"Do you have any aliases?" St. James enquired.

Severus snorted. "Mmmany."

"Please state all of them, for the record," the slightly younger wizard directed.

"Russssel Fawkessson...Rorrrik Ferguson...the Hhhalf-Blood Prince...Greasy Git...Black-Hearted Bat...Bastard of the Dungeons, Snivellus, Snape the Ape, and That Bastard Traitor." His diction had recovered somewhat, though he still sat with his head lolled against the high back of the chair binding him in place. "Oh, and 'Cupid'," he continued in an almost absentminded aside, "and 'Oh God! Oh God! Oh Severus! Oh God!' Of course, if you'll give me a moment, I could probably think a few more things I've been called through the years..."

"Er...that won't be necessary, thank you," the Assistant Head dismissed awkwardly, as Hermione suffered a hot-flash of embarrassment. She was glad she had only brushed out her hair, not pinned it up; that allowed her to duck her head forward enough to let her locks hide most of her face.

"You're most thoroughly not welcome."

Hermione bit down on her lip, trying not to laugh. As un-funny as the situation was, her husband did have a wicked sense of snark in him. She bit a little harder, sobering, as the meat of the trial began with a quelling look from the chief witch of the bench.

"Mr. Snape," Philliston stated coldly, "you are here to answer the following charges: The killing of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Conspiracy to commit said murder. Conspiracy to admit Death Eaters onto the grounds of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Conspiracy against the Ministry of Magic. Evading arrest on two counts. Casting the Unforgivable Killing Curse. Casting the Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse. And direct complicity in the death of Harry James Potter."

Hermione gripped her hands together in her lap. She wanted to leap up and defend what she could of all of these accusations, but she knew the trial had to unfold at its own pace. Clinging to Priscilla's promise for a thorough Hearing, she kept silent. As did most everyone else, waiting with bated breath to hear his replies.

"Mr. Snape, you are accused of casting the Killing Curse, a known Unforgivable, upon your employer, Albus Dumbledore, the night of May 23rd of last year, causing him to lose his life. Did you successfully cast the Killing Curse upon him, on the night in question?"

"Yes."

His simple, straightforward answer caused a swell of noise from the crowd. Philliston tapped her gavel once, staring the watching crowd back into silence.

"Did you conspire or plan in any way in advance to commit the murder in question, before the night of May 23rd?"

"Yes."

"With whom did you conspire?" Madam Marchbanks enquired, finally settled into her seat to the left of Philliston.

"With Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco Malfoy, assorted other Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort himself, and..."

"And...?" St. James prompted him.

"I cannot say."

Hermione frowned at that.

"What do you mean, you cannot say?" the wizard seated to the right of his Department Head asked, frowning at Severus.

"I mean, I cannot say! What sort of an imbecile is seated on the bench for my trial, when he cannot understand a simple, three-word sentence constructed in the English language?" Snape demanded, his voice strong and rigid, but his body slouched and lax, chained in place.

St. James' cheeks coloured a little, but he continued doggedly. "Explain the nature of this conspiracy to commit the murder of Albus Dumbledore. How did it come about?"

"Voldemort--the snake-faced arse--fought with Albus Dumbledore, two summers ago. The battle took place just after the end of the school year. In that battle, Albus destroyed a ring he had located and stolen from one of the Dark Lord's hidden caches. That ring, I have since learnt, contained a Horcrux created by Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort."

Severus' explanation caused several gasps, but as he continued undisturbed, everyone quieted down quickly to hear the rest of his long-winded confession.

"At the time, I do not believe Voldemort knew that Albus knew about the ring being his Horcrux, only that it was a powerful Artifact that used to belong to Salazar Slytherin. With the ring's destruction, Voldemort decided that Harry Potter was a less dangerous target, and that he had to eliminate Dumbledore once and for all. He selected a newly-made Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, to handle the deed discreetly for him, since that was his preferred method of dealing with those more powerful than him. Draco's mother and aunt were both there at that particular meeting, though I was not.

"I only learnt of what happened when Cissy and Bella showed up on my doorstep shortly afterwards, so that Cissy could beg me to help her only son, to spare his life. She was distraught, and so I deliberately and silently invoked Legilimency, and learnt in that moment that Draco's mission partially was to ensure Dumbledore's death, though I could not detect the rest of the matter without the risk of her realizing I'd used a spell to scan her mind. Due to other information that I already held, I agreed to allow myself to be bound by an Unbreakable Vow to assist Draco, and if Draco failed, to complete the Dark Lord's loathsome task. By doing so, I quelled the doubts in both Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Lestrange about where my true loyalties supposedly lay.

"Draco Malfoy made two pathetic attempts to kill Albus Dumbledore, using means that I have since learnt he knew at the time would most likely not get the cursed necklace and the poisoned alcohol into Albus' actual hands. And, on the night of May 23rd," Snape finished in a sneer, "Draco proved he was definitely not a killer, and in fact realized he was in over his head beyond all contestation, when he could not bring himself to kill Dumbledore. Upon request, I cast the Killing Curse, blasting Albus off of the tower, and consigning him to his pre-arranged fate."

That was a rather peculiar way to put it, Hermione pondered.

"You said 'due to other information that I already held', Mr. Snape," Priscilla interrogated him. "What did you mean by that?"

"I cannot say."

That caused a ruckus. Marchbanks picked up the gavel this time, cracking it smartly on the desktop of the bench. Quiet resumed in the courtroom.

"What was this other information you held?" the elderly witch pressed, rephrasing her colleague's question.

"I cannot say."

"Why can you not say?" Madam Marchbanks insisted doggedly.

"I cannot say that, either."

"--Well, what can make you say?" Priscilla demanded impatiently, as the witches and wizards around them grumbled in disbelief.

Severus didn't resist the Truth Serum. His reply was prompt, succinct...and familiar. "An eye-witness must tell Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, that Lord Voldemort is dead."

Chaos exploded. Hermione gasped, hand going to her mouth. Half a second later, she smacked it against her forehead, then slid her fingers down and covered her mouth again. Of course! The most important witness of all! She started to rise out of her seat, but it would take too long for her to go to Hogwarts and come back. The roar of the watching crowd was too strong to be silenced; the three judges on the bench looked like they were going to let it die down on its own. Mainly because they were just as shocked and confused.

"--Kreacher!" Hermione hissed, lowering her hand quickly. "You are Summoned!"

The ugly, wrinkled house-elf popped into existence in front of her with a scowl. He had on rubber gloves covered in soap suds, and an apron tied over his tattered tea-cozy. His voice was barely audible in the din. "What does Miss want?"

"Kreacher, I want you to fetch--without harming it or its occupant--the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, from Headmistress Minerva McGonagall's office at the school and bring it to me along with a portrait-stand. Immediately!" she added as the ancient Black servant glowered at her.

The house-elf winked out of sight. A few people had noticed the briefly summoned creature, but it wasn't as stirring a subject as her husband's bizarre answer. Priscilla finally banged the gavel on the bench, silencing everyone.

"Mr. Snape, I realize you are under the effects of Veritaserum, and are therefore telling the truth. But Albus Dumbledore is dead! No one can tell him anything!"

"Do you think I do not know that, you oblivious twit?" he snapped back. "Any hope of getting the whole truth out of me is gone, right along with the bearded old bastard himself!"

"Mr. Snape!" Priscilla banged her gavel at his outrageous statement. Before she could say anything more, a portrait banged into the courtroom. It wavered, tottered, then was hefted up into the air as an easel flicked into existence. Hopping up and catching the descending frame with a spryness belying his advanced age, Kreacher wrestled the portrait into place, sneered at Hermione, flipped her a rude gesture, and vanished again. The Chief Witch of the Wizengamot stared at the portrait. "What the..."

"I call Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore as a witness for the defence!" Hermione stated briskly, seizing the brief, stunned silence of the chamber for herself as she rose from her chair. Crossing to the portrait, she dragged the easel around so that it faced somewhere between Severus and the judicial bench, and looked up at the keen-eyed, silent former Headmaster. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I personally watched the final scrap of Lord Voldemort's festering soul fade and vanish in the early morning hours of April 2nd. He is most assuredly dead. Severus Snape and I both watched him die."

Albus' painted eyes closed, his shoulders slumping in what looked like relief, but only for a moment. Light burst out of the painted canvas, blinding her. Stumbling back, Hermione shielded her face as the spectators shouted in confusion. Philliston banged her gavel several times...and then a stunned silence fell over the courtroom. Lowering her arm, Hermione squinted at the silhouette easing itself free of the large, gilded frame. The glow died down, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore brushed off his purple robes with his hand.

The left one, that was; the right one was still blackened from his duel with the Dark Lord nearly two years before. In fact, as he turned to face her fully for the first time, Hermione could finally see a matching blackness mottling the skin of his throat and the underside of his jaw, where it disappeared into the bushy whiskers of his waist-length beard. It had been hidden all this time by the way he had been painted seated at an angle, in his portrait. A portrait that was now not only empty of his image, but empty of everything else, too. The canvas was as white and fresh as if newly-constructed, untouched by gesso, let alone enchanted oils.

"...Thank you, Mrs. Snape. I was wondering when you'd remember to do what I told you had to be done. I was hoping one of you would fulfill the necessary conditions for my release. Ah, Severus. It's good to see you again, though I could wish they hadn't chained you in place." He stepped forward, then stumbled. Hermione rushed to catch him. She felt his muscles trembling as she took his arm over her shoulder. "Sorry...I seem a bit weakened by my two-dimensional vacation. And I don't seem to have my wand with me, though from the sounds of it, Filius had a wonderful time with it at the exposition--would you be a dear girl, and conjure me a chair, Hermione?"

"Of course." Drawing her wand as she balancing him against her shoulder, Hermione Transfigured the painting and its easel into a padded chair much like her own. He was real, he was alive--she had felt his heart beating, felt the warmth of his body and the trembling of his muscles as she assisted him into the chair--and he had a lot of explaining to do. "Perhaps if you could explain a few things, sir?"

"I have to do something else, first. Could I borrow your wand for a moment, Mrs. Snape?" he asked her politely.

"Of course."

Handing it over, she watched as he flicked it. "Convocum Aberforth!"

A yelp, and a swirl of plain brown robes heralded the abrupt tossing of one of the witnesses from near the very top of the courtroom amphitheatre all the way down onto the floor at its centre. Catching himself with a twist, Old Abe glared at his brother as he righted his robes. "I was right here, you bearded imbecile!" the gap-toothed, balding bartender snapped. "All you had to do was ask!"

"We have to do these things in the proper order, Abe," Albus chided him. "Lord Voldemort is dead. You have heard these words from an eye-witness, a witch who was there. It is time for you to release me from my Unspoken Vows."

"Hmphf." Straightening his robes, Old Abe bent over, plucked Hermione's wand from Albus' fingers, and flicked it briskly. "Albus Dumbledore, I release you from the Unspoken Vow I have placed upon you! Be free, now, to speak of that which you could not say before! Liboratio!"

Light speared through the courtroom once again...but not from the portrait, and not from Hermione's wand to Dumbledore's wan, aging body. Instead, the light poured from Albus into the vinewood shaft clenched in Aberforth's hand. Albus gasped, groaned heavily, then clutched at his heaving chest as the light ended a moment later, looking like he was finally able to take a full, deep breath for the first time in a great age. Which, the stunned Hermione conceded, was probably the case, given he'd been locked up in that painting. From the sounds of it, he had all of his greatest secrets locked up, too...

Struggling to control his breathing, Albus slumped for a moment, then straightened in his chair. Holding out his hand imperiously, he accepted the wand from his brother, who grunted, then leaned over and embraced him fiercely. "I'm glad you're back among the living, you old arse-headed git!"

"So am, I, you smelly old goat-herder," Albus retorted, squeezing him back. Shoving him away, he cleared his throat. "We'll have a little time left for a reunion later. Business first!"

"And beers second, eh, you old pisser?" Old Abe snorted. "You never did have your priorities straight..." Tugging on his plain brown robes again, he made his way back up into the stands without another word.

Rising shakily from his chair--Hermione hurrying to help lift him up--Albus lifted his wand over the younger wizard chained in the chair. "Severus Snape, I release you from the Unspoken Vow I have placed upon you! Be free, now, to speak of that which you could not say before! Liboratio!"

Again, light streamed into Hermione's wand. This time, it came from Severus Snape's chest...and with it, the spell extracted an horrific scream of pain, of rage, of soul-deep agony that had him writhing against his bonds, as if in the grip of the Cruciatus Curse instead of some mere Vow. It ended, the scream and the agonized writhing and the outpouring of light, just a few seconds later. Severus slumped in his chair, panting heavily. He blinked, staring around him with wild eyes...then burst into tears.

Sobs shook his shoulders, heaving, gasping, gut-wrenching sobs. The bodies crammed into the courtroom watched in astonishment as Severus Snape, Cold-Hearted Bastard, cried in public. Hermione's fingers clenched hard enough to drive her nails painfully against her palms, but she held herself grimly in place. Instinct said now was not the time to try and soothe him. Not when the undiluted truth was her only hope of getting him out of this trial alive. Draping a weepy wife all over the man--however much she longed to show her support for him--would only risk thoughts of her own emotions being used to manipulate the Wizengamot.

The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was the only weapon she had, right now.

"...What in Merlin's sweet name is going on, here?" Priscilla Philliston finally demanded, as Severus' weeping subsided.

"I'd be happy to explain everything, Madam Philliston," Albus stated, looking like he'd regained some of his strength with the weight of that spell of his brother's lifted from his shoulders. "It all began--"

"I'm sorry, Albus--if you are Albus," Priscilla interrupted him, "but until I know that you are Albus Dumbledore, I cannot take your word for anything!"

"...I see. Well. As this is a court of law...Accio Veritaserum!"

Hermione quickly caught the bottle winging its way down from Professor Slughorn's waistcoat pocket, afraid that Albus might fumble it with his trembling fingers. Uncorking it, she passed it to him. A lift of the bottle, a tilt of his head, and he carefully poured just a little over three drops onto his tongue. Taking back the bottle, Hermione corked and pocketed it, then helped him to sit down as the drug took effect. Discreetly reclaiming her wand, she returned to her own seat, moving it slightly closer to the judicial bench so that she could see what was happening a little better.

"Well. At least you're cooperating, whoever you are," Madam Marchbanks observed as the elderly slumped a little further, his bearded head lolling. "Wake up, young man, and tell us your true name!"

"My name, you daft bint, is Severus--"

"Not you, Mr. Snape!" Marchbanks corrected him. "I want the name of the other young git, from the one in the comfy chair! What is your full name, Albus, if that is who you really are?"