Chapter Four – And it's Greatly to His Credit (that He is an Englishman)

Get the recognition I deserve

"Severus Snape, you are hereby charged with destruction of Ministry property, assaulting the Minister of Magic (acting). How do you plead?"

"Oh, you're not going to charge me with murder and conspiracy and associating with Voldemort?" Snape demanded sarcastically.

"We can if you'd like, Mr Snape," the Mugwump commented, looking over his glasses.

"Shut up, you idiot," hissed Granger from the witness bench.

"By no means," Snape said, bowing deferentially, "I have no desire to sink myself further in the mire."

The Mugwump harrumphed into his brief.

"How do you plead, Mr Snape?"

"Not guilty."

"You deny that you assaulted the Acting Minister of Magic in his own office without provocation?" The Ministry's legal eagle (the only registered Animagus other than Minerva McGonagall) preferred to conduct his cases in his avian form. Nobody dared object – his winning record far outstripped anybody else's.

"I do," Snape said calmly. A surprised murmur spread through the courtroom. "I had plenty of provocation. He brought Dumbledore."

"Mr Snape, possession of a portrait cannot be considered provocation."

"I object!" Granger leapt to her feet.

"Miss Granger, you are out of order. Sit down," declared the Mugwump.

"He had plenty of provocation – Kingsley knows that Albus Dumbledore was a manipulative, goat-buggering, sherbet-lemon-sucking piece of harpy dung!"

"MISS GRANGER, sit down!"

Granger subsided, grumbling.

"Setting a good linguistic example, Granger?" Snape scoffed at her from across the courtroom.

"Shut up, Snape, I'm trying to bloody help you."

"I'm going to strike that outburst from the record," the Mugwump mused. "Another outburst, Miss Granger, and you will be forcibly removed from the courtroom."

Granger glared at the Mugwump.

"So you admit to attacking the Acting Minister of Magic," the eagle commented.

Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at the eagle.

"Wimblethorp, I refuse to answer any more of your questions until you change back into the wizard that you are," he said.

"If you don't mind, Mr Snape," Wimblethorp replied, "I will stay in my Animagus form to question you."

"Wimblethorp, you're a moron." Snape growled. "You were when you were a snotty nosed first-year who nearly cut off his own thumb the first time he picked up a knife, and you are now. So change back and let us get on with this ridiculous charade."

The hearing went rapidly downhill after that.

"Three days in the cells under the Ministry, and then another hearing," Granger observed from outside his cell door.

Snape grunted and rattled experimentally at the bars.

"Could be worse – you're lucky that Kingsley's not pressing charges."

"Shut up, Granger."

"Why do you have to be so nasty?" Granger demanded.

"I thought we'd been over this."

"Well, I'll set Harry to work on your defense, I suppose. I have a practical this afternoon, so I can't be there, but he's been dying to help you."

"Keep Potter the hell away from my case! Is that young twit not content with being an Auror?"

"He wants to be a lawyer, now. He's a pupil of Guthrie Erskin-Trant, the best defender there is. And he wants to help you."

"Tell him and Mr Erskin-Trant to mind their own business."

"I will not. You need his help, so for once in your life, be gracious, you git!"

Snape resisted the urge to grin. Not only had Granger developed a lovely arse (and some rather nice tits, if he were being honest about it), she also seemed to be acquiring an attitude that he rather appreciated.

"Fine," he said, affecting an air of great world-weariness, leaning against the bars of his cell. "Far be it from me to interfere with the plans of the Boy Who Lived to Help Us All."

Granger smiled and stepped up to him.

"Thank you," she said, leaning over to kiss the top of his bent head.

Snape jerked his head up, just in time to see her make a face as she drew back, rubbing her lips with the back of her hand.

He smirked. That would teach her to put her mouth on his greasy scalp. He had other, better places he wanted her mouth. Much better places.

After Granger left, Snape settled himself on the narrow bench that served as his bed and gave himself over to a thoroughly satisfying fantasy about just how he intended to finally cross the first item off of his list.

She has a boyfriend. His conscience reminded him, just as he was getting to the good bits.

"Bugger off," he muttered.

Three days later, Snape sat in the dock, hair neatly brushed and tied back (Granger had insisted upon it), hands folded, listening, first with suppressed fury and then surprise to Potter's speech on his behalf.

"...Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," he was declaiming, "Severus Snape is seen by many as a complicated man. Many people believe him to be many different things. But I am here today to present to you the real Severus Snape. The real Snape is not a criminal, not a conspirator, not a victim, but a hero.

"He is a man who has sacrificed everything to ensure the safety of his students, the success of the Order of the Phoenix, and most of all," Potter paused and took off his glasses. The Wizengamot held their breath. From his position in the dock, Snape could see that Potter had played the august body like a stringed instrument. The boy – man now – was rail thin, looked as if he would shatter at any moment. But from his wiry frame, there radiated a sense of power and confidence. Anything that Potter said would be believed – cherished, even. He was The Boy Who Lived. And the Wizengamot were falling for it. Snape watched, fascinated. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that the boy would have made a perfect Slytherin.

"And most of all," Potter continued, clutching the railing before him, face pale, "Severus Snape saved me. Did I deserve it? After I mistrusted him? After I believed, time and again, that he hated me? Perhaps he did – I am the son of James Potter, a man who did terrible things to him. I am the son of Lily Potter, a woman who sacrificed herself for me, but rejected him in a fit of unreasoning anger."

Snape's head jerked up. In the gallery he could see Gran- Hermione staring intently down at the scene. What was she doing here? Had she skived of her Practical for him? Her lips were moving as Potter spoke. Snape permitted himself a smirk – of course Potter could deliver the speech, but it was, as always, Hermione who'd done the boy's homework.

There was no way on this earth that Potter would ever have known the word "unreasoning" if Hermione hadn't sat him down before a dictionary.

Snape also noticed that Hermione was not accompanied by the youngest male Weasley.

Interesting.

"...But despite that, despite my continued persecution of a fellow student entrusted to his care, a student of whom the impossible had been asked, despite my reckless endangerment of myself and my friends to suit my own purpose, Severus Snape watched over me, protected me."

Snape continued to watch the gallery. Hermione's focus was searing. She recited with Potter:

"Severus Snape, the man who gave everything, but was given nothing. Is a lifetime of ridicule, a prison sentence, willful abandonment to be the thanks of a grateful nation?"

Potter shoved his glasses back onto his face, his voice rose. Up in the gallery, Hermione was on her feet.

"Let it not be! Let it never be thought that Severus Snape did not receive the respect and recognition and glory that he is due!" Potter thundered.

Therefore, ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, there can be, there must be no other verdict that you can return than that of not guilty." The last two words were a husky whisper as Potter, apparently exhausted by his effort, sank to the bench, running a hand through his already tousled hair.

In the gallery, Hermione sank down as well, face pale and set.

Potter stole a glance at Snape as the Wizengamot murmured among themselves. Phrases such as, "deserving" and "hero" and "tragically abused" floated from the cluster of witches and wizards. Gravely, Snape nodded at Potter. The boy had done well. Perhaps, Snape thought, perhaps he owed him an apology.

Potter met his gaze and winked at him. Snape registered a double-take. What the fuck did the little ponce think he was on about, for fuck's sake?

"Your histrionics were... impressive, Potter," Snape said carefully. They were back in the cells below the Ministry, waiting for the verdict to be returned.

Potter stopped pacing and ran his hands through his hair.

"Harry, don't do that," Hermione chided. "You'll muss it up."

"Thank you, Severus," Potter replied. To Hermione, "Sorry. I'm just a little nervous. I flubbed that bit in the middle there."

"I don't think anyone noticed," Hermione said with a smile.

Snape's heart sank. Obviously, Weasley had been left by the wayside for the Hero of the threesome.

What chance did you ever have?

"I don't see how she can sit there, cool as a cucumber," Potter remarked to Snape.

Hermione looked at both of them – Potter still pacing, and Snape lounging against the door to his cell.

"As it happens," she said, straightening her skirt primly, "I'm just as nervous as you two are. But I hardly see the use in wasting energy pacing. What we should be doing is..."

A burly Auror, the one who had arrested Snape for slugging Kingsley, lumbered up to the door.

"They're back," he said.

Snape stole a glance at Hermione.

She's such a little liar, he noted. She's just as nervous as Potter. Well that makes three.

"...We the Wizengamot here find that the blow that Mr Snape dealt Minister Shacklebolt was delivered under extreme provocation, and, in light of the sacrifices that the defendant has made over the years, Mr Severus Snape, formerly Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry is not guilty."

Snape released the breath he had been holding. Not guilty. And it was all thanks to bloody Harry Potter.

Shite.

The Mugwump continued to read the judgment:

"Furthermore, we, the Wizengamot, in cooperation with the Ministry of Magic, at the special behest of the acknowledged Heroes of the War against You-Know-Who, it is our great pleasure to award Severus Snape an Order of Merlin, Second Class."

Applause tore through the courtroom. Snape stood, buffeted by it as Potter pumped his fist in the air and members of the Wizengamot and spectators thronged them, pumping their hands in congratulation, slapping their backs.

"We did it, Severus!" Potter exclaimed above the tumult, flinging his arm around his shoulder. Snape turned to glare at the boy. Obviously, in Potter-tongue, "we" meant "I".

Potter caught his gaze and stepped back, confusion flickering across his face.

There was a disturbance as Hermione, hair flying from its clip, burrowed and shoved her way through to the two men.

"Severus!" She cried, hurling herself at him. Snape held out his arms, to stop her from falling and somehow wound up with an armful of rejoicing, warm, sweet-smelling witch.

Let her go. She doesn't belong to you.

Potter was shouting something at him,

"Dinner? Severus?"

"Please, join us – we'll have everyone there," Hermione seconded.

At least do it for her.

"Yes."

AN: Still not mine!