IV. In which the trial gets underway

Author's Note: My apologies for the hiatus enforced upon this story. Health issues and more pressing commitments forced me to temporarily abandon posting, or indeed much of any kind of fanfic-related activity.

"Come on, Ron," Harry cajoled; Hermione found the asperity in his voice rather pronounced. "It's time to go. Like you said earlier, we don't want to be late."

Hermione looked at her own watch for a moment; they still had forty minutes before the trial was set to start. She wondered if the proceedings would commence even earlier than they had initially been scheduled. Given Scrimgeour's penchant for dirty politics of late, that wouldn't have surprised her one whit. She didn't know whether the Minister expected anyone to come and testify on Snape's behalf though, so she suspected the manoeuvre would be as pointless as it would be aggravating for all parties involved.

"Why are you two leaving so early?" she asked, infusing a tone of genuine curiosity to her voice. "I thought the hearing wouldn't begin for forty or so more minutes."

"It doesn't, but we're taking the Visitor's Entrance this time," Ron explained.

"Less press that way," Harry elaborated. If there was one thing Harry would be most eager to avoid, the attentions of the press would most assuredly be it. "We'll take the Floo from here to Grimmauld Place, then walk from there to the Visitor's Entrance of the Ministry. It'll give us a chance to set our thoughts in order" – get their stories straight, more like, Hermione thought bitterly – "and to practice a spare bit of Occlumency before seeing the greasy git face to face." Hermione was left thoroughly unimpressed by Harry and Ron's exaggerated and obviously fake shudders.

Hermione was glad Molly Weasley came in to do a last-minute bit of mothering on the boys before they left for London; otherwise, she was sure, they would have both taken note of her discontented scowl. While her friends were being so thoroughly distracted by Molly, she surreptitiously slid her right hand in her pocket and palmed the Galleon she had taken to keeping in there. Hermione then slid the tip of her wand out of the holder her sleeve was hiding and touched it to the Galleon discreetly. She concentrated on changing the markings on the coin into the time when the morning's hearing would start and the number of the courtroom. Gathering her focus, she activated the Protean charm, feeling the coin flare slightly in her palm before returning to an ambient temperature. Hermione willed her wand back into its holder, then slid her hand, sans Galleon, out of her pocket just in time to hug Harry and Ron goodbye. She wished them luck at work that afternoon and especially at that morning's portion of Snape's trial.

"Thank you for coming in such a timely fashion, Auror Weasley, Auror Potter," Rufus Scrimgeour said unctuously before leading Harry and Ron into the courtroom. None of the three men noticed the small, rather fat beetle that was hiding under the collar of Harry's black robes.

Harry didn't answer; instead, he appeared to content himself with shooting a look Rita read as part loathing, part dismissal at Scrimgeour's back. He and Weasley seemed rather happy to ignore Ministry official Percy Weasley, who was sitting pompously in the scribe's chair, arranging his parchment, ink and quills; quite as happy, it appeared, as Percy Weasley seemed to be to ignore them, for he never once even glanced in their direction, despite the way Scrimgeour's mention of their names had reverberated through the courtroom.

"–or better seat accommodations and capacity ... And here is the prisoner, of course," Scrimgeour continued rattling off an explanation no one had been listening to. The smugness and self-satisfaction in his voice were enough to turn anyone's stomach. By the look on Harry Potter's naïve little face, Rita was sure even the boy had to be wondering at Scrimgeour's motives. If only Potter had been familiar with the old adage of 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' ... That should have made him far more receptive to the idea that Rufus Scrimgeour's flagrant behaviour where Severus Snape was concerned had to mean that Harry and Snape were more on the same side than the immature whelp was willing to accept.

Snorting to herself in disgust, Rita turned her attention to the prisoner Scrimgeour was still bragging about. Severus Snape was bound to the prisoner's chair so tightly that his normally pale hands looked very nearly purple. The manacles seemed to release slightly every few minutes, just enough for his blood circulation to resume, before tightening again and making them turn that same all too lovely purplish shade.

Snape's black hair was tangled and matted beyond belief, as though he had spent years in Azkaban instead of months. Rita saw the fading, yellowish marks of several nearly healed bruises on Snape's pale skin. She wondered whether the Ministry had implemented newer, more barbaric interrogation techniques borrowed from the Muggles they so seemed to disparage and despise; though perhaps Snape had been 'given' to the new Azkaban guards as reparation to make up for all the Death Eaters the Ministry hadn't been able to capture or had let off without a charge. Both his robes and his hair were filthy and dark enough for her Animagus form to remain unnoticed if perched atop his form. The perfect vantage point, Rita thought smugly. She was becoming impatient for Scrimgeour to get his pompous arse moving in a more constructive, less futile direction than trying and failing spectacularly to ream praise and approval out of Harry Potter's arse.

"Auror Potter," the Minister's voice echoed in the silent courtroom, "very trustworthy sources close to the Ministry have confirmed that you played a significant role in the protection of the legendary Philosopher's Stone while it was placed in Albus Dumbledore's care at Hogwarts some years ago." Rufus Scrimgeour had cast what he must have thought was a discreet look at Percy Weasley upon his revelation of close sources. Impressively, given the esteem in which the former Auror had held Albus since he'd been appointed Minister, Scrimgeour had even managed to infuse his voice with something that could have passed for respect when he had spoken the great wizard's name.

"Those same sources have revealed that you had been given reason to believe that someone close to Dumbledore was involved in a plot to steal the fabled Stone, and this ever since your investigations allowed you to discover what Albus Dumbledore had been protecting. Now then, Auror Potter, tell us what led you to suspect Severus Snape as being involved?"

Severus bit back an impatient groan at Scrimgeour's unparalleled idiocy. Really, though. He hadn't been one to suffer fools when he had been a professor, and back then he'd at least been afforded minute daily distractions from the sheer incompetence which had surrounded him on an hourly basis. How in the nine circles of hell had his luck managed to land him before one of the wizarding world's greatest arses after months with only himself for company?

"...And he watched me and my friends constantly, always trying to tell us where we should and shouldn't be, especially when we knew he would be up to something..."

How ironic, really; altogether unsurprising, however, for Potter to confuse the roles of the actors embroiled in the plot. Up to something, indeed.

What was truly impressive, though, if one appreciated that sort of thing, was how arduously Scrimgeour attempted to fluctuate between being serious and sycophantic in his questioning of Potter ... Auror Potter, Severus corrected himself with a purely mental smirk. Well, well. Not even a full year had passed since the Dark Lord's defeat, let alone the three required for a completion of the Auror programme ... So it seemed Potter was still getting ahead on the hard-earned merit of his famous name.

"...watching me even more in my second year; tried to get me expelled, too, for the stupidest things..."

Severus nearly took to biting his tongue in frustration. How typical that that threat hadn't managed to intimidate Potter into better behaviour. There was one thing he certainly wouldn't deny; of course he'd bloody well watched the boy even more, given Potter's penchant for getting himself into near-death experiences. He shouldn't have expected Potter to understand that, really. Especially when he and that little red-headed miscreant of a best friend of his had been overjoyed at the thought of him being sacked or killed after he'd spent well over an hour sweeping the Forbidden Forest for them and their blasted enchanted car. Severus had known better than to expect gratitude or appreciation from a Potter, but he had at least hoped the boy would have inherited some of Lily's intelligence or common sense: enough to discern the subtleties of things and see them for what they really were.

Severus rolled his eyes impatiently; still mentally, of course – it wouldn't do to give that imbecilic excuse for a Minister even more fodder for this heroic crusade of his. He and Minerva had been the only professors who had truly tried to show Potter that fame wasn't everything, and that he would need to apply himself and make the same effort that was and would be required of anyone else should he want to get deserved results. Unfortunately, the boy appeared to suffer from the same affliction of cranial inflammation as his misbegotten father and godfather ... And the majority of the wizarding world, it seemed, was more than happy to further flout the rules in favour of the fame of the 'Boy Who Lived' if it brought them enough of a profit.

"...of clearly nefarious intent," Rufus Scrimgeour's appallingly sycophantic voice concluded. Severus was sure the Wizengamot needed to have had a decree in place against speakers sounding so smarmy before them.

"Auror Potter, you have famously declared that you were 'Dumbledore's man through and through'. Clearly, no one who was against you could claim any form of loyalty towards the late Albus Dumbledore. Tell us, Auror Potter, how the accused demonstrated his malicious intent towards you throu–"

Severus was beginning to wish quite fervently that the Minister and Potter would get on with it; really. What kind of a shoddy excuse for a testimony was this? Potter was doing little beyond recounting how he'd been 'unfairly' (the cranial inflammation must have made good friends with a Bludger and a few sturdy Beaters' bats at some point, surely; what else had all that Quidditch been good for?) assigned punishments and detentions. Merlin help them if Weasley's testimony for the day would consist of the same regurgitated doxy droppings: recalling cruel lessons which had clearly had nothing to do with disciplining rowdy Gryffindors; mentioning poor marks which had clearly had nothing to do with students' own ovine-like intelligence; and offering up a sob story of the occasional detention which had clearly had nothing to do with rampant misbehaviour and rule-breaking.

Snape felt as though his face had been stuck in a perpetual scowl for the past few days. In truth, the irony wasn't lost on him that he should feel disgruntled at the possibility, particularly given the habitually sullen state of his countenance during his teaching career.

Today was set to be the last day of his trial, and things were looking bleaker than even his characteristically exuberant temperament had prompted him to expect. The testimonies that Scrimgeour had made him and the Wizengamot listen to for the past several days had alternated between irrelevant and insulting. As the proceedings had advanced, Scrimgeour had clearly begun grasping at straws when it had come to painting as black a picture of 'the greasy bat of Hogwarts' as possible.

Potter had been the most prominent speaker, of course. He had rattled off things of little relevance to anyone but himself at first. In the final few days, he had moved on to the events surrounding Albus' death, though the boy had proved once more that he couldn't be counted upon to discern subtleties even when Albus Dumbledore himself had pointed them out painstakingly. And when Albus went out of his way to make a subtlety obvious, it remained as subtle as a phoenix singing as it burst into flames in a pitch dark and inordinately silent room.

For the most part, Ronald Weasley had been there to pay lip service to Potter's own declarations. He had, of course, added his own impressions of how 'terrified' and 'shaken' poor Potter had been after he had come back from the Occlumency lessons. Neither of them had mentioned how Potter hadn't practised worth a damn, nor how he had begun to nearly welcome the dreams that had shown him insights into the Dark Lord's actions. Regardless of how appalling an Occlumens he was and of what Severus had hinted at when he'd performed Legilimency on the boy, Potter clearly thought that Severus had not picked up on his carelessness, lack of interest and effort or sense of self-importance.

The Minister had then provided his own evidence material, consisting of declarations made by Severus' former Death Eater brethren. Snape suppressed a most violently derisive snort at the thought. The lower echelons of the Death Eaters had essentially been an amalgamation of braggart yokels who hadn't carried the ability to hold a wand properly between the lot of them. They had also generally proven themselves brutish enough that any modicum of intelligence in their possession would have been superseded by their baser instincts regardless.

It was unquestionable, then, that they would tell the Minister exactly what he wanted to know if there was an even remote possibility for their sentences to be lessened. Severus took comfort in the fact that the Wizengamot had been present at those hearings and had had ample chances to witness Scrimgeour's interrogation tactics. Ah, well ... it had provided Severus with a small and much-needed measure of amusement to hear the collection of fabrications that those infamous declarations and testimonies had consisted of.

Not many members of the Order of the Phoenix had testified: certainly none of them in his favour. Lupin had been there, still impertinently addressing him as 'Severus' as though they had ever got along, or as though Lupin had ever earned or been given permission to address him so informally. Given Lupin's penchant for being passive and mild, it had surprised Severus that the werewolf had been there at all. He had at least tried to make a show of being neutral, though it was clear that the prejudices perpetuated by his former companions would go undisputed because Lupin lacked the courage or conviction to refute them.

Unsurprisingly, Lupin had blathered on about how he and his Marauder friends had been aware of the hatred Severus had felt towards them. Severus had muttered several highly uncharitable things under his breath about the werewolf and his friends when he'd heard that. He wondered if Lupin truly believed that he'd reached such levels of hatred for Potter and Black on his own and not as a response to unprovoked cruelty and bullying.

Severus had certainly not been a stranger to Black and Potter's antics during his years as a student. He had suffered at their wands more times than he'd cared to count before he had adjusted to the world of Hogwarts and to his own magic enough to begin retaliating. Once Snape had become a professor, he had had access to the old detention records and had seen for himself just how many 'bystanders' there had been to Black and Potter's purportedly harmless fun.

As Lupin had paused, Scrimgeour had turned to Severus triumphantly, staring at him superciliously. Clearly, he had believed that Lupin's answer determined that Snape was the absolute culprit, as the one who hated and held on to grudges for no reason. After a deep breath, Scrimgeour had seemed prepared to move on and commence a new line of questioning.

Griselda Marchbanks had taken advantage of Scrimgeour's pause, though, and had asked a pertinent question of her own – one that Snape thought was the logical follow-through to Lupin's previous barrage of statements, but which no one else had seemed ready to ask.

"And tell the Wizengamot, Mr Lupin, did Severus Snape have any reasons for his animosity and hostility towards you and your friends?"

"Well," Lupin had answered neutrally – and Snape was at least thankful that the werewolf hadn't seen fit to pity him, "I suppose he has never forgiven the fact that Sirius may have tried to kill him."

Yes, because that was what harmless attempts at fun were made of. Nothing bespoke of innocent pranks more than sending someone to face a transformed werewolf in a narrow tunnel with the exit guarded by a sprightly Whomping Willow. Still no mention of the public humiliations ... At least the werewolf had had the decency to be consistent. In truth, Severus rather preferred not having Lupin add to those old slights the humiliation of making the Wizengamot, the present witnesses and Potter privy to those incidents of old.

Murmurs had broken out among the members of the Wizengamot at Lupin's statement. Despite Sirius Black's exoneration and the enquiry into his death that the Ministry had proceeded with, Black's renown as a notorious serial killer hadn't died out in the least. That Black had been capable and intent on sending someone to his death before he had even become of age would raise quite a few questions, or so Severus was hoping. Whether this aspect of the werewolf's statement would work at all in Snape's favour, of course, remained to be seen.

Though it shattered his heart to consider it, perhaps it was time to accept that Dumbledore had really not left anything to aid him and see him out of this situation. Or that, if he had, Scrimgeour had anticipated and intercepted any such move on Albus' part and had simply wiped it out of existence. And to top it all off, Severus had not been allowed to speak on his own behalf. After all, 'because the prisoner is known for Occlumency skills the likes of which could allow him to circumvent even the most potent Veritaserum, the Wizengamot has no means of detecting the truth in any of his statements.'

So then, one final witness today and then it would be time to, as his father had had the habit of saying, 'face the music'. Severus sighed wearily as he saw Minerva McGonagall approach and conjure her own chair next to him. He allowed himself a small smirk at her rejection of the chair that the Minister had conjured for her. She was no Albus, but she had clearly learned quite a few things from her old friend and colleague.

Minerva had been one of Severus' favourite professors during his time at Hogwarts as a student. He had tried to emulate her teaching style as much as possible, and as much as had been applicable to the far more dangerous classroom setting in effect with Potions. After he had returned to Hogwarts as a professor and had earned Albus Dumbledore's trust, Severus had forged a tentative friendship with Minerva; their friendship had grown along the years and had become quite precious to him, especially with so few people he either liked enough or had afforded to call his friends.

Snape's hands flexed open and closed within the manacles binding him to his chair. It was the only outward indication he could afford to give of the tension that had suddenly overcome him. Meagre as they were, all his hopes – for he'd foolishly allowed himself the luxury of hoping until today – now rested on the stern, grey-haired Animagus holding Rufus Scrimgeour's gaze rather defiantly with her own.