Chapter Forty-Five

A/N: Dear readers, we're so close now, I can taste it. The outline says three more, though you should have learned by now not to believe anything I say. My unending thanks to RedOrchid, Shellsnapeluver, and OpalJade. This chapter is for my dear friend Lulabelle72.

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Hermione watched as Kingsley rose from his seat and applied the Sonorous Charm to his throat.

"The court will now recommence. The twenty-fourth of June, nineteen hundred and ninety eight: the Ministry of Magic vs. Severus Snape. Today, the court will continue to examine Severus Snape's allegiance to the Dark Lord Voldemort and his inclusion in the terrorist group known as the Death Eaters. In particular, we would like to focus now on the disappearance and subsequent murder of Hogwarts Professor of Muggle Studies, Charity Burbage, and information that may have passed from the Order of the Phoenix to the Death Eaters after the first war."

Hermione's eyes sought Snape's, but he did not look at her. Professor Burbage?

"The court calls Malcolm Yaxley for questioning regarding the events of July nineteenth, nineteen ninety-seven."

A broad shouldered man was led into the courtroom by two Aurors, who seemed more intimidated by him than they had been by Lucius Malfoy. Hermione wondered if it was the man's size that disturbed them, or the fact that he lacked Malfoy's cool gentility. This man looked as if he would be better suited to a Muggle biker bar than to a wizarding courtroom, and bracelet or no, there was a dangerous, untamed air about him.

"Please state your name for the court."

"Malcolm Yaxley."

"Mr Yaxley, were you present on the night that Charity Burbage was murdered?"

"Yeah, I was there."

"Please tell the court who else was present."

"All the highest ranking Death Eaters," Yaxley said, somewhat proudly, Hermione thought. She wondered briefly if he still believed that the Dark Lord would rise again. She had expected that all the Death Eaters would at least pretend at repentance. "Myself, the Malfoys, Snape, the Lestranges, Dolohov, Travers."

"Severus Snape was present?"

"Of course."

"By which you mean to imply that Snape was one of the highest ranking Death Eaters?"

"Yes. Snape was a great favorite of our Lord's." He said this somewhat disdainfully.

"And where did this gathering take place?"

"At headquarters."

"Which was..."

"Malfoy Manor."

"I see. So there was a meeting of the Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor. And Charity Burbage was present?"

Yaxley gave a dry laugh. "Yeah, she was present. She was the entertainment, so to speak."

"Can you elaborate?"

"He levitated her above the table. Hung her up there for us all to see. So we would know what was expected of us."

"This is Voldemort you are speaking of?"

"The Dark Lord."

"And what did he expect of you?"

"He wanted us to teach the Muggle lovers a lesson."

"I see. And how did Snape react when he saw his former colleague?"

"Snape never reacted to much."

"Did he give any indication that he might try to free her?"

"Oh, she begged him. 'Please, Severus,'" Yaxley imitated her voice before chuckling deep in his throat. "But Snape barely even looked up."

"So she remained there. Levitating, as you say."

"Until the Dark Lord killed her."

There was silence, for a moment, in the courtroom. Kingsley looked rather ill, and he turned and stared pointedly at the Wizengamot, as if he'd made some point that he wanted them to note. Only Yaxley seemed at ease in the silence.

"What was the subject of the meeting that evening?"

"Snatching Potter. We knew he would be moved from his safe house. It was our hope to take him in transit."

"The Order of the Phoenix had trusted very few people with the knowledge of when Harry Potter was to be moved. In fact, we had given erroneous information to several people in order to lay a false trail. Who provided the date of Harry Potter's travel to Lord Voldemort?"

"Snape, of course. Said he was quite certain. Said he had a source but wouldn't say who. The Dark Lord knew, though."

"Did Snape give any other information to Lord Voldemort that night?"

"Snape passed him a newspaper. I never did know what it said."

"Thank you. That will be all."

Hermione was unable to look around the courtroom when Kingsley was speaking. For her, the world narrowed down to a small window, admitting only the questioner and the questioned. She could not even tear her eyes away long enough to look at Severus. But when the Aurors came to remove Yaxley, she was able to glance around her. Harry sat on her left, looking murderous, and Ginny held onto his hand very tightly. She whispered something in his ear that Hermione did not catch, but it seemed to her that until then, he had been about to interject, to ask to testify.

Harry leaned his head toward hers and spoke directly into her ear. "How are you listening to this? Knowing what they're not saying?"

She shrugged a trifle bitterly. "I have to," she whispered back, not turning to face him.

The witches and wizards of the Wizengamot sat stiffly in their seats. A few murmured among themselves, but most simply looked pale and determined.

"The court will redirect its questioning. Mr Snape, why did you fail to help your colleague, Charity Burbage, at Malfoy Manor on the night of July nineteenth?"

"I was a spy. To have come to the aid of Ms Burbage would not have saved her, not in a room full of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, and would have succeeded only in destroying my cover."

"So you remained silent to protect your own life."

"No. I remained silent because acting would have done no good. However, by continuing to spy for the Order, there was a possibility that I could prevent even graver acts of evil."

"Under whose orders were you spying? To whom did you report? According to the testimony of Malcolm Yaxley, it was the Order's secrets you were relaying to Lord Voldemort."

"Again, it was necessary for me to maintain my cover. By passing privileged information to the Dark Lord, I maintained the illusion that--"

"You have not answered the question, Mr Snape. You claim that you were trying to prevent crimes from taking place, and yet you failed to act, failed to report the actions of the Dark Lord and his followers to the appropriate authorities, but you wish us to believe that you were working for an organization whose leader you--"

Dumbledore spoke loudly from the wall above Kingsley's head, and Hermione's eyes lifted to the old man at once. She had rarely seen Dumbledore look so angry or so vehement as he shouted from his portrait, all semblance of calm abandoned. Hermione felt an odd flame of hope flare inside her at the sight of Dumbledore so undone.

"I am forced to remind this court again that Severus Snape has already been tried by the Wizengamot!"

"We are not discussing crimes committed during the first war," Kingsley retorted.

"This very court exonerated Severus Snape based on evidence that he had turned spy for our side at great personal risk! The court at that time accepted that Snape's actions as a Death Eater were outweighed by the good of the information he could provide us. The court gave its tacit agreement to overlook Snape's activities because it recognized him as a spy for our side. It recognized that in this case, the greater good was served by Snape's actions. You cannot revoke the decision of the court--you cannot retry this man under new rules! He has acted under this court's authority!"

"Insofar as Snape acted as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, he is protected by the court's ruling. However, the court's aim at this time is to determine for whom Snape was spying. As we heard, he passed confidential Order information to the Death Eaters."

"Did the Order of the Phoenix share the true date of Harry's move with Snape?" Dumbledore asked.

"Certainly not. At that time, Snape was--"

"Then he did not share your information, Minister. And he did not share a rather important part of that plan, did he? The Death Eaters were not expecting seven Harry Potters that night."

"Well, no," Kingsley appeared reluctant, but a dark gleam in his eye and the way he stalked impressively, his multicolored robes swirling in front of Dumbledore's portrait, led Hermione to believe that this conversation was going exactly as he had hoped.

"Mundungus Fletcher supplied that particular idea to the Order, did he not?"

"He did."

"Yes, he did," Dumbledore said, finally sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs once more. "Because Snape suggested it to him."

Hermione could hear the sounds of quills scratching furiously. Percy Weasley sat at the scribe's desk by the door, doubled over his parchment, writing as fast as he could. He did not pause to look up at Dumbledore and Kingsley, though Rita Skeeter's quill was writing quite independently of her, and she was watching the exchange at the back of the courtroom with nearly predatory interest.

Severus himself sat impassive. His eyes flicked between Dumbledore and Kingsley, but his expression did not change.

"He suggested the very thing that could allow Harry to escape unharmed, while still giving just enough real information to keep his position strong," Dumbledore said.

Kingsley did not respond, giving, it seemed to Hermione, the very deliberate impression that Dumbledore had won that particular battle.

"What was in the newspaper?" Kingsley said at last, turning back toward Snape.

"It was a Muggle newspaper," Snape said. "It reported the deaths of Helen and Richard Granger."

"Explain," Kingsley said sharply.

"The Dark Lord had ordered me to kill the Grangers. I brought the newspaper as proof of sorts."

"That you killed Hermione Granger's parents?"

"I did not kill Helen and Richard Granger," Snape said. Hermione's head snapped up. She thought... she thought she had heard anger in his tone. "I Obliviated them and relocated them to Australia."

"So you allowed Charity Burbage to be killed, but you would not kill the Grangers?"

"I did not kill Charity Burbage," Snape said, and this time Hermione was certain that he was angry. She did not know whether she was delighted or terrified. "I did not kill anyone whose death I could avoid."

"Why would Lord Voldemort order you to kill Hermione Granger's parents?"

"You are asking me to speculate on the desires of a madman?"

"Why not the Weasleys or Potter's aunt and uncle?" Kingsley said, undeterred.

Snape sighed. "Because he suspected my relationship with Miss Granger. I imagine that he wanted a show of loyalty."

"The newspapers have made much of your relationship to Hermione Granger. And yet the Ministry finds no record of your supposed marriage."

"Our marriage was witnessed by Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody. The records were kept at the Ministry until Moody's death at which point they were... removed."

"So your marriage was witnessed by two men who are now deceased. That seems rather convenient. And you say that the marriage papers were removed--and subsequently destroyed, I assume? Did you remove them from the Ministry yourself?"

"I did not."

Hermione rose, her heart fluttering erratically in her chest. "Forgive me, Minister, for interrupting you."

"Miss Granger, the court is--"

"But I have our marriage papers."

All eyes turned to Kingsley. "Approach, Miss Granger."

"Again, I must apologize, Minister Shacklebolt, but it hasn't been Miss Granger for almost two years."

Kingsley lifted his eyebrows slowly and gave her a long, appraising look. "Approach, Hermione," he said.

Hermione climbed the steps leading to the Minister's podium. She withdrew a roll of parchment from her bag. As she handed it to him, she said under her breath, "Kingsley--I thought--"

"Trust me," he said so quietly that she hardly heard him.

"The court will adjourn to examine the marriage records of Severus Snape and Hermione Jean Granger. We will reconvene tomorrow morning at nine a.m. That is all."

"Kingsley," she began again.

"Bring Black's portrait," was all he said before he charged down the steps toward Snape.

***

The light in the bathroom was harsh, and his face in the mirror nearly frightened him, his hair chin-length and ragged, exposing features that were both hollow and sharp. He turned away from the sink so that he would not have to look at himself as he did this, as he released a body that simply didn't seem to understand that release was not an option.

He dropped his shorts and took himself roughly in his right fist, tugging in quick, staccato bursts. Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck this.

But what he was seeking would not come, and he braced himself against the back wall of the bathroom with his left hand, leaning forward into the motion of his right, hips jerking against a touch that was not at all what he wanted, what he craved.

What was wrong with him that the sleeping touch of the girl could arouse him so ferociously?

He had tried to shove her away, but she had simply settled more deeply into the crook of his arm, and when he had freed himself from the pressure of her body, hot with sleep, and left the bedroom, she had said nothing.

His fist pumped harder, and the pain blended with pleasure, but he felt no closer to what he was seeking. Come on, he thought. Come on.

***

The bathroom door was ajar, and it pained her that he did not know that she was there, that whatever told him instantly when she entered a room had faded along with his magic. She wondered if it was love, if love and magic were so intertwined that to take away one was to take away the other, if the fact that he would rather do this here, alone, was simply one more sign that she had refused to see.

And, too, the fierceness with which he touched himself stung her, that there was no tenderness in the world for him, that he would not let there be, even here.

She touched the door, and it swung further open, admitting her into the close, bright room.

"Let me," she whispered.

He swung around so quickly that he stumbled and nearly fell over the toilet, his hand grabbing blindly at the towel rack for something to cover himself with. His face was contorted with rage, his lips pulled back over his teeth, and the pale skin of his chest was blotched with red that traveled up his neck and burned high on his cheeks.

"Get out," he snarled.

She took an involuntary step back, but did not run.

"Severus--"

"Get out!"

"Severus, please. I'm your wife; I want to--"

"You want to what?" His voice was louder for its crisp quietness as he cut her off. "You want to feed me, to choose my clothes, to apologize for me when my behavior hasn't lived up to your standards. You want me to cut my hair, to go to court, to come to bed. Now you'd like to control this, as well? Is there any part of my life that you could bring yourself to let alone? Or will you have it all exactly as you like it?'

Hermione narrowed her eyes and took a large step forward. "You think," she said, each word bitten out sharply, "you dare delude yourself into thinking that I enjoy this?" She stepped forward again, forcing him to retreat. "You think I want to control you?"

Something seemed to break inside her for a moment, and her lips trembled, though her voice did not waver as it rose in pitch. "You think I cook because I want to mother you? That I buy you clothes because I don't think you're capable of dressing yourself? All I want from you..." she paused and her hands clenched into fists. "All I want from you is one little sign. One tiny gesture that tells me that you can still see me, that I'm still here. That you wouldn't rather be dead on the floor of the Shrieking Shack."

He lunged forward, pinning her to the sink with his arms. His face was so close to hers that their foreheads were almost touching. They were both panting with rage. He looked nearly rabid as he stared into her face, his eyes so black and wild, and she might have wondered if he would hurt her if she didn't so badly wish to hurt him first.

"You think this is fun for me?" she hissed. "You think I like this, that I would choose this for you, you fucking--"

His head dove toward hers as if he intended to stop her with his mouth, and she flicked her chin up angrily like a cat swishing its tail. He dove again, and this time he caught her bottom lip in his teeth as she jerked her head back. Their teeth clicked together, and his body pressed up against hers almost painfully, driving her back into the sink. There was a second of tussle, of her hands fighting their way up between their bodies as he struggled to keep her in his grip, before she fought free and caught his hair in her fists. She wrenched his head to hers, and their lips collided. For a moment, they were less kissing than continuing their argument, and he tore at her nightshirt as she scored his back with her nails, pulling him closer to her.

She drew huge breaths in through her nose, as he seemed to have no intent of releasing her mouth, and she let go of him momentarily to hoist herself onto the lip of the sink. He stepped between her legs, pulling them up and hooking them over his hips, and he took her arse in his hands and ground himself against the cotton that separated them.

She growled into his mouth, and he moaned in response, and whatever it was that had brought them here abruptly changed into something else. He shuddered, and she fancied for a moment that she had won the argument. Their lips broke apart, and she leaned against him, pressing her chest against his and her face into his neck. Her arms wrapped around him, and he returned her embrace clumsily but tightly. They remained there, panting, for a moment.

"I do not want this to be a gift," he whispered. "I cannot bear any more gifts from you."

She made a sound deep in her throat, a sound of protest, something furious and needy at the same time. Her eyes were narrow and dark, and she said, "Do you think I need no comfort? This is not a gift."

She reached down and yanked the fabric of her knickers aside. The brush of his flesh against hers made her weak with hunger, drunk with need. Power thrummed between them; she could feel it in her skin, in her unsteady heartbeat. He grasped the sink on either side of her, making a cage of his body, and his cock nudged gently at her opening until he found purchase against her and began to slip inside her, inch by inch.

She was breathing deeply, almost motionless, as if she had focused entirely on the sensation of their bodies joining. When he began to move in earnest, she leaned forward, pressing their faces together and holding his head to her with one of her hands.

"Take me to bed," she whispered.

He slipped his hands beneath her, and she tightened her arms around his neck. He lifted her from the sink and carried her through the darkened hallway into their bedroom.

But in the half-light of the open door to their bedroom, he froze. He had placed her on the bed, and knelt at the end of it, himself, but when she had begun to wiggle free from her knickers, she had felt him grow rigid and motionless.

"Severus," she said.

"I cannot do this."

He was hard, ragingly hard, still; his cock was flush and pink, and yet he turned from her and began to move from the bed.

"What are you doing?" she said, the words wrenched out of her.

"Leaving," he said stiffly.

She sat up and seized his ankle, as it was the part of him nearest her, and the surge that traveled through her and into him was unmistakable. She heard him hiss with surprise.

She felt helpless against what was coming, what had just been unleashed by the press of her skin against his. She had tread so carefully; she had been so gentle, but now she had no patience left for a man who claimed to love her but was determined to break her against the wall of his own abasement.

"I deserve better than this, Severus."

His face worked angrily, and he sputtered for a moment.

"Now you resent me for what I cannot give you?"

"What is it that you think I want? We are fed, clothed, sheltered, hidden. We are, perhaps, safer than we have been in years. I care nothing for what you think you 'cannot' give me. I want what you will not give me."

"I have nothing for you," he said, pulling his ankle free from her grasp and making his way from the bed.

She picked up her wand and used it to slam and ward the door. She lit the beside lamp. He whipped around, his face incredulous, murderous.

"What do you think you're--"

"Coward," she growled. "Liar! You stand there like I can't see what you want, how badly you want this. You think I don't want you that badly? You think I don't need you? I am your wife--"

"Yes, I am well aware of that fact, Hermione," he said, each word ground out into its own sentence. "As is the entire wizarding world. Can you imagine what the papers are saying today? How eager the court must be to look into this room and see--"

"I will not be punished here for other people's ignorance," Hermione shouted. "You think I would let them in here? You think I would not guard this with my life?"

"Your name will be synonymous with traitor, with whore. They will drag you down with me. I cannot--" His voice broke off abruptly. "This is not what I meant for you."

She rose from the bed and crossed the room. "Severus." It was a command.

He did not look at her.

"Severus." She reached up and turned his face to hers. "This is not what I meant for you either."

His shoulders slumped very slightly, and he brought both hands to his face, rubbing it. "I know that," he said almost inaudibly.

"Come to bed."

"Hermione," he said, his voice so weary that it pained her.

"I won't take what you do not want to give me. Just come to bed." She turned away from him, suddenly exhausted, flicking off the light and climbing onto the mattress.

He slipped between the sheets beside her, and for the first time in weeks, he did not take care to remain on his own side. She could feel the sharp planes of his shins beneath her toes, the sparse hairs against her skin. She drew her feet down his legs until their knees bumped. Without a word, he parted his legs, and one of hers slipped between. Her hand snuck out to rest on his hip. It would have to be enough.

Minutes ticked by like drips of treacle, and in the dark, it was impossible to know how much time passed. Enough time for her to wonder if it could be enough, if she could live the rest of her life on scraps if he truly meant to ask that of her. Enough time to know that it did not matter whether if she could live with it or not, that she would not leave him; and she began to arrange her mind into quietness, to take the empty, burning anger and fit it into a dark corner of herself where she might learn to overlook it. It was possible that they slept for a time before she was aware of his voice, so close to her ear, cutting through the heavy silence.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

He kissed her, hesitant at first, just a brush of his mouth over hers, and then long and slow and deep, and she closed her eyes and let the sensation of it wash through her like a drug. She could taste the ridges of his palate, the blunt edges of his teeth; she could feel the flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek.

He licked her lips and suckled first one and then the other into his mouth as if he were eating her, as if he were trying to end his hunger at last. His arms finally pulled her in, erasing the last of the space between them. Her nipples brushed against his chest as she shifted her hips to accommodate their new position. Slowly, she felt the thrum return, the power in her rising like something alive, like something waking, and she longed to touch the heart of that feeling, to lay her hand on the wire, as it were, and feel it surge through her like lightning.

He entered her without hesitation this time, his body sinking into hers, and she looked up into his shadowed face, only barely distinguishable in the darkness.

"Please," she said, though she had no idea what she was asking for. "Please."

Her knees drew up.

He drove into her slowly, but with increasing abandon, and the feeling of his hips as they twisted between her thighs was sending her careening over the edge of her own pleasure, but instead of feeling satiated, she simply felt more desperate for him than before. She bucked her hips, grinding her body down against the base of him.

"Fuck, fuck, Hermione, don't let go," he said. "Don't let me go."

She was not entirely sure what he meant, but that seemed all right, as the words were not really the point. "I won't," she promised. "I swear."

Something seemed to spiral between them, some ouroboros of pain and desire that grew with every thrust until she was weeping openly and clutching his back with both hands in a fevered attempt to bind him to her permanently.

Suddenly the lamp beside the bed began to flicker on, and he stopped abruptly. She stared wide-eyed into his face. His eyes looked bruised and shocked. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"It's... it's not me, Severus," she said, wonder choking her voice and stealing its power. "It's you."

She removed her hands from his back and held them up to his face, as if for him to verify that the magic was not coming from her.

"It's you," she whispered again, and he collapsed over her, his climax roaring through him, and he trembled in her grip. The light went out.

"Oh, God," he said into her hair. "Oh, God, Hermione."

She stroked his shoulders, his back, whatever she could reach. And if her neck was damp when he lifted his face, there was no one there to see it, no one to tell it, and the secret of it would stay with her forever.

***

Snape watched Hermione as she ascended the steps to the Minister's podium with Black's portrait held awkwardly in her arms. He allowed himself the briefest moment of admiration for her, admiration tinged with awe, tinged with unholy sadness, as he watched his wife who had risen from their bed that morning as if nothing unusual had happened at all.

He had lain there silent and terrified, having no idea what she might expect from him now, or in what further inventive ways he might disappoint and destroy her, hating himself with every hushed breath both for what he had done and what he had not done the night before, while she rose and carefully untangled her hair with a comb as if he were not there at all.

And now she climbed the steps with her head held high as she had somehow managed to do each day that they had appeared here. He saw her whispered conference with Shacklebolt, saw her nod briefly and fake a smile, watched as she returned to the floor. Their eyes locked for a moment, and though her expression did not change, he felt somehow pierced by her gaze, and he looked away.

And so it began again, every day exactly the same, with Shacklebolt standing before them like some absurd and colourful bird. He spread his wings.

"The court has verified the marriage documents of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. It seems that they were wed in the Headmaster's Office of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the nineteenth of September, nineteen ninety-six, on the evening of Miss Granger's seventeenth birthday. The ceremony was performed and witnessed by Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody. The court intends to begin its questioning with former Hogwarts Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black, who was present for both the planning and execution of the marriage between Mr Snape and Miss Granger."

Black's portrait was propped improbably against the Minister's podium, and Black himself looked both terribly pleased and a trifle nervous.

"Please state your name for the court."

"Phineas Nigellus Black."

"Were you present at the wedding of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger?"

"At the time of their marriage, I had been deceased for seventy-one years. However, I was present as a portrait in the office of the Headmaster."

"Indeed," Shacklebolt said, looking a bit annoyed already. "In your estimation, did Mr Snape and Miss Granger enter the state of matrimony by choice?"

"Well, no one held them at wand point, if that is what you are asking," Black said.

"Were they joined in matrimony because of some previous indiscretion?"

"Certainly not!" Black said. "Severus Snape would never tarnish the good name of the Slytherin house by consorting with a student. He was urged to go through with it by Albus Dumbledore."

"For what purpose?"

Black craned his neck, but he could not see Dumbledore's portrait, as it hung behind him. "Dumbledore had several reasons."

"Do I need to remind you that you are no longer bound to keep Albus Dumbledore's or Severus Snape's secrets under the Headmaster's Oath?"

"No, no, I simply felt that perhaps Dumbledore's reasoning would best be explained by the man himself. Anything I say is bound to be a paraphrase of his intent--"

Shacklebolt seemed to relent. "At this time, it will suffice to say that Dumbledore asked Snape to marry Miss Granger."

"Yes," Black said, clearly relieved.

"And Miss Granger?"

"It was presented to her as an option."

"Just an option? She was not coerced in any way?"

"Dumbledore appealed to her... Gryffindor sensibilities," Black said with a slight sneer. "But he did not force her."

"She agreed of her own free will?"

"In fact, at the end, she convinced Snape."

"Snape was reluctant?"

"Snape--Professor Snape, that is--was concerned for her honor."

"I see. But eventually they both agreed."

"Yes. And Professor Dumbledore and Alastor Moody performed the bonding spells."

"Were you witness to any futher interactions between Snape and Miss Granger?"

"I did not see Professor and Madam Snape together again until the very end of the war. However, I acted as their go-between for the year that Madam Snape was in hiding." Once again, Snape was tempted to smile at the obvious pride Black took in the statement.

"That is very interesting. Can you give the court an example of the type of message passed between Mr Snape and Miss Granger?"

"Madam Snape would occasionally inform the Headmaster of where she and Harry Potter had been, that he might give seemingly useful information to," he dropped his voice, "Voldemort."

"Indeed? Miss Granger informed him of her location?"

"At first she only told him where she had been. But there came a time when she began to share her current location."

"When was that?"

"After Christmas Eve."

"Can you give the court a reason for this change?"

"Madam Snape and Mr Potter visited Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve, where they were accosted by the... Dark Lord. As I understand it, Professor Snape was barely able to warn her away in time to save their lives. After that, she consistently supplied him with their location."

"To your knowledge, did Snape ever visit Miss Granger while she was in hiding?"

"I know of only one time, though there may have been more."

"Can you be more specific?"

"New Year's Day. The Headmaster traveled to the Forest of Dean to deliver the sword of Gryffindor to Harry Potter."

"He brought them the sword of Gryffindor? But how is that possible? The sword of Gryffindor was supposed to be in the Lestrange's vault in Gringotts."

"Professor Snape made a very convincing copy of the sword, which was indeed stored in the Lestrange's vault. The true sword he hid inside the Headmaster's Office."

"Fascinating," Shacklebolt said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "He delivered a weapon to Harry Potter."

Black gave a self-satisfied smile. "Yes."

"How would you characterize the interactions you witnessed between Snape and Miss Granger?"

"After the initial interaction, you mean?"

"Yes, after their marriage."

Black seemed to stare at Snape for some time before he answered. "Friendly."

"Friendly?"

Black looked directly at Snape and said nothing. The silence grew long, and it seemed that Shacklebolt was about to repeat the question when Snape twitched his head very slightly in the affirmative. Black took a deep breath and answered, "It was obvious to me that they had great mutual regard."

"Can you give an example?"

"After the incident at Godric's Hollow, Professor Snape returned to the office badly injured. In fact, he was delirious with blood loss. However, his very first action, before even tending his wounds, was to ascertain the safety of Madam Snape."

"And Miss Granger?"

"She had been calling into the portrait for hours looking for him."

"Do you believe that Severus Snape shared the intelligence that he received from Hermione Granger with the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

"I was not privy to Professor Snape's meetings with the... Voldemort. However, in his interactions with Albus Dumbledore, Professor Snape was extremely protective both of Madam Snape and the information he received from her. I have no reason to believe that he shared anything more than was necessary in order to remain a spy."

"You believe Snape to have been a spy for the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I witnessed hundreds of conversations between Professor Snape and Dumbledore. I am absolutely certain of it."

"I see. The court may call on you again in the future to testify to the interactions between Snape and Dumbledore. However, this concludes our current line of questioning. Thank you for your time, Professor Black."

"Certainly," Black replied haughtily. "Would it be possible to return me to the house of my ancestors at this time? It has been... unpleasant... traveling about the country in a handbag."

"The court sympathizes with your discomfort, but you will be asked to remain here for the duration of the trial. Afterward, we will make arrangements to return you to the Black family home."

"Thank you," Black said, sounding full of affronted dignity as his portrait was carried away.

"The court calls Hermione Granger to testify," Shacklebolt said, and Snape felt every muscle in his body tense as if he had suddenly been struck. He turned his head sharply to look at her as she rose from her seat in the witness's area. She looked calm, if pale.

"Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to move to the center of the courtroom."

Hermione shot Shacklebolt a dubious look, but strode to the center of the room. She stood on Snape's left side, less than an arm's length away, and faced the Minister. He felt the oddest urge to take her hand, to fortify her for whatever was coming, though such a thing would be ridiculous even if he were not chained to his chair.

"Miss Granger, were you coerced into marrying Severus Snape?"

Hermione paused, and Snape felt his throat tighten.

"I was not."

"You are testifying that as a sixth year student, you wished to marry your Potions professor?"

"I am testifying that I was not coerced into doing so. I was asked, and I agreed. Wishing, as you say, had nothing to do with it."

"You say you were asked. Who did the asking? Did Severus Snape propose the idea to you?"

"He did not. Professor Dumbledore requested my services as part of a plan."

"The court is interested to hear the details of Albus Dumbledore's plan, but we will focus, for the moment, on your marriage. Did you feel pressured to go through with the ceremony?"

"I did not."

"Miss Granger, if you will forgive me, your story seems unlikely. You were a student presented with a plan that included being irrevocably bound to a much older man, and yet you insist you were not pressured to take part?"

"Nor was I pressured to accompany Harry Potter on his quest to destroy Voldemort. It was wartime. I did what was necessary."

"I see. Miss Granger, you are well aware, I'm sure, that I cannot undo the bonding spell between yourself and Mr Snape. A wizarding marriage cannot be undone, per se. However, there are spells that can override--"

"That will not be necessary."

"Miss Granger, you have behaved with the utmost grace, but the wizarding world cannot ask you to continue your life hindered by what you yourself have called a plan made in wartime. A simple check at St Mungos would be all that is needed to--"

"Severus Snape has never shown me the least impropriety," Hermione said hotly, and Snape felt color rising to his cheeks against his will, and her words from the night before echoed in his mind. You think I would let them in here? You think I would not guard this with my life?

"In extreme cases such as these, Miss Granger, the check could be overlooked. An Unspeakable could be called to perform the spell--"

"No."

"Miss Granger, there is no need for this; the court sees your loyalty to--"

"For the last time, no. And if you will please show me the respect of calling me by my proper name, Minister Shacklebolt."

Snape had been unable to look at her face throughout the exchange. Partly this was because of where she stood, and partly it was because he feared what he would see in her eyes. So he trained his gaze on Shacklebolt and was pleased when the man seemed to take a full step back in the face of her anger.

"Of course. One more question, if you will. Was there anyone else--anyone at all--who knew of your marriage besides Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody?"

Hermione was silent for a moment. "The Hogwarts house-elf called Dobby knew, but he died while rescuing us from Malfoy Manor," she said quietly. "And, then, too, I think, Luna Lovegood."

"A house-elf was entrusted with your secret?"

"Dobby was my husband's preferred house-elf," Hermione said, "and he was my friend. We did not have to tell him. He could see our rings."

"You wear a magical ring?"

From the corner of his eye, Snape could see Hermione removing the circlet from her finger and holding it up to the court.

Shacklebolt nodded slowly. Snape held his breath as she replaced the ring on her finger.

"I see. The court calls Luna Lovegood to testify. Thank you, Miss--Madam Snape, you may be seated."

Snape felt as if someone had just hit him with a particularly strong Sapping Curse as Hermione and Miss Lovegood crossed in front of him. He could not explain the maelstrom of emotions that attended her testimony; he felt rocked with fury and elation and something that he could or would not name, something pale and delicate. They had given her an escape route, and she had not taken it.

"Miss Lovegood, please tell the court how you learned of the marriage of Hermione Granger and Severus Snape."

"From the newspaper," the Lovegood girl said dreamily. "I'm sure you saw it. It was that dreadful article by Rita Skeeter. Of course, you never can trust what you read in the Daily Prophet. I wasn't absolutely sure it was true until I saw Hermione with the document yesterday."

"Forgive me, Miss Lovegood, if the court has called you in error. You are testifying that you did not know of their marriage during the war?"

"Oh, I knew that they were partners. I just didn't know they were married."

"And how did you know that Mr Snape and Miss Granger were partners?"

"Because after Malfoy Manor--after Professor Snape sent Dobby to rescue me--he came to Shell Cottage to heal Hermione. He knew where to find her."

"You believe that Severus Snape sent a house-elf to rescue you from Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes. He found me there, and he sent Dobby to get Mr Ollivander and me."

"Interesting."

"Yes, I thought so. I hadn't realized he was on our side until then."

"And you say he came to Shell Cottage to heal Miss Granger?"

"Yes, he was very agitated when I found him. He couldn't see the house, you know, so he couldn't find her. I imagine he was thinking all sorts of terrible things about what might have happened to her."

"How did he heal Miss Granger if he couldn't see the house?"

"I took him inside."

"You led a Death Eater into the Fideliused home of an Order member?"

"Oh, no. I would never do that. But Professor Snape isn't a Death Eater."

"Miss Lovegood, you heard his testimony yourself."

"You can use whatever words you like, I suppose. But no Death Eater would have sent help for me just so he could look like a spy. I'm not anyone. I'm not Harry Potter or Hermione Granger. But he came back for me, just the same."

Snape turned to look at the willowy girl beside him, and he was shocked by the force of his memory of Shell Cottage, of her small white hand reaching for his in the dark. Shacklebolt allowed for another of his heavy silences.

"Thank you for your testimony, Miss Lovegood. You may return to your seat. The court continues to be interested in information that may or may not have been passed by Severus Snape to the Death Eaters," Shacklebolt intoned. "To that end, we will call several other witnesses..."

Luna Lovegood touched his arm lightly, as she had in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, as she passed him on her way back to her seat. Her fingers barely grazed his sleeve, and yet he felt burned by her gesture, and the pale yellow feeling rose up inside him again. He looked at Hermione.

Kreacher was called to the center of the court and asked about breaches of security at Grimmauld Place as Severus Snape stared at his wife. Hermione watched Kreacher and the Minster, her eyes dancing between them as if she were watching a rather intricate game of chess. He wondered how much of this she had planned, whose chess game this was. But it did not matter. What she asked of him, he would do. For a moment, that seemed very certain, and he wished he could cross the room and tell it to her. Whatever she asked.

And then he glanced at Dumbledore, who sat, pretending to doze, in his portrait. The sight of the old man seemed to dampen the strange feeling in his chest. No matter what was said here today, the witches and wizards gathered behind the Minister waited for one thing only.

As if the man had read Snape's mind, Tiberius Ogden cut Shacklebolt off in the midst of a question about the deterring enchantments placed on the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

"How long will we be asked to sit here listening to the ramblings of portraits, children, and house-elves? I recognize that you are new to the position, Minister Shacklebolt, but this court does not have all year to consider this case. Tell us, when do you plan on questioning Severus Snape about the murder of Albus Dumbledore?"