"Kidnapping, Murder, High Treason against the Ministry of Magic, Dark Magic including, but not limited to, the use of all three Unforgiveables, occasionally against Aurors, children, Muggles, and government wizards, the use of potions illegal in thirty-six countries, also against children, Aurors, and Ministry officials, Conspiracy to commit Murder, Theft of Private and Government Property, Destruction of Private and Government Property, Willful complicity in crimes including, but not limited to, Murder, Arson, Theft, and Rape…"

The voice rolled out into the silent courtroom, cataloguing the list of crimes.

"The Defendant, Severus Snape, being placed under the influence of Veritaserum, is hereby charged to answer whether he is guilty of these crimes."

Silence, from the man slumped in the chair.

"I repeat, Severus Snape: you have been charged to answer whether or not you are guilty."

Still there was no answer; no movement. Rustles of disbelief began to move along the edges of the courtroom; rustles that agreed wholeheartedly with the viciously gleeful tone in the examiner's voice as he continued:

"If you do not answer, the court will be forced to accept your silence as an admission of guilt, and contempt of court will be added to the list of charges."

The man still didn't move.

Up in the stands – usually empty, despite the new Ministerial decree that all war trials would be open to the public, but packed today as they had never been before – a red-headed young man slammed his fist into the seat in front of him.

"Bloody stupid git!"

"Why doesn't he say something?" said the equally red-haired young woman next to him, leaning forward to crane fiercely towards the witness stands. "Harry said…"

"Severus Snape," said the voice of the examiner, over the increasingly loud mutterings from the crowd, "you have thirty seconds in which to give us an answer, or…"

"Oh, I can't look!" A bushy-haired witch sitting on his other side buried her face in the red-head's shoulder; she had tears in her eyes. "Ron, it's too awful…"

"Seven…six…five…four…"

Finally, for the first time, the dark head moved, then lifted-

"Go to hell," said Severus Snape, and the courtroom erupted into chaos.

It had to be Dumbledore, was Snape's first thought, when the excruciating pain spreading from his shoulder first made him aware he wasn't dead. It had to be Dumbledore, because no one but a Gryffindor would be so damn callous as to leave him alive.

He had opened his eyes to find pearly wetness dripping down the front of his robes, from the eyes of the red bird perched on the table where Nagini had lain. Snape lay there and thought about the bird and Grindlewald and immortality and Horcruxes, and then, slowly, sat up.

"If you're expecting me to cut off my right hand to get you another body, you're going to be disappointed," he warned the phoenix.

It fluttered forward, and for one terrifying moment he thought it was going to stay with him, but then it turned and launched out the window, with a small soft cry that sent joy and agony alike shooting through his heart until he nearly wept, thinking of the sweet, final oblivion of death that he had lost…

It occurred to Snape, watching it dip down for a drink of water in the lake – and perhaps it really was only a bird, after all – that Harry Potter was probably dead by now. One Horcrux, one boy, and twenty years of punishing work and frustration and hatred so strong it nearly blinded him, successfully destroyed. One chance of redemption, gone.

Someone should probably be doing something about killing the Dark Lord. He should probably be doing something about killing the Dark Lord.

Snape couldn't find it in himself to care. Not about death. Not about Tom Riddle's death. But his own death, and Harry Potter's death, oh, that was another story entirely…

His fingers went, automatically, to the sleeve of his left robe, a sick sense of duty coercing his movements even now, even now…

The Mark was gone.

It was over.

He had nothing to do.

Nothing to do, for the first time in his life, for the first time that he could remember. Nothing to do but lie here, thinking, and try to forget…

Snape wondered how long it would be before somebody came to find him. If anyone would ever come and find him, or if, if he kept lying here, the roof of the shack would someday give way and come to rest gently, finally, around his bones…

Bill Weasley, left arm bound in a sling, shoved his way against the crowds leaving the courtroom towards his brother and sister.

"We got a postponement," he said briskly, responding to the unasked question in Hermione's eyes. "They're going to put off finishing the hearing until next April, two months from today…"

"What's going to happen in the meantime?" asked Ginny, standing on tiptoe to look after the witnesses leaving the box.

"Probation." At the blank expressions on Ginny's and Ron's faces, and the shocked look on Hermione's, he elaborated: "He's allowed to go free, rather than being held in Azkaban – Harry pushed real hard for that. But he's stripped of magical privileges until the next hearing. He'll be under surveillance by the Ministry – well, by us, really –and he's forbidden to use a wand…"

"Well, that's not much of a loss, seeing how he hasn't got one anyway," said Ron brightly, and Hermione turned to glare at him.

"I think it's horrible. He's being treated like a criminal-"

"Honestly, it's been hell trying to get him even that," said Bill frankly. "If it wasn't for Harry, we'd never have gotten a second hearing in the first place. Well…you saw what he was like today. And he was Headmaster of Hogwarts, when…"

"It wasn't his fault! Harry and Ginny and Neville told them-"

"I know he's supposed to be innocent, Hermione; we've all heard Harry's story. I know he probably did all he could, but – well – it's different when it's your children."

The other three looked at him stonily. Bill shuffled his feet. "Look, I've got to hurry over to Courthouse Three before the recess is over. Mum's case is coming up soon…"

Molly Weasley, mother, housewife, and the kindest woman any of them had ever known, was also scheduled to go on trial that morning for murdering in cold blood the Death Eater who threatened her daughter.

It did change things, when it was your children.

Looking at the dark eyed crowds streaming past around them, Hermione wondered if the sentence had been so lenient after all. Some of Voldemort's supporters were still at large; there had been an attack on some Muggles the previous week, and Ginny still woke her up some nights with screaming nightmares about her last year at Hogwarts. And to turn the man loose among these crowds, without a wand for protection…

Where was he going to go?

Snape was grimly indifferent towards the sentence. As soon as he found out they were going to make him survive, he no longer cared what they did with him. The indignity of being forced to live as a Muggle was nothing compared to the fact that he was being rescued by Harry-bloody-Potter, hero, apparently, of the entire Wizarding world. He endured the congratulations and the open speculation and pity and concern for his health, and dutifully ate the bowl of soup somebody shoved into his hands. But when Molly Weasley (newly freed) started suggesting that he should stay at the Burrow (Won't it be wonderful! And he can have Charlie's old room-) he stood up, mechanically put on the suit Potter had bought for him – the only Muggle clothing he had worn since First Year – and slipped quietly, unnoticed, into the night.

He had to live. He'd accepted that. But he damned well didn't have to make it easy for them.