Phoenix Fire (or, Hermione Granger and the Elder Wand), Chapter Two: To the Manor Born.
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters that populate this story are the property of the incomparably talented and infinitely generous J.K. Rowling. I am thankful to Ms. Rowling for her stories, and for her admirable open mindedness on the subject of fanfiction.
I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute.
Thanks are due, once again, to Ari, who doesn't just read this crazy story and give me the benefit of her advice, but also inspires me to be a better teacher, thinker and writer of thoughtful words (happy birthday!).
Once Poppy gave him permission to leave his sickbed and move around, Severus made his way down into the basement of Spinner's End. There he had a rudimentary lab and a stockpile of the most common potions ingredients. Poppy was also obliging enough to fetch the few necessary items he lacked from the Hogwarts stores—Boomslang skin, Niffler blood platelets and pre-stewed Lacewing flies. Thus equipped, he spent a peaceful four hours brewing.
The complexities of the Paternity Potion were enough to keep his mind from dwelling on the unwelcome sight of Hermione Granger hand-in-hand with Ronald Weasley, or the two of them squashed in the armchair across from his couch, and while he did suffer the occasional twinge of anxiety as to what the results of the potion would prove, logic reassured him that Jocelyn Smith was an unlikely Malfoy. He'd made the story up; the possibility that it would turn out to be true were slim indeed.
When complete, the potion was a deep burgundy, like fine wine, and Severus bottled it carefully. The mixture gave enough for half a dozen doses, and as a Class F tradable substance, he would be able to sell all that remained for a tidy profit.
In consultation with Jocelyn, Vector (who'd agreed to run the necessary Arithmantic component) and Kingsley, Severus turned up at Malfoy Manor the day after Fred Weasley's funeral, at three o'clock precisely. Fawkes deposited him just outside the gates. The foolish bird seemed to believe he was doing Severus a favour by transporting him around the country, but luckily, Severus managed to convince the phoenix to wait for him outside. Things with Lucius were going to be strained enough as it was.
Since the Malfoys were under house arrest it was no shock to see the pair of Aurors on guard at either side of the wrought iron gates. Vector and Jocelyn had arrived before him and they stood to one side. Jocelyn had been bold enough to turn up in Muggle attire—presumably to irritate Lucius, or, at the least, to mark her difference from the Malfoy family in the most obvious and visible manner. Kingsley arrived within minutes, and, to Severus' surprise, he'd brought his sister with him. It was a long time since Severus had met her and he spent several seconds racking his brain in an attempt to remember her name.
"Severus! I'm glad you could make it. You remember my sister, Kaleisha, of course?"
"Of course," Severus sketched a half bow towards the woman and her wheelchair. She nodded back. "I hadn't realised you planned to return to England," he added.
"Well, with my little brother as Minister for Magic, the political climate was suddenly much more inviting than it had been before."
"Kaleisha has been kind enough to move back here from New York and oversee the reform of the Wizengamot. She thinks it past time that we applied due legal process to our court cases."
Severus smiled politely at both Shacklebolts, noting the fond expression Kingsley wore as he looked at his sister. If she hadn't been one of the world's leading experts in magical ethics, the whole situation would have reeked of nepotism; as it was, though, any critic would seem merely petty. Almost dispassionately, Severus wondered what consequences her reforms would have on the Malfoys' future: if Lucius intended to buy their way out of trouble, Kaleisha might pose serious problems, yet if he pleaded for leniency, she might prove his saviour. No doubt her presence today was meant to deliver the message that the Wizengamot was no longer susceptible to the injection of copious quantities of cash.
Kingsley spoke with one of the guards, and after each of them displayed their wands and was waved over by a Secrecy Sensor they were let through the gates. With both Kingsley and Kaleisha in traditional African robes—including, in Kaleisha's case, a large, brightly patterned headscarf—Severus in his usual black, Vector in a noticeably shabby teaching gown, and Jocelyn's cut-off jeans and t-shirt, they made an odd group.
As they made their way up the long, winding driveway, Vector and Kaleisha made polite conversation. Save that and the whirring of Kaleisha's wheels, there was very little noise. The closer they got to the house, the deeper Jocelyn's scowl grew.
"Sir," she inquired abruptly within sight of the imposing front door, "you made the potion right, didn't you?"
If she hadn't been so visibly nervous, Severus would have ignored such an impertinent question. As it was, he raised an eyebrow.
"I see that your teenaged teacher in Bulgaria has raised your potioneering standards so dramatically that a mere Potions Master will no longer suffice."
Her eyes widened dramatically at the tone of his voice. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, thoroughly penitent. "I didn't mean that! It's just . . . I just want it to work." She pulled a face and picked nervously at a the threads on the hem of her shorts.
Jocelyn clearly hadn't enjoyed her time as a Malfoy.
"I guarantee that the results will be accurate; what the result will be depends on the blood sample."
Jocelyn nodded her understanding as they got to the wide marble steps of the entrance hall. Kaleisha, Severus was interested to note, merely flicked a switch on the armrest of her wheelchair in order to navigate the stairs. Her chair sprouted an extra two pairs of wheels and used the triangular arrangement to step its way up without any noticeable trouble. Moments later, Kingsley rapped on the front door. Practically instantaneously, it was opened by a wizened house-elf who bowed deeply and waved them inside.
Lucius had the gall—or the poor taste—to receive them in the purple drawing room, where the carcass of the chandelier still testified to the carnage it had recently witnessed. It was an odd choice of location, and Severus wasn't clear whether Lucius meant to demonstrate his dedication to Voldemort's cause or the extent to which his family estate had suffered under the Dark Lord's occupation. Either way, for Severus it called up Granger's torture under Lucius' watch, and a sudden wave of fury caught in his throat.
"Severus!" enthused Narcissa, rising gracefully at his appearance in the doorway and gliding over to take his hand. "It is always a pleasure to see you; you should come more frequently."
"I'm afraid I've been a trifle under the weather," he replied deadpan. He didn't need to add: Lucius sent me to my death. They were Slytherins, they would understand the inference.
Pulling his hand free from her grip, he stalked over to the dining table, nodding a greeting at Draco as he crossed the room. Jocelyn followed closely on his heels, refusing to greet Lucius, who attempted to catch her eye, but gracing Draco with a quick glance. Severus removed the small phial of deep red potion and placed it on the table.
Vector spent several minutes being far more polite than Severus had, greeting everyone before making her way over to stand at his side. She pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and placed it beside the Paternity Potion. Pulling a new quill from her pocket she offered it to Kaleisha and Kingsley.
"As our objective observers, I assume that one of you would like to trim this?"
Kingsley supplied a penknife from a deep pocket and obligingly did the deed. Then the fresh, newly sharpened quill was laid on the paper.
Severus glanced around the room. Vector, as was her wont, was smiling benignly; Jocelyn was frowning; the Shacklebolts looked polite, but also dangerous. The Malfoys senior were projecting the kind of suave urbanity they were famed for, but Draco looked anxious.
"Shall we begin?" he asked, addressing himself to the room in general. When everyone took a step closer to the table, Severus uncorked the bottle of potion and gestured at Jocelyn and then Lucius with his wand. "I will need samples of your blood."
"I give it willingly," intoned Lucius obediently, rolling back his sleeve. Though his voice sounded calm, Severus felt the sudden shock of knowing that the man was nervous. And so he should be: a lot was riding on this result. For Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eater, a Muggle-born daughter who'd fought on the winning side dangled like a priceless asset. If she wasn't his, he might be able to salvage some credit merely for having adopted a "Mudblood" Slytherin, but the two possibilities promised vastly different consequences.
"I give mine willingly, too," added Jocelyn, proffering the inside of her arm. Her jaw was set.
There is almost no chance they will turn out to be related, Severus hurried to reassure himself. And once that's proven, once and for all, then I'll— He shut that thought down instantly. Time enough to dwell on that later.
Despite his resolve, as he pressed the tip of his wand to the crook of Jocelyn's arm, he couldn't help but think of the day they'd spent together in Diagon Alley. He heard her voice echoing in the spaces of his memory: "Daddy."
Firming his mouth into a thin line, Severus siphoned several drops of blood from Jocelyn and then Lucius and added both samples to the phial of potion. Resealing it, he twisted the container three times clockwise, and once in the counter direction. That done, he thumbed the cork off once again, and stepped back to allow Vector access to the liquid.
Vector smiled encouragingly at Jocelyn before dipping her quill. The equation itself was fairly simple, and Severus would have been more than capable of performing this part of the process as well. For official purposes, though, it was better to separate the two halves of the procedure.
The room was so tense with anticipation that the scratch of Vector's pen held everyone's attention as she wrote across the parchment. The magic itself was simple: if the potion was brewed correctly—as this one was—and if the two blood samples proved a paternal match, the equation would solve at 100%. Anything less would indicate a blood relationship of some other degree; zero revealed a lack of genetic match.
"Are we ready?" inquired Vector, having laid down the quill and drawn her wand. She held it with the tip barely an eighth of an inch from the surface of the parchment.
"Go ahead," encouraged Kingsley. The urgency in his voice indicated that he, too, had caught the anticipation that hung heavy in the air.
"Solutio."
As Vector spoke, the equation shimmered and solved; the answer appeared at the far edge of the parchment.
Somebody gasped. Not Severus: he was speechless, the blood pounding in his ears.
"My daughter!" marvelled Lucius, a genuinely happy smile on his face. Draco, standing behind him, looked torn between relief and concern.
"No!" exclaimed Jocelyn. "It can't be! He's not my father!"
"The result holds," responded Kaleisha, not without sympathy, but her voice was firm.
Narcissa was staring at Jocelyn with frank surprise. "I always wanted a daughter," she said in an odd voice.
Jocelyn stared at her in horror. "No!" she reiterated. "It's not fair." Pulling her wand from the pocket of her shorts, she held it out in a familiar pose, point downwards. She cast a desperate glance at Snape. "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy," she announced, "you are no father of mine!"
Snape reached out and grasped the hilt of her wand, closing his hand around hers and interrupting her. "It won't work," he informed her gently.
"But—"
"It won't work until you come of age, Jocelyn. If that were not the case, we'd have teenage witches and wizards disowning their parents during every bout of pre-pubescent angst."
Jocelyn let out a long breath; she looked deflated, and—for a moment—her lower lip trembled. "What can I do?" she asked Snape, looking up at him as if he could solve everything.
And yet he couldn't solve this. This was a mess of his own making: if Severus hadn't been so keen to keep Jocelyn nearby, he might not have lost her now. The realisation was like bitter ashes in his throat.
Before he could think of a suitable response, Vector interrupted.
"For the moment, Jocelyn," she interpolated smoothly, "I suggest you choose a guardian. Mr Malfoy here has proven to be your legal father, which makes Mrs Malfoy your adoptive mother, but since they're both currently confined under house arrest and you are not, you will require a guardian—at least until their present situation is resolved."
"I believe, Madam," interjected Lucius icily, "that the choice of guardian is mine!"
"Doctor," replied Vector—smiling still, but with an edge Severus had never seen before.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Doctor, or Professor; but not Madam."
Lucius' eyes widened, and Severus wondered when the irritating, pompous man had last been called out for a social solecism.
"Regardless of your correct title, Professor," he snarled, "legally, the choice of guardian belongs to me."
"In theory Mr Malfoy is correct—although, only in consultation with his wife," noted Kaleisha, "for, correct me if I am wrong, she filed for full parental rights when the paternity claim was lodged with the Ministry?"
"Indeed I did," confirmed Narcissa.
"Under the current circumstances," continued Kaleisha, gracing Narcissa with a smile, "any designated guardian will also need the consent of a representative of the Magical Law Enforcement department."
"How convenient," noted Kingsley. "Kaleisha had her MLE qualifications renewed earlier today. I suggest that we take this opportunity to appoint a guardian who is acceptable to all interested parties—there included Miss Jocelyn Malfoy, as well as both her parents."
Kingsley was, Severus was obliged to concede, a masterful manipulator.
"I would like to suggest Severus," stated Narcissa promptly. Turning her eyes towards him, she reached out and took hold of his arm. "You have always protected our family, Severus. You're the logical choice."
Severus swallowed, his throat too dry to speak. Narcissa's words poured salt onto a wound so fresh he hadn't yet managed to secure his defences.
"Mr Malfoy?" asked Kaleisha. "Are you in agreement with your wife on this matter, or would you like to propose another candidate?"
Severus turned his eyes towards Lucius; the two men held each others gaze for a long, charged moment. Lucius blinked first.
Turning towards Kaleisha, Lucius gave a formal half bow. "Severus would be perfectly acceptable," he informed her.
"Miss Malfoy?" she asked next.
Jocelyn looked as if she might complain about the appellation, but she, too, turned towards Severus. "Professor Snape would be perfect," she said at last, arms folded over her chest.
Kaleisha smiled. "Severus Snape," she remarked, "your candidacy is perfectly acceptable to the Ministry; are you willing to accept this responsibility?"
Severus hesitated before answering, though he knew—as well as anyone present—exactly what his response would be. He stood, however, and considered the Malfoys—all four of them, and their pale blond hair. He noted Draco's watchful grey eyes, and Jocelyn's upset blue ones. For the first time, he saw the many ways in which her distressed expression mirrored Lucius'; the way that her narrow chin and the shape of her mouth were like his, just softer and smaller.
What a ridiculous situation.
"I will," he replied finally.
His agreement sparked a flurry of activity, as Kingsley and Kaleisha pulled out copies of the official paperwork and it was filled out, signed, sealed and witnessed.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Vector, smiling as the papers were tucked away. "I'm glad that was so easily arranged to everyone's satisfaction."
"Draco," said Jocelyn, her clear voice cutting across the hum of conversation, "I'm happy to have you as a brother."
With a disdainful look at her legal parents, and a fleeting grimace that might have counted as a goodbye aimed at the Shacklebolts and Vector, she strode out of the room. Her skinny white legs and the frayed edges of her denim shorts looked farcically incongruous against the opulent doorway that framed her departure.
"You will excuse me," said Severus, seizing the chance to bow and then leave. "My responsibilities call."
Draco lifted a hand in farewell, but no-one made to stop Severus as he strode after Jocelyn, his robes billowing behind him. He found her less than one hundred metres from the front doors, seated on a white marble bench and sobbing furiously, her head buried in her lap.
"Here," he said brusquely, offering her a handkerchief.
She took it with an audible sniff and blew her nose loudly. "It's not fair!" she exclaimed. "I wanted . . . I wanted it to be you."
Severus sank down onto the bench beside her and stared out into the lush foliage of the Malfoy estate.
"Jocelyn," he said heavily. He wanted to tell her that he'd hoped that, too; he wanted to rage at the irony of a world where—even in defeat—Lucius Malfoy managed to keep hold of everything that was precious, while Severus had nothing, just empty hands clutching desperately at grains of slippery sand. "We can't choose our fathers," he stated eventually. "But we don't have to let them define us, either."
Jocelyn pulled in a shaky breath and sighed deeply. Then she straightened her shoulders and dried her eyes. There was a new, determined expression on her face. Severus watched her tuck his handkerchief into her pocket and get resolutely to her feet.
"Right," she stated firmly. "I'm ready to go home now. Could you take me back to Hogwarts?"
Severus was happy to comply.
At the express request of the defendants and of several key witnesses, the Malfoy trials began just over a week later. Draco was first.
When Severus arrived, the courtroom was packed. He saw Molly sitting up the back next to Augusta Longbottom, running one hand self consciously down the lapel of her new Wizengamot robes—it had taken nearly four hours and a fair quantity of Firewhisky for Minerva to override all of Molly's insecurities and to convince her that, with her youngest two children due to graduate from Hogwarts this year, even Madam Weasley would have plenty of time and energy to invest outside of the house. He saw the golden trio, sitting together. Granger's hand sat in the crook of Weasley's arm, and Severus turned quickly the other way. Rita Skeeter waved a hand decked with long, fake pink nails to catch his attention, but Severus looked beyond her to where Hooch jerked a thumb at an empty seat and he scaled the benches to slip in beside her.
"Did you see the young Malfoy girl?" she asked, grinning.
"No, why?"
"Have a look at her t-shirt." Hooch gestured with her head towards the front of the room.
Following her eyes, Severus spied Jocelyn in conversation with Kaleisha Shacklebolt. She wore a green shirt emblazoned with the phrase "Mudblood Pride" in large, golden letters.
"Good grief."
"Bloody brilliant if you ask me. I like her!" exclaimed Hooch gleefully
"You would." Severus crossed his arms and frowned. "Subtlety never was your strong point."
It took another fifteen minutes before the room was settled and Draco was brought in. He looked particularly young sitting in chains before the huge crowd.
Kaleisha, who had been appointed High Inquisitor of the Wizengamot, read out the charges, marshalled the witnesses and asked questions whenever she thought the Interrogators had failed to do so appropriately. Draco pleaded guilty to the charge of voluntarily joining a known terrorist organisation, and of aiding and abetting in the murder of Albus Dumbledore; he pleaded not guilty to a range of other, lesser crimes.
Severus sat with his hands tightly clenched inside his long sleeves. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Jocelyn and he himself had testified in Draco's defence. Surely, he told himself, not for the first time, four such celebrated war heroes will be enough. As each of them in turn attested to Draco's remorse, and detailed his efforts to protect the Boy Who Lived and his friends, Severus wondered how any Wizengamot member present could legitimately regard the young man before them as the epitome of evil. Still, when the court pronounced his sentence—eighteen months good behaviour bond—Severus felt an inordinate sense of relief.
He even smiled at Hooch when she clapped him on the shoulder.
Later that evening, Severus dropped by Malfoy Manor. He was looking for Draco, but upon his arrival an elderly house-elf showed him into a small, wood-panelled office on the second floor. There he found Lucius, drinking alone. While far from drunk, Mr Malfoy senior had reached a loquacious state and was evidently relieved to have company. Without further ado Severus found himself seated in a velvet wingchair with a tumbler of Firewhisky pressed into one hand. The house-elf who had shown him in disappeared with a sharp crack.
"Please, Lucius," mocked the man of the same name, dropping his voice to imitate Severus' deeper tones. "I'm a Slytherin. If I were to betray you, I wouldn't tell you about it."
So, reflected Severus, that's the way it's going to be. He swallowed a mouthful of liquor in place of a reply.
"Such carefully chosen words, Severus," commented Lucius more normally. "It's odd to think that Bellatrix was right about you."
Severus hummed noncommittally. For several long seconds, there was silence; Severus swallowed another long, slow mouthful of Firewhisky and Lucius swirled the liquid in his glass.
"Why?" Lucius asked at last, looking up and into the fire.
Severus sighed. "There was a time," he replied slowly, staring at the smoky coils in his own glass, "when I confused my hatred for my Muggle father with a hatred of Muggles. Soon afterwards, I realised I was wrong."
"How soon afterwards?"
"Very soon."
There was another lengthy silence, broken only when Lucius sighed.
"I suppose you think I should thank you," commented Lucius at last.
Involuntarily, Severus stiffened, and his grip on his Firewhisky tightened.
"For saving Draco, I mean," Lucius added.
I would have saved you, too, you fool, Severus wanted to say. "No," is what he said.
"Do you realise," asked Lucius, still looking into the fireplace, "that both of my children have more respect for you than they do for me?"
How odd. Lucius—Lucius goddamn Abraxas Malfoy—was jealous of him. Once again Severus found himself completely blindsided by the turn the conversation had taken.
"Have you ever wanted kids, Severus?"
Yes.
After a moment, Severus managed to say it: "Yes," and congratulated himself for achieving such a neutral tone.
"When you don't have children, it's easy to imagine what being a father is like. You picture the scene as one of familial love: boundless pleasure and joy, pride in your offspring. But the truth is, which no-one ever tells you, that the essential paternal sentiment is panic. It starts the moment they're born—when that tiny, fragile body is placed in your arms and you can't help but imagine all the ways something could go wrong. You see tragedy and danger in simple acts, such as walking across a room, or flying a broomstick, that previously had been mundane or fun. In your mind's eye you can see the consequences of a slip, or a fall; a slight miscalculation that leaves your child maimed, scarred, dead—or even just disappointed in you."
Lucius paused and took a deep swallow of his drink.
"I really fucked up, Severus."
If anything, the first day of Lucius' trial was even more crowded that Draco's had been. Once again, Jocelyn was seated in the front row in her "Mudblood Pride" t-shirt, although Severus noticed, with a start, that she wasn't alone. Granger and Potter were both sporting similar shirts, as were a number of the Muggle-born students who had spent the last year in Bulgaria. Even Hooch, he noticed as he slipped into a seat beside her, was wearing a "Mudblood Pride" badge.
"Good morning, Severus," said Poppy warmly from Hooch's other side.
"You should get yourself a badge," remarked Hooch.
"Absolutely not. I used that word once and I never intend to do so again."
"I could charm it for you so that it read 'Half-Blood Prince,' if you prefer," offered Hooch blandly.
Severus glared at her.
"What do you think of Lucius Malfoy's chances?" asked Poppy, changing the subject adroitly but spoiling the effect slightly when she couldn't help the corner of her mouth twitching up in response to Hooch's teasing comment.
Severus shrugged. "Kaleisha invoked a law that protects him from being tried for the same crime twice, so anything he did or didn't do during VWI is now off the record. They may try charging him with perjury, though. Since he spent most of VWII under virtual house arrest at Malfoy Manor, he may well scrape through."
"They're charging him with material and political support of a terrorist organisation?" asked Poppy.
"Yes," confirmed Severus. "And willingly becoming a member of said organisation."
"I know he's your friend, Severus," commented Hooch, her arms crossed, "but I've never liked him."
Severus was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the defendant. Since the Ministry had—at long last—stopped employing Dementors, Lucius was brought in by two prison guards who led him to the accused's chair and stood by while golden chains wrapped themselves tightly around his arms. One of the guards stepped forward briefly, and relayed some message to Kaleisha Shacklebolt, then the guards moved away to stand back in the far corners of the room and Lucius was left alone in the centre of the floor.
"Good morning," proclaimed Kaleisha loudly. Though she wasn't using the Sonorous Charm, her voice projected clearly even up to the higher levels of the courtroom. "I hereby open the Second Special Session of the British Wizengamot's Investigation into Warcrimes and Related Transgressions (W.A.R.T.). The day is Tuesday, the 20th of May, the time is nine-oh-three a.m. Before we begin today's proceedings, the accused, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, has requested permission to address the court."
At her words, a murmur of conversation welled up. She held up a hand for silence.
"Mr Malfoy?" she prompted, gesturing towards him politely.
"Thank you, High Inquisitor Shacklebolt, for allowing me this opportunity," began Lucius. Though the few weeks that had passed since Voldemort's defeat had allowed the bruises and contusions that marred Lucius' face to heal, his hair was a far cry from the glossy coif with which he would normally address such a crowd. He wore a set of silver robes that were close enough to grey to suggest Azkaban to the discerning observer, yet still cut to suggest his fabulous wealth and flatter his figure. "It would be pointless and dishonest for me to deny that I was once sympathetic to the political goals of Lord Voldemort and his supporters. My arrogance and my pride in the long and decorated history of the Malfoy line led me astray.
"During the first war, a naive political enthusiasm and my misplaced faith in the superiority of so-called pure blood exposed me to situations where I was asked to participate in actions that I found repugnant; those who refused were placed under the Imperius Curse and left to battle forever with the memories of their actions and the guilt they inspired."
Beside Severus, Hooch snorted. "I notice he carefully avoided the claim that he'd actually been Imperiused," she muttered. When Severus shot her a quick glance, she added, "I may have been a Hufflepuff, but I've spent enough time around Slytherins to pay attention to what they actually say."
"Shush!" hushed Poppy, patting Hooch's knee reprovingly.
Hooch placed her hand over the other woman's and obligingly held her tongue.
"When Voldemort returned to power, my situation had changed: I had been marked by him, and thus was controlled by him. No matter where or how far away I might have run, he would have tracked me down. My life was irrevocably subject to his."
Lucius had everyone's attention, though it was impossible to tell how many thought his account of events convincing, how many were dubious. Severus found himself staring at the back of Jocelyn's head and wondering what expression she wore.
"And it wasn't just about me anymore. Lord Voldemort threatened my wife and my son; he threatened my family. While I was imprisoned in Azkaban, he moved into my house. He kept prisoners in my cellar and tortured them on my living room floor. By the time I returned home, I had no option but to comply with his wishes. I took the punishments he handed down in the hope that my wife would escape unscathed. He took my wand, and my wife was forced to give hers to our son when his, too, was taken. Once Draco returned to school, we lived as prisoners in our own home. We had no magic and no way to protect ourselves.
"It was the most horrific period of my entire life, and not just because the man I thought would rescue me from Muggles had practically reduced me to one."
The man was a superlative orator. While Lucius spoke it was easy to forget that he was chained to the chair, or that the crowd had gathered to see him punished rather than solely to hear him speak.
"That young woman there, in the garish political t-shirt, is my daughter. A daughter that I never knew existed, one who was brought up by Muggles. Only because Severus Snape was committed to saving the children under his care from political policies that I, myself, had helped to draft, did I even meet her. That is the irony of this situation—that I, who would have sacrificed everything for my family, almost destroyed part of my family in the process. That horror—successfully averted—is one that I must live with for the rest of my life."
Lucius was, Severus realised, winning. With the exception of Hooch's scowling visage, many of the faces around him were softening in sympathy. He couldn't help but be impressed by the convincing tissue of half-truths and blatant omissions Lucius was weaving and by the expression of contrition on Lucius' handsome face. The trial would play out, as anticipated, over several days, but Severus was willing to bet right now that the man would wiggle free once again.
"Despite everything else that has happened," continued Lucius, "both of my beautiful children are still alive. Not everyone has been so lucky. I want to apologise to every family that has been torn apart by the actions of Voldemort's faction at the Ministry. I am extraordinarily sorry for any part that I might have played—however peripherally or inadvertently—in the enactment of anti-Muggle-born legislation.
"It took my thirteen-year-old daughter to convince me of the folly of my beliefs, but believe me when I say that I would not knowingly do anything that might hurt or limit her in any way. And if I can change, so can the rest of the wizarding world—this, my friends, is my hope for the future."
As Lucius finally came to an end, bowing his head slightly in a gesture intended to signal his remorse, many members of the assembled crowd applauded. Severus wasn't sure whether he was relieved or infuriated, and the odd mixture of emotions that warred within his breast left him deeply unsettled.
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