Sentence

"They can't be serious," Hermione said.

"I'm afraid they are," Arthur Weasley said.

The whole Weasley family plus assorted Order members and friends had gathered at the Burrow. Somehow kitchen and kitchen table had been enlarged so that all of them had found a place around the table. Everyone had a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of them. And boy, how they needed that chocolate.

In the middle of the table lay the special edition of the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler. The headlines: "Sentence in Trial of the Century" and "Ex-Death Eater must marry".

The Wizengamot – those craven cowards – had deferred the sentencing to an impartial magical judge, the Chalice of Neith.

Tonight the bloody Chalice had spewed forth its sentence.

As sentences in the wizarding world went, it was pretty straightforward. It pronounced Snape both guilty and not-guilty. Guilty of killing Albus Dumbledore, but not guilty of murdering him. Guilty of betraying the wizarding world, of committing various crimes during the first rising of He-Who-Finally-Was-Nothing-But-Dust, but awarded extenuating circumstances during the second rising.

In the end he was set free on probation.

Which was all well and good, apart from the conditions of said probation.

To prove himself a good and harmless member of the wizarding community Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater, ex-spy, ex-Professor, ex-headmaster, had to marry within three years after this sentence was pronounced or spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.

"I – I think none of us really expected that he would be freed of all charges," Minerva McGonagall stated at last.

"But we hoped for it," Poppy Pomfrey said sadly.

"What the FUCK of a condition is that anyway?" asked Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Could-Use-Cusswords-Without-Being-Scolded.

"One that's guaranteed to get him locked up in Azkaban until he's carried out of there," observed George Weasley bitterly.

"And where's Shacklebolt?" Hestia Jones piped up.

Arthur Weasley sighed. "The Minister sends his regrets, but –"

"BLOODY fucking hell, he's already betraying the Order?" Harry's eyes flashed bloody murder.

"Harry!" Molly Weasley couldn't bite her tongue any longer.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. But I just can't believe it. We have to thank Snape that all of us are alive and sitting here with our hot chocolate today, and not only the Minister let a FUCKING chalice sentence him to life-long imprisonment, but he doesn't even have the guts to TELL us how this came about! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT FUCKING WIZENGAMOT THERE FOR? WHY DID I HAVE TO DRINK ALL THAT SHITTY VERITASERUM AND PARADE SNAPE'S MEMORIES FOR THE WORLD TO SEE IF THAT IS THE RESULT?"

Hermione and Ron winced at Harry's outburst.

"You have to understand, Harry, the Wizengamot – the Minister – they wanted a completely impartial sentence," explained Arthur Weasley. "And the Chalice, it was fed with all the recent changes in law before they put the request for judgement in there, so it was up-to-date with the current values of wizarding society. And – I think Hermione will know more about this than all of us thrown together – there is this idea, which the Muggles regard as very humanitarian, and I think that is what this condition is based on. It's called 'rebalitation'."

Hermione moaned and sank down on the table. With a muted smack she knocked her forehead against the table. Once, twice, three times.

"Hermione?" Arthur Weasley's face showed uncertainty and worry.

"It's called 'rehabilitation'. And it has NOTHING to do with marriage. AT ALL."

oooOooo

"What can we do?" Ron asked.

Luna turned her huge eyes towards him and smiled beatifically. "We need to find him a wife."

"He's not even AWAKE," Harry spit out. "He's barely alive. The last thing he needs is a wife. What have they been thinking in that Ministry of Misfits? No, wait – I mustn't suppose that they are thinking. Past evidence rather refutes that they CAN."

The younger Order members had retired into the garden, as far away from the older Order members as possible. A Muffliato screen flickered with blue and silver lights around them, keeping their discussion private.

Hermione hadn't said anything yet, but Ron was aware that she was close to tears, and had been, ever since she had read about the sentence, up in the privacy of his room.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

She raised her head and stared at him, her eyes red, dark smudges of exhaustion underneath them, tears shimmering in the candlelight.

For a while she simply stared at him wordlessly. Then she rasped out, "WHAT THE FUCK do you think I am? NO, I'm not okay. How could I be? I saved his life, or whatever there's left of it. I spent two weeks in St. Mungo's, puking blood. And for what? Just to hear that a stupid Chalice is going to send him back to Azkaban for the rest of his life? How do you think I could be OKAY with that?"

He winced and shrank back, but kept his arm around her. Moments later, Hermione sank down on the table, her shoulders shaking, her tears flowing. He pulled her into his arms and held her. Everything he could say would be wrong, had always been wrong. But at least he could hold her.

"So what do we do now?" he asked after a while.

The garden of the Burrow was silent apart from the muffled sobs of Hermione.

"Simple," Luna repeated. "We have to find him a wife. With those new marriage laws in place, we'll need to make sure she's a witch he can marry legally. Somehow we have to get the information about his possible matches from the Wizarding Genealogy Offices. Then we have find the lucky witch and persuade her to marry him."

"And what if he says no?" Hermione asked, sniffling noisily. "And what if she says no?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Neville said. "And besides, we helped defeat Voldemort. Getting Snape married to keep him out of Azkaban should be child's play compared to that."

oooOooo