The next morning Harry was up with the sun. After staggering through his morning routine (shower and wank, hair, teeth, clothes) and downing a cup of coffee, he Apparated to Diagon Alley, took the Floo to Hogsmeade, Apparated to the gates and sprinted up to McGonagall's office. He waved a cherry hello to Dumbledore, dashed up the stairs to Dumbledore's old living quarters and coaxed the wardrobe into tossing a set of robes to him.

The set was blinding yellow, brighter by far than anything Xenophilius Lovegood would wear, and Harry cringed. Snape was going to flay him alive, crucify him by vocabulary. He gazed sourly at the wardrobe. "You do realise this is for Severus Snape, right? The one whose rainbow comes in black and white?"

The wardrobe just sat there, an impenetrable piece of furniture that refused to open no matter how much Harry begged. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he shrank the robes down and shoved them deep inside his pocket before trudging back down the stairs. He paused before Dumbledore's portrait for a moment. "Tell Professor McGonagall that I died by tongue lashing, will you?"

Dumbledore gave him a cheery smile. "It will all work out in the end."

"But at the end of what?" grumbled Harry as he tossed some Floo powder into the fireplace in McGonagall's office. "The Ministry of Magic," he said clearly as he stepped into the bright green flames.

He found Snape sitting in his holding cell eating the breakfast Kreacher had delivered. There was a plate for him under stasis and Harry sat in the chair opposite and began to eat. Neither of them said a word, their morning routine already established as if by fiat. Snape had one section of the Daily Prophet, courtesy of bailiff Rhoda Gauntlett, and Harry took the other, turning to page three to avoid the headlines.

When they'd both finished eating and had started on their second cup of coffee, Harry tapped the table with his wand and the plates disappeared. "You know the wardrobe in the headmaster's chambers?" he asked as he clutched his coffee cup with both hands. "The one I asked you about earlier? Is there a spell or something to open it?"

Snape peered at him over the rim of his coffee cup. "What are you blathering on about now, Potter? It's a tall cupboard. To open it, one merely pulls on the handle. Surely you've encountered one before?"

Harry scratched his head and readjusted his spectacles. "We're talking about the one in the Headmaster's Tower, right? The one near the top of the stairs that start over by the Pensieve cupboard? That's where you kept your things, right? That's what Professor McGonagall thought, anyway, though she still has her rooms over by Gryffindor Tower. I'm not sure why except she says she's lived in them for thirty years and she doesn't want to move."

"Is there a point to this?"

"I've made three trips to Hogwarts since this thing started so you'd have clothes to wear. See, we can't find your usual black robes. Well, I don't know if we can find them or not since the wardrobe won't open, but it shoves a set of robes out for me, well, for you, actually, and I just want you to know that I really had nothing to do with this. The cupboard decides what you get to wear and I'm really sorry, but..." Harry enlarged the robes and handed them over without comment.

There was thirty whole seconds of silence before Snape began shouting, storming around the small cell in a rage. Harry scrunched his shoulders as each pointed barb found its target. "Of all the loathsome, irresponsible, disrespectful, idiot pranks you could have pulled, you elect to turn me into one of the Weasleys' giant canaries. I won't stand for this, Potter. I will make it known that this was your doing. Now, return these to whatever misbegotten shop you found them and bring me something black."

"I told you this is what the wardrobe gave me," growled Harry through gritted teeth. "Surely you don't think this was my idea."

"I won't wear them."

"You can't show up looking like you just escaped from Azkaban," shouted Harry as he came to his feet. "Besides, I'm pretty sure this was Dumbledore's idea. If you want clothes, great. Either tell me your size or where your old teaching robes are and I'll bring them to you."

Snape turned swiftly and snarled, his face mere inches from Harry's. "My robes are in the bloody wardrobe."

"They may bloody well be, but the wardrobe won't open and this is what it let me have," Harry growled back. Suddenly, he was aware of Snape in every inch of his body and he took a step back, his heart skipping around madly as though someone had cast a Tarantella hex on it. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm down. "I know there's not much time, but I'll see what—"

The door to the cell opened and Gauntlett stepped in. "You have five minutes before you're due in court." She ran her eyes over Snape and arched a brow at Harry. "The Minister doesn't like to see the defendant in prison garb. He says it's no way to get a fair trial, so if he has something else to wear—"

The bright yellow robes rose from the corner where Snape had thrown them and floated toward the table. A strange little grin appeared on Gauntlett's face as she waved them over to where Snape stood, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. "Not what I'd have chosen, but there's no accounting for taste." With a flick of her wand, Snape's prison robes disappeared, leaving him standing naked in the centre of the cell.

Harry's eyes widened and his cheeks burst into flames as Snape's colour faded. Automatically, Snape's hands dropped to cover his genitals and Harry's eyes followed the movement. He drank in the sight of the line of hair leading from Snape's navel to the v of his crossed hands and swallowed. In that moment, he realised both Snape and Gauntlett were staring at him and he was instantly mortified. "I'll just leave you to get dressed," he stammered and bolted from the room.

It was several minutes before Gauntlett led Snape to his chair. In the dim oubliette of the courtroom, the brilliant yellow paled to the colour of soft butter and drew attention to the sheen of Snape's cropped hair. The robes fitted him splendidly through the shoulders and waist, and the fitted long sleeves only made his elegant hands appear more graceful.

The gallery filled. By now, those who were watching the trial had staked out their seats on the steep benches and were getting to know those in their immediate vicinity. One woman set a basket on her lap and began distributing muffins and rolls. A middle-aged wizard who reminded Harry painfully of Lupin worked a crossword puzzle. The plum-clad jury filed in and, within minutes, they were ready to start.

"Bring in our next witness," ordered Kingsley and Gauntlett disappeared. Some sort of commotion from beyond the doorway drew Harry's attention and he frowned. The clatter of heavy chains echoed off the stone walls as a scarecrow of a man in the familiar stripes of Azkaban shuffled in, struggling to escape Gauntlett's grip as he did. He was surrounded by Aurors and guards and fought as they placed him in the witness box.

Finally, he looked up. When his eyes fell on Snape he lunged, his eyes nearly incandescent with rage. "You! You traitor!" The Aurors wrestled him back into his seat as Gauntlett spelled ropes and chains around him.

"Let go of me. Let go!" The man continued to struggle until one of the bailiffs hit him with a Body Bind. Once the man was subdued, Harry turned his astonished gaze on Snape. The man was sitting like a statue, his eyes fixed firmly straight ahead. This was going to be an uphill battle and Harry didn't even know yet which Death Eater he was questioning.

"Whenever you're ready, Harry," murmured Kingsley, and that was Harry's cue.

On wobbly legs, Harry stepped out from behind his table and gave a sharp nod to the Aurors. With a flick of a wand, the Body Bind was gone and the witness glared down at him. "Err...who are you?" asked Harry, feeling every bit the idiot Snape always accused him of being.

Mocking laughter erupted from the witness. "Wouldn't you like to know," he sneered and Harry rolled his eyes. Fine. He had a way to deal with recalcitrant witnesses.

"Permission to place the witness under Veritaserum?"

No sooner had Harry asked the question than the man began to shout. "Avery! Guy Avery." He slumped back in his chair to the extent the ropes and chains would allow and gave Harry a murderous glare. "Just ask your questions."

"Very well." Harry returned to his table and found the section with Avery's name on it. He returned to the witness, note card in hand. "When did you first meet Severus Snape?"

"What sort of question is that? When we were Sorted into Slytherin House, of course. D'you reckon I was friends with the likes of him? A murderer and a traitor?"

"Yes, actually, I do," replied Harry coldly. "In fact, I know you were—and if you lie to me again, I will have them give you Veritaserum. Tell them about Snape's relationship with James Potter."

Avery laughed, an ugly sound to Harry's ears. "Relationship?" He snorted. "They were as like to drown each other in the Black Lake as not. If they'd been in the same boat, only one of them would have stepped on shore. Your dad and Snape hated each other. The only person Snape hated more than James Potter was Sirius Black. Bit ironic how all that turned out."

"Ironic? What do you mean?"

"Old Snapey here were banging his brother. I've no idea if he actually felt something for the poor lad or were just usin' him to get at Sirius. Worked though. Sirius nearly killed him with his pet werewolf when he found out."

The world tilted on its axis and Harry had to grip the edge of the table to keep himself on his feet. That couldn't be right. Snape loved his mother, obsessively so. It was the one constant in Snape's life, the only thing about Snape of which Harry was certain. Snape Patronus was a doe, for Merlin's sake.

Unable to look at Snape, who must be apoplectic or close to it, Harry shook his head, dazed. "That...that can't be true. It's impossible."

Avery smiled, revealing a row of dead, rotting teeth. "Oh, he was right taken with your mum. Only person in Hogwarts who would give Snape the time of day. Who knows? Maybe he'd been able to get it up for her. Merlin knows he wanted her enough, but there's just no telling with someone who's queer as a gold Knut."

This was not going at all the way Harry expected it to. Somehow, with one innocent question, he found himself mired in a morass up to his neck. He needed to get this interrogation back on course. "Leave my mum out of this. We're talking about James Potter and Severus Snape. Did they prank each other?"

Avery shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Prank each other? No, mate. You've got the wrong end of it. They came as close to killing each other as they could without getting tossed from school. There weren't a person at Hogwarts who dared leave them alone together. James and his mates put a target on Snape's back from their very first day. It weren't 'til James started dating your mum that Snape figured out where his bread was buttered."

"Is it true that Snape knew more Dark magic than most seventh years when he first got to Hogwarts?"

Avery's eyebrows shot up. "Where'd you hear that bit of malarkey? No, Snape was as ignorant as the rest of us. Had a bit of a gift for Potions, though, and best at Charms in our year. Except for your mum, perhaps. Snape was crafting spells of his own even before we'd sat our OWLs."

Harry was well acquainted with Snape's spell-crafting abilities and wasn't certain he wanted to wander down that road, but before he could redirect the conversation, Avery spoke up again. "He made this one spell..." Avery snickered, a wheezing sound that set Harry's teeth on edge. "Made the poor bloke's toenails grow right through their boots. Ruined about a dozen pair of your dad's shoes, that did. Always good for a laugh, since it was pure hell getting them off your feet. It were real popular back in the day."

"Yes," said Harry dryly. "I can imagine how that would endear him to everyone."

"Endear? Snape?" Avery cackled. "You know Snape better than most. Who would ever endear themselves to that?" He turned and locked eyes with Snape. "Just you wait 'til you're back at Azkaban. We've not forgotten which side you were on. There's not one of us who's not ready to take you apart piece by piece. And don't be thinking the guards will want to save you, neither. You murdered Dumbledore and they've not forgotten, any more than we have."

It was almost impossible to disguise his disgust for Avery. "No longer friends with him, then, eh?"

"Friends? With Snape?" Avery shook his head. "Look, you've got to understand something about Snape. He never fit in, not in Slytherin House, not with those of us loyal to the Dark Lord. He actually begged for your mum's life, and her a Mudbl—"

"Don't say that word!" snarled Snape, his dark eyes flashing. "Lily Potter was Muggle-born, a circumstance of birth. She didn't choose her parents, any more than you did."

"You're pathetic," sneered Avery. "Still pining for her, Snapey? Still moping after a dead woman twenty years after our Lord eliminated her?" His face twisted and his lip curled. "I doubt you even shed a tear for poor Regulus. Did you ever figure out where he disappeared to? Or have you kept him stashed away all these years?"

Snape turned his head and stared blindly out into the gallery. Harry had no idea what might be passing through the man's mind. "When you say he didn't fit in," Harry began as he paced through the small area that he regarded as his. "What exactly do you mean?"

"You can't possibly be that dense," replied Avery as his eyebrows shot up. "Listen, Potter. There's always one, right? That one kid who just doesn't fit in? Who has no idea how the world works? Always sayin' the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or doing the wrong thing but can't quite figure out why. We're supposed to be cunning in Slytherin House. Snape was about as cunning as a Hufflepuff. All he wanted was to be one of us, so he created some spells and brewed his potions and joined up when Lucius told him to."

The words writhed and twisted in Harry's gut, touching a chord deep inside him, and he didn't want to hear any more. "Take him back to Azkaban," he said softly, gathering his cloak around him. He stood at his table, head bowed, unable to meet anyone's eyes. It hurt, knowing that even in his own House Snape was so thoroughly ostracised, imitating those around him in a futile attempt to fit in somewhere.

It took Gauntlett a few minutes to remove Avery, who was none too pleased to find himself on his way back to the cold and lonely prison standing sentinel in the middle of the North Sea. He fought and protested as much on the way out as he had on the way in. Once he was gone, the next witness sat herself in the witness box.

The woman appeared to be within a few years of Narcissa's age, solidly built, square through the shoulders and a bit too heavy for her frame. She had a warm, motherly sense about her, but her hazel eyes were wary, as if sensing a trap but not quite able to find it. Drawing her deep burgundy robes around her, she gazed at Harry, waiting, waiting.

"I'm sorry, I've not been told your name," he said.

"I'm Emma Vanity."

"And how do you know Severus Snape?"

Vanity looked over and met Snape's eyes, and whilst it was apparent that she recognised him, the same could not be said of Snape. He appeared not to have any idea who she was or why she was there. "He was two, maybe three years behind me in Slytherin." She turned her attention back to Harry. "I believe it would be safe to say that everyone in our House knew Severus, or of him. He was the one losing us points faster than anyone could earn them."

"Snape? Lost points?" It was hard not to laugh. No wonder he took as many as possible for any infraction, real or imagined. It also went a long way to explaining why he awarded so many to Slytherin when all they had to do was exist to earn them.

"By the bucketful," replied Vanity. "If he'd just learned to ignore Potter and his minions instead of rising to the bait every single time they laid it out for him, we might have won the House Cup a time or two. I did the best I could with the Quidditch team, but it was never enough to offset his losses."

"You played on the House team?" asked Harry. "What position?"

"I was captain of the team, Mr Potter. I played Chaser and Seeker when necessary. Severus tried out, but I'm afraid his skills weren't quite refined enough, though he knew the rules inside and out."

I'll bet he did, thought Harry. "He's a great one for following the rules," said Harry evenly. "Were you friends with him?"

"Friends?" Vanity glanced at Snape and shook her head. "No. Severus didn't have any friends, except for that girl in Gryffindor. He tried to make friends, but it was like a ferret trying to befriend a hippogriff, doomed to an unhappy ending for everyone. No, Severus tried to ingratiate himself with the other boys in his year, but they saw through his attempts. It would have been better all around if Severus had been able to keep his damned fool mouth shut."

Harry recalled Avery's words. "Always the wrong thing at the wrong time, I'd imagine."

Vanity's voice was scornful. "No, Mr Potter. It was the insults, the scathing remarks. He was a very nasty boy, and very good at twisting the knife. Anyone who got on the wrong side of him—and that was nearly everyone—rarely came out of it with their hide intact. It was his own doing that he was universally disliked."

"But he was good at magic, right? That has to count for something."

"Oh, he was quite good at dreaming up the odd little spell," said Vanity. "I must admit there is one spell of his that I've come to rely upon in my everyday life."

It was hard to imagine any spell of Snape's being useful to anyone who didn't dabble in torture for a living. Slytherin though she may be, Harry found it hard to believe that the person in front of him doing much more than spanking her kids when they misbehaved. "Oh? Which spell is that?" he asked.

"It's called, well, I don't know if he gave it a name, but the incantation is Muffliato. It muffles sound, which, in a houseful of children, can be quite useful. It allows me to carry on a conversation with another adult when the kids are playing."

The blood drained from Harry's face. Muffliato had saved their lives a number of times when he, Ron and Hermione had been hiding from the Death Eaters. "You're right. It's dead useful." He glanced down at his little note card and realised he had nothing left to ask. "Thank you for coming today, Ms Vanity. I know it doesn't seem like much, but you've helped."

Vanity regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "I must admit I do not understand your strategy, but if you believe it helped, that's all that matters." She stood and nodded to Kingsley and the jury before stepping down. On her way out, she paused by Severus' chair and touched his hand lightly. "All my best, Severus."

The next thing Harry knew, the Aurors were scanning Snape from head to toe for contraband and curses. They yanked him from his chair and made him stand in the centre of the courtroom whilst everyone craned their necks to get a better view. "Stop it!" shouted Harry. "Leave him be. She didn't give him anything."

The courtroom was cleared whilst Snape was dragged out into the hall and made to lift his robes so the Aurors could complete their examination. All the while, Harry fumed at the ridiculousness of it all. "Can we please just finish?" he begged Kingsley. "All she did was wish him good luck, which is more than most people would do. If you want him cursed, just leave him alone with the people watching the trial. They'll make certain he doesn't last 'til noon."

"His safety is not the point," said Kingsley. "Imagine what he could do with a wand."

"You ought to be more concerned about what he can do without one," muttered Harry darkly. He returned to the courtroom and sat down heavily, glaring up at Percy's smug expression and wishing he had the courage to let loose with a Bat-Bogey Hex or something.

"Pssst. Harry." It was one of the reporters in the front row. "Did she pass him anything?"

Harry shook his head at the insanity of it all and waited.

When Snape was confined to the defendant's chair, there was a dark red blotch under his eye. Furious, Harry drew his wand and grasped Snape's chin in his hand. Snape jerked it back instantly and tried to bat Harry's hand away.

Harry grabbed Snape's hand and glared. "Stop. I'm going to heal you. That's all. Now hold still." They glared at each other, with much more than words passing between them until Snape finally surrendered. Harry chanted the healing charm he'd been taught at the Auror Academy and the rapidly forming bruise vanished.

Sheathing his wand, he paused as he passed by one of the Aurors. "Harm him again and I'll make certain you're permanently assigned to Floo detail. Don't think I can't." He met Gauntlett's startled eyes and drew himself to his full height. "Bring out the next witness. Please," he added as an afterthought.

To Harry's delight, Madam Hooch was escorted to the stand and his smile was genuine as he approached. They exchanged pleasantries and Harry shook her hand. "How's Gryffindor's team this year?"

"They're trailing Ravenclaw, but not by much. I'm sorry to say they need a better Seeker. They'd be top of the table if you'd returned to school with Ms Granger."

There wasn't even a twinge of guilt. "I'm doing what I was born to do," said Harry. "I'm sorry to bring you all the way to London for just a couple of questions, but there are only a few things I want to ask."

"Quite alright, Mr Potter," Hooch replied briskly. "It's a chance to meet up with my colleagues in the Department of Magical Games and Sport. Plus, I'll be meeting with the head coach of the Wimbourne Wasps. She's going to come up to Hogwarts to watch the final match. There are rumours that one of Ravenclaw's Beaters will be offered a try-out, so it's not a wasted trip."

"That's a relief," replied Harry, and it was. "I just wanted to ask you about Quidditch."

A great number of puzzled glances accompanied that remark, Hooch and Kingsley included. Snape, though, continued to watch impassively. "What did you want to know about Quidditch that you don't already?"

"Well, you remember that I played in my first year even though I wasn't supposed to. And that Professor Quirrell tried to hex my broom during my very first match."

Hooch's brow furrowed. "It was a long time ago, but yes. I remember."

"You usually referee the matches, correct?"

"Yes. I also teach flying, oversee the Quidditch matches, and advise the captains on training and practice sessions." Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head. "Although..." Her yellow eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. A long finger came up and she rested it against her lips. "The professor decided to referee one of your first matches."

Harry nodded vigorously. "That's right. There was some trouble during my first match."

"Yes. Your broom was being hexed. It was hopping up and down and jerking around like it was possessed. We didn't find out until later that Professor Quirrell was responsible."

"But my second match, do you remember that one? It was against Hufflepuff."

Madam Hooch stole a quick glance at Snape. "As I recall, I didn't supervise that match. Professor Snape appointed himself referee. He certainly knew the rules well enough—almost as well as I do. It's about the only time I've seen him take any interest in a match where Slytherin didn't play."

Harry felt inordinately relieved. "Yes." He smiled. "Now I realise you might not know the answer to this, and if you don't, please say so, but do you know why he chose to referee?"

"Certainly," replied Hooch. "Severus thought your life was in danger and didn't trust anyone else to protect you."

That sounded like Snape—better than mere mortals at everything, except getting along with people. "How do you know this?"

Hooch barked a laugh in her deep voice. "It's not the sort of thing Severus Snape ever made a secret of. If it came to watching over you, Mr Potter, he was always first in line once he'd had a chance to complain bitterly about having that responsibility thrust upon him. At the same time, he trusted no one else to do it properly. My own guess is that he took perverse pleasure in doing the exact opposite of what he wanted to do."

"Were the two of you friends?"

"Friends?" Hooch studied Snape for the moment and then looked over at the jury. Roughly half of them appeared to be paying attention. "I wouldn't say we were friends, but I admired him. I just learned early to stay out of his way. He was very good at choosing Quidditch captains, though. I respected him for that."

That was enough, Harry thought. "Thanks again for coming."

"Come up to Hogwarts sometime, Mr Potter. Watch your old House team. They'd enjoy that." With a brisk nod, Madam Hooch saw herself out of the courtroom, her heels clicking sharply on the stone floor as she left.