Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 10

Snape was sitting at the small table in the corner with his head resting on his arms when Robards quietly opened the door to the chamber and let Hagrid look in. The three judges were silent. Snape didn't appear to notice. Back in the corridor, the door again closed, Robards, Harry, and Hagrid conferred.

"That's exactly how he looked that day he burned his bridges with You-Know-Who and come to me 'cause he didn't have nowhere else to run to," said Hagrid softly.

"What was his mental state at the time?" Robards asked.

"Kinda hopeless like. Didn't see no future at all. I think he was 'specting to die."

"He can't be expecting to die now," Harry pointed out. "Not with everyone doing their best to help him. It's just that he won't take the help."

"Maybe 'cause he don't see no future. I mean, after you do all this helping, where's he going to go?"

"Back to Hogwarts."

Hagrid chuckled. "I thought you'd figured out by now that he hates teaching. That ain't no future."

"He was only there because the court gave Dumbledore custody," Robards pointed out. "Hagrid, what would he have done after he graduated from Hogwarts if he hadn't become a Death Eater?"

"If his gram 'd still been alive, he mighta gone back home t' be a local potions brewer and healer like her. When that mob killed her, he went t' You-Know-Who. Otherwise he'd 've just drifted. You-Know-Who's the one showed him his talents were worth something."

"I don't believe that," said Harry. "He could've done almost anything."

"Ya live in a different world, Harry. That great lump Dursley may be a horse's behind, but he's management same as your mum's family. Ya got options when y're management. Back then, laboring class didn't rise above itself. An' he didn't have no wizarding contacts neither 'cept with You-Know-Who. It'd never 've entered his head t' try for the Ministry or anything like that. He was a laborer's son. He still don't look high when he's studying his options, even today."

"Right now," said Robards, "he's working on getting himself sent to Azkaban. Maybe it is because he doesn't see a future in anything else. We can work on finding him other options, but first we have to eliminate Azkaban as one of them."

"I can do that," said Hagrid.

Snape looked up when the three walked in, and he did not seem at all pleased to see Hagrid lumber through the doorway. "Would yer honors mind if I had a few words with the accused?" Hagrid asked, and before Snape had time to protest, Harry, Robards, and all three judges were leaving the room.

"Feel free to make use of the chamber," Judge Finch said on the way out, as Snape rose to his feet. Snape tried to follow them out, but was stopped by Hagrid's great bulk.

"Ya better get used t' the fact that ya ain't going nowhere 'til I've had my say," Hagrid said mildly. "Here we were all told there was a recess 'til tomorrow, 'n I was going t' do some gardening, but I get word y're being pigheaded again 'n I got t' come back. Ya better set yerself down. I don't wanta hafta sit on ya."

"This is none of your business, Hagrid," Snape said testily, but he sat down as ordered.

"I got a lot invested in ya for about the last twenty-six years. I think it is my business. They're telling me y're angling for a one-way ticket north."

"What's wrong with that? I've been through a lot in the past few years, and the prospect of being somewhere where I don't have to do anything, and my meals are provided is more than a little attractive right now."

"You got this idea Azkaban's a pleasure resort, don't ya?"

"The dementors are gone, and they're not going to bring them back."

"Ya think dementors was all there was wrong with Azkaban? Azkaban was there hundreds o' years before they decided t' staff the place with dementors, 'n it ain't never been no pleasure resort. Problem is, ya don't know what it's like 'cause ya ain't never been there." Hagrid pulled over a bench and sat facing Snape. "I spent a wee bit o' time there 'bout five years ago, 'n never saw a hair of a dementor. Now look at me."

Snape turned his head away and stared at the wall.

Hagrid leaned back on the bench. "I ain't never knowed ya t' go into anything without ya prepared for it first. If y're set on going t' Azkaban, ya'd better start getting prepared. I got information ya need, and ya got t' look at me to get it."

"Humpf," Hagrid grunted when Snape still wouldn't move. "I got somewhat t' show ya, and y're gonna look at it." He reached out a great paw, laid a finger on the side of Snape's jaw, and gently turned his head so that their eyes met. Snape didn't resist. "Read me," Hagrid commanded. With the first scene, Snape tried to pull away, but Hagrid held him firmly as the memories rose in a collage of brutality. Not one memory contained a dementor.

When the images ceased, Hagrid released Snape, who sat staring down at his hands in shock. "It's funny," Hagrid said, for all the world as if they were having a cuppa in a tea shop, "how everybody knows Azkaban is full of Death Eaters, 'n they forget about all the other lowlife 'n what they're in there for – murder, rape, assault, extortion – ya really don't wanta be there. Now me, they didn't none of 'em bother me much seeing how big I am, but you – y're a skinny little runt 'n fair game. And ya can't use magic, remember. I seem to recall as how ya never were very good at physical confrontation. And if ya get everybody all upset about how ya killed Professor Dumbledore, ain't none of the guards gonna help ya out."

"You never talked about this before," Snape whispered.

"Didn't make for pleasant mealtime conversation," said Hagrid with a shrug. "Ya want I should tell the judges we're finished?"

"You probably should," Snape sighed, "unless there was something else you wanted to tell me."

"Are ya gonna behave?"

"Believe me," said Snape, "I do not want to go to Azkaban."

"Y're a sensible lad. I knew ya'd see reason."

They stood as first Robards and Harry and then the judges reentered the chamber, Snape staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched slightly. Harry watched him and Hagrid, and it seemed to him that Hagrid was very worried.

"Professor Snape," said Judge Finch, "have we reached some sort of accommodation?"

"Yes, your Honor," Snape said quietly. "I'm prepared now to accept a public defender."

"You have no solicitor of your own?"

"No, your Honor."

"Tony Savage is legally qualified if there's no objection to him," Robards said. "He's already familiar with the case."

"Do you accept Mr. Savage to defend you?" the judge asked Snape.

Snape nodded.

"Excellent. It's lunchtime, so I suggest that Mr. Savage meet with the defendant at three this afternoon. If they need more time, we can postpone the resumption of the trial for another day. If there's nothing else, the guards can escort the defendant back to his cell."

Snape left, but Harry, Hagrid, and Robards stayed to talk. "How did you get him to change his mind so quickly?" Harry asked.

"Scared him," said Hagrid. "Made him stop thinking 'bout dementors 'n focus on the fact the other prisoners can be just as dangerous, maybe more so. Ya eat together, exercise together, sometimes bunk together… all the guards hafta do is point him out – that's the one killed Dumbledore – 'n turn a blind eye. They didn't bother me none while I was there, but I saw a lot. I let him see it, too."

"Thank goodness," said Robards. "Now maybe we can make some progress in the trial."

"Can I stay here?" Hagrid asked. "He ain't well. He's all closed in on hisself, fretting hisself about something – I can guess a lot of it – and he's beginning to crack. I'd like t' be close."

"We'll give you a room," said Robards. "Would the two of you join me for lunch? We've a rather good employee cafeteria…"

Snape, meanwhile, returned to his cell where he lay down, curled on his left side, staring at the wall…

He was in an old house, looking through room after musty room, hunting for a place to hide the tiger cub that clawed and tore at his arm. Door by door he searched, each opening into a shabby chamber with dilapidated poster beds and cold fireplaces, spider webs and the scurrying of rats. At one door only did he pause, for he knew Lily was in the room, and he didn't want her to see the cub. He left that door unopened.

Labyrinthine corridors stretched before him in an endless maze of rooms, but there was nowhere to put the cub, the cub that was a cub no longer but a half grown tiger, worrying and chewing on his arm, splashing the walls and carpets with blood.

Then, suddenly, there was a staircase, a staircase he didn't recognize, and he followed it down underground to a damp room where the roots of trees pierced the walls and coiled like snakes on the floor. There he stopped, for there, half hidden by the roots, was another door, a door he'd never seen before, a door he hadn't known existed.

As he stretched his hand toward the knob, he was filled with a nameless dread…

xxxxxxxxxx

It was Dawlish who came rushing into the cafeteria looking for Robards. "You have to come. He's trying to kill himself."

None of the three needed to ask who Dawlish was talking about. They were up at once, sprinting for the door and the elevators.

The corridor outside Snape's cell was crowded with people, and no wonder, for from inside they could hear banging and thumping, and a strange, keening wail that Harry realized with horror must be coming from Snape. The door was open, aurors were already within, but Hagrid asked no one's leave. He pushed his way through the press of people and into the little apartment. "Leave him!" Harry could hear Hagrid shouting. "Give him to me. I'll make sure he don't hurt hisself!"

It took Harry and Robards longer to wade through the crowd and into the apartment. By that time, Hagrid was sitting on the floor, one arm holding Snape tightly against his chest, the other hand pinning Snape's hands behind him. Snape was kicking and twisting convulsively. His forehead was scraped and bloody, and there was blood on one of the walls where he'd clearly been banging his head. He was still wailing, like an injured animal.

Hagrid looked up at Robards, his eyes welling with misery. "Ya gotta call St. Mungo's," he said. "He ain't never been quite like this before."

It took the team from St. Mungo's just ten minutes to arrive, during which time the incoherent Snape's struggles didn't abate in the slightest. The healers were in instant agreement.

"We need to sedate him and get him to the hospital," the team leader told Robards. "We can restrain him there, and if necessary keep him sedated for a while." She was an older woman, maybe around McGonagall's age, with soft, curly white hair and large brown eyes.

"Do you really think it's necessary to drug him?" Robards asked.

"Look at him," said the healer kindly. "He's in great emotional pain and distress. Why force him to endure that for hours when we have the means to let him sleep? We have plenty of time to find out what's wrong. He's not going to be going anywhere soon."

Instead of a full body bind, they immobilized Snape's legs and one arm so they could hold his head back and dribble the sedative potion in tiny amounts down his throat. Gradually he relaxed, and then suddenly he was limp and sleeping. A stretcher was waiting to take him up to the street where medical transport brooms would take him to the hospital. Until they knew the cause of Snape's malady, they wouldn't risk floo or apparating.

"Although it does seem possible that it's a mental or nervous breakdown," the healer told Robards, who had the legal right to know since Snape was a prisoner in his custody. "Do you know if he's ever had an episode like this before?"

Robards checked with Hagrid who, after reflection, confirmed that Snape had, indeed, experienced something similar. "It were near seventeen years ago, and he were under a load of pressure then, too. Poppy Pomfrey'll have the records. She had to keep him asleep for several days."

"Were you a witness to that episode as well? What did he do?"

"I was. He tried to jump off the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts. I got there in time to grab him."

"Seventeen years ago…" the healer mused. "The first disappearance of You-Know-Who. There may be a pattern connected with the 'Dark Lord's' removal."

"He was working against Voldemort both times," Harry blurted out, suddenly defensive. "He doesn't miss his 'Dark Lord."

"I didn't say that he did," said the healer. "Only that it might be part of the pattern."

Then they were gone, and Harry and Hagrid were left to make plans to go to St. Mungo's.

"I'll go now," said Hagrid. "I want t' be there when he wakes up. Might do him good seeing someone familiar. You should get some rest 'n let the others know what's happening."

Harry agreed and, after talking things over with Robards for about half an hour, apparated back to the Burrow. The heads of houses joined them from Hogwarts and there he filled the committee, including Dumbledore's portrait, in on what had happened at the Ministry after the trial had been recessed.

"Poor Severus," McGonagall murmured. "Whatever could have set him off like that? Are you sure no one did or said anything to him?"

"As far as anyone knows," said Harry, "he was alone in the room and sleeping. Then just like that he was awake and beating his brains out against the wall." Harry pondered this for a moment. "Like something happened while he was sleeping…" He turned to Dumbledore. "How much exactly do we know about how the brain of an occlumens works?"

Over the next several days it became clear that Snape was indeed trying to kill himself. The first time he woke up, he made it all the way to a fifth floor window before orderlies managed to drag him back to bed. His efforts to get hold of sharp, pointed objects or to tear at his own skin with his fingernails convinced the hospital before the end of the first day that he needed to be constantly restrained. The healers' efforts to isolate the problem was hampered by an unexpected difficulty, one that had Robards apparating to the Burrow on the third day to speak to Harry.

"You read him. Right there in the judge's chambers you read him. And you said something about your mother's eyes. I need you to explain that to me."

Harry and Robards were in the Weasleys' garden. Harry looked off into the distance as he answered. "He and my mom were childhood friends before they went to Hogwarts. I only found that out a couple of weeks ago. I also found out that he was born an occlumens, like I told the judge. He automatically closes down to everyone except that for some reason he could never close down to my mom. Every time he looked in her eyes, all those locked places just opened up. It happens when he looks at me, too, because I have her eyes. It's one of the reasons he doesn't like me around. It makes him vulnerable."

"The staff at St. Mungo's needs you then," said Robards. "They've ruled out anything physiological, so it has to be mental. They've had people trying to read him every time he wakes up, but he just closes them out. It's like trying to read a wall."

"I don't think I want to see whatever it is that's driving the professor crazy," said Harry. "I don't know if I could take it."

"It's the only thing we know of that might help him." Robards paused. "He was your mother's friend. That's worth something, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, it is. He's the only one left who can tell me things about her. I kept thinking about that while he was out there trying to capture the rest of the Death Eaters. If he dies, then I'll never know things about my parents. I suppose it's just as hopeless if he's crazy." Harry thought of Neville then, but at least Neville had a family that could tell him what he wanted to know, and he could visit his parents and hope…

There was really only one thing to do, even if Harry didn't want to have to do it. He steeled himself to face the inevitable, went into the house to tell the Weasleys, particularly Ginny, where he was going, and then apparated with Robards to St. Mungo's.

Snape was in a private room in a secure ward, with Ministry guards at the door who stood aside to let Robards and Harry through. Hagrid was already there, watching over the sleeping Snape like a broody hen.

Harry stood for several minutes looking down at the still figure. He'd always thought of Snape as old, somehow, but with his features relaxed in slumber, the professor looked young. Harry had thought of Professor Lupin as a young man whose troubles had prematurely aged him, and now it struck him that Lupin and Snape were the same age, and that Snape, too, was a young man in his mid thirties.

A healer rose from a chair in the corner of the room. "Are you the legilimens?" he asked, then recognized Harry. "Harry Potter? It's an honor to have you here, sir. You're the legilimens, then? I hope you have better success than I've had."

"What have you seen?" Harry asked, still looking at Snape, noting now the bands that strapped him to the bed, restraining arms and legs as well as torso. There were scratches on Snape's face and neck, and on his arms as well, caused apparently by Snape himself.

"He wakes up slowly, and you can tell he's in distress. It's like someone's holding him down, and he's trying to free himself."

"Someone is holding him down," Harry pointed out, gesturing toward the restraints.

"No, it isn't that. You'll see when it happens. When he opens his eyes, if I'm fast, I get a glimpse of what's in there, like a dark room. But his mind seems to be very compartmentalized, and he shuts me out almost immediately."

"He was born an occlumens."

"Really? I'd always heard… Well, that would explain part of it." The healer paused, for Snape moaned softly. "There. It's beginning. How can I help?"

"I'm not sure. I've never done anything quite like this." Harry remembered what Snape had tried to teach him in his fifth year, and began to consciously empty himself of emotion. How could he know what Snape was feeling if his own feelings masked it? Behind him he could hear Hagrid moaning slightly, too, suffering the pain of those who cannot ease the pain of others.

Snape's head was lolling from side to side as he slowly surfaced from drugged sleep. His hands plucked and snatched at the bedclothes, more and more agitated as each moment passed. The healer was right. The thing he strove to escape from was inside, not the bands that held him to the bed. He cried out, too – short, sharp gasps that occasionally formed the word 'no,' and once, very clearly, 'go away.'

Struggling desperately now, Snape strove with helpless hands to push away the thing he fought. Harry shifted his position so that he could look straight at Snape's face and then, suddenly, Snape's eyes were open and he was looking up, his black eyes staring straight into Harry's green ones.

"Hold his head still," Harry cried to the healer. "Don't let him look away from me!" The healer knelt at the head of the bed, steadying Snape's head with his arms, forcing him to look straight up.

"Hagrid," Harry said next, not taking his eyes from Snape's, "move your chair over here. Take one of his hands." Hagrid obeyed. Harry thought for a moment. "Let your arm rest near his head so he can smell the leather of the coat." Then Harry ignored the other two and focused on Snape's eyes, not prompting any particular picture – just waiting.

He was in what looked like a large old mansion, with corridors leading off in different directions, doors lining every corridor, closed doors. The corridors were narrow and cramped, with frayed carpets and scarred paneling, and a faint odor of mildew, as if age-old gentility had run afoul of cruel poverty, and was now fading into ruin.

Metaphors. Dumbledore had said the occlumens mind revealed itself in metaphors. The doors were where things were stored away. Harry tried the door nearest him and was not surprised to find it locked. He glanced around. Which way? But in the metaphoric mind there was no such thing as the wrong way. He began to explore.

There were spatterings of blood on the walls and floor. Why? And was it old or recent? There was no one to ask, so he continued along the corridors, occasionally trying one of the doors. Everything was sealed.

The staircase was a sign. In all the house there was no apparent variation except for the staircase. Was there significance to the fact that it went down? Harry followed it to the underground room, damp, cool, and primal. Everywhere invaded by roots. Another sign? The roots had a malevolent feel, as if their pervasiveness was a threat.

He saw the door, hiding among the roots. Hiding meant fear, but it also meant ambush. It did not matter. It was not his mind. Nothing here could hurt him. He reached forward and opened the door.

The gale-force wind hurled him backwards, and Harry turned toward the door to go back into the safety of the root-filled room, but there was no door. He was on a cliff, a promontory, battered by storm winds and driving rain. Surf pounded the rocks below, and there was no shelter anywhere. Above the roar of wind and wave, he heard another sound – a howling that had nothing to do with the storm. Blinded by the sheets of rain, Harry groped his way along the cliff in the direction of the shrieks and screams. After a few moments, he could make out a solitary figure standing at the summit of the headland, drenched with rain, buffeted by wind, poised at the very edge, the crashing waves and fatal rocks below him.

He had found Snape. At the same moment, Harry realized that Snape was not alone.

Swirling around the cliff, as if part of the storm, was a legion of spectral creatures, spirit and wind themselves, dozens of them, attacking Snape from all sides, dragging at his hair, tearing at his clothing, slashing at his face and arms with razor-sharp fangs and claws. They were hideous creatures, with wild, straggling hair and glaring, evil eyes, leering and cackling at their victim's terror and despair.

They were trying to push him off the cliff. Snape struggled to keep his footing on the slippery rocks, but it was a losing battle. There were too many of them, and it was all he could do to protect his face from their murderous attacks. He was powerless to fight back. Harry could see it was only a matter of time before Snape would be driven onto the rocks below, but whether that fall was to death or to madness, Harry had no way of knowing.

Forgetting where he was, Harry charged up the slope to the edge of the cliff, determined to help Snape. It was futile effort, for neither Snape nor the harpies were aware of his presence. It did, however, bring him to a full stop as he came, for a heartbeat of time, face to face with one of the creatures. Harry froze, petrified, for in spite of the wildness, of the maliciousness of the horrible face, it was nonetheless the face of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry spun around, trying to focus on the terrible spirits. He realized he recognized many of them – Bella and Rodolphus Lestrange, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, Professors Burbage and Quirrell, Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks, Voldemort and, even more horribly, Fred Weasley and Colin Creevey. There were faces he was sure were from the picture Moody had shown him of the original Order of the Phoenix, and others he'd never seen before. And then he saw James and Lily Potter, as ugly, vengeful, and pitiless as the rest.

Sobbing with his own shock and fear, Harry pulled back from the scene and found himself again in the hospital.

xxxxxxxxxx

"It's called survivor guilt," the matronly healer with the white hair and brown eyes explained, pouring Harry a cup of tea. Her name, it turned out, was Gaia Pennywhistle, and she knew Madam Pomfrey quite well. "Whenever you have some great natural calamity, the ones who survive feel guilty for not having been killed with their friends."

"So it doesn't mean he killed them?"

"Dear me, no. Only that so many are gone – schoolmates, colleagues from both sides, children he taught in his Potions class – he can't cope with the perceived guilt of not dying with them. I imagine the occlumency makes it worse. We owe you a great debt, Mr. Potter. Now that we know what it is, we have a chance to treat it."

xxxxxxxxxx

St. Mungo's forwarded a request to Harry, one that brought the committee together again, for even though Harry possessed the information, he could not answer the question. The hospital, basically, wanted a list of the names of the harpies that Snape saw in his waking nightmare.

"You recognized many of them, Harry," said healer Pennywhistle by floo. "This means that he's not reacting to death in the abstract. He's reacting to the deaths of specific, individual human beings, over the course of nearly three decades. I've been doing my homework, and it looks like the occlumency is a major culprit. If he could have dealt with each death as it occurred, he wouldn't be dealing with this avalanche of deaths now. But he locked each one away, and now they're burying him all at the same time. We need to get him to deal with them one by one, as it should have happened naturally. By the way, do you know what touched it off?"

"Hagrid had just convinced him that he should accept the help he was being offered and not go to Azkaban."

"That's an odd thing to provoke such an episode of self-punishment."

"I'll ask Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore about it. They've known him for a lot longer than I have."

The portrait was vibrating in Harry's pocket even before the floo connection was closed. "I was so pleased to hear you say that," was the first thing Dumbledore said after Harry brought him into the open.

"Say what?"

"You just admitted that I might understand Severus better than you do because I have known him longer. You have come a long way, Harry."

"Yeah, I guess so," said Harry, not wanting to get into a philosophical debate. "We need to get everybody to Professor McGonagall's office"

"Why there?"

"That's where the pensieve is."

"No, Harry. Minerva does not have a pensieve. The pensieve is…"

"In the headmistress's office."

"Oh. Right. You know, Harry, this being a portrait is not as nice as many people think it is."

"Frankly, sir, I've never met anyone who thought it would be nice to be reduced to a portrait."

There was nothing to say to that, which is probably why the portrait said nothing for a rather long time.

After they were all gathered, and after Harry gave up his memory of Snape's mind to the pensieve, Harry began to wonder if this was really a good idea. It seemed like an invasion of Snape's privacy. It was an invasion of Snape's privacy.

"My, what a shabby place," said Molly Weasley, ignoring the fact that most of her sons were trying to shush her. "It could do with a bit of a cleanup. I mean, basically the house looks sound, but so neglected."

"If I may," Hermione spoke up, then plowed forward without waiting for permission. "We do have to remember that this is a metaphor – at least that's what we've been told. I'd say the house looks more than sound. It was clearly a very comfortable and respectable, even a well-off place once. I'd say this is the wizarding inheritance. Then something happened to make it fall on hard times."

"I'll say," interjected Harry. "He grew up in a working class cottage that's about a hundred years old. It doesn't even have a proper bathroom. The streets are still old cobblestones, and my Aunt Petunia talks like it was the slum of the town."

"Clearly," continued Hermione in her best I-am-giving-a-report voice, "he grew up poor, both economically and in terms of being part of the wizarding world. That's why the house looks shabby. It's a metaphor for his feeling inferior to other wizards."

"I love you dearly," Ron laughed, "but Professor Snape would never think he was inferior to other wizards."

"He might not say so," Hermione sniffed at him, "but that doesn't mean he didn't feel it."

They followed Harry's path through the maze of corridors to the staircase. Hermione had something to say about the lower room as well. "Roots," she nodded in self-confirmation. "Surely the root of whatever problem he has."

There was a time when Harry would have accepted Hermione's evaluation as gospel. More recently he would have challenged her, her sources, and her interpretations. Today, he ignored her. "Get ready for a rough ride," was all he said as his pensieve self opened the half-hidden door.

xxxxxxxxxx

Russ woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar room. He felt warm, comfortable, and curiously relaxed. Turning his head toward the window, he realized where he was because his grandmother – Gra – was pulling the curtains open to let the sun in. She must have redecorated the room since he'd been there last.

"How are you feeling, dear?" Gra asked. "You scared us a bit, you know. You've been quite sick." Her voice was lower than usual, and her eyes were brown, but somehow that didn't bother Russ at all.

"I still feel sleepy. Is it all right if I go back to sleep?"

"In a few minutes. I thought maybe we could talk. About your parents. You remember what happened to them, don't you? The car accident?"

"Mmm," said Russ drowsily. "That's what they wrote on the report. I remember that."

"Do you think something else happened?" Gra came and sat by the bed. Her face was rounder than it usually was, but Russ didn't mind.

"He killed her. That's what the neighbors said."

"How did he do that?"

"Knocked her down the stairs."

"Did he hit her a lot?"

"Only when he was drinking."

"Did he hit you, too?"

"I made him angry."

"I see. But there was a car accident."

"They told me he was taking her to the hospital."

"So he'd been drinking and was driving too fast?"

"Maybe."

"Do you think something else happened?"

"I think she died and he did it on purpose." The two were quiet for a moment. Russ closed his eyes. He felt peaceful and safe there in the cozy bedroom with his grandmother beside him. His father's mother… "Gra," he asked suddenly, eyes open again, "Was Dad like me when he was a boy? Am I like him?"

"I think that's a subject for a completely different conversation. You're sleepy. Shut your eyes. I'll close the curtains. No one will disturb you. I'll come back when you wake up."

"Mmm," Russ replied, already drifting off to sleep.

"That was much easier than I thought it would be," Pennywhistle told Robards a few minutes later. "He seems to have thought I knew his father as a boy. I believe he may have thought I was his grandmother."

"What did you give him? Not just a tranquilizer?"

"We were worried about the occlumency shutting him down too much, so we got an order from Judge Finch to give him a drop of Veritaserum with the Calming Potion. It worked perfectly."

"I hope you got some useful information."

"Oh, yes. We started with the oldest event we could deduce from the list Harry gave us. I was expecting to barely scratch the surface. Instead I got something deep and basic." She smiled at the expression on Robards face. "No, I am not going to tell you what it was. Only that it is not something he was responsible for, I am not surprised that he locked it tightly away, and I am equally unsurprised that it's causing him problems now that it's breaking out." Pennywhistle bade Robards goodbye and went to do her rounds.

Robards went straight to the Ministry to contact Harry.

Knowing that one of Snape's grandmothers resembled healer Pennywhistle helped the Hogwarts committee identify her 'harpy,' as well as guess at the witch grandmother and two men they thought might be uncle and grandfather on the muggle side. The school archives gave names and pictures of other schoolmates, including a few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students. One that struck Harry in particular was Regulus Black.

"I wonder if that was why Sirius distrusted Snape so much," he said as he and Ginny walked by the lake that afternoon.

"Maybe he blamed Snape for recruiting his brother into the Death Eaters." She slipped her arm around Harry's. It was comfortable just being together and talking.

I wonder if Snape ever had anyone he could just be comfortable with and talk to, Harry thought, and knew immediately that the person had been his own mother. I wonder who he had to talk to after she started dating my dad. To Ginny he said, "Sirius told me in our fourth year that he'd never heard that Snape had even been accused of being a Death Eater. So why would he blame Snape for that?"

"Well, you said that Professor Lupin said that Snape hung around with older students that became Death Eaters. Maybe he was the one who introduced Regulus to the older students."

"Or maybe that's what Sirius thought he did."

They just walked for another minute or two, then Ginny said, "Harry, there are nearly fifty creatures… people… on that cliff. I haven't lost anywhere near that many, but it hurts so much when I think I'll never see them again that sometimes I can't stand it. But fifty? It's too much."

Harry had been pondering the same question. "If you stop to think about it, how many people do we know? If I add up my family, my friends, my own schoolmates, the members of the Order, the people I'll work and associate with during my life – I'll bet it'd add up to way over fifty. If I live long enough, a lot of them will die before me because a lot of them are older than me, some will have accidents, some will have medical problems… but I'll be able to deal with the sorrow one person at a time. Snape's never dealt with it one at a time. He's just locked it away where he doesn't have to deal with it at all. Now it's hitting him all at once. And I think it's more than survivor guilt. I once saw one of Professor Dumbledore's pensieve memories, and in it someone said that two people – Wilkes and Rosier – died during the year before Voldemort fell the first time. We just found out they were Snape's dorm mates, and that was the year he was passing information to Dumbledore. I'll bet he feels he caused the deaths of his own dorm mates."

"Wow," said Ginny, "that's severe. I'd go screaming up the walls, too, if I didn't have my family to support me. I can't imagine going through it with no family, no friends… Where's he going to go? Who's he going to turn to?"

Harry stopped in his tracks and stared at her. "That's it!" he yelled. "Hagrid was right! That's the trigger, the thing that touched it off! He was going to go to Azkaban, but now there's no place to go! There's no future; at least none that he can see! Ginny, I have to go back to London."

xxxxxxxxxx

After three more days, St. Mungo's stopped the Veritaserum treatment and reduced the dosage of Calming Potion. The real work began.

"May I call you Severus? Mr. Snape seems so formal."

"No," Snape countered. "You are the jailer; I am the prisoner. I can hardly conceive of a more formal relationship."

Gaia Pennywhistle smiled. "I am a healer, not a jailer…"

"Then release me. Let me go."

"The Ministry of Magic…"

"…is judge and jury. But you hold the key… you're the jailer."

"I assure you, I have no choice."

"Neither does a jailer. He is a jailer nonetheless."

"Very well, let us accept the relationship and proceed. I should like you to tell me your plans for the future."

"Plans are made by people who have futures. To require them of people who don't is cruel and unusual punishment. Were you aware that you possessed the characteristics of a sadist?"

"Sadists enjoy hurting other people. I take no joy in your pain. I'd like you to look one day into the future and tell me where you'll be."

"That's easy. I'll be right here being forced to talk to you."

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

Snape paused… a heartbeat… two heartbeats… three… "There are people I'd rather be talking to. Since they'd clearly rather not be talking to me, you'll have to do."

Healer Pennywhistle nodded as if in acknowledgment of praise. "I'm grateful you're willing to tolerate me. I'll try not to be too boring. I noticed you'd been at Hogwarts, as student and as teacher, for nearly two-thirds of your life…"

"Hardly by choice." Snape's hands lay listlessly on the arms of his chair, his body hunched down, his face expressionless. Only his voice showed some life, and that only when he was being sarcastic.

"None of it was your choice?" Pennywhistle asked.

"Children go to the school their parents tell them to go to."

"You would have preferred somewhere else?"

Three more heartbeats, then – "At eleven o'clock in the morning on September 1, 1971, I wanted to board the Hogwarts express. It was only later that I realized what a terrible mistake that had been."

"Why so terrible."

"A career of study at Hogwarts renders one permanently unfit for any kind of gainful employment in the real world."

"Surely there are many jobs a qualified wizard could have…"

"I said the real world."

"Do you mean the muggle world?"

"We live in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. This country has a population in the vicinity of sixty million persons. There are approximately three thousand wizards and witches. You do the math. Oh! Sorry! They don't teach math at Hogwarts! Unless we're being violent and destructive, 'our' world is peripheral and unimportant."

"Was there a career in the muggle world you were interested in?"

Two more heartbeats. "Chemistry. Biochemistry, in fact. For that you need a university education, for which you need A levels in secondary school, for which you need math and science classes. Which Hogwarts doesn't have. Automatically disqualified."

"Wizarding children are not qualified for jobs in the muggle world?"

"The thought is laughable. Wizarding children couldn't be janitors in the muggle world."

"Doesn't Hogwarts have a Muggle Studies course?"

"Even more laughable. Dear children, this is a telephone. Muggles talk to each other by it. How quaint. What do wizards have? They strap a letter to the leg of a bird or they squat in front of a fireplace and stick their head in the fire. Madam Pennywhistle, did you know that telephones are faster and more comfortable to use than anything wizards have? You can sit in an armchair or continue fixing dinner while using one. Muggles have even figured out a way to make them portable so they can contact other muggles from a store, from a bus, just walking through a park… They're now small enough so you can carry one in a jacket pocket. Muggles can buy computers small enough to fit on their desks at home and send each other electronic letters almost instantly. They're much more efficient than wizards are. Why do wizards keep their children ignorant of these things?"

Pennywhistle observed that Snape was now leaning slightly forward in the chair, his hands no longer listless, but emphasizing his words with quick gestures, his face animated and focused on her. "If you could change things," she asked, "what would you do?"

Snape thought for a moment. "We waste too much time on the unnecessary. I can see teaching all our children how to mix potions and medicines to treat illness and heal bruises, but why do I have to teach them how to make a shrinking solution? All they do with it is shrink their siblings. Why not teach chemistry as part of the Potions class? Or general biology as part of Herbology? Make Astronomy an upper level elective and have math and Muggle Studies required from first year, and change the whole curriculum of Muggle Studies to teach wizards how to live in the muggle world instead of avoiding it."

They talked for two hours while Pennywhistle took copious notes. She left only when it was time to serve lunch, and then she went directly to her office to contact Robards by floo. As she knelt on the hearth, she thought how much more pleasant it would be to be able to talk to him while sitting at her desk. Snape did have a point.

Robards appeared in the green flames. "Are you making any progress?" he asked.

"Educational reform," she told him. "He is passionate about educational reform at Hogwarts, and I have to admit that many of his ideas are very good."

"We need to talk," said Robards. "Stand aside, and I'll be there in a minute." A few moments later, he walked out of the fireplace into her office.

The conversations between Robards and the doctors were beginning to bear fruit. Snape's sessions with healer Pennywhistle, and with another healer named Galen Marchbanks, continued through the entire month of July. While they of necessity concentrated on the underlying psychological problem of the dead, they also branched into other things. At the beginning, Snape was uncooperative and snide. Just getting him to talk was sometimes their biggest chore.

"What's that?" Snape demanded in mid July, when healer Marchbanks set a familiar-looking book down on the small stand in the corner of the consulting room. There was a couch next to the stand, but Snape adamantly refused to even sit on it, and the one time Pennywhistle had dared suggest he might be more comfortable lying down, he'd called her "Shrink" for the next three sessions.

"Don't worry," said Marchbanks in regard to the book, "it has nothing to do with you."

"It says 'Algebra' on the cover."

"You have good eyesight. I've been interested in going over with you what it was like to be a student at Hogwarts during the first rise of… ahem… Vol…demort."

"Why are you carrying around a muggle algebra book?"

"I bought it yesterday. Odd buying things in a muggle shop, very odd. I had a bit of trouble with the money. Now if we could get back to Hogwarts…"

"It must have been really difficult for you, having to divide by ten all the time," Snape sneered. "Why did you buy it?"

"Divide by…? Oh. You mean the money. It's not for me. It's for my great-aunt. Now about Hogwarts and the rise of Voldemort… Is something wrong?"

Snape was staring at the young healer quizzically. "Great-aunt? That wouldn't be Griselda Marchbanks, would it?"

"As a matter of fact, it would." Marchbanks did not yet put down his notebook, but he didn't return to the subject of Hogwarts either. The hook of the algebra book had caught its fish.

"Since when has Griselda Marchbanks cared anything about algebra? Does she even know what it's used for?"

"She's a smart woman. She'll figure it out. Though she was interested in the possibility of talking to you about it."

Snape leaned back in his chair, drumming the fingers of his right hand on the chair's arm. "Why doesn't she come here?" he asked finally. "It's not as if I could go to her at the moment."

Marchbanks became very bland and official. "She's not on the list of people you've given permission to visit you."

"Nobody visits me except you, Pennywhistle, and Savage. And I never gave any of you permission."

"We're your healers and he's your legal counsel. We don't need permission. You wouldn't let anyone else come, remember?"

Arms now folded on his chest, Snape contemplated this idea for a moment. The healer was right. He'd refused to allow them to list accepted visitors. Minutes ticked by while he weighed the disadvantage of appearing to surrender against the advantage of having someone besides a healer to talk to. Marchbanks waited patiently.

"I suppose," Snape said finally, "that if she wanted to see me, it would be rude to deny the request."

"So I can put her name on the list?" When Snape nodded, Marchbanks continued. "As long as we're going to revise it, are there any other names you'd like us to add?"

"Nobody wants to visit me."

"On the contrary. You're the one who won't discuss it. Several people have asked. "

"Who?" Snape tried to conceal the interest in his voice, but it was strangely comforting to know that people were interested in his welfare.

"Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout. Rubeus Hagrid. Max Kettleburn. Harry Potter…"

"Absolutely not! I will not have that…"

"All right. All right. But what about the others?"

The half dozen names were admitted, and that afternoon Minerva McGonagall and Griselda Marchbanks arrived at St. Mungo's hospital to discuss, among other more social things, the question of applied mathematics, chemistry, physics, and the Hogwarts curriculum.

Meanwhile, Pennywhistle got hold of Robards, and Snape's trial was rescheduled for the beginning of August.

xxxxxxxxxx

Monday, August 3, 1998 (5 days before the full moon)

The trial convened. This time Harry Potter sat in the visitors' gallery. This time Tony Savage, Snape's legal counsel, wore the formal, medieval court robes. Snape was brought out just before the judges entered the chamber, and had exchanged his usual frock coat for black cutaway coat and trousers, white shirt with a wing-tip collar, and gray waistcoat and cravat. His hair, though still long, was neat, and he looked quite elegant, in an old-fashioned, muggle sort of way.

The court rose, the judges entered and took their places, everyone was seated, and Snape was brought to the prisoner's chair, where snakelike chains bound his arms.

"Your Honors," said Gawain Robards, rising respectfully, "it is not the Prosecution's contention that this prisoner is dangerous, quite the contrary. We see no practical reason why he needs to be restrained. We would, of course, defer to the bench if the honorable judges feel the symbolism of the dock is important in this case."

The judges glanced at each other in silent communication. "The court has no objection to removing the bonds," said Judge Finch, and the chains unwound themselves and disappeared.

"If it please the court, then," Robards continued, "the Prosecution will proceed with its case." He paused as if to consult his notes, then proceeded. "Gentle witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, perceptive as you are, you do not need me to point out to you that the atmosphere of this trial has altered considerably since last June. In June there was an antagonism between the parties of this trial that has ceased to exist. Many of you will say that it is natural to have antagonism between Prosecution and Defense, but the antagonism of which I speak was of a most unusual nature. It existed because the Prosecution wished to defend the defendant, and the Defense wished to prosecute him."

There was an upwelling of murmurs at this which Robards allowed to die down.

"I shall not deny," he continued, "that actions have been committed that are crimes under the law. The Defense does not contest this. The Defense freely admits it. Here we are in perfect agreement. The Prosecution, however, wishes to take into consideration the motives of the defendant in committing these actions, for the Prosecution sees them as mitigating the culpability of the defendant and, by extension, the severity of the penalty he should incur. The Defendant, on the other hand, has been weighed down by the remorse he has felt over the commission of the actions, and has wished to purge himself of that remorse by accepting the full weight of the penalties the law can require. The Prosecution considers those penalties excessive and unjustified. The defendant has spent the last month consulting with medical and legal professionals, and has agreed to accept the Prosecution's view of the case. You must admit, Ladies and Gentlemen, that this is most unusual, and the results may be well worth the wait.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Wizengamot, the Prosecution wishes to present before you the circumstances of the first charge, that of willfully and aforethought encompassing the death of Albus Dumbledore. The Wizengamot will note the absence of the words 'with malice.' The Prosecution calls as its first witness, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

The Judge gaveled the suddenly excited spectators to order. All necks craned for a glimpse of Dumbledore. It was, however, not Dumbledore but Minerva McGonagall who came forward.

"Welcome, Professor McGonagall," Robards said. "Would you state for the court your full name and current occupation?"

"I am Minerva McGonagall, and at the moment I am headmistress of Hogwarts."

"You just heard me call Professor Dumbledore to the stand. Why did you respond instead?"

"Professor Dumbledore is dead. What remains of his memory and personality resides in his official portrait in the office of whatever headmaster or mistress may follow him. He is bound to assist the current headmaster. I am now that headmaster. He must do as I instruct him."

"Does that not compromise his testimony?"

"It depends on what I instruct him to do."

Robards called to the bailiff, "Bring in the portrait of Professor Dumbledore." The court erupted again into a subdued babbling as the portrait, brought from the headmaster's office, was carted into the room.

"Albus," said McGonagall, "answer truthfully. Have I given you instructions yet about this trial?"

"No, Minerva," said the portrait, "you haven't."

"Then I now direct you to answer fully and truthfully to the questions Gawain here puts to you."

"I shall do as the headmistress bids."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," said Robards as he stepped in. "Now, Professor Dumbledore, would you point out to the court the man who killed you?"

"Of course," said the portrait. "It was that man over there. The defendant Severus Snape. Hello, Severus, I trust you are doing well. The others, particularly Nigellus, send their regards."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Robards, "but you ought not to speak to the defendant directly in court."

"No? Well I do apologize. It is just that Severus and I have known each other for twenty-seven years now, and have been in constant contact for all but two of them, so it is quite natural for me to want to greet him when I see him."

"I understand, Professor. Let us return to the matter at hand. You say that the defendant, Severus Snape, did indeed kill you?"

"Yes, he did."

"Do you have any idea why he wanted to kill you?"

"Oh, he did not want to. I had the devil of a time getting him to come around to the idea. At first he absolutely refused. I had to talk to him rather sternly on more than one occasion. In the end, of course, it was clear even to him that he had no choice."

As the portrait was speaking, murmurings started in the room among both the members of the court and the spectators, and Judge Finch had to use his gavel to restore order.

"Professor, would you please explain."

"I would be happy to. It started more than two years ago when I found an item I had been searching for for most of my life, a stone set into a ring, and I was foolish enough to put it on. The ring portion had been cursed, and it nearly killed me. I sent immediately for Severus – he is wonderful when it comes to dealing with dark things – and he was able to delay the action of the curse, though we both knew it was merely a matter of time. That was when I conceived my plan. Everyone now knows, thanks to Harry Potter, that I was the master of the Elder Wand. Above all I did not want the wand to fall into the hands of Tom Riddle – Lord Voldemort – and so I tried to arrange to have Severus become its new master by killing me. I told him that as an act of mercy he should, when it was clear I was dying, spare me torment by killing me himself."

"Did he agree to kill you and become master of the wand?"

"Oh, I did not tell him about the wand part. I did not want anyone to know that he was master of the wand, certainly not him. I wanted the wand hidden away, buried, lost forever. I merely told Severus he would be doing me a kindness. He refused."

"He refused to kill you?"

"He was very forceful in his refusal. I had, as I said, to speak rather sternly to him on several occasions all during the school year, but he would not give in. The idea of killing anyone was abhorrent to him. In the end, as I have also already said, he no longer had a choice."

"Would you please tell the court what happened that night."

"I had gone with young Harry to retrieve one of Riddle's items, a Horcrux. In order to obtain it, I had drunk a poisoned potion, and I knew I needed to get to Severus, who was awake and waiting for my return. Unknown to either of us, Death Eaters had found a passage into the very heart of Hogwarts and were already battling members of my staff. They placed a Dark Mark over the Astronomy tower. When we saw it from Hogsmeade, Harry and I took brooms and went directly to the Tower. There we were confronted by four of the Death Eaters."

"Where was Harry Potter at this moment?"

"He was under an Invisibility Cloak, and I had immobilized him. I did not want him hurt."

"Please continue."

"I had been disarmed and was sinking fast under the effects of the poison. The Death Eaters made it clear that they intended to take over the school and injure or kill the students. I needed a way to get them to leave Hogwarts so that their passage into the school could be destroyed and the students spared. At that moment, Severus appeared on the tower. I told him what to do."

"How did you communicate with him?"

"Legilimency contact. He was also a Death Eater – spying for me – and they would trust him as he had risen rather high in Riddle's chain of command. I was dying anyway. I told him to establish his authority by killing me, and to order them to leave the castle. The ruse was successful. They followed his orders, and the students were spared."

"So the defendant killed you with an Unforgivable Curse."

"Oh my, no. Severus said the words, but he did not possess sufficient intent for the curse to work. No, on my instructions he tossed me into the air, and I fell from the tower. I did manage to slow my fall somewhat, but the effects of the potion I had drunk were very far advanced. I died as a result of the fall."

"Thank you, Professor," said Robards "Now I should like to speak of the other charges, those you have personal knowledge of. Do you have personal knowledge of the deaths of Charity Burbage, Alastor Moody, or Rufus Scrimgeour?"

"Personal knowledge?" said Dumbledore's portrait. "No, I do not."

"Did the defendant ever speak to you of them?"

In the accused's chair in the center of the chamber, Snape shifted uncomfortably.

"Speak," said the portrait benignly, "is such a mild word. It hardly describes the event at all. Severus exploded at me."

"Explain the nature of the explosion, please."

"Professor…" Snape began in an effort to stop Dumbledore.

"The defendant will not interrupt testimony," Judge Finch ordered, and Snape was silent.

"Severus is an occlumens from birth," Dumbledore continued. "He compartmentalizes his feelings and experiences, and locks away things he does not wish to contemplate. When I first met him as a boy of eleven, he did not even understand that he had these locked-away feelings. Such repression is unhealthy, and Hagrid and I worked for a long time to teach him how to open up. When he turned against Voldemort in December 1980, however, his ability to conceal his feelings and thoughts became advantageous to me, and I encouraged it to my advantage and his detriment. Feelings thus repressed have a tendency to break through, and when they do it can be a violent and exhausting episode. In Severus's case, it manifests itself in powerful wandless, nonverbal, telekinetic explosions."

"Have you ever witnessed one of these explosions?"

"Twice. First when we initially got through to him as a child, and second when he arrived at Hogwarts having just been appointed headmaster."

"Why would the second occasion have sparked an 'explosion?'"

"When Voldemort took over the Ministry of Magic, it became immediately clear that he would 'appoint' the next headmaster of Hogwarts. It was vital that Severus be the one selected. A major reason, if you will excuse me for what might sound like vanity, was that the headmaster controls the portraits, of which I am one. If any Death Eater but Severus had been made headmaster, I would have been constrained to provide both information and assistance through that person to Voldemort. Equally, though Severus would have to appear to be a loyal Death Eater, he would be in a position to offer some protection to the school and its students. Thirdly, I needed someone I trusted to perform certain actions that would assist Harry Potter in the fulfillment of his prophesied role as the destroyer of Voldemort. Everything was dependent upon Severus becoming headmaster.

"Severus was never in a position where he might have saved either Professor Burbage or Minister Scrimgeour. The most he could have done was sacrifice himself in a gesture of vain support and protection. If he had, all our plans would have been scuttled. He had to watch their deaths in apparent calm and with apparent consent. Moody's death was an act of compassion to keep Alastor from being tortured by Voldemort's people. Once safe in the headmaster's office, the pressure of this exploded. He flung furniture around, he smashed my wine cellar, he trashed my library, he vilified me and accused me of causing the damnation of his soul… He was utterly distraught until he reached the point of physical collapse. And he specifically mentioned the deaths of Moody, Burbage, and Scrimgeour as being events that distressed him."

Robards allowed the testimony to merge into a general silence in which Professor McGonagall could be heard sniffing into a handkerchief.

"Professor," said Robards after the court had digested the previous information, "the defendant was in your custody on parole for having been a Death Eater from 1978 until 1981. Do you know why he broke parole and returned to Voldemort?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He did it because I told him to. I needed him to spy for me, and he was following my orders."

"Do you believe he undermined the integrity and good order of Hogwarts?"

"No. It is true that while he was headmaster, Hogwarts did decline. The question is how much further it would have declined, how much worse things might have been, had he not been there to mitigate the effects of Voldemort's orders. And you must also consider that our main goal was the destruction of Voldemort. For this, Severus had to remain within the safety of Hogwarts protecting both himself and me. For him to have defied Voldemort would have caused our utter defeat."

Silence again descended on the court. After a moment, Robards said, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. That will be all for now. The Prosecution calls Nigel Yaxley to the stand."

Nigel Yaxley's face was not in his favor. He had coarse, rough features that gave him a brutal appearance, though Snape was well aware of a much gentler interior. Nigel was the type of back-up you used when you wanted to prevent a fight before it got started. He had that kind of intimidating look to him.

"Mr. Yaxley," Robards began after Yaxley had identified himself to the court, "how long have you known the defendant Severus Snape?"

"I first came into contact with him in 1979. That was when he started teach defensive combat skills."

"You'll have to go back a bit and fill us in. Where were you employed at the time?"

"I was a fourth level Death Eater at the Dark Lord's headquarters in London."

It only took a few taps of the gavel to quiet the courtroom, and Robards continued. "What was the defendant's position?"

"He was a relatively new recruit, who'd been brought in at third level because of his potions and spells skills."

"What was the occasion of your meeting?"

"He'd just been assigned to teach defensive combat skills, and I'd been told to take a class. We all thought it was kind of funny, this wet-behind-the-ears nineteen-year-old teaching us how to fight, but the captains said he'd put on an impressive show in front of the Dark Lord battling Amycus Carrow, so it was worth finding out what he could do."

"What could he do?"

"Wriggle his way out of just about any attack you hit him with as long as his back was defended, and most of the time even when it wasn't. He taught defensive spells, but he also taught how to watch the other man's eyes so you knew what was coming. He taught muggle techniques, too. We didn't think much of that until Thorfinn Rowle lost his wand to an Expelliarmus during an operation in Warwickshire and used Snape's dodging exercises to get clear. It made us think, and we took him more seriously after that. You just had to remember he didn't know squat about attack, just loads about defense."

"I realize, Mr. Yaxley, that you yourself are not on trial, but for the edification of the court, would you be willing to tell us exactly what your position was at that time."

"Sure. I was a spy. I'd worked under cover for Alastor Moody – you know, the auror – in several criminal cases. He convinced me to join the Dark Lord in order to pass him information. I was dumb enough to agree. The Dark Lord was recruiting a lot among the Hogwarts graduates at the time, but as I never went to Hogwarts, they wouldn't any of them know who I was. I was just a field operative back then, but I sent Moody everything I could."

"Did you know that at that time, when you met the defendant, Moody was also secretly working for Albus Dumbledore."

"No, sir, I did not."

"Could you tell us the defendant's position at the time Voldemort attacked the Potters and was defeated by little Harry?"

"Not a lot. Moody was scrambling to keep me out of the roundup, and I really wasn't thinking about him. I found out later he'd done all right, keeping his position at Hogwarts and all. I figured he'd wriggled out of another one."

Robards paced the courtroom, his hands cupped behind the small of his back, seemingly lost in thought. "Tell us about the return of Voldemort in 1995," he asked next.

"No real contact at first. A lot of the top people were in Azkaban, so I found myself in the third level ordered to organize a cell in Cardiff. I didn't have a lot of success. I mean, Moody didn't want the cell to grow, and I was supposed to try to get back to headquarters instead of stuck off in Wales, but I've never been good at organizing so I'd probably have failed at it even if I'd wanted to succeed. Then they had the breakout at Azkaban, and I got transferred back to London. That was when I got the first inkling because Moody told me whatever else happened, I shouldn't get in Snape's way. He didn't say why, but I could tell it was because he was like me, playing the double game."

"Did the two of you ever work together?"

"Yes. He realized pretty quickly that I didn't want to support the Lestranges and those others, so I became sort of one of his lieutenants. He told everyone he was trying to protect his laboratory at headquarters, but he was really trying to protect someone at Hogwarts. We worked together on a shield that would only let certain people through, and he was creating a safe house in Oxford. I think the safe house is still there. I don't think he ever used it."

"Mr. Yaxley," Robards said in his most official manner, "where were you on the night that Albus Dumbledore died?"

"Me?" said Yaxley. "I was on the Astronomy tower watching everything."

"Please tell us how you got there, and what you were doing," said Robards as the gasp and murmur at these words quickly died down.

"I was at headquarters when the call came that they needed people quick down in London. It was late at night, but I'd been spending a lot of time at headquarters because Snape was working on something involving a student – I won't say his name because he was a minor at the time, and he hasn't been charged with anything – and the call was for people to go into Hogwarts. We apparated down to London to… a shop where there was a cabinet. It had a direct link to another cabinet on the seventh floor at Hogwarts. We ran into staff making their rounds as soon as we went into the corridor, and we had a fight on our hands."

"Was Professor Snape present at that time?"

"No, which was fortunate or he'd have had to take sides. I tried to do as little as possible. Gibbon ran up to the Astronomy tower to put up the Dark Mark. Somehow – maybe the student told him – he knew Dumbledore wasn't in the castle, and they wanted him to go right to the tower. Gibbon got hit by a misdirected Killing Curse as soon as he came down the steps, but the student went running up to the top of the tower. The fighting was pretty fierce. More teachers and ministry guards, and even students on their side. We had more coming through the portal, too. When the Carrows and Greyback showed up, they didn't join the fight. They grabbed me and asked where the student was. I told them and they went right up the stairs. That made me nervous, so I went with them and rigged the stairs so only Snape could follow me."

"How did you do that?"

"Modified stable shield. I'd helped him develop one for his potions lab at headquarters. I don't understand the science behind it – muggle science – but it worked. I had the spell that would block everyone but him. Then I ran up to the tower. Dumbledore was there, the student, the Carrows, and Greyback. And two brooms. The student looked nervous. Dumbledore looked sick, and he didn't have a wand. Dumbledore greeted the Carrows and Greyback, but he ignored me. I had the feeling maybe he knew I was working for Moody, and since I was the last up the stairs, he didn't want to draw the attention of the others to the fact I was there. The others started telling the student to kill Dumbledore, but it was pretty clear he didn't want to. Greyback was talking about killing other students just for fun, then said he would kill Dumbledore himself. That's when I had to say something."

"What did you say?"

"I told them we had orders that only the student should kill Dumbledore and we weren't to do it ourselves. I was trying to buy time, hoping Snape would show up. When Greyback moved toward Dumbledore, I even blasted him aside. I was afraid the three of them might turn on me, but that's when Snape appeared on the tower."

The court was silent, everyone caught up in the story. "What did Professor Snape do?" Robards asked.

"He looked around and saw me. I could tell he was estimating the odds, the two of us against the three of them, but then Dumbledore spoke his name and he turned and pushed the boy aside so he and Dumbledore could make eye contact. Then Dumbledore glanced over at me and said, 'Severus, please…'"

"Why do you think he did that?"

"I think he did it for me. I think he spoke out loud so that I would know that whatever Snape was about to do, he was doing it because Dumbledore'd asked him to do it. So I would know that I could still trust Snape and follow his orders. That was when I was sure Dumbledore knew I was working for Moody. Then Snape raised his wand and said the Killing Curse. I knew something was fishy when it blasted Dumbledore off the tower, but I didn't say anything. Snape grabbed the boy, ordered us to get out quickly, and left the tower. I was the last, or so I thought, but I got hit from behind by a Petrificus spell. Harry Potter had been on the tower as well."

"So you didn't see the end of the fight?"

"No, sir. They discovered me and put me in custody, but Moody got me out really quick. Then I found out that Dumbledore really was dead, and I started to have doubts about Snape. Moody told me to be careful until we were sure which side Snape was on. I went back to headquarters and was made liaison with the group working in the Ministry of Magic trying to recruit or Imperius key people there."

"Were you present at the deaths of Charity Burbage or Rufus Scrimgeour? Did Professor Snape kill them?"

"I was there when Burbage died. The Dark Lord killed her; Snape had to watch. I wasn't there when Scrimgeour died."

"Thank you Mr. Yaxley. That will be all for the moment." Robards looked over at the judge, who ordered court recessed for lunch.

xxxxxxxxxx