Disclaimer: All rights belong to the inimitable J.K. Rowling.

Too Deep for the Healing

Chapter 37

The Ministry Again

The substitute healer from St. Mungo's arrived late in the afternoon, and Mrs Primrose told Snape that he was free to leave if he wanted to. Free! The nurse did not notice how that word affected him. It was a word he did not want to hear just then. Not yet. Or not any more. He would see… he would soon see.

Mrs Primrose thanked him for his help, but it was easy to realize that he was not simply 'free' to go – he was supposed to leave. The healer from St Mungo's was a newcomer, and Snape's presence, as well as any information about the role he had recently played in running the hospital, might be an embarrassment to the regular camp personnel (including Mrs Primrose). Snape understood the unsaid request in the nurse's words; so he locked the laboratory, hid the borrowed wand under his cloak and hurried to Irene, carrying a dose of potion he had just made for her.

The truth was that he himself was not particularly eager to be introduced to any strangers. ("This is Severus Snape, a former Death Eater, murderer and currently our Potions expert. He will be with us for about fifteen years unless the wise members of the Wizengamot change their minds about him tomorrow.") Yet, being present without being introduced (like a piece of equipment), as the new healer was being shown round the wards, would have hurt his pride.

Irene did not look well. She was pale and weak, and although that was only natural when an illness affected one's magic, Snape felt worried. There were maladies potions could not cure. He was not at all a fully qualified healer, and although he always performed his tasks in a precise and conscientious way, being responsible for Irene's well-being robbed him of his usual confidence in his own skills, and he felt pathetically inadequate when he thought that the remedy she needed might lie beyond his area of expertise. Irene made some obvious efforts to please him and to appear happier and stronger than she was in reality, but no white lie could deceive him.

It was in this mood that Percy Weasley found him. Weasley had just returned from his long holiday, and seeing Snape was one of the first things he did. Convicts were usually summoned by their supervisors, and Snape guessed that only a few days earlier he would have been summoned as well. It was a tribute to his new role in the camp that Weasley walked over to the hospital personally just to inform him – officially - that he was to appear in front of the Wizengamot on the following day. He would be escorted to the Ministry by a prison guard and an auror. (Weasley made it sound like a guard of honour.) He was to be ready to leave by seven o'clock and he was to report at the supervisor's office at the same time. Weasley also brought a message from Mrs Primrose to Irene that the newly arrived healer was coming to see her in a few minutes.

"Tomorrow then," Irene said as Weasley left them.

Snape nodded. He had known it for days, yet it seemed somehow more real now that Weasley had announced it in his official manner.

"The new healer will be here soon," he muttered. "I hope everything will be all right.

"Don't worry about me. She's a very experienced and highly qualified healer. And I've been in excellent hands so far."

Snape let the compliment pass.

"I had better go," he said.

"Already?"

"I may stay a bit longer if you need me," he answered hesitantly.

She tried to smile.

"I thought you'd need me."

"I would make for very bad company tonight. And I must prepare…"

"Is there anything I can do? Any way I can help?"

He did his best to appear composed, and he gave her a light, quick kiss.

"No, no way. But it's all right. It's just that I'd rather be alone."

She squeezed his hand.

"Go then. The new colleague will probably have a lot of questions about the hospital, and Mrs Primrose will be coming, too. You'd be bored."

Snape did not seize this last opportunity to spend some time with the Pensieve. He welcomed solitude because he was significantly more nervous than he let on, and he did not want Irene to discover how much. Trying to look cool and confident for hours on end would have been exhausting. He had always been alone before, and he still had no idea how to share the period of waiting, the hours of growing anxiety before a decisive event. He had waited alone for his first trial as well, and no one had worried about him during his meetings with the Dark Lord. On the night the Dark Lord had regained his power and he had to start gambling with his own life in order to protect Potter's, he received encouragement from no one. Dumbledore had simply set the goals but never asked him how he was going to pull off the task or how he was coping with the stress.

Solitude had seemed natural then. Tonight, however, he was aware of a deep-rooted longing, a haunting wish to be with Irene, to feel her hand squeeze his hand again. What kept him from turning back and knocking on her door? Vanity? Pride? Insecurity? The night was long, and it was very late when he fell asleep, and he had bad dreams.

In the morning, he got up feeling more tired than the evening before. He still missed Irene, but he told himself it was too early to visit her, and he went straight to Weasley's office instead. Three people were waiting for him there: Weasley, the guard Jones, who was going to accompany him to the Ministry, and - Irene. She was even paler than the day before, and Snape suddenly realized that facing her anxiety was more trying than facing his own. Although Irene was careful not to make his situation more difficult and assumed an expression of confidence and optimism, Snape saw right through her and knew she was afraid. He, too, only pretended to be brave and determined - and he was definitely the better actor of the two of them.

Since they were not alone, no particular intimacies were possible, except for a few words of goodbye. Irene gave him a small parcel with food and drink for the day (how did she guess he had not had breakfast?), and reached for his hand.

"The truth is on your side. Remember that," she whispered.

"I know," he replied, more in order to soothe her than out of conviction.

"I'll be waiting for you."

How long was she prepared to wait? The question remained unspoken, and the door of the Ministry's magical vehicle (disguised as a Muggle car) was locked securely behind him. Failure today would not only ruin him but would also bring sorrow and disappointment to her - and it was a sort of anxiety he had never encountered in his life before. If things should go disastrously wrong, the outcome of the trial might prevent him from ever seeing her again. He had not even asked how she was or what the new healer had said – how could he be so thoughtless?

He was travelling through unbelievable, surrealistic winter countryside, and the early morning darkness grew darker as the vehicle went underwater, and the journey across the bog began. It reminded him of the first crossing, little more than six months before, though it seemed ages now, so much had changed since then. More might change soon if only the present journey were not in vain… He peered into the darkness through the window as though he was trying to peer through the veil of future – something he had never been able to do. He had never been good at Divination. He hated Divination.

"We'll be on the other side in no time. It doesn't really take long."

The guard was talking to him. Snape glanced at the young man's round, baby-like face, wondering if Jones meant to encourage him, if the guard had the cheek to suppose he needed encouragement while crossing a body of water in a magical vehicle.

"I don't care how long it takes," he replied coldly.

Of all the guards, Jones was the only one to whom he owed some gratitude (though he had never really shown any) and it was still difficult to trust him.

"The destination is more important than the journey," Jones conceded reluctantly, as though the manner of Snape's response had offended him. "The Daily Prophet will be there and everything."

The riposte did not miss the mark, and Snape swallowed hard. If that was the only kind of publicity his life could generate, he would rather not have any of it.

"I haven't read the Prophet lately," he said gruffly.

"Most people in the camp read it. But it always comes late."

"Since it seems you will be obliged to attend the trial," Snape replied sharply, "you won't need to rely on the Prophet's account of it. You can hardly complain."

"Don't you like the Prophet?" Jones asked.

Snape did not answer. He wondered on what basis they were conversing like that. A guard and a convict surely were not supposed to chat while one was keeping the other from running away! As a former student of his, however, Jones was discussing his personal life somewhat too freely.

"If you are found not guilty," Jones continued, "it'll be nice having all your acquaintances find it out at once."

If he were found not guilty… would an article in the Daily Prophet mean appropriate satisfaction for all the trouble and humiliation he had suffered? Of course, a lot would depend on how they chose to report the story… a lot…

"What does it matter to you," he burst, "what the Wizengamot will decide? What is that to you?"

"Healer Burbage is convinced you were sentenced by mistake," Jones answered gravely. "She wouldn't be your friend if she thought you were a criminal. She can't be wrong…"

Snape's eyes nearly pierced the young man.

It was still the same old story. Most people believed him only because of some other person, like Dumbledore before and now maybe Potter, and in this particular case – Irene. Would he ever have his own credibility?

"A former Death Eater may be able to deceive her," he said sardonically. "I wouldn't have scruples if I were a dark wizard, would I?"

Jones responded with a sharp, clear glance.

"If you deceived her, I would kill you."

Snape peered through the window once more. Now he understood why he could not like the guard, but it was still a mystery why the younger man had never used his position to harm him – and suddenly he felt something akin to respect and sympathy for this former student of his. If anyone, he knew what unrequited love meant. It was still a novelty for him to be the more fortunate suitor. Jones might not be exactly the kind most girls dreamt about, but nor was he. Yet, Irene loved him.

Again, he was reminded of the trial and the worst possible scenario. If the Wizengamot found him guilty, they might perhaps reconsider the sentence and decide that the Dark Lord's right-hand man had been punished too lightly – and he might end up in Azkaban. Irene would not have to be alone for long - far from it… She could easily find a younger man, a free man, a man without all the burden and trouble he had.

He, in his stupidity, would have left without saying goodbye to her if she had not chosen to see him out - when they could have spent the night, perhaps their last night, together. Not that she would have found much pleasure in him. She would have found him a misery if he had been honest. No, he would much rather be remembered for the Christmas they had spent together if the worst came to the worst.

Neither the guard, nor Snape spoke more during the crossing. On the other side of the bog, they stopped to pick up the auror who was to travel with them. It was Potter. He sat down next to Snape, and Jones was tactful enough to retreat to the far end of the vehicle and let them have a final discussion before the trial.

"Professor Snape," Potter began, but Snape interrupted him.

"I'm not a professor at the moment, Potter."

"Professor Dumbledore always insisted that I should refer to you as Professor Snape," Potter replied calmly.

"That was only common politeness and rightful respect at the time," Snape said in a rather teacher-like tone.

Their eyes met, and a minute of uncomfortable silence ensued.

They both remembered that Dumbledore had known exactly just how much respect was due to Severus Snape from the son of Lily and James Potter. His insistence on Snape's proper title might well have been regarded as a remarkable gesture, and Snape flushed with shame. He felt increasingly irritated.

"Recently I've been thinking about Dumbledore a lot," said Potter.

"You mean the enigma he gave you?"

"No, not that… About Dumbledore and you," Potter explained. "I've realized things … important things."

Potter hesitated.

"Dumbledore made you protect me," he went on cautiously, "but don't you think he has also made me protect you? I mean … it is no accident that I've ended up helping you clear your name."

Snape did not respond, and Potter interpreted his silence – correctly – as permission for him to continue.

"Just look at the way he gave us tasks that ultimately... complemented each other."

"You mean I was the one who had to kill him," Snape retorted roughly, "and you were … everything else. We complemented each other as death complements life… as darkness and light complement each other. I played the role of death and darkness, while you had all the light… and life. Ingenious!"

He hit the window with his fist, and Jones jumped to his feet at the back of the car. Potter remained calm.

"It is more complicated than that," Potter pointed out. "We both faced death and protected life and we both fought against the Dark Side. What is more -"

"But I was the only one," Snape cut in, "who had to kill… who had to kill him! I must live with that forever, regardless of what the Wizengamot might rule… I was the disposable one… and I had no one but him!"

It was out at last. The truth no one could deny but no one had ever pronounced, either because it was too uncomfortable or because no one was interested, was out now, flung at Harry Potter, who was obliged to respond. But Potter did not even seem surprised.

"I know," he said pensively, gazing at the pale winter landscape outside. "I realize what it means to you. And I know why it is difficult to face your memories. Earlier … I didn't understand. Yesterday, Kingsley gave me a Ministry Pensieve to safeguard it until the trial and I tested it. I had never thought it could be so different… Dumbledore never let me know… You see, I had never viewed my own memories before, only the memories of others -"

"Don't… remind me," Snape grunted, and Potter fell silent.

The Ministry courtroom was full of people, and the crowd doubtless included a number of journalists. When Snape was led in, only the creaking of wood and the rustling of paper could be heard, and every head turned towards him. He had to sit in the already familiar chair of defendants, which uncompromisingly chained him. He briefly winced as he felt the cold iron press against his body, but immediately he steeled himself and then he stared ahead motionless as though he himself had frozen into some hard, cold material.

Potter entered a few minutes later and sat down next to Snape, a fact that was bound to excite further interest, a fact that would definitely be worth noting. Snape had not expected it, and when he glanced sideways, he saw that Potter was holding a Pensieve on his lap.

"Once I had a hearing, too," Potter said quietly.

Snape remembered. Dumbledore had managed to defend Potter despite his own reduced power and influence, but he also had a reason to keep away from the boy and was consequently convinced that Potter's feelings were hurt. Now Potter was sitting by his side, talking to him, showing his support for him in every possible way, apparently anxious to avoid Dumbledore's mistake, and yet, he was unable to feel anything – except, of course, the acute desire to be somewhere else.

The members of the Wizengamot were in their seats, and Snape saw Shacklebolt sitting in the middle of the first row. The Minister opened the trial, asking the council to pay attention to every detail and to consider every aspect of what might be a very unusual case in front of them. A council member summarized the history of the case and read out the charges of which Snape had been found guilty as well as the original sentence. It was a long speech, during which Snape desperately tried to think about Irene. But he heard the charges all the same, and the words hurt him as much as before.

Then Miss Granger entered the courtroom and presented the witnesses for the defence. They were young people who had been Hogwarts students during Snape's headmastership or parents of Hogwarts students who were considered too young to testify at the trial. Their combined account was a fairly realistic portrayal of Headmaster Snape. No miracles had happened while he was in charge of the school, and tortures had certainly taken place, but he had done everything in his power to protect the children. No one had been killed.

The Weasley girl, the Lovegood girl and the Longbottom boy also showed up to recount the story of the sword of Gryffindor, how and why they had tried to steal it from the Headmaster's office, how they had been caught by Snape and sent to the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, as punishment. A Gringotts goblin testified that a fake sword had later been deposited in Madam Lestrange's vault, while Ron Weasley related how he had found the original sword in an icy pool in another forest and how he had saved his friend, Harry Potter, who was trying to retrieve it.

The prosecution, of course, doubted everything. The idea of 'safe punishment' proved nothing. Weasley could only say that he and Potter thought the sword had been placed in the pool by Snape but admitted that they had not realized it then. It was insinuated that even if one could prove that the sword had indeed been left there for them by Severus Snape, it would be no proof of his allegiance to the cause of the Light Side, since Harry Potter had nearly died trying to bring it up - an occurrence that would obviously have served the interests of the Dark Side.

Potter stirred.

"Don't," Snape hissed under his breath. "No point."

Potter slightly shrugged his shoulders. The Doe Patronus was to remain a secret then. He was sure such a detail would have created a good impression – but Snape was unyielding in his opinion.

Minerva.

Hagrid.

Support-Harry-Potter parties.

Witnesses for the prosecution: students tortured by the Carrows (never by him), Death Eaters brought back from Azkaban and hoping to survive by drowning someone else. Familiar stuff.

Hermione Granger asking clever questions.

Snape feeling numb in the tight grip of the chains.

Then he had to stand up. The chains let go of him, and it was only with considerable effort that he managed to stand. The prosecution wondered whether Severus Snape had been a squeamish sort of Death Eater or whether there was any serious, creditable evidence that he had been acting in the interest of the Light Side.

Potter also rose when Snape did, and Summoned a small table, which stopped neatly in front of them. Potter put the Pensieve on it. Behind Snape, necks were craning and elbows were nudging. With the permission of the Wizengamot, Potter handed him a wand, and Snape held it to his temple and extracted a memory – only one – and let it fall into the Pensieve. He held the wand over the surface of the silvery, neither-gas-nor-liquid substance, murmured the spell, and watched as the three-dimensional scene emerged from the basin and grew until it was large enough for everyone in the room to see.

He was thinking of Irene again. He was doing it for her… he would never have done it for himself only.

Potter took the wand back from him, while in the enlarged, eerily true-to-life scene he was just receiving his summons from Dumbledore. He saw himself hurry to his boss and commander - only boss and commander, nothing more, he reminded himself, but his expression in the Pensieve-scene as he bent over the seriously injured old man belied the denial.

Only for Irene… she alone was worth it.

Snape in the Pensieve-image was saving Dumbledore's life.

Snape in the courtroom was gripping the edge of the table.

"I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus."

He had already forgotten that Dumbledore had said that. He had failed to properly prepare for this trial, despite the chance he had had, and this was the result. His lips whitened with the effort to stay calm. They must not see him break down. He doubted that even Irene could really understand what he was doing for her.

The discussion about the Dark Lord's plan and about Draco… then Dumbledore's request to him.

"And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"

Snape's living eyes bored into the image of the old man as though he was still expecting the answer he had not got then, but it never came, only Dumbledore's ultimate reasoning about pain and humiliation, and the promise that he had finally made…

Dumbledore thanked him, and the words were followed by a spell of uncanny silence broken at last by Shacklebolt's voice speaking to him.

"Is there anything you would like to add, Severus?"

He responded with a shake of his head. He had never been so badly prepared in his life, but even if he had known what to say, he might have been unable to say it. When he sat down, the chair chained him again. He did not care. Potter remained standing.

It was the prosecution's turn to speak.

"As we have seen, Dumbledore indeed ordered the defendant to murder him. We must not forget, however, that the same was the wish of the Chief Dark Wizard as well. The question is therefore this: Whose order was Severus Snape following in reality?"

"There can be no doubt about that," Potter replied at once. "When Professor Snape saved Professor Dumbledore's life, he certainly missed a great opportunity to oblige Tom Riddle. Why didn't he kill him, why didn't he just let him die, why did he rescue him? The answer is simple: Professor Snape was Dumbledore's man through and through!"

"All right," said the stout, stubborn wizard representing the prosecution. "He killed Dumbledore on Dumbledore's orders. But are we to condone murder in any shape or form? Does anyone have the right to kill just because the murder is requested or ordered by the victim? Dumbledore may have been a genius, but his word was not law. Killing a man is murder - that is the word of our law. Are we to allow any wizards to regard themselves as exceptions? Can the Wizengamot afford to encourage crime on any pretext? Can the Wizengamot – or the Minister of Magic - set such a dangerous precedent in the current political situation? Our recent history is full of the most abominable types of crime, and it is our job to see to it now that everyone in our community – including Severus Snape - must observe the law or suffer the consequences."

The solemn, shocked silence was all forgotten. The wizard demanding a guilty verdict was an effective orator, and all of a sudden everyone began voicing their opinion, the members of the audience as well as those of the council, and in that cacophonous babel of voices, only one person remained silent – Severus Snape, who buried his face in his hands, exhausted and ready to give up. A divided audience might have been good news, and in comparison with the first trial, it was unquestionably an improvement. But the hostile words of accusation hit home more than anyone in the room could have imagined. He had no moral right to share his name with Irene while the label of murderer was attached to it, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing more, he could do to ever persuade the wizarding community to absolve him.

The Minister ordered silence, but the people took their time. Yet, when silence fell again, it was so deep and complete that Snape had to look up. He saw Potter standing by the small table, a single thin string of a silvery substance, like a gossamer thread, sliding gently from the tip of his wand into the Pensieve.