It had been weeks now, and the majority of the structural damages to the castle had been fixed. There were still great piles of rubble stacked in the oddest places, portraits out of place and fond of telling passersby about it. By and large, however, the castle had begun to look like itself again. It didn't feel quite right, but that was mostly because he wasn't attached to the wards any more.
Hermione was off in the hospital wing helping Poppy with the last few patients on their way to St. Mungo's. He'd been restocking the infirmary constantly, the girls watching his every move from their identical tall stools in the lab. (It was just lucky that the most useful healing potions weren't prone to explosive reactions or putting off toxic steam during brewing; it had been an excellent opportunity to pass the days with the twins.)
Flitwick giggled uproariously, bringing Severus back to the moment. He, Minerva, Flitwick and Pomona were seated in a courtyard with lunch on a conjured table. They'd been talking about the last year, and it had been almost painful—the professors spent half the time apologizing for not seeing through his ruse. Luckily, the conversation had begun to turn to the opportunity for educational reform on their horizon.
"Hello," Hermione said, making her way across the courtyard surprisingly quickly in her high heels. She'd taken to wearing Muggle business attire when she went to the Ministry, a 'subtle' reminder that she was Muggle-born. She wore short sleeves more often than not, too, clearly displaying the white letters carved into her inner arm by Bellatrix. (He was getting used to seeing them; he didn't feel the urge to storm off and eviscerate the dead witch at the sight of them any longer.)
"Hello, dear," Minerva said jovially, smiling when Hermione sat down on the retaining wall next to Severus and kissed his cheek in greeting. Severus felt like he should have blushed under the scrutiny, but glared at Minerva instead.
"There's an ambassador from the Australian Ministry who wants to meet with us, Severus," she said, nodding her thanks when he handed her his plate. He still had half a sandwich and most of his chips left for her.
"I suppose they're pushing to extradite us or something?"
"They wouldn't say. I had to sign a form saying that I'd received notice of the appointment and planned to clear my schedule to attend, though."
"Better you than me."
Mentally, she rolled her eyes at him.
"Why is there an Australian ambassador to meet with?" Flitwick asked, helping himself to another handful of chips.
"Madam Snape!" A house elf said, popping into the courtyard and twitching excitedly from foot to foot. "Madam Snape, Madam Poppy is wanting you in the hospital!"
"Thanks for lunch," Hermione said, handing him his plate back, and taking the hand the elf offered her. With a pop, they were gone.
"I'd hardly call that lunch," he mumbled after her, looking down at his plate. She'd eaten a few bites of sandwich and even fewer chips.
"You really must tell us how that came to be," Pomona said, popping the last of her own sandwich into her mouth and looking ridiculously innocent in her cheerfulness. It was like none of the last year had happened, and they just happened to be gathered for lunch in the courtyard as Heads of House. The four of them had been known to gather socially on occasion, though they rarely had time for it while school was in session.
He scowled at Pomona because he felt like it was expected of him, and because he wasn't sure where to start.
"All I know about it is that they used to spend quite a bit of time shouting at each other at headquarters, and then Severus asked me down to his quarters last Christmas for a bit of wine that turned out to be serving as their witness. He did get her a very nice ring," Minerva said. She sounded a lot like he expected an aunt or some other close female relative would. A particularly doting aunt, fond of him and his choice in bride. He had to fight down the urge to blush again as he spun his wedding ring around on his finger (they'd finally had a moment to take them out of the bottom of Hermione's satchel, and he didn't plan to take it off ever again if he could help it).
"That's about all there is to know about it," he said petulantly, getting smirks in return. His glare had lost its power on the Heads of House ages ago. Minerva beamed at him. Flitwick chuckled. Pomona looked like she wanted to hug him until he gave over and talked.
He felt suddenly tearful. He'd missed this. Having friends.
They left the children with Tup. (Most of their first choices for babysitters would be part of the hearing.) The little elf bobbed and smiled eagerly, talking about all the food she was going to make for "the babies." Bast had that gleam in his eye that usually meant he was aiming for an overlarge amount of something chocolate to replace a proper meal.
"They'll be fine," Severus whispered in her ear, taking her hand. The Hogwarts contingent was taking a Portkey out together. They had to go to the Great Hall to meet the others.
"I know they will, I just…"
He kissed her temple, let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist, and she let him guide her away. A small, terrified voice in the back of her mind tried to tell her that she should bring them with, that it wouldn't be such a bother to sit with them. But this hearing was definitely not a place she wanted the children, nor was the Ministry.
"How are you so calm about all this?"
"We're bloody alive, Hermione," he murmured, low enough that nobody else would hear. "If I've learned anything, it's that that's all it takes."
"You're going to make me cry."
He rolled his eyes at her. She poked him in the ribs. Minerva smiled tolerantly at them.
"Oh, stop flirting," Poppy said, feigning annoyance. "You've already married each other."
"We even filed the paperwork," Hermione said agreeably. Minerva held out an old copy of the Prophet and they all gathered around. Hagrid, Flitwick, Sprout, Minerva and Poppy touched the paper and, as the clock struck eight, they were whisked away to the Ministry.
The atrium was full of people. The press lurched in on all sides, screaming over each other to the point where Hermione couldn't make out a single question. Flashbulbs went off, filling the air with bursts of bright light and puffs of white smoke.
"Bloody ridiculous,"Flitwick muttered, expertly navigating the crowd by ducking around knees. He was quickly out of sight. Hermione was quite jealous.
Slowly, they made their way from the arrival point to the main entrance. They all had their wands checked and were given a badge that read, "Hearing in Courtroom B."
They were the first group to arrive. The courtroom was large and empty. There was a raised dais with a long table on it, lamps and writing implements at each chair. At the foot of the dais was another long table with seven scrolls of parchment in neat rolls and matched to seven tidy black Dictaquills. The center of the room held a single chair, very plain. (Flitwick conjured it a nice cushion for it immediately.) The rest of the room was ringed with low benches. They looked almost like church pews, but rounded to fit the circular shape of the room.
The light was yellow-white and ambient. The woods were dark. The stone was beige. There were no decorations on the walls, nor were there cobwebs in the corners. A very straight-forward, functional room.
The Weasleys—or at least most of them—arrived next. George helped Fred in while Mrs. Weasley hovered. Mr. Weasley followed her with Ginny. Charlie, Ron and Harry seemed to be talking Quidditch.
The rest began pouring in. Dedalus Diggle with his ridiculous top hat. Hestia Jones chatting amiably with Augusta Longbottom. Bill and Fleur walking hand-in-hand. Neville, Luna and most of the D.A. walking in like they were trying to sneak in, like they didn't belong. Mr. Ollivander and Aberforth Dumbledore, both of whom nodded solemnly at Severus.
Looking around, Hermione had to repress a laugh. They looked like a ridiculous bunch. They didn't fit together in the least, just looking at them. There were shop owners and pub owners, teachers, representatives from all levels and most departments of the Ministry, very old and very young. They were a ragged bunch. Only a handful hadn't been at what the press had begun to call the Battle of Hogwarts, and they'd been the ones at the Ministry. Very few of them had had a proper moment to recoup since the beginning of the month.
They did fit together, however. The Order had never operated in cells, communication had been open. Smaller groups had met, but they'd been more like committees with their decisions shared with the larger group at the next full meeting. Only at the end, when Dumbledore had been dying, had the secrets begun.
They were chatting, milling about the space, sharing the tea somebody had found in an anteroom when the panel arrived. Hermione had been chatting quite amiably with Kinglsey, holding tight to Severus to keep him from going over and reaming Ron across the coals for telling the story of Voldemort's demise by crate again, when somebody cleared their throat. It was close enough to Umbridge's hem hem that the room was immediately silent, all eyes trained on the poor secretary—tall and lean with a pixie haircut; no way in the slightest reminiscent of the toad.
"Er. Good morning," the secretary said. "My name is Cecelia Wormwood."
Most of the people in the room probably had already known who she was. They either worked at the Ministry with her, or they'd taught her. She blushed.
"If you'll all take your seats, please?"
Slowly, still chatting a bit, the Order, the D.A., and the rest found someplace to sit. Hermione and Severus ended up off to one side and far enough back so that they could see most of the room.
"Good morning," Cecelia Wormwood said again, standing near the chair at the center of the room and eyeing the cushion suspiciously. "This is the official debriefing hearing concerning the events leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts—"
Somebody scoffed at the name. Wormwood straightened her shoulders, glared into the middle distance, and ignored it.
"—leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts. Everything said during this hearing will be on record." She gestured to the Dictaquills already scratching away, taking down her introduction. "However, none of the statements recorded here will be admissible as testimony. The purpose of this hearing is merely to establish a grounding of facts from as many of the people closely involved in the events as possible."
The room was very still. It seemed to be making Wormwood uncomfortable.
"Let's begin, shall we?" Abraham Ketterling, one of the panelists, asked. He looked vaguely like Dumbledore, with his long beard and spectacles, but that was where the resemblance ended. His hair was stone gray instead of white, and while he wore the long beard he had no mustache to go with it. He had bushy eyebrows, and a mad mess of kinky hair on top of his head. His eyes were brown, not blue. His nose was small and straight to Dumbledore's crooked. He was a pleasant sort of man, to look at him. Hermione vaguely recalled hearing that he'd made his career in Charms research and spent most of the previous year hiding in Portugal penning letters to the Daily Prophet that had never been printed.
"Yes, lets," Minerva said, arranging her robes more comfortably around her.
There was a moment for figuring out the logistics. The panel—six witches and wizards, most of them fairly old—took their seats and sharpened the nibs on their quills. In addition to Ketterling, there was Alexander Wendt the potioneer from St. Mungo's, James North of the Department of Finance, Laurel Willis the Obliviator, Constance Martin the Unspeakable, and Hamish O'Connor from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Martin looked a bit like a Viking she-warrior. O'Connor was lean and freckled. North and Willis were both so old and wrinkled that it was hard to decipher any distinguishing features beyond his bulbous protuberance of a nose and her near-yellow eyes.
North had sat on the Wizengamot at some point but retired from politics years ago. O'Connor had been a favorite for eventual Minister of Magic before the whispers of Voldemort had surfaced. Ketterling had been the wizard selected to replace Dumbledore as Head Mugwump briefly when Umbridge had had him ousted. The others had never been part of the Wizengamot.
A few empty seats to fill, it seems, Hermione thought, catching Severus's eye and smirking. The Wizengamot had been loaded in Voldemort's favor, and Kingsley's quick work at the Ministry meant most of them were pacing holding cells at the moment.
