It was the third trial he'd taken part in. There were dozen more, subpoenas for his testimony arriving every morning with the post as regularly as the damn newspaper.
Life after the Dark Lord seemed, at times, to consist of nothing more than attending funerals and sitting in a courtroom testifying against people he'd known since he was a teenager.
This one would be different since he was testifying in Lucius's favor. He'd be at Draco and Narcissa's trials, too, when those dates were set.
As usual, the courtroom was strangely hushed when he walked in. He took his place in the witness box and looked at Brunswick, who didn't look so happy to see him as he normally did. Brunswick hadn't been the one to call him in this time, of course; apparently that left a foul taste in his mouth.
\\
"Chin up, shoulders back," Severus instructed, adjusting Draco's robe over his shoulders. (It was one of Severus's shrunk down to fit.) "You are a Malfoy, after all. And you were exonerated."
Draco nodded, finally making eye contact. Severus almost smiled at him.
"Try to look contrite. You were cleared, but your parents were not. You need to encourage public favor. Not only for yourself, but your good image could lead to earlier parole for them." Lucius had ten years mostly because he'd escaped once already. Narcissa had two. If they played their hand right, Narcissa could be out in as little as six months. Lucius would be lucky if he was out in five years.
Draco managed to look like a constipated man who has just taken a potion that will solve his problem by inducing burning diarrhea.
"Let's go, then. Don't make eye contact."
They stepped out of the anteroom, where they'd been allowed just enough time for Draco to change his robe. (He'd still been wearing the spelled-clean school robe he'd had on during the Battle of Hogwarts). The crowd didn't press in on them, but the silence did.
"Make way," Severus snapped, and the hint of a path through the crush of people appeared. He took Draco by the elbow and stalked through, keeping his face blank when people jumped apart. The questions began to rain down on them after that, blunt and ruthless. He could feel Draco shaking, but he didn't slow down.
The atrium was worse. The majority of the press wasn't allowed down to the level of the courts, so they'd been forced to wait. Where the questions outside the court had been blunt, the questions from the press were almost mean. Severus rushed Draco through the Floo as quickly as he could.
They got to the suite at Hogwarts and Severus pushed Draco into a chair. The boy looked nauseous.
"What happens now?" Draco asked, speaking to his knees.
"I suggest you study for your N.E.W.T.s. They're offering them in a month's time." The boy would need something to focus on that had nothing to do with the war. "And begin petitioning for visitation with your parents."
"I don't want to see them. They've ruined my life."
"They've saved your life."
"It was their fault it needed saving."
"Stop being an ungrateful little shit."
Draco gaped, his head snapping up so that he could look at him properly. Severus held back a smile. Nobody talked to Draco like that. Only Severus, and not since he was a boy, years before Hogwarts. (Of course, back then it had simply been reminding him to use his manners, not calling him names.) The charade was over now.
"You can't afford to act like a ponce anymore, Draco."
Draco drew himself up, sitting perfectly straight in his chair, then deflated. Severus knew he'd been about to draw on his father's reputation and almost (almost) pitied him.
"You're your own man. You have to be," Severus said, giving him a cool, watchful look. "You are correct—it is your choice if you want to associate with your parents or not. It is your reputation that their reception will be based on."
"Can't I just…"
Severus did pity him, then. He'd be eighteen soon, but he wasn't really ready for the world, not after the year he'd had.
"Yes," he said, squeezing Draco's shoulder. "Stay here awhile. Recuperate. Think." Then he smirked. "The rest of the world won't be able to get at you to heckle you, but I can't make any promises for my children."
"Your—
"I swear to God, Severus, that ambassador made it sound like the whole of the country of Australia has been personally insulted by us," Hermione said, breezing in and tossing her purse down on the table. "Oh. Hello, Malfoy."
"Granger."
"Snape, actually," Hermione said. Severus's lip twitched entirely without his permission. Madam Snape. He tucked the thought away before she caught it. "I got up his nose a bit, I think."
"What is it they want?"
"All they're allowed to do is fine us, and not all that much. They took the house and its contents, illegal residency and all that. And it was heavily implied that there will be consequences if we ever return—legitimately or otherwise. I think somebody up the chain of command thinks it a rather romantic tale, though. They're transporting my parents over, no strings attached. And the Times wants to interview us."
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
"I told them no. I said it nicer than you just did, though."
"The press have started trying to sneak into the castle, too." He sighed.
Draco began to ask another question, but this time he was interrupted by a Patronus calling Hermione to St. Mungo's again.
It was almost July; there was a full month's worth of time between them and the Battle of Hogwarts, the demise of Tom Riddle. Most days, she was too busy to appreciate it, though.
She'd spent most of May and a good chunk of June splitting her time between hearings, funerals and repairing Hogwarts. It felt like she'd hardly seen her children, and she hardly had any time to talk to Severus properly.
The best times were after the funerals. They all went back to the suite at Hogwarts and sat together. After the first few, they'd talked to the children about death. After awhile, it just became a time for them to be together and catch up on things—what new beastie Hagrid had introduced Bast to, the twins' latest games in the greenhouses.
Lavender's had been the first funeral. Hermione had pulled the robe she'd worn to Dumbledore's funeral out, thinking about so very long ago (and not so very long ago at all) when Lavender had complimented her on it. It had been one of the only compliments she'd ever received from the girl.
Lavender Brown was buried in her family plot. An old kirkyard, a washed-out and older version of Lavender with wider hips standing next to a tall man with deep lines in his face.
The Governors had set aside a plot of land near Dumbledore's grave for those who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Severus said they were already planning an obelisk or something as a memorial. Perhaps a garden.
Colin Creevey's parents had taken him home to bury by his grandparents. The small Muggle cemetery had overflowed with witches and wizards, quite overwhelming the nice little couple; Colin had looked very much like his father. Dennis had been a brave face, standing between him parents and shaking hands solemnly.
The Lupins were buried together next to Dumbledore. Little Teddy cried through the whole ceremony even though he was too little to really understand that it was his parents' funeral. Andromeda Tonks held him on her lap and wept.
The Death Eaters and Snatchers that had died were given to the Ministry. They were held in the morgue for three weeks so that friends or family could claim the bodies. None were claimed. They were eventually put through the Veil, unmourned.
That was when it had begun. The first attack following the Battle of Hogwarts came the day the dead Death Eaters were unceremoniously levitated into the Death Chamber and through the veil.
Six Muggles were killed at a Starbucks in London. Two employees getting ready to close for the night, three random passers-by on the sidewalk outside, and one customer on their way out with a coffee. The Death Eaters carved 'WE'RE STILL HERE' across the storefront in letters that glowed like molten lava. The Dark Mark hovered above the building.
The Muggle papers reported that it had been two unrelated incidents—prank fireworks and a robbery-turned-murder. The wizarding papers practically frothed over with panic, sending witches and wizards who had been celebrating what they'd thought was the end of the war scurrying back into their houses and locking the doors behind them.
"You're staying," Minerva informed them. They'd begun to pack, discussing moving to one of the Prince properties or letting a cottage in Hogsmeade.
"Minerva—" Severus started, but she threw up her hands and talked over him.
"The traitor and the dragon and their vulnerable children? You are targets. I won't hear a word against it; you're staying here."
"Minerva—" Hermione tried, but Minerva cut her off with a sharp look.
"No. The pair of you have all but personally guaranteed that almost every surviving Death Eater has ended up in Azkaban. The only person they're likely to want dead more desperately than they want you dead is Harry Potter."
"Is Harry—?"
"Harry is at the Burrow behind intensive wards. Conveniently, he's been hiding out from the press there and doesn't seem to mind staying put for the moment while the Aurors track the Death Eaters."
"So he and Ginny are back together, hm?" Hermione asked. Minerva finally cracked a grin.
"Thank you, Minerva," Severus said.
\\
Bast spent a lot of time following Hagrid around. He was put in charge of Hagrid's daily to-do list, and they'd go through the items together. Hagrid would do the task, Bast would cross it off, and they'd go on to the next thing. The girls did the same sort of thing with Severus, sitting carefully on high stools while he brewed this or that potion and asking him endless questions.
Hermione spent most of her time at St. Mungo's helping where she could, so when the Patronus arrived shortly after Malfoy's release it was almost expected. She traded the Muggle skirt and heels she'd worn to her meeting with the Australian ambassador for jeans and trainers, resized one of Severus's old teaching coats (a frock coat that had seen better days—it was frayed at the hem and wrist, missing its top button, and faded to a sort of charcoal gray), and grabbed her satchel.
She could hear Harry shouting from down the hall.
"I'm fine, I'm FINE," he said, and she heard something bang. "Go help someone who needs it."
"Harry?" Hermione asked when she stepped into the room, her eyebrows crawling up her forehead as she looked around. There were two junior Healers, one on either side of the bed, looking very put-out. Apparently the opportunity to treat Harry Potter personally wasn't going at all as they'd hoped it would.
"Hermione! Tell them I'm fine," Harry said, trying to get out of bed. One of the Healers gently pushed him back. "This is ridiculous."
"What happened?" Hermione asked instead, flicking her fingers to cast her usual run of diagnostic spells.
"I'm fine," he repeated petulantly.
"Actually, your leg is bleeding quite a bit." It was hard to tell with his grimy jeans, but the diagnostic reported a slice or gash half the length of his calf bleeding freely.
"Oh." Harry sat down and let her put his leg up on the bed, watched her enlarge the leg of his jeans so it would fold up easily past his knee. "I didn't notice."
"Adrenalin," she told him. He nodded.
They were quiet while she cleaned the area and then pulled out her charmed needle and thread and the accompanying potion. He looked away when she began sewing him up.
"So what've you been up to, Harry? I haven't seen you outside of the hearings in ages."
He might've shot her a look, but she didn't see it because she had her eyes on the slice. If she had to guess, she'd say he tripped and got caught on something sharp as he fell.
"Avoiding Rita Skeeter a lot," he said through gritted teeth. Hermione smiled.
"I'll see if I can do anything about her, if you like. I still have good blackmail, after all."
"I'd wondered why she hadn't written anything about you. Figured she might've registered by now."
"Too valuable an edge. If it was common knowledge, everybody would know to look for her, cast wards to keep her out."
"I suppose." Harry hissed when she applied the potion, flinching. It was over before he'd finished his reaction, though.
"Good as new."
"Did they call you here because I was yelling?" he asked sheepishly, putting his pant leg to rights.
"No. They called me because I've been helping out whenever there's an attack."
"You didn't know I was here?"
"Not until I heard you shouting," she said, smirking at him.
"I'm tired of people fussing over me, giving me special treatment, because I'm the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One." The flopped half back on the pillows. "I didn't even kill Riddle."
A bark of surprised laughter escaped her. "Of course you did."
"I remember it pretty clearly, Hermione. And Ron retells is constantly, so—"
"And how would Severus have been in a position to do that if you hadn't done all that you already had? You led the search for the Horcruxes. You let the Order use you as a figurehead for our purpose after Dumbledore was gone. You weakened the Dark Lord to the point that he could be killed with a crate. Don't undervalue any of it, Harry." She looked him over, hoping that he understood. "'Neither can live while the other survives' never meant you had to kill him. It just meant that as long as you were both around, you'd be against each other. Opposing each other to the end."
"I saw Dumbledore."
"What?"
"When I was—when we were—" Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Wherever it was. I spoke to him."
"It wasn't a hallucination? Just in your head?"
Harry grinned almost fondly. "Doesn't matter. He helped me leave that little piece of Riddle that was in my scar behind."
"Do you feel different now?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're not a Horcrux for the first time since you were a baby. Does it feel different?"
"I don't know. I've noticed it takes me longer to get angry, but that might just be… growing up."
\\
They pretended their lives were normal. They developed a routine. It took the children two full weeks to notice that the family had stopped leaving the castle grounds.
They ate breakfast together in their living room. The children romped around with one adult or another—sometimes "helping" a professor with simple things, sometimes watching Severus brew, sometimes having a quiet day in the Governors' suite with Hermione. Severus brewed for the hospital wing and St. Mungo's, or met with Minerva to ease the load of recovering from a battle and preparing for the oncoming school year. Hermione helped Poppy putting the infirmary back to order for the school year, and kept an eye on the few remaining patients. Malfoy was like a shadow through all of it, watching, quiet. He studied for his N.E.W.T.s and tried to answer nicely when the children pestered him with questions.
"We can't stay here forever," Hermione pointed out one evening after the children were asleep, worn out from a day with Pomona in one of the greenhouses.
"We should start looking at the Prince properties. One of them is probably—hopefully—habitable."
"You don't think your various relatives cursed them out of spite?"
"They didn't know I would inherit."
"No, I mean in spite of each other—When I kick it, Jim-Bob is going to get the silver. I just know it. He's been after the silver since he was twelve; I saw him pocket a spoon once. I'll just hex the whole silver cabinet for him, then…"
"None of the Princes were named Jim-Bob."
"I think we should name our next son Jim-Bob."
"I think we'll have to find time to have sex to have another son."
"Oh, look at that."
"What?"
"I've found some time. Want to see it?"
He laughed, picked her up, and carried her into the tiny anteroom in the Governors' suite they'd converted into their bedroom.
A/N: Sorry for skipping over the hearings. I wrote them and they were boring (we already know what happened, after all), so I left them out.
Also, sorry about the off-tone ending to this chapter. It's a bit manic, I think, but I thought it was funny, and I just didn't have the heart to rewrite it. (Seriously. Jim-Bob.)
Thanks for continuing to stick with me! This is a long freaking story!
— M
