Standing on the plush Persian rug covering the marble floor of the vestibule of Greengrass Hall, listening to the despair in Twiggy's screams, Astoria wondered if when the winners of today wrote the history of the Second Wizarding War, as all victors were wont to do, they would say it was a confrontation between Good and Evil, Darkness and Light, and that Goodness and Light had triumphed in the end. Would they put the blame solely on the Dark Lord, stating that his wickedness had flung the world into chaos? Or would they mention if only in passing that the war had far more deep-seated causes? Perhaps they would see that as justifying the actions of the Dark Lord and of his followers? Would anyone even remember that the giants joined Voldemort because he promised them vengeance on the witches and wizards who had been colonizing their lands for centuries, driving them out of their homes, and massacring them in droves, nearly rendering them extinct? Or that the werewolves had been merely seeking their pound of flesh for age-long injustices? Would the historians of the future, descendants of the victors, even mention that not all Death Eaters had been fanatics or hateful? That some had merely been afraid or wanted to align themselves with what they thought was the winning side. It was cowardly, of course, but all so very human. Would anyone even remark that you could tell a child he was a monster only so many times until they started to believe it?
Astoria doubted it. The present offered no hope of any nuance in the would-be depictions of the war.
"Just take them, Twiggy," snapped Daphne, wrenching herself from Astoria's side. "She won't rest until you do."
Twiggy turned her saucer-sized, off green eyes on Daphne, her gaze wet with the tears she had been shedding. Twiggy just didn't understand. Perhaps she was too old. She had been born in another world, one in which Astoria's paternal grandfather had been younger than she was now, after all.
"Take them," insisted Granger, her whole demeanour aiming for encouragement. "You can be free now. I'll help you find work myself and you will be paid wages."
Twiggy made an animal sound of grief that seep into Astoria's bones like cold. The house elf shot one last helpless look at Daphne then gripped the colourful pair of knitted gloves into her small, wrinkled hands. It was done! Trembling Twiggy slunk to the opened oak doors, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Perhaps she understood some things, after all.
Holding her chin up, her jaw clenched tight to prevent the flow of tears, Astoria lifted her gaze to the spiral, walnut staircase curling upwards around the gilded frames housing the portraits of her ancestors. They had ceased their protests a while ago. Some of them were weeping. Astoria scowled, angry at the way they were embarrassing the family in front of the Ministry employees that were milling about cataloguing their possessions. All the sisters had been permitted to take with them was in the school trunks piled just outside the door.
Only that they weren't headed to Hogwarts. Both Daphne and Astoria had been expelled. Daphne had not been allowed to take her N.E.W.T.s, which would guarantee her graduation. The board of governors had conditioned the continuing existence of House Slytherin on the expulsion of everyone who had fought for the Dark Lord and consequently, against the school. Unlike their parents, Daphne and Astoria had not participated in the Battle of Hogwarts. Daphne's sole concern had been for her little sister so she had grabbed Astoria and run away, hiding until they had got word that it was safe to come out. Unfortunately, their only witnesses had been each other. The Wizengamot failed to prove that the Greengrass sisters had been on Voldemort's side but then Daphne and Astoria also failed to prove they hadn't been anywhere near the battlefield. So the new Headmistress and the board decided to take no chances, and threw them out both.
Daphne scratched her name on a few scrolls of parchment Percy Weasley put up for her. Astoria supposed her older sister was now the head of the Greengrass family, for what it was worth now, which was nothing. All convicted Death Easter, like their parents, had been sentenced to pay enormous war reparations with all the funds going to the reconstructions effort, and the victims of the Dark Lord's reign. Therefore, the Ministry had confiscated everything in the vast Greengrass vault, their house, and all the valuables therein.
Head held high, Daphne returned to Astoria's side. "Let's go," she said curtly.
Astoria lead the way. The heat was sweltering, the late July sun burning bright, its golden rays wrapping around their mother's blooming rose garden stretching in front of the stern, granite manor. Astoria turned and looked at the house one last time, admiring the way the colonnades and arches reflected in the pond among the large, green leaves of the water lilies.
Twiggy was hiding behind a bush of Maiden's Blush Great, clearly waiting for them. Astoria tried to smile at her hoping it wasn't coming out as a forced grimace. Twiggy was a member of the family, she had helped raise her and Daphne. Unlike other Pure-Blood families, theirs had never allowed Twiggy to punish herself, and though she had never drawn a salary, she had always been welcomed to as much of the gold they had laying around the house as she liked.
Daphne put Twiggy's tiny trunk atop her own levitating just behind her.
"We is going to our new home?" asked Twiggy, staring at the sisters blearily.
Daphne's smile was sour. "Yes, Twiggy, we are going to our new home." She paused as she grabbed her broom strapped to the side of trunk. "We're going to Parkinson Park. See if you can't bring our trunks with you, will you?"
Astoria imitated her sister, careful to take the cage of their family eagle owl with her as well. Pansy was a fairly safe bet. Her parents had never taken the Dark Mark, and though they had supported Voldemort too, they had received shorter sentences than the Greengrass spouses. Perhaps their reparations had been similarly reduced.
# # #
They found Pansy standing on the edge of the overlong, perfectly manicured lawn stretching in front of the pink marble facade of the Parkinson country house nestled among the lush Surrey Hills. Her school trunk was by her side. Astoria's heart sank. Then again it had been foolish to hope, she supposed. Pansy had also been expelled from Hogwarts, suspected of Death Eater activity after offering to turn Harry Potter to Voldemort. Telling the Wizengamot she had only meant to save herself had not gone over well but they hadn't managed to prove anything beyond that.
"Hello, Daphne… Astoria" said Pansy, resentment making her voice brittle. "Ruddy house elf jumped at the opportunity to bolt."
Daphne and Astoria exchanged a look. Pansy was worse off than them, it appeared. At least, they had each other and Twiggy, who appeared with a crack and their trunks.
"I tried writing to Durmstrang, you know," continued Pansy.
Beauxbatons was out of the question for them. The headmistress there had been friends with Dumbledore, and was the rumoured paramour of one Rubeus Hagrid.
"What did they say?" asked Daphne.
"It's not so much what they said," replied Pansy. "It's what they implied. They don't want to ruin their relationship with the new and improved British wizarding community. I guess we're not politically palatable anywhere any more." She snatched the day's copy of the Prophet from atop her trunk. "That's not all."
Daphne took the paper from their friend. Astoria crowded at her shoulder to read.
SEVERUS SNAPE PRONOUNCED HEALTHY ENOUGH TO STAND TRIAL
Below the title there was photograph of their former Head of House lying motionless in a bed in the "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn Ward, his throat covered in bandages. On the record the Aurors guarding Snape claimed Rita Sweeter had sneaked in and covertly taken that picture. Off the record everyone knew nobody was concerned with protecting the privacy of Dumbledore's killer.
"Draco said they want to make an example out of him," added Pansy bitterly. "His trial is to be the centrepiece, the symbol of the definitive victory over the Dark Lord."
Daphne stared forlornly ahead. Professor Snape was not easy to love but everyone in Slytherin House greatly respected him. He had cared for them in his own way, protected them in a school where they were designated the de facto villains the moment of the Sorting, and lead them to numerous victories in both Quidditch and the House Cup.
"We have to do something," said Astoria.
"The Malfoys are putting together a defence," answered Pansy. "They owe him for what he did for Draco."
The Malfoys were the only ones of them who had been acquitted after the Chosen One himself had testified about the aid he had received from both Draco and Narcissa. Lucius had somehow got lumped in with his wife and son as well. They, too, had had to pay restitutions but for now they seemed to be keeping their home. Many destitute Slytherins had taken refuge there.
"We'll go to Malfoy Manor then," said Daphne firmly.
It appeared that they were killing two birds with one stone, finding shelter, and helping with their Professor's defence while at it.
# # #
"I'll never testify," said Draco sullenly. "Not even if they threaten to reverse my acquittal."
"You won't have to," interjected his father, his head tilted against the fiery rays of the setting sun. "The Boy Who Lived will. He will tell them how Severus, the much hated Bat of the Dungeons, the Bane of Gryffindor House, killed their revered Headmaster. They will bury him alive on the word of the Saviour of the Wizardkind alone."
"What about the Unbreakable Vow he made with me?" said Narcissa Malfoy. "He was helping Draco. That must count for something."
Draco scoffed. "They might've acquitted me, Mum, but how much do you believe a Death Eater's life and soul is worth these days? If anything, it could make Professor Snape's predicament worse."
"Surely there are some mitigating circumstances we can invoke," Daphne pressed on.
They were on the Manor's back terrace enjoying tea, lemonade with ice, and Victoria sponge cake. At Daphne's words Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a long look. Draco caught it. "If you know something we can use, you need to tell us."
Lucius shook his head. He was still pale and sickly looking, his cheeks sunk in, but some of his old spark had returned to his eyes, and his hair hung by his face in glossy, impeccable strands. "Severus is a proud man. He would never wish for this to be known."
"Even if it could save his life?" asked Astoria timidly.
"He's the one who would have to live with the embarrassment afterwards," opined Theodore Nott. "So yes, he wouldn't want whatever this is known… even if it could save his life."
Nott was not wrong. Public shaming was something they all had to live with, and neither would have wished to add any fresh humiliation to it.
"You don't really think they would execute him, do you?" piped in Pansy, sounding appalled. "The dementors are gone, they all fled after the Dark Lord's defeat. So there will be no way to perform the Kiss. I know we used to behead people before dementors were found in the Azkaban fortress but…. I thought the Prophet was only metaphorically clamouring for his head."
Blaise gave a snort of derision. "Witch Weekly of all publications said he turned Hogwarts into a school of horrors, and presided over the beatings and torture of small children. Professor Snape was never popular but that's nothing compared to how hated he is now. They call him the worst of the Death Eaters. And with the Golden Trio against him, he'll be lucky if he's not convicted to be drawn and quartered."
"What about Archibald Prince?" inquired Narcissa. "I heard he and Gemma had returned from France."
"They are too busy congratulating themselves for fleeing the country rather than taking a side during the war," replied her husband disdainfully. "Believe it or not, I did reach out to them. The letter they sent back was insulting. They wouldn't even see me…. Something about their family reputation and their girls' position at Beauxbatons."
Nott leaned towards Draco and asked him in a quiet voice. "Who are they talking about?"
"Professor Snape's first cousin and his wife," replied Draco. "On his mother's side he is a Prince. She was disowned when she married a Muggle."
Looks were traded among the young Slytherins but nobody said anything out loud. Everyone had known of the Professor's Half-Blood status but the details of his lineage had always been rather few.
"So we're all he has," concluded Narcissa.
Astoria noted the way Draco's pale brows knotted together, a troubled expression descending over his face. She elbowed her sister discreetly.
"What is it, Draco?" said Daphne.
His shoulders tensed and he stared ahead at the delicate china pattern of his tea cup before him. "Lately I've been finding myself thinking a lot on the night Dumbledore died, and I just can't escape the feeling that something was… for the lack of a better wrong, off."
"What do you mean?" His father sounded genuinely intrigued.
"Dumbledore was a very powerful wizard, wasn't he?"
"Severus certainly thinks so," Narcissa said.
"Well, isn't it odd then that I disarmed him so quickly? And the way he begged for his life…."
Lucius' hand clenched on the ivory head of his cane. "That's quite enough, son. Whatever you tell us, we might be forced to repeat, should any of us be summoned to testify at Severus' trial. Those were extraordinary circumstances that night. I'm sure they have had quite an impact on your recollection of it."
"Perhaps," replied Draco mildly, still looking preoccupied.
Astoria glanced down at her hands folded in the lap of her white summer robes emblazoned with strands of green leaves. Come to think of it, there was something else that was strange too. Nobody in their House had ever heard Professor Snape use the word mudblood, which was a Death Eater staple, and he had always quickly stamped down on conversations that involved in, later clutching onto the flimsiest of excuses to punish the offender. Then again perhaps it meant nothing. Her own parents had never been ones for Pure-Blood supremacy. They would have been content to live peacefully with Muggle-borns and the rest for all eternity. They had only joined the Dark Lord because they have believed he would win the war, and wished to be on the right side of might when the dust settled.
Out of the corner of one eye, Astoria looked at Draco, contemplating the elegant lines of his handsome profile. Despite his father's words, he continued to look harassed. Something about the night of Dumbledore's death still didn't sit right with him.
# # #
Severus' throat hurt so badly, it was only thanks to the Occlumency walls in his head that he could keep his eyes from watering. He suspected the hospital staff was deliberately stingy with his pain potions, thinking him deserving of suffering. Healer Smethwyck had been nothing if not a consummate professional but he had been the only one thus inclined. The medic was still, however, perplexed by Severus' near miraculous healing. Severus couldn't blame the man. He, himself, didn't understand how come he was not only alive but had also escaped having his throat being torn out with his vocal cords intact, and with only a manageable amount of Nagini's venom in his veins.
By all rights, Severus should be dead. Even he had fully expected to die in the war in no small part because he had always known that whichever side would win, he would lose. Case in point, Harry Potter walked in, alive, though he, too, should have died in the war, and wearing a murderous look on his face. Severus briefly wondered if the Boy Who Lived had only agreed to this meeting to kill him. If that was true, at least, he would be spared the humiliation of a public trial.
The Auror posted at his door trailed closer to Potter, which was ridiculous. Severus was still weak, despite his surprisingly rapid recovery, and he had no wand for it had been confiscated upon being found unconscious in the Shrieking Shack after the battle of Hogwarts. Potter, no doubt, still possessed his wand. The Chosen One surveyed his former teacher with cold disdain glittering in his eyes, clearly drawing satisfaction from the bulky bandage on Severus' neck and his gaunt and sickly appearance. Even as he tried to prop himself higher against the pillow, Severus chided himself for this yet another desperate and quite possibly futile attempt to reveal his true role in the war. Potter was out for blood. If the cooler headed Kingsley Shacklebolt hadn't believed him, what chance would he have with the long-standing bane of his existence? Potter hated him on principle.
"I suppose you asked me here to repeat that absurd story you told the Minister," said Potter menacingly. "I know you think I'm stupid but I can see through your ridiculously transparent attempt to save your skin just as well as Kingsley can. I'm only here to tell you it won't work."
Severus sneered at him. If he was doomed, he wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of going down begging. "For once in your life, think with you head instead of your base impulses, Mr. Potter. I knew Draco had disarmed Dumbledore, that the Dark Lord could not possibly become the master of the Elder Wand even if he killed me. If so, why didn't I tell him for no other reason than to save my life?"
Lily's green eyes narrowed with a hatred she would never have been capable of. No, that came from James Potter. "You didn't have the time. Remember I was there too?"
"I sent the doe," Severus tried again, keeping his voice as cool as he could make it, though he could feel his upper lip curl. Potter was ready to fly off the handle at any given moment and it would not do to add fuel to the fire. "It's my patronus. I sent it with the Sword of Gryffindor, and when I could not find you on the battlefield, I sent it again with Dumbledore's letter telling you you were the final horcrux, that you had to die for the Dark Lord to be defeated."
Potter went horribly pale, his hands clenching into fists that he raised towards Severus. "DON'T SAY HIS NAME! Dark Wizards can't conjure patronuses. We're no longer in your class, Professor! You have no more power over me. Your reign of terror is over just like the one of Voldemort. The doe was my mother's patronus. I don't know, maybe it was the Resurrection Stone or maybe her love found a way to help me even from beyond the grave, but it was my mother, her patronus, that gave me the sword and Dumbledore's message."
"If you handed me a wand, I could prove it to you. I could summon my patronus."
Potter laughed but there was no mirth in it. "This is why you wanted to see me, isn't it? Not to manipulate me into believing you were on our side all along but to trick me into giving you a wand so you could escape."
Severus was a lot less angry than he could have been under the circumstances. Deep down inside he had always expected this outcome. Potter would not hear him because he didn't want to! It was as simple as that. Besides, Severus had no proof of his role as a triple agent. He wouldn't have been such an effective spy, if he had. And the fact of the matter remained: he had killed Dumbledore. He had been a Death Eater. Special circumstances aside, he was guilty. He felt guilty. And the winning side was not interested in trading in nuances. In the black-and-white world they would wish to build in the aftermath of their victory, there was no room for the grey he represented.
He sank back into the bedding, feeling no defeat, merely resignation. "I have already suggested to Kingsley the use of Veritaserum or the extraction of my memories to be viewed in Pensieve. Any, if not both, should provide ample evidence to the truth of my claims."
Potter's curt chortle sounded like the crackle of broken glass. "A skilled Occlumens like you can resist the effects of Veritaserum and modify memories at will. You told me so yourself, remember? I bet you regret it now."
"At least, I have managed to teach you something. No, Mr. Potter, I find that I cannot regret as much. I also hope you never have to learn the enormity of what you are doing. From experience, the burden of guilt is never light on the shoulders."
"You need a conscience to feel guilt," Potter snapped. "And you have none."
Severus gave a tired sigh. "You are still a foolish boy," he said silkily, glad to hear himself sound almost bored. "However, of the two of us, I remain uncertain which one wishes more that you were right about my lack of a conscience… me or you."
Potter was saved from answering by Augustus Pye, Smethwyck's aid, finally coming in with Severus' pain-relieving potion.
"You should be leaving him writhe in agony," spat Potter as he passed Pye. The Auror perked up at his words and grunted in agreement. "It's no less than he deserves."
Severus took his potion and then stared at the ceiling waiting for the burning ache in his body to fade. He was not allowed books so there was nothing else he could do. He wasn't even given newspapers but judging by what he had overheard from his grudging fellow patients, they were all split between singing the praises of Potter and his cohorts, and demanding his own head on a particularly sharp pole. Possibly to present it to Potter and his triumphant Gryffindors on a shiny, new silver tray. Sleep was always a popular pastime in his ward but it was not for him. His very much existing conscience wouldn't let him slumber.
TBC
I have clearly lost my mind starting a new HP story when I can barely find the time to finish my current one but this plot bunny threatened to eat my brain if I didn't write it.
Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment with your thoughts. Good or bad, I hunger for it. :)
A/N: Title taken from the slightly disputed quote "Truth is the first casualty in war".