"Name?"
"Severus Xenophon Snape."
"Address?"
"Number twenty-three, Spinner's End, Millcote."
"Occupation?"
"Invalid."
There was a soft murmur at that, and he leaned back in his chair, resting his maimed left hand on the arm where it could clearly be seen. Hermione smiled inwardly. Severus Snape was, she had realized, a supremely gifted actor, as well as being a very twisty individual. He would never have conceded to weakness honestly, but as a means of manipulating the perceptions of others...
Rufus Scrimgeour, who was presiding over the trial and questioning the witnesses, scowled. He hadn't been expecting this, Hermione was sure. He'd been prepared for the Severus Snape who had kept an entire generation of Hogwarts students trembling in their shoes; the wreck of a man who had had to be helped up to the witness's seat had caught him off-guard.
Chained into her own chair, Bellatrix was staring at her former ally with unconcealed contempt, a small, sneering smile twisting her ravaged face.
The witnesses - of whom there were only a few - were seated to one side of the dais on which the full Wizengamot were gathered, with chairs for prisoner and witness arranged before them. On the three other sides, rising tiers of seats were filled to overflowing with members of the Order, of Dumbledore's Army (even Draco Malfoy, sitting alone) and sundry members of the public who, for one reason or another, wanted to see the Last Death Eater tried and sentenced.
Or, as it might be, the last Two. Because Arthur Weasley had been right... Bellatrix's initial questioning had led to a lot of mentions of Severus Snape's name, mostly in connection with his ongoing loyalty to Voldemort.
Scrimgeour frowned. "You were a Death Eater in the service of He Who Must Not Be Named," he said sharply, glaring at Severus. "Do you deny this?"
"Certainly not. That would be entirely futile." Severus stared back at him calmly, turning his head just slightly so that the purple scar snaking down the left side of his face caught the eye.
"And you claim to have been a double agent?" Scrimgeour continued, frowning more heavily. "That you were secretly in service to Albus Dumbledore all along, spying on Voldemort for him, having joined the Death Eaters for that purpose?"
Severus paused, then shook his head. "No," he said calmly. "I have never claimed that." He paused again, at the sudden surge of sound as every person in the huge room whispered frantically to his or her neighbour, and then spoke just as Scrimgeour opened his mouth again. "I was a spy for Albus Dumbledore for many years, but in the very beginning of my service to Lord Voldemort, I was genuinely loyal to him. Only after I had realized what I had become embroiled in, and how truly evil he was, did I go to Dumbledore to confess my sins. He chose to give me a chance to someday redeem myself."
Again, Scrimgeour seemed pushed off-balance. He hadn't expected this. Hermione saw him glance over at a thin, dark witch at the far end of one of the benches the Wizengamot sat on. She had a small crystal ball between her hands, and as he glanced at her she nodded slightly. Truth spell, Hermione realized. It was one of the few practical uses for crystal balls... with the right spell, it would analyze the truth of anything the person holding it heard or saw. If a lie was heard, it would glow red. Scrimgeour had obviously been expecting a lie, at this point... and he hadn't gotten one. The ball was clear.
"In your time of service with He Who Must Not Be Named, you were acquainted with Bellatrix Lestrange." It wasn't Scrimgeour who'd spoken, but a stout, elderly wizard sitting a couple of places to his left. "Is it your belief that she was truly loyal to him?"
"She was truly obsessed with him," Severus said calmly, glancing at Bellatrix with a faint, contemptuous smile. "Her dearest wish was to serve him as a combination of most trusted advisor and concubine."
The sudden murmur was louder this time, and Hermione thought she caught a few retching noises. Having seen Voldemort - briefly - in the flesh, she was somewhat inclined to retch herself. That was a truly disgusting thought. It would fit with what she knew of Bellatrix, though.
"Are you saying... she actually..." The elderly wizard looked positively green.
"No. She wished to, but Lord Voldemort had no interest in... that particular activity. He never, to my knowledge, engaged in it." Severus looked rather amused. "Since Bellatrix rarely thought of anything else, however, she persisted in hoping."
Scrimgeour's eyebrows went up. "I trust, Mr Snape, that this... allegation... about Bellatrix Lestrange's morals is not intended as some defensive tactic on her behalf. You see, we have heard rather a lot of testimony to the effect that she was an eager participant in the more violent crimes perpetrated by the Death Eaters - that it might be more accurate to describe violence and death as the only things she thinks about."
"Not necessarily." An expression of pronounced distaste crossed the thin, scarred face. "For Bellatrix, the two activities are - closely linked in her mind, shall we say? She found murder and torment... stimulating." He looked over at Bellatrix, who was scowling now, and then looked away. "To put it more bluntly, Minister - the more she made people suffer, the more aroused she became. If her husband was not available, she would make advances to any other male in the vicinity. I imagine there are very few of my fellow Death Eaters who didn't at some point accept her offers."
"Including you?" Scrimgeour asked swiftly.
"Including me." The look of distaste deepened. "Something I regretted very much, later."
"I can imagine." The elderly wizard looked at Bellatrix and shuddered. She looked even more mad than usual, and very much as if she wanted to tear Severus's face off with her teeth.
Scrimgeour was scowling. Again, this was not going the way he'd planned - that implied discrediting of Bellatrix's testimony was now actual. Wizards tended toward the prudish. Bellatrix the Death Eater might believably implicate others - Bellatrix the whore would be dismissed out of hand. "Bellatrix Lestrange was, it is alleged, the motivating force behind the attack on Frank Longbottom and his wife Alice. Can you confirm that?"
"Yes," Severus said, and although he sounded calm, he was definitely a little paler. Hermione checked her pocket for the Oxygenia potion, watching him anxiously. If this set him back... he'd been doing so well... "It was her idea, and she led the others in carrying it out."
"But you were, at the time it occurred, supposedly at Hogwarts, a mournful penitent!" Scrimgeour snapped, a gleam of victory in his eye. "Dumbledore had already spoken for you before the Wizengamot! And yet you admit that you were still in contact with your fellow Death-Eaters at that time!" Well, that explained why he'd brought up the one crime Bellatrix had already been tried for...
"I admit nothing of the sort." Severus quirked an eyebrow at the Minister, looking mildly amused. "I know because I was present when she told the Dark Lord... in proud, loving detail... exactly what she had done, to try to bring him back."
Again the glance along the benches. Again, the crystal was clear. Scrimgeour gritted his teeth. He wasn't asking the right questions, and he obviously knew it. "Did you ever participate in the activities of the Death Eaters?" he demanded.
"Yes. I have never denied it."
"Were you, originally, loyal to Lord Voldemort?"
"I have admitted that already."
"You returned to him when he rose again, professing your continuing loyalty?"
"At the request of Professor Dumbledore, yes."
"You claimed to be a spy for He Who Must Not Be Named, and passed information about Hogwarts and Dumbledore himself?"
"It was necessary for the continuation of my charade that I do so."
Scrimgeour smiled a small, cruel smile. Having Snape, he supposed, where he wanted him, he struck in earnest. "Did you not, at your house, swear an Unbreakable Vow, with Bellatrix Lestrange as witness, to murder Albus Dumbledore?"
The tide of shocked whispers rose again, and he waited them out. Only when silence had fallen did he answer. "Yes," he said quietly. "I did."
Nobody could have been heard over the roar that rose up at those words. It took several minutes for Scrimgeour to restore order, minutes in which Hermione clutched her wand tightly, her heart pounding with sudden shock, and Severus sat quietly in the chair, his eye on his mangled hands.
"You admit this?" Scrimgeour said triumphantly. "You plotted, months in advance, the murder of Albus Dumbledore?"
"Not precisely." Severus lifted his head, and although he was visibly struggling to remain composed, his lips were tight with pain. "Bellatrix Lestrange came to my house that night in pursuit of her sister, Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa came to me, in great distress, because her son had been ordered by the Dark Lord, on pain of death, to murder Professor Dumbledore. Neither she, nor the Dark Lord himself, believed that Draco would succeed. If he failed, he would be killed." His face softened, just a little. "Like all members of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Narcissa is... less than completely sane. Unlike Bellatrix, however, she is not a sadist - and she adores her son. She pleaded with me to help him, to keep him safe."
"Draco Malfoy was tried and pardoned," the elderly wizard said, frowning. "It was found that he had been threatened with his own death and that of his parents, if he did not obey orders. He said nothing at the time of you helping him. He claimed to have worked alone."
"He refused my help," Severus agreed quietly. "He was afraid, and unsure who to trust. I could not blame him - there was, generally, little loyalty among the Death Eaters."
"But you offered to help him?" Scrimgeour frowned.
"Yes." Severus sighed, and seemed to droop a little. "I was... torn. Albus Dumbledore offered me forgiveness and a chance for redemption. He meant... a great deal to me. But Narcissa and I had been friends, of a sort, for many years, and I was fond of her son. Draco had, until then, trusted me." He looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep, slightly unsteady breath. "I swore the oath, as Narcissa requested. To do so served several purposes. It convinced Bellatrix, at least in part, of my true loyalty to the Dark Lord. It kept Narcissa from taking any other rash risks. And if I helped Draco, I could learn of his plans, and warn Dumbledore if necessary."
"And if Draco failed, you were to perform the deed yourself."
"Yes." Severus sighed. "I informed Dumbledore of the promise I had made, as soon as I returned to Hogwarts. He knew that he might have to kill me in order to save himself."
Hermione beat Scrimgeour to looking at the crystal again. Clear. And Harry had dared not to trust him, when he'd been willing to sacrifice everything...
"He knew?" The question came from a hitherto silent witch, an Indian woman with grey streaks in her black hair. "You told him what you had done? You were willing to risk death?"
"Madam," Severus said quietly, and his previously even voice was unutterably weary. "I have faced the prospect of my own imminent death since I betrayed Lord Voldemort the first time, nearly twenty years ago. From my fellow Death Eaters, from the Aurors arrayed against them, from Lord Voldemort himself. I have lived a precarious double-life since I was twenty-two years old, unable to trust or be trusted by anyone on either side. By the time Narcissa came to me, I had no hope of surviving the coming conflict. The prospect of a painless and merciful death - and Dumbledore would have been merciful, as the others would not - had great appeal, by then."
Hermione's eyes stung, and she ruthlessly bit back the tears. Crying over him would help nobody now. Scrimgeour looked stunned, and the members of the Wizengamot were whispering urgently to each other. She looked over at the public seats. Draco looked as if someone had kicked him in the stomach, and although she wasn't close enough to be sure, those pale eyes looked suspiciously bright. To his left and down, near the front, Harry was sitting, as pale as a sheet and his face immobile with shock. Beside him, Ginny was holding his hand tightly.
The witch nodded slowly. "He Who Must Not Be Named was no more merciful to those who betrayed him than he was to those who defied him," she said softly. "The appeal of a painless death is... understandable."
"But that's not how it worked out, is it?" Scrimgeour snapped, regaining some measure of composure. "You did kill him, didn't you?"
"Yes." His voice was oddly dull, after that moment of intense emotion. "I killed him."
"Why?" Scrimgeour rapped out. "If you had such pure motives, were so intent upon your own death... why did you instead murder him, as the Dark Lord had wished?"
"Because he told me to," Severus said simply. "I didn't want to do it... he was my only ally, the only person who trusted me. Without him, I would be alone. But he begged me to do it, for Draco's sake, and I obeyed him."
"Why would he do such a thing?" the elderly wizard asked, clearly disbelieving.
"Because he had been poisoned," Severus said quietly. "I might, perhaps, have been able to save him, had there been a chance for me to do so. Nobody else had the skill, or the knowledge of the poisons the Dark Lord liked to use. He had hoped to reach me in time that I might help him, but the Death Eaters had already broken into the school." He spread his maimed hands in an oddly helpless gesture. "If I tried to protect him, if I broke an Unbreakable Vow... I would die. He would shortly follow. If I killed him, I, at least, would survive. I tried to refuse, but he convinced me that for one of us to die was better than both... and that if I allowed myself to die, then, that Draco would certainly suffer for it. He, alone of the three of us, had never killed, and could be considered in some measure to be innocent. To protect him, I obeyed Albus Dumbledore's last order."
"You lie!" Scrimgeour shouted, in defiance of the stubbornly clear crystal and the startled murmurs around him. "There was a witness! Harry Potter was there, and saw it all! Dumbledore said nothing to you, told you no such thing, he pleaded for his life and you struck him down!"
"Harry Potter," Severus said, cool contempt in his tone, "is even more pathetically inept at Legilimency than he is at Occlumency, and does not even recognize it when he sees it. I, on the other hand, am exceptionally good at both, as he is well aware. Dumbledore, too, used them well. We had no need to speak aloud."
Hermione had no idea how she was managing to maintain her appearance of calm. Sheer shock, she suspected. Draco had his face buried in his hands. Harry looked stunned, and she recognized the expression he always got just as he realized he'd been monumentally stupid. Again.
"You... expect us to believe that?" Scrimgeour said, but his certainty had weakened and he stared at Severus in furious disbelief.
He turned his head to glance pointedly at the witch with the crystal ball, and then back at Scrimgeour. "If the truth spell the lady at the end of the row is using is not sufficient to convince you," he said quietly, "then consider this. You may not believe that I was, to the end, loyal to Albus Dumbledore." He stood, swaying a little as he dropped his cane and held up his scarred hands to indicate the ruin of his face. "But Lord Voldemort, as you can see, did. He was... most displeased."
Then he collapsed, and Hermione was too far away to catch him. She reached his side a moment later, kneeling beside him and checking his pulse. It was going way too fast, but he was awake and trying to sit up, his face blank as it always was when he was in pain and didn't want it to show. "I'm all right," he muttered, pushing her hand away impatiently. "Don't need the potion, just...unsteady."
Hermione saw a pair of knees settle on the floor on his other side, and looked up in surprise to see a pale, pointed face with reddened eyes. "Is he all right?" Draco asked, as the two of them got him sitting up again.
"I'm fine. Just... tired." Severus gave him a sad, lopsided smile, that Draco returned, looking as if he wanted to cry again.
"Miss Hermione Granger," said a smooth voice from above them. Rufus Scrimgeour had leaned over the barrier to look at them, and the defeat was gone from his voice. "Since you are apparently so eager to volunteer... take the witness's seat, please."
Hermione scowled, opening her mouth to protest, but Draco intervened. "I'll help him," he said quietly, getting a hand under Severus' elbow and helping him to his feet.
She nodded, a little reluctantly. After what had come out about him, Draco was entitled to a few moments with Severus. "Here." She pulled one of the small bottles of Oxygenia potion out of her pocket. "Give him this if his breathing gets bad."
Draco nodded, and as he supported Severus over to sit with the other witnesses, she sat down in the hard chair, folding her hands in her lap and drawing her dignity around her. "If you wish, Minister," she said coolly, meeting his eyes with a look of disdain. "Shall we begin?"
Severus slumped into the more comfortable chair with a little gasp of relief. He was shaking with exhaustion, and he felt sick. He was dimly aware that Arthur was waving Draco into Hermione's empty seat, and shifting to sit beside him on the other side. He appreciated the support... especially from Draco, who at least knew now that he cared... but his attention remained focused on the Wizengamot and their witness. She was soberly dressed, looking a little drawn and remote as she always did now - it was effective, he thought, from the perspective of long practice at looking the right part. Chin up, she gazed with calm disdain at Scrimgeour as if daring him to do his worst. Hermione had never been one to let pomp and display impress or intimidate her, and she was intelligent enough to see Scrimgeour's rather obvious machinations for exactly what they were. He felt a hint of what might almost be pride in her.
"Name?"
"Hermione Granger."
"Address?"
"Number twenty-three, Spinner's End, Millcote."
Scrimgeour leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. "You currently share a residence with the previous witness?"
"Yes."
"Why is that, Miss Granger?"
"Because he is not, at this time, capable of caring for himself," she said matter-of-factly. "As a keen observer might have noted from his inability to get through an interrogation without collapsing."
"I was under the impression that Mr Snape left St Mungo's Hospital several months ago," Scrimgeour said, his eyes narrowing slightly at her ever-so-slightly patronizing tone. "Are you implying that the healers there are so unskilled at their professions that they permitted a less-than-recovered patient to be released?"
"I am implying, Minister, that they were not expecting a barely-ambulatory patient to simply get up and walk out of the hospital," Hermione countered, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Which he did. If you want the particulars of his case, I am sure that Healer Emendis can fill you in better than I can. He was one of the attending healers in the beginning, and has since come to the house twice to attend Mr Snape." She didn't stumble over the name, although it must have felt very odd to her.
"And he did not, at that time, suggest that Mr Snape return to St Mungo's?" Scrimgeour asked, with an expression of feigned concern.
"No, Minister. Although he was concerned, he admitted that there was little more he could do." She lifted her chin, and her voice took on a tone of gentle reproof. "Mr Snape will never fully recover from the injuries inflicted by Voldemort. Although, in time, he will probably be better than he is now, he will never be entirely well. I am gravely concerned about the strain on his health occasioned by his speaking at this trial, and I advised him not to attempt it."
"And he didn't listen to you?" Scrimgeour asked, raising his eyebrows in slightly affected surprise.
"He never has," Hermione said, and there was a trace of dry amusement in her tone now. "I am certain that anyone who studied Potions at Hogwarts in the last fifteen years will not be surprised to learn that he is no more tractable and good-natured as a patient than he is as a teacher."
A quiet but definite ripple of giggling circled the room, and Severus smiled rather sourly. A slight bruise to his pride, perhaps, to be dismissed as a 'difficult patient', but a good tactical move on her part. It would nettle Scrimgeour while garnering the sympathy of the crowd... quite a few of whom had, in fact, studied Potions at Hogwarts in the last fifteen years, or looked old enough to have children who had.
Scrimgeour looked just as sour, as he waited for the giggling to stop. "Might I ask, Miss Granger, why it is that you in particular are attendant upon Mr Snape? Did he send for you, and ask you to take up a position as his... nurse?" The pause before the last word was just brief enough to be accidental... but it wasn't.
Hermione's expression remained calm and remote, and she ignored the pause entirely. "He did not. I discovered that he had left the hospital while still unwell, that his current whereabouts were generally unknown, and went looking for him to make sure he was all right." She shrugged slightly. "When I found him, and realized how ill he was, I couldn't just leave him. It wouldn't have been right."
"A commendable charitable act," Scrimgeour said coolly. "But you have taken an ongoing interest in Mr Snape's wellbeing, have you not? You were, I believe, the key speaker at his trial-in-absentia shortly after the destruction of the Dark Lord."
"Of course I was the key speaker, in quite a few trials that day," she said dryly. "I was the only witness who, at the time, was alive, not hospitalized, was fully conscious and able to speak, and was still possessed of all four limbs."
Snape winced, and saw the Potter boy do the same. Quite a few others did as well... of those who had survived the final battle between Voldemort and Harry Potter, and their respective most loyal followers, none had done so unscathed. Hermione, with her nightmares and her scars that weren't on display, had escaped relatively lightly.
"Of course, of course," the stout, elderly wizard said uncomfortably. "You are to be commended, Miss Granger, on your fortitude in attending so soon after... well."
"Thank you," she said, her expression still not changing.
"Of course, your courage was very impressive," Scrimgeour agreed a little reluctantly. "However... you must see, Miss Granger, that to so ardently defend Mr Snape, and some months later to take up residence in his house..." He trailed off, giving her a sorrowful look.
If he had had the strength, there would have been no amount of self-control sufficient to keep Severus Snape from casting the most vicious curse he could think of at that fraudulently sorrowful expression. Beside him, Arthur was spluttering incoherently. On his other side, Draco's mouth had fallen open in shock. How dared he, how DARED he sit there and imply something so vile, if Severus could have trusted his legs to hold him up he would have gone for the man's oily throat...
Hermione paused, as if not quite believing what she had just heard. Then she drew herself up, looking Scrimgeour squarely in the eye. "Minister," she said, in an icy voice that would have done Minerva McGonagall proud, "what, exactly, are you implying?"
"Yes," the Indian witch agreed, her voice no less frosty. "What ARE you implying, Minister?"
Scrimgeour assumed an air of kindly, fatherly concern. "I am implying, I suppose, that Miss Granger is very young," he said, his tone artfully tinged with sadness. "And that she may, through no fault of her own, have been... led astray. Perhaps even before leaving school, she-"
It was entirely possible that Hermione would have responded with another few words of icy disdain. Arthur Weasley was certainly trying to answer, even though the witch on his other side was trying to shush him. And Severus Snape was so angry that he probably would have said something very, very unwise.
None of them had the chance, however, as at least fifty people in the audience had gone into hysterics, the roar of laughter drowning out any other sound. Draco was laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair. Neville Longbottom had his head down on the back of the seat in front of him, his shoulders shaking. Pansy Parkinson's distinctive and unmusical shrieks of laughter were clearly audible. Remus Lupin was doing a very creditable impression of a goldfish while his pink-haired paramour laughed herself almost sick. And Harry Potter himself was clearly torn between outrage and giggles, and the giggles were winning.
Scrimgeour looked around, startled and clearly angry at the outburst which very clearly signalled the death-pangs of that particular tactic. Hermione smiled a tiny, wintery smile. "I believe," she said dryly, as the laughter faded into isolated wheezes and giggles, "that everyone who knew either of us at school has just given you their opinion of how likely that is."
"Indeed," Scrimgeour said tightly. "How very... fortunate."
"Highly inappropriate!" the elderly wizard muttered, looking scandalized. "Bringing the young lady's reputation into question, really, Minister!"
"I agree entirely," Hermione said coolly. "Allow me to clarify, Minister Scrimgeour, in case the gales of hysterical laughter did not make this point clear enough to you. I was on particularly bad terms with our former Potions Master, when I was at school. He considered me to be a showoff, a member of Harry Potter's little gang of juvenile delinquents, and an insufferable know-it-all, and he was not hesitant to make his opinion known in public. I, for my part, considered him to be hypocritical, unjust, and unable to behave like a civilized human being, and I was no quieter about it than he was. So no, Minister, I do not think you will find any takers on your disgusting and slanderous theory that he seduced me into speaking in his defence!"
Scrimgeour blinked. "Miss Granger, if you cannot control yourself-" he began testily, and then he faltered and winced. Severus suspected that the perky-looking witch sitting behind him and to the left had kicked him... she had a very vindictive look on her face.
Hermione rose to her feet, her dark eyes bright with anger. "I am perfectly in control of myself, Minister," she said icily. "If I were not in control of myself, I assure you, the damaging accusations I might make would be just as disgusting... but much less slanderous." She glanced significantly at the Potter boy, and Severus noted with interest that Scrimgeour had gone slightly pale. "This has gone far enough. In case you have forgotten, Minister Scrimgeour, neither I nor Severus Snape is on trial today. I suggest you return your attention to the dangerous criminal sitting over there," she pointed at Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been sitting silently, her eyes wide with surprise, "and cease your attempts to make yourself look clever before they scuttle your career entirely. Good day, Minister." She turned, her robes swirling around her, and stalked over to the seats where the witnesses had been sitting. Draco, still chuckling softly, anticipated her, helping Severus to his feet. The two of them helped him out of the courtroom, as the majority of the audience applauded.
"How is he?"
Hermione closed the bedroom door, sighing a little. "He's asleep," she said softly. "It was... very hard on him."
Percy nodded. He looked much as he always had, except for the thin scar that crossed his forehead to bisect his eyebrow, stopping just short of the eye itself. It was only when he walked, and you saw his limp and heard the soft clunk of a wooden leg, that you knew. "Dad sent me a quick owl while you were on your way here," he said quietly, pouring a cup of tea and offering it to her. "To let me know what happened at the trial. I would have gone, but... well." He gave her an unhappy smile. "I couldn't make it to the office at all today. My leg gives me some trouble, in this weather."
"I understand, believe me." Hermione accepted the tea, sitting down in the small armchair opposite his. "There are days when Severus can hardly make it down the stairs."
He raised an eyebrow at the use of the given name, but let it pass. "I'm very sorry you had to go through that, Hermione," he said gravely. "I am apalled that Minister Scrimgeour would ever say such things... let alone in public."
"It's all right, Percy," she said, smiling fondly at him. He was still a little stuffy, at times, but he'd always been kind-hearted underneath it. "Really. I expected someone to make the implication... although I admit, I didn't think it would be him."
"I certainly would NOT have expected anyone to make such a... a crass and tasteless assumption," Percy said rather heatedly. "You're only eighteen! I know you're hardly a child anymore, after everything you've been through, but still! To make such... such crude insinuations about a girl your age, to damage your reputation in such a way..."
Hermione laughed suddenly, reaching over to pat his hand fondly as he gave her a startled look. "I'm sorry, Percy... I do appreciate your concern on my behalf, I really do," she said, still giggling. "But the wizarding world is so dreadfully old-fashioned... the idea that anyone would actually care about my reputation just seems so silly."
He blushed a little, but gave her an anxious look. "But people will care, Hermione. Perhaps it is old-fashioned, but it's still very real."
"I know. And it's positively medieval, honestly." She shook her head. "Not to mention bloody implausible. You saw how weak he is... and he's improved a lot, the last few months."
Percy grinned suddenly. "It is awfully difficult to imagine him managing anything forward, in his condition," he agreed. "And... well, he was always pretty terrifying, but I can't imagine him ever actually putting his hands on anyone without permission... or at all, actually," he said, making a small face. "I mean, I know teachers are people, and that the robes must theoretically come off at some point, but one doesn't really ever think about it."
"I know I never did," Hermione agreed. "His do, though," she added teasingly, and then laughed at his suddenly scandalized expression. "I've had to wake him up from a few nightmares," she explained. "He favours long and voluminuous nightshirts."
"Oh. Of course." Percy was a bit pink again. Clearly his prim heart found the idea of her even being in a man's room at night to be rather shocking. "I must say, I was very glad to hear that you were taking care of him... He doesn't have any family, I believe, and in his condition, someone does need to be there."
"No family living, no," Hermione said softly. "And he resists being looked after quite strenuously, but he does need it. It's not just the physical injuries, you understand. After what he's been through... his state of mind isn't good, either. Not that it ever was."
"No, it wasn't really, was it?" Percy agreed, gazing meditatively into the tiny fire. "One can't imagine him being happy, really. Or even content. He was always so... bitter, at school. As if he hated the whole world." He gave her a thoughtful look. "Or himself."
"Both, I think." She was a little surprised at his perceptiveness - like Neville, it was new to Percy. But he'd changed a lot... losing his leg, and his brother, and for a long time his whole family, had all played their part. Being able to finally admit that he'd been spying for Dumbledore all along, his most secret and most useful spy in the ministry, had helped a great deal. "We all have a lot in common," she said, just realizing it herself as she turned her teacup thoughtfully around and around.
"Oh?" Percy raised the scar-split eyebrow. "How so?"
"We're all very, very intelligent," she said quietly. "And no good with people, and not exactly raving beauties." She smiled wryly. "No offense."
"None taken," Percy said softly. "It's not news to me, believe me."
"And... I think it made all three of us unhappy," she continued, staring into the small fire. "I was so miserable, before Harry and Ron and I got to be friends. Nobody liked me. Nobody was ever going to, I thought."
Percy nodded. "So was I," he admitted. "It's not... easy, knowing that most of your family just put up with you. And I didn't really have many friends at Hogwarts, either. I just... studied. Worked." His face softened a little. "There was Penny, for a while. It didn't last, but... it meant a lot. Knowing that there could be someone who cared."
Hermione nodded. "And I had Ron and Harry," she said softly. "That helped. I didn't really have any other friends for a long time, but... it did help." She glanced at the closed door. "I don't think he had either," she said softly. "Or a family to fall back on, like we did... his parents died when he was quite young, and I've gotten a vague impression that they were never on good terms. So he just got more lonely, and more bitter, until just killing everyone and not caring about anything started to seem like a really good idea."
Percy nodded, sipping his tea. "Well, now I know what he and I have in common," he said, giving her a small smile. "I'm not sure where you come in, though."
She blinked at him in surprise. "... what?"
"Oh, I'll concede that there was something there when you were eleven," he admitted. "You were a very bossy, plain child, as I recall. But you're very, very good with people these days... there aren't many who could have worked out as much as you have about him, or gotten him to accept even as much care as he has." He grinned suddenly. "And I hate to be the one to break this to you, Hermione, but you're very pretty."
She stared at him. "... what?" she repeated, feeling suddenly very bewildered.
Percy lifted his wand. "Accio mirror!" A small mirror unhooked itself from the wall, and drifted lightly into his hands. "Hermione, I want you to look at yourself," he said gently. "Really look." He lifted the mirror, tilting it towards her a little.
Hermione looked. She didn't especially like mirrors, and rarely looked into one for longer than it took to see that yes, this was another bad hair day. This time, though, she really looked, as Percy had requested.
Hair - moderately well-confined, this time, and the little curls escaping to frame her face actually looked rather nice. Skin - quite good, she supposed, she'd never had any of the usual adolescent problems with it. Eyes - large and dark, with long lashes. Nose - short and straight, her nice nose had always been a comfort to her. Mouth - all right, now that her teeth were the right size for it.
She stared at the mirror for a moment more, then lifted her eyes to meet Percy's amused gaze. "When did that happen?" she asked in a small voice. When you've always believed that you're plain, finding out that you are, at least, moderately attractive comes as a shock.
"When you were about fifteen," he said, sending the mirror back to its place with a tap of his wand. "You sort of grew into yourself, around then."
"Oh." She blinked some more, and then she grinned suddenly. "You know, Minister Scrimgeour's apparent belief that someone would want to seduce me kind of makes more sense now."
"Oh, I'm sure quite a few people have wanted to seduce you," he said, returning her smile. "The lure of the unattainable, you know... there you were, with two very persistent bodyguards and apparently no interest whatsoever in having boys make fools of themselves for your benefit."
"I was unattainable?" Hermione beamed. "Really?" That was a much better explanation for the severe boy-shortage in her school years than the one she'd always assumed was correct - that she simply wasn't particularly attractive.
"Oh, yes." He smiled affectionately at her. "And you had absolutely no idea."
"My goodness. I really didn't." She gave him a reproachful look. "And you didn't tell me!"
Percy raised an eyebrow. "When did you work out that I preferred boys to girls?" he asked mildly.
She blushed. "Well... I had my suspicions in fourth year," she admitted. "Why?"
"You didn't tell ME, either." Percy blushed too, giving her a sheepish little grin. "It took me a bit longer to work it out. I still haven't told Mum and Dad."
"You should. They're so glad to have you back now that they'll be fine with absolutely anything you do." She leaned back in her chair. "And... thank you. For telling me, since I'm obviously a bit dim when it comes to myself."
"We all are." He reached over to pat her hand gently. "And... I'm sorry again, about today," he said quietly. "The Ministry should be better than that. I know it isn't, but it should be. I've always believed that, that's why I wanted to work there, to make things better."
Hermione nodded. "It should." She shook her head. "If I wasn't busy, I'd definitely be joining and getting started on working my way up to Minister for Magic so I could really make some changes. Their policies on non-human sentient beings alone..."
Percy laughed. "The terrifying thing is, I really think you could do it," he said, giving her an amused look. "When you do make Minister for Magic, may I take charge of the Department of International Magical Cooperation? I was just starting to get the hang of things when Mr Crouch turned out to have been cursed."
She giggled. "Very well. International Magical Cooperation is yours." She pondered thoughtfully. "I think I'll revamp the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures into something less totally bigoted and offensive, and put Remus in charge."
Percy looked torn between outrage and a snickering fit. "Hermione, you wouldn't dare!"
"I most certainly would," she said, grinning back at him. "I may have given up on S.P.E.W., Percy, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let people - whatever species they happen to be - get pushed around. I loathe bullies, and right now, that's what the Ministry is largely composed of." She shook her head. "And really, that has to stop."
I know I didn't show much of Bellatrix's trial - but the parts with Hermione and Severus were all I was really interested in. The results of the trial in the next chapter!
