Dumbledore's death had shook the very foundations of Hermione's world; Hogwarts was no longer the safe and happy haven it had been, while the Order of the Phoenix suddenly found itself floundering without leadership or intelligence. If questioned about her coming of age, Hermione would have dated the momentous event not to the random day on which her seventeenth birthday happened to fall that summer but rather to the day of Dumbledore's funeral when she had said goodbye to more than just her Headmaster.
She did a lot of growing up that summer, leaving behind old haunts and friends. But the sense of betrayal was something which never left her, clinging as stubbornly as the irrational feelings of guilt over her neglectful vigilance that night. Snape was the obvious channel for her sense of frustration and anger. If anyone became the face of their campaign it was no longer the mysterious and cloaked entity that was Voldemort, but the familiar and sneering face of her former teacher; he who had killed Dumbledore and endangered the very existence of the Order of the Phoenix. But eventually justice had been served, and with his incarceration had come a definite end to Hermione's war. She had felt neither pity nor vindication as he had been led away in chains, merely a hollow feeling that it was finally over. And yet now it felt as though she had been reading from a script missing several pages, and in reconstructing the plot she must surely re-evaluate the ending.
She looked up in surprise as she entered the interview room and saw that Snape was already waiting for her, denying her the opportunity to spend a few moments collecting her thoughts. Despite the interval since her last visit she did not feel any more certain of her convictions, see-sawing between conflicting emotions. Clearly Snape had managed to spend the time in a more constructive manner, for any previous traces of hysteria had been thoroughly expunged, replaced with the calm façade of a rigidly controlled demeanour.
"My compliments to you," Snape said, nodding his head across the table at Hermione as she sat down stiffly, carefully placing her briefcase on the floor. "some simple tasks at least seem within your capabilities."
With great effort she held her tongue – there had certainly been nothing simple in the matter of arranging more convivial accommodation for the Death Eater held responsible for Albus Dumbledore's murder. At least the Ministry's preference for ignoring the existence of Azkaban had finally worked in her favour as she was quite certain that, even if someone did notice any anomalies, they would be more than happy to leave their resolution to a certain Junior Minister assigned especially to the task. She smiled wryly at the thought.
"I think I've even detected an improvement in the slop that serves as food here – why, last night I'm almost certain I identified a piece of gristle which may once have constituted a quadruped."
Hermione regarded him coolly, arms folded across her chest as she waited for him to get to the point, distrust etched clearly on her features. He turned his glittering black eyes on her, a slight quirk of his eyebrow issuing an unspoken challenge.
She sighed loudly, dispensing with his mind games by broaching the subject herself. "So why kill Dumbledore? Even if it's true that your allegiance to Voldemort was only pretence, surely Dumbledore's life was worth more to the Order than your intelligence?"
Snape snorted contemptuously. "There you go again, typical Gryffindor arrogance. So stuck in your egocentric little universe that you can't possibly conceive of a higher order of things beyond the primitive immediacy of physical heroics. That was always Black's problem," he spat the name as though its very utterance was contagion on his lips. "Too arrogant to deign to consider that his impulsive actions might impact on anyone else - least of all allow the Dark Lord access to the very people he had been sworn in to protect as secret-keeper."
"Sirius wasn't to know that Wormtail was a traitor – none of you knew!" Hermione said passionately.
"Yes, because Black allowed his own self-importance to shadow any judgement he may have been capable of making, assuming that no one would bother with sniffling, insignificant Peter Pettigrew while he was in the picture," Snape sneered.
"That's unfair," Hermione said quietly, although a small voice in her head conceded that though Sirius' habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve may have been an attractive trait in a friend it had been a dangerous one in a comrade.
"Is it? A man so puffed up by his sense of worth that he neglected even to inform Dumbledore of the switch? Because heaven forbid that Black should constrain himself to the same protocol as everyone else and accept Dumbledore's explicit instructions on the face of faith alone." He paused, carefully gathering his composure as he threatened to become diverted from his intended course.
"So you're saying that your information was more important to the Order than Dumbledore himself," Hermione said sceptically, "the man you freely admit was the only one Voldemort ever feared?"
Snape paused, running a long white finger along his lower lip. "Dumbledore was aware that this was not going to be a conventional war along the lines of that fought against Grindelwald. We were not dealing in a war between individuals ranged on either side of a competing godhead, but rather a battle between ideals – of diametrically opposed forces. On the one hand an undiluted and powerful darkness, and on the other a force which Dumbledore preferred to call 'love,'" Snape sneered, leaving Hermione in no doubt as to his opinion on the chosen terminology.
"But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not," Hermione murmured, quoting the words from the prophecy. She looked back to Snape, the hint of a frown on her face as she considered the possibilities of what he was saying.
"Precisely," Snape replied, leaning back in his seat and fixing his gaze on her. "Which explains the Dark Lord's increasingly elaborate attempts to negate the liability by dispatching with Potter and the lingering magical protection offered by his mother's blood. Of course, you'll note that as much as it pained me to save the insufferable little turd for another year in my classroom I performed the task for the sake of preserving the accidental power residing within his veins."
"That was something I never understood," Hermione said, looking up quickly into Snape's drawn face, "because at first there always seemed to be another, rather more self-serving explanation. When you blocked Quirrell's curse in the first year we all thought you were merely repaying the debt you owed his father for saving your life."
"A life which wouldn't have needed saving if the recklessness of his friend hadn't endangered it in the first place!" Snape snapped angrily.
"Well, quite." Hermione directed the briefest of nods before continuing. "And then when you followed us into the shrieking shack we suspected that you were more concerned with cornering Sirius than saving his captives. But once Voldemort returned you had no reason for protecting Harry if you really were his loyal follower. Why appear in Moody's Foe-Glass accompanied by McGonagall and Dumbledore? Why alert Dumbledore to Harry's presence in the Department of Ministries? Why lead the Death Eaters out of Hogwarts on the night of Dumbledore's death when they were clearly winning the battle at that stage?"
"It's a shame no one thought to ask such pertinent questions at a trial," Snape said bitterly.
"But that still doesn't answer the most important question of all," she said in pained tones, "why kill Dumbledore?"
Snape considered the question carefully, examining his long white fingers. Thus far he had imparted only the known, and wondered at how to introduce the next, delicate phase. There was something about the intensity of her manner – both accusatory and eager to please at one and the same time – that rankled him. She would not have been his first choice. But then again, she was playing the role he had staged surprisingly well.
Hermione held her breath, sensing an internal battle raging behind the deceptively rigid features. If it hadn't been for the blazing flashes of hatred in his eyes she would have thought it the face of someone who had simply given up, but she knew better. Snape would keep going forever out of pure spite, if nothing else.
Snape looked up to catch her biting on her lower lip, and grinned wolfishly. He had no shortage of patience. With the passing years other areas of his emotional vocabulary had simply shrivelled up to accommodate the necessary growth. Prison was all about routine; everything ran to the all-commanding dictates of the clock which slowly chimed away life second by second, year by year. Expectation had absolutely no place in the world he inhabited, floating like a useless, half-finished sentence which no one dared speak. He had been waiting seven years for this moment – he was prepared to let her suffer a taste of the same for the pleasure of watching her struggle against his thrall.
"Fetch me a cigarette," he ordered irritably, settling himself more comfortably into the confines of the chair as he tried to conceal a self-satisfied smirk. She was his for the taking now. The power pendulum had swung back.
Hermione had come prepared, unwilling to waste the short amount of time available chasing after Snape's next nicotine fix. Fumbling in her robes she clumsily extracted a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and threw it across the table to Snape. With an almost gentle reverence he peeled back the foil covering and tapped out a cigarette, pocketing the remainder of the pack.
"Light?" he sneered sarcastically, cigarette bobbing up and down between his lips.
She sighed, levering herself up from her chair and walking over to his seat. Wandless, she flared a match, shielding it between her hands as she held it to the end of Snape's cigarette. He shot her a look of pure loathing before stooping toward the tiny flame.
"Has anyone ever told you that smoking kills?" she asked bossily as he took his first pull.
"So do stupid questions but that's never deterred you from the foolish habit," Snape snapped back.
Hermione pursed her lips but refrained from replying, returning to her seat with an affronted air. She watched wordlessly as he leant back in his chair, exhaling a thin stream of smoke at the ceiling. She noticed that there was a tremor in his hand, the cigarette clutched between his fingers perceptibly shaking. He rolled his head on his neck several times before fixing his eyes on her face. She had the horrible feeling that he could see right through her, past the barriers of her eyes and flesh and into the very bones of her skull.
"Contrary to popular belief, I do not like killing. It is an unpleasant activity lacking in any degree of subtlety." He paused, briefly flicking his tongue over his pale lips. "Dumbledore's death was unfortunate but a necessity that I was obligated to perform nevertheless - whatever my personal inclinations."
"The Unbreakable Vow," Hermione muttered to herself as puzzle pieces she had not been aware existed suddenly connected in her mind. "Of course, that's it, isn't it? This has something to do with the Unbreakable Vow you made with Narcissa Malfoy!"
"How do you know about that?" Snape said sharply, alarm briefly flashing across his features before he replaced his inscrutable mask.
"Never you mind," Hermione said oppressively, relenting when she caught sight of his dark features. "We overheard – that is to say, Harry overhead – you speaking to Malfoy during Slughorn's Christmas party," Hermione mumbled, at least having the good grace to blush. Now that she thought about it she couldn't believe that she hadn't analysed this conversation more thoroughly – but she supposed that the rather dramatic gesture of performing the Avada Kedavra curse had driven all such subtleties from her mind and blackened Snape's previous ambiguity beyond question.
Snape pursed his lips. "Then no doubt you understand that Draco was entrusted with the task of killing Dumbledore by none other than the Dark Lord himself. Naturally, this was interpreted by his mother as a mark of his displeasure - for surely a boy of sixteen could not succeed where the most powerful dark wizard had failed. She came to me in a state of near hysteria, begging for her son's life to be spared. That was the sort of influence I had," Snape snorted, "beautiful women coming to me suppliant on their knees. Unfortunately not all were so pliable, and eternal gratitude from the wife of a disgraced Death Eater only goes so far. Rather more fortuitously she was accompanied by her notorious sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. I spotted an opportunity to earn the complete trust of the Dark Lord's innermost circle of Death Eaters and I took it, undertaking to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco. But Narcissa inserted another clause, one which bound me to carry out the task should Draco waver." He glared at her, willing her to object.
"And Dumbledore knew of this?" Hermione said levelly.
"Of course he did," Snape snapped. "And it was a considerable bone of contention once I learnt that, far from using my carefully cultivated intelligence to avert the disaster, Dumbledore expected me to fulfil the terms of the Unbreakable Vow to the full."
Hermione stared at him open-mouthed. "But why?"
Snape sighed. "Love," he said, his face twisting into a sour expression as he spat out the unpalatable word. "He made the same choice as Potter's mother, in the end. What a selfless lot you Gryffindors are," he sneered maliciously. "Us Slytherins are rather more self-serving. For example, my acquiescence was rewarded with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship – not that I would be around long enough to enjoy the cursed position."
In a sudden flash of inspiration Hermione remembered Hagrid's overheard conversation on the edge of the forest, where Snape had accused Dumbledore of taking too many things for granted. "He wasn't pleading for his life in the Astronomy Tower, was he? That's how it must have appeared to Harry, but really he was pleading for his death – the next adventure. Dumbledore had no reason to fear death, least of all beg for the deliverance he could so easily have chosen himself."
Snape nodded. "And finally we get there, Granger." He stubbed his cigarette out efficiently on the table, sitting up straighter in his chair.
Hermione looked at him across the table, locking eye contact for a brief moment before the intensity of his gaze caused an uncomfortable heat around her collar. "So all these years…" she trailed off, round eyes filled with a sudden understanding.
"Yes, all these years," Snape repeated quietly.
"Surely – surely Dumbledore must have made some sort of provision for after his death? I mean, he couldn't ask you to make it look as though you'd killed him to the Dark Lord and then expect everyone else to believe otherwise – could he?"
Snape sighed. "Telling anyone else otherwise would have entirely defeated the point. He expected that once Voldemort was vanquished I could unmask myself. Indeed, it seemed ludicrous that anyone could question my true persuasions on the basis of the evidence at my disposal. How unfortunate then that the Ministry should decide evidence was no longer a prerequisite to guilt and fling me wordlessly into Azkaban without trial. It would only have taken one Order of the Phoenix member to vouch for my credentials. But you all deserted me like lice on a drowning dog, and for all you cared I could rot in here forever," he snarled.
Hermione bit her lip. "It's terrible," she whispered, "outrageous! They can't just keep you locked up here without charge. We have to do something!"
Snape snorted. "Well I haven't told you all this to be social. I think even you can guess my intentions."
There was a sharp intake of breath from Hermione. "You mean to appeal against your imprisonment?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Naturally. Which is where you come in. I am allowed correspondence neither in nor out of Azkaban – you can appreciate the difficulty in co-ordinating an effective appeal," he said dryly.
Forehead creased in concentration, Hermione stared unseeingly at the corrugated cigarette butt. "But even if you could submit a petition, the Ministry wouldn't dream of giving you a public platform."
"Scared of getting your wrist slapped?" Snape spat back. "Perhaps you think only the liberty of undersized domestic servants worth fighting for?"
"I didn't say I wouldn't help," she said hastily, flushing slightly at the allusion to her S.P.E.W. endeavours, "and if you'd let me finish, I think that filing a petition through a third party may actually help your case. When you were arrested you became an unspeakable, dead to the world. Your petition they can likewise consign to oblivion, mine they can't ignore quite so easily," she finished darkly.
Snape raised an eyebrow. "The testimony of barely-qualified Muggle-borns gone up in the world since my incarceration, has it?"
Hermione looked up sharply. "Considering that I am probably one of the few people who knows you're even alive, and definitely the only person who thinks you're innocent, I don't think there's much profit to be gained from insulting me."
"Well call me a nostalgic old fool," Snape said dryly, although his eyes flashed within his skull-like face at the mention of his innocence.
"Despite your avowed lack of curiosity," she replied, staring pointedly at Snape, "it might interest you to know that I'm a Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I know just how to work the system to our advantage and how to circumnavigate all the procedural objections they'll likely throw up."
Snape looked at her shrewdly. "So what do you suggest?"
Hermione shrugged. "Seems a pretty clear cut case of unlawful constraint without trial to me. Of course, they'll try to argue that, as such safeguards are held to be suspended during times of war, they were legally within their rights to imprison you based on suspicion of committing a crime alone, but they can't possibly uphold such a decision during peacetime. What we need to do is lodge an application for a writ of Habeas Corpus – sorry, that's an order issued by the Wizengamot to instigate an evidential hearing to answer the charge of unlawful constraint."
"From Latin meaning 'you shall produce the body' – yes, I am perfectly conversant with a millennium-old founding principle of our legal system," Snape snapped impatiently.
Only Snape would take offence at an apologetic explanation of specialist terminology, Hermione thought to herself with a touch of amusement. She supposed she could expect nothing less from a man who had chosen to interpret any sleight of comprehension in his classroom as a wilful act of insolence rather than an understandable caution around a bubbling cauldron and its hissing Master. She rose, draping her travelling cloak over her arm as she picked up her briefcase with the hint of a smile on her face.
"I'll report back next week," she said, looking back to address him. "Take care." She fixed one last lingering gaze on his emaciated face before leaving the room.
Snape scowled. It was yet another of those empty platitudes which he thoroughly despised. 'Take care' – of what, the elderly and enfeebled? It didn't occur to him that such words only seemed inane when taken at face value, and that Hermione's parting shot was really an expression of solidarity. In fact, it didn't occur to him at all that she would care.
( & )
Hermione stared in grim satisfaction at the carefully composed text in front of her, patiently awaiting signature under the barb of her quill. She had only to affix her name and the document would transform itself from redundant piece of parchment into a legally binding record. And yet she paused, laying down her quill with a deliberate slowness of movement that mirrored her methodical deliberations.
Leaning back in her chair, she massaged her aching wrist with a certain degree of resentment as she surveyed the surrounding barricade of books. Snape could certainly not accuse her of being inattentive this time, she thought wryly to herself – not that this observation would elicit anything approximating gratitude, if past history was anything to go by. Of course, he had taken her acquiescence for granted, assuming that she would automatically jump to the aid of her old teacher. But if Snape was innocent of the charge of murder it did not necessarily expunge his guilt for years of malicious behaviour in the classroom, and she doubted whether the man who had shown such unnatural glee at the thought of subjecting his former school adversary to a Dementor's kiss would have been able to disregard history quite so easily.
Perhaps what made it so difficult to comprehend was the inescapable fact that Snape did not fit the conventional hero mould. Cold, sarcastic and malicious – these were hardly endearing qualities and impossible to reconcile with a selfless and fierce loyalty to the force of 'love'. She snorted at the thought. What did a man like that know of love; a man so wrapped up in self-obsession that his heart was warmed only by the cloak of hatred worn in order to insulate himself from the rest of the world? What possible motor could have driven him to renounce power and ambition – seemingly his very characteristics – in favour of such abstract ideals? She shook her head, mentally scolding herself. She was not here to attempt a psychoanalysis of the man. Snape may have done nothing to deserve her emotional sympathy, but equally he had done nothing to deserve seven years in Azkaban.
With a decisive gesture, she picked up her quill and indented her signature on the dotted line with a flourish that belied her hours of weary labour. Immediately the scroll shuddered, triplicating itself with ghostly precision. She watched dispassionately as its triplets folded into compact rectangles before spiriting off to their respective addressees – one to the Wizengamot, one to the Azkaban Warden and the original for her own records. She doubted very much whether Snape's signature would have produced a similar affect.
But it was done.
( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( & ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) )
A/N:
We know that wizarding law is a formalised procedure, operating on fairly similar lines to the legal system of England and Wales with regards to collective judgement – a fact clearly evidenced by JK's wordplay with the Anglo-Saxon 'Witengamot'. Writs exist from the Anglo-Saxon era and were adopted by the Norman conqueror William I who recognised their utility and sophistication in the eleventh century. There's no reason to suppose that the wizarding world hasn't been similarly pragmatic, hence reference to the writ of habeas corpus.
Krzyll points out that some of these scenes are reminiscent of 'Silence of the Lambs'. It may interest you to know that Alan Rickman's unofficial biography claims that the actor was second in line for the role of Hannibal Lecter.
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