Thank you for the responses on the last chapter!

I really like this one.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Meleager's Fire

The day hadn't been too bad, Harry thought, as he lay in bed that night. Millicent had reported back to him that she'd been making progress with the centaurs, and that they no longer fussed at her about loosening their bindings right away—as she thought they had been doing with all their talk of wandering stars, though admittedly, with centaurs, it was hard to tell. She could actually understand them when they talked, now.

Pansy had shared a book full of fey stories with him, which her mother had given her when she was a girl. The stories changed their endings to suit whoever was reading them. In this case, the book had been confused between Pansy's and Harry's moods, and had ended up choosing ridiculous endings most of the time. Harry had even laughed once or twice.

Draco hadn't said much, but he'd simply been there, with one hand brushing Harry's, or one hand cupping his elbow, or a glance turned on him, whenever Harry started to waver in consideration of what would go forward tomorrow. Since the night he and Harry had dashed to the Manor, he seemed less inclined to go into fits about whoever his crush was, more calm and reserved, balanced and watchful. Harry had to admit that he preferred his friend this way.

They had all done what they could to cushion him against the blow they knew was coming.

Harry closed his eyes.

Snape's trial is tomorrow. I really should get some sleep if I can.

Snape gazed out the window of his cell. Oh, he knew it was fake, the way all the Ministry's windows were; with the building so far underground, there was no way that they could be anything but false. Still, the slanting of the sunlight, autumn sunlight over faded trees, gave him some peace.

He liked to think that he had learned to appreciate peace, and such views, in the past few months.

That did not mean that he was any less eager to get this farce of a trial done with and know, one way or another, what his fate would be. Either back in Hogwarts, teaching again, finding out the truth behind Harry's and Draco's carefully noncommittal letters, facing the Headmaster…

Or here, and looking out at the autumn trees again before they sent him to whatever prison they'd come up with as a substitute for Azkaban.

Snape shook his head and turned to the table behind him. The furnishings of the cell were limited: one table, one high-backed chair, one low bed, one rug, one bookshelf that filled up with books which vanished again on the room's or his captors' whim. The Daily Prophet also arrived on the table each morning, though Snape did not often do more than skim the articles. The Skeeter woman was running out of new material to report about Harry, and had been reduced to reporting on the upcoming Yule Ball.

There will be much for us to talk about, Snape thought, remembering the photograph of Harry on his broom, facing three dragons. Not least, what you have been doing with yourself all these months.

And, of course, what in the world Harry had done to get his father to drop the charges against Snape.

Snape shook his head and took a place in the chair, reaching for the Daily Prophet. Of course, the headline announced:

FORMER DEATH EATER TO BE TRIED TODAY

Snape found that he had no appetite for news.

He put the paper back on the table and turned an impatient glance on the door. He still did not have his wand, of course, but the paper appeared promptly at nine'o'clock every morning. That meant his breakfast should not be long in coming. An hour behind that would be his escort to the trial.

Snape told himself that was not terrified. He had faced the Wizengamot before, when he was first accused of being a Death Eater. He had done something far more terrible then. This time, there were only the accusations of the Minister to consider, accusations which Fudge, now deposed from office, did not even have the authority to try him for anymore. An Elder from the Wizengamot would do the questioning instead. It would not have come this far if Snape had been the guardian of anyone but Harry Potter.

And if I want to remain his guardian, then I will outface them all.

Oh, yes, Snape knew his two months in captivity had changed him, but they had not made him less dangerous, particularly when he had something that he wanted to fight for.

Someone knocked on the door. Snape paused, his eyes narrowing. Always before, the server had called his name and waited until Snape had opened the door to let him in; Snape could not leave the room without falling unconscious, but his being able to open the door to let in visitors let the Ministry pretend they were giving him a modicum of privacy.

A slight change in routine, he thought. Perhaps someone bribed the guard to see the famous Death Eater prisoner today, when it might be the last chance he'll have. There could easily be a rational explanation.

But he had not stayed alive for so long by finding rational explanations for things that made him uneasy.

He stepped back and took his chair without a sound. The person at the door knocked again, and again. Still there was no call. Unusual. Why?

Perhaps he fears that I will recognize his voice.

A moment later, there came the sound of urgently muttered spells, and Snape saw several of the wards on the door, faint lines of color he was no longer aware of unless he squinted, flicker and die. Then the buzz in his ears that reminded him at all times of the price he would pay if he tried to depart faded. Someone had taken that particular ward down, as well.

I wonder what it's to be? Snape thought, his mind cold and dark, working at high speed. He felt as he had when he was a spy in that last year of the War, but he had not quite descended to the level of the ice that had caused him so much trouble with Harry. He had promised himself not to go in that direction again. Straightforward assassination attempt, or killed trying to escape?

The wizard at the door pushed it open.

Snape pulled his head back below the level of his chair, and carefully, carefully lifted the shields on his own magic. In a silent rush, it rose around him, powerful and well-trained. He could not manage much wandless power in comparison to the Headmaster and Harry, and he had made sure not to advertise that he could perform it at all. He had no need of it when he was playing along with this farce, to show willing.

He did not intend to let himself be killed on the verge of walking free, however.

He recognized the heavy, shuffling tread of the wizard who came into the room, and curled his lip. Macnair. No wonder he thought I would recognize his voice. Snape might even have recognized his use of spells, if it wasn't for the wards. Macnair was all lumbering, brute magical strength, not unintelligent, but hindered by a severe lack of finesse when he cast.

Silently, Snape prepared a curse that would pierce the outer lining of Macnair's heart. He would die fast and undetectably; it would require an investigation to confirm a magical cause of death, and the Ministry was unlikely to conduct one when they saw the Mark on Macnair's left arm.

The air around him clashed with steel as he prepared to let the spell fly like a dagger.

"Stupefy!"

Snape nearly jumped as he saw the red light of the hex stream into the room—coming from the door. He still could not see over the back of the chair, but he heard Macnair utter a helpless grunt and fall. That meant that whoever had fired that hex was a friend of his.

Perhaps. Or else someone who did not want to share in the glory of the kill.

"Professor Snape," said Auror Mallory's voice, calm and controlled. "Are you all right?"

Snape took a moment to smooth and lock his magic back under his shields before he stood. The witch was just powerful enough that she might sense something amiss, otherwise. "I am, madam," he said.

Mallory nodded once, and glanced down at Macnair's body. "We found your usual server paralyzed and blinded," she said. "I don't even know him. Who is he?"

"Walden Macnair," said Snape. "As for what reason he would have to wish to kill me, check his left forearm."

Mallory blinked once, and then banished all signs of her startlement. She nodded. "I promised that you would reach your trial alive," she told Snape, "and you will."

Snape nodded back to her. He could not say he liked the woman—her power level alone, dangerously close to his, made that impossible—but he respected her, and the respect was not all grudging. The Prophet said that she would be the likely choice to take over the Auror Office if Scrimgeour won the election and the post of Minister. She was a good choice. Snape trusted her to keep her word.

Mallory waved her wand, and conjured a plate of buttered toast and tea. "I'm afraid that you'll have to eat faster than normal," she said. "The trial will start at half past nine instead of at ten."

Snape raised an eyebrow as he sat down to eat. "And whose idea was that?"

Mallory blinked innocently at him while she renewed the wards on the room. "Why, Professor Snape. These things happen, and I am sure I have no idea to what you are referring. It would be entirely out of line for me to tell you that Harold Hallowhunt, one of the Minister's supporters on the Wizengamot, suggested that the trial should be moved up in an attempt to make your witnesses miss it. Of course, I am sure that Mr. Hallowhunt was only thinking of the good of wizarding kind as a whole."

This one was trained by Scrimgeour, Snape thought wryly as he turned to his toast. And it is to be hoped that he wins the election. Madam Bones is too honorable, and short-sighted in her honor. We need someone who can make problems…disappear as well as face them head-on.

He managed quite a bit of his breakfast while Mallory Body-Bound Macnair and took him to deposit in a cell. His throat didn't close up until the witch came back to the door, caught his eye, and nodded. In all, he was impressed with himself.

Harry had expected the second time he was in the Wizengamot's courtroom to be less intimidating than the first. After all, he had some idea of what it looked like, now, and how the wizards and witches liked to arrange themselves. And he knew that there were going to be people there today who were friendly and sympathetic to his cause.

It turned out not to be the case. There had been nobody at the Minister's hearing who wasn't either part of the Wizengamot or someone, like Harry and Scrimgeour, required to be there because they were part of the original process of the motion. Harry suspected Fudge's allies had been able to insure that. Now, though, there were observers spilling into the courtroom, wizards and witches in everything from tattered robes to formal pureblood wear, come to watch and gawk.

Harry realized, this time, that Dumbledore took a circuitous route that, while it appeared to bring them into contact with many members of the Wizengamot, conveniently hid them from most of the watchers, or allowed at most a small glimpse. He didn't mind. He knew that he would have to testify on Snape's behalf, and he was prepared to deal with that. He was not keen on being recognized as "that boy what's been in the papers lately," as he had heard himself referred to in one terrifying conversation he and the Headmaster had barely skirted.

"Harry."

Harry blinked and looked up. Dumbledore was watching him—closely, as he had a habit of doing these days, and without a smile.

"Once the trial begins," he said quietly, "I will need you to mask your emotions. Severus has been accused of something that, all things considered, I would be quite surprised to learn he did not do. That means that we need to be patient, calm, rational, and legal. Letting your anger or your sorrow go in such a situation would not be productive."

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore nodded back, and then escorted him to his seat, once again a small chair behind Dumbledore's larger one. Harry took it with a sense of relief. He looked around, but didn't see Umbridge, or either of the two other members of the Wizengamot who had voted to retain Fudge as Minister last time. He relaxed.

"Good morning."

I really ought to stop relaxing in situations like this. Harry rose to his feet to greet Scrimgeour, a bit surprised to see the Auror. "Why are you attending the trial, sir?" he asked. "I thought you would be out campaigning."

"Did I tell you," said Scrimgeour, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "that I'm a connoisseur of facial expressions?"

Harry blinked. "No, sir, you never have."

"I like watching 'em," said Scrimgeour happily. "I savor the moment when, for example, a criminal who's come to the chair smirking and swaggering realizes we have all the evidence we need to convict him. I liked watching the former Death Eaters realize that their names and their money wouldn't save 'em from being tried, just like normal people. I lean forward to catch every last glimpse of the woman who killed her husband and tried to make it look like an accident while the Wizengamot's vote runs against her."

Harry lifted his eyebrows. "I had not known you were so…savage, sir."

"I expect to see some particularly choice expressions today," said Scrimgeour, his affected Muggleborn way of speaking becoming more pronounced. "Yeh've got to understand, Potter, there are people on the court today who'd be just as happy to see the vote run against yer guardian. The Minister was one thing, a threat to their livelihood. Snape was a Death Eater, and a lot of 'em don't like Death Eaters. Never have, never will."

Harry clenched his hands. He could not bear the thought of losing Snape to whatever prison the Wizengamot had come up with in lieu of Azkaban, but he understood it was a possibility he had to face. "And you're going to look at my face when they announce the guilty verdict?" he asked.

Scrimgeour snorted a laugh. "No. I'm looking forward to what they do when they call the witnesses for the prosecution. Watch 'em, Potter. That'll be a sight to see." He turned on his heel and strode back down the ranks of the court towards the far side of the room, his robes flying behind him, though there should have been no room to stride like that. Harry watched him go in puzzlement.

I wonder why he's going so far out of his way to help us? Was it just because he didn't like Fudge?

Harry had no answer, though, so he had to take his seat instead of doing anything better. The room was nearly full to bursting, and he heard someone already shouting for order. Since Fudge wasn't part of the court anymore, and Amelia Bones was campaigning in her election for Minister, and Dumbledore had told Harry already that he'd turned down the opportunity to lead the questioning, that meant the privilege of leadership would pass to the oldest member of the Wizengamot.

Who—

"Attention," said a gentle voice enhanced with acoustics spells. "Attention, if you would please."

Harry smiled as he watched the little old witch standing up in her seat on one side of the balcony. Griselda Marchbanks was probably the oldest member of the Wizengamot. She looked it on her face, but her voice rang clear and strong, and people paid attention. Wizards and witches sat down, and, while nothing probably could have made the audience be quiet, their talking receded to a low hum.

"Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, and gentlebeings," Madam Marchbanks began. "This is a rather unusual trial. The Wizengamot is trying it because former Minister Fudge brought the charges, but he is no longer part of the court, hence the reason I am leading." She dipped a graceful little bow. "Madam Marchbanks, at your service. I've seen one hundred sixty years, served fifty of them on the Wizengamot, and still, I believe this is one of the more unusual cases to come before us."

That increased the excited humming of the watchers. Harry swallowed. Unusual? Why? Is there something I don't know about?

"For starters," Madam Marchbanks went on, shuffling through the papers before her, "there were two sets of charges in the beginning of the trial, one from the former Minister, one from James Potter—"

That name made the buzz increase again. Harry swatted at a beetle hovering around his head, and hoped no one would start looking around the courtroom to see if a Potter was there, or, worse, cast a spell to find him.

"But the Potter charges have been dropped," the old witch finished. "And the Minister is no longer with us, though I hope the Wizengamot has done a good enough job in his absence. That means that the trial of Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will be conducted on a reduced set of charges, and rely almost solely on witness and prisoner testimony, rather than the promised written evidence."

Another buzz circled the courtroom. Harry closed his eyes and let out his breath. He could see why Dumbledore had told him to be patient, and keep control of his emotions. A misstep at this point could be fatal to rescuing Snape, since there were eyes that would be looking for evidence of shadows in the way Harry, and the other witnesses, told their stories.

"Bring in the prisoner!"

Harry found himself leaning forward, angling for a glimpse of Snape. It had been two months, after all, and for all that Snape had acted like an idiot in the short while before he left—and let himself get caught at it, which was worse—Harry wanted desperately to see him.

Snape had always thought himself a patient man. As he waited before the closed doors of the Wizengamot courtroom, he had to reconsider that self-assessment. His skin was itching, and not just because he stood between two Aurors who both held their wands, while he had none, or because this antechamber was utterly devoid of any decoration, all bare, blank stone.

He wanted to get in there and get this trial done with.

Mallory frowned and walked forward to press her ear against the doors, as though wondering if she had somehow missed the signal to bring him in. At once, the other Auror, the young, nervous one with the ridiculous blue hair, gave a little cough and leaned nearer to Snape.

"Professor?" she all but squeaked.

Snape gave her a carefully measured look. He remembered Nymphadora Tonks as an indifferent student, not incompetent enough to irritate him, but not good enough to earn his regard, either. She'd also been clumsy enough to tip over numerous cauldrons, though luckily not to cause explosions. That did not bode well for whatever she was about to ask him.

Tonks bit her lip, worried at it, and then said all at once, "Kingsley Shacklebolt wants me to join the Order of the Phoenix, and I don't know if I should, and I'm worried about it, and I don't like it, and I wanted your opinion." She stared at him, then, as if he should have immediate wise advice to offer.

Snape blinked at her for only a moment. Then he sneered. Tonks's face drooped.

Snape did not care. Here was an opportunity to vent his frustration before he entered the court, and go in calmer.

"Consider, Miss Tonks," he murmured, shifting his wrists so that his manacles rang together behind his back, "that I was a member of the Order, too, and risked my life against the Dark Lord, and served Albus Dumbledore as faithfully as I knew how. Yet, in the months since I have been here, he has not made an effort to visit me, nor, so far as I know, to make sure my trial goes well." He had to speak quickly, since Mallory was walking back towards them, and he chose his words with care. "Dumbledore named the Order after his own phoenix, Fawkes. But the bird left him last year."

Tonks all but recoiled. "But that means—" she gasped.

"What means what, Auror Tonks?" Mallory asked, as she slid into place on the other side of him again. Snape could feel her watchfulness, knew she was more loyal to the law than either of them, but didn't care. He felt better. Tonks had tried to hand him her own burden, and he had given it back, with interest. That always made him feel more like himself.

"Nothing," said Tonks, and then sighed. Her hair turned brown. "Nothing at all."

Mallory looked at them both suspiciously, but the call came from inside then, and the doors swung open, and they could proceed. Snape walked with his chin up, masking himself in black ice, and returning the stares he got with such an indifference that he saw some of the wizards and witches shrink back. He moved his head in an indecipherable nod. That is as it should be.

Once, he had gone through this, and then, he had been stark terrified, relying on Dumbledore's word alone to save him. Now, with less notion of what was to come, he outfaced the stares. Perhaps, he considered, it was because last time he had had only his own life and freedom to fight for. This time, along with that, he had the promise of returning to Hogwarts and Harry.

And that is too ridiculously sentimental a notion to entertain.

Tonks and Mallory brought him to the chair in the center of the courtroom, and settled him into it. Since his hands were still chained behind his back, they didn't bother with the shackles on the arms of the seat. Snape was glad of it. He could arrange himself more comfortably, and sneer at people more effectively.

Uncompromising faces met his from every direction. Snape did not care. There were very few of them who mattered to him. He did note the old witch who would lead the questioning, and Scrimgeour's endlessly amused gaze, and, of course, Dumbledore's piercing stare.

For some odd reason, his eyes didn't move past Dumbledore when he willed them to. At first he thought the old wizard was using some kind of compulsion, but then he recognized the flare of familiar power. Dumbledore's magic could not quite cloak it.

Harry.

Snape hoped he did not allow anything to show on his face, but then all hope of that went as a small shape forced its way past Dumbledore and up to the railing of the balcony, bending down so that its eyes could meet his.

Harry looked exhausted, even from this distance. But Snape recognized the clenching of his jaw, and suspected that the boy had just set himself to fight for him with every bit of stubbornness he possessed.

Snape did permit himself, then, a brief nod of greeting. He could feel a sweet burning welling up in him, much like a pleasant version of the Meleager Potion he had set on Fudge.

I am going to come out of this alive, and free. If Harry has survived this so far, I can do no less.

Harry looked at Snape for a long moment. His guardian's face was not nearly as pale as he had imagined it would be, after two months of no sun. Of course, Snape spent much of his time in the dungeons anyway, so that would not be too great a change. And now he was sneering around the room with his customary look of disdain.

It heartened Harry more than he would have been able to express to see that Snape had passed through his captivity and come out the other side again.

I can do this. I can brave this, for his sake.

Dumbledore pushed at his shoulder, not-so-gently urging him back to his seat. Harry caught one last glimpse of Snape, to take with him, and then obeyed. He cast a Seeing Spell in the palm of his hand, as he had last time, to be able to watch the drama on the floor of the courtroom.

When the murmuring had died down again, Griselda Marchbanks began.

"Severus Snape," she murmured, her voice echoing from every side of the courtroom thanks to the spells, "you are charged with brewing an illegal potion, which you did not register with the Ministry of Magic. You are also charged with administering this potion to former Minister Fudge. The effects are unknown, but are not assumed to be beneficial." There was audible amusement at that. "Do you understand the accusations that have been made against you?"

"I do." Snape sounded—he sounded bored. Harry had a moment of pure and very Slytherin admiration.

"Under the Wizengamot's Charter, you have the right to call a representative," Madam Marchbanks said. "Do you choose to do so?"

"No. I will represent myself. I would trust no one else to speak half so well of me." Another wide-spread wash of amusement.

"Very well. Do you wish to accept Veritaserum?"

"I do not."

Madam Marchbanks sounded as if she'd expected that. "Very well. The prosecution has the right to call its witnesses first. As I am leading the questioning, I will take over this part of the trial. I call Cornelius Fudge, who has insisted on being here today to respond to you personally."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched Fudge bustle down into the middle of the courtroom. His robes hardly appeared less fine than what he'd worn when he was Minister, and he had the most intolerable look of self-satisfaction. What is Scrimgeour talking about? What facial expression?

Fudge halted in front of Snape's chair and cleared his throat importantly. "My name is Cornelius Fudge," he said, before Madam Marchbanks could even ask him. "Until recently, I served as Minister of Magic for Great Britain."

"Of course." The old witch's voice was very bland. "Will you consent to answer some questions about the charges you have brought against Severus Snape?"

"Of course," said Fudge back at her, oozing politeness and charm, and Harry could see how the man had managed to win elections. He didn't look at Snape, but cast a smile around at everyone else. His charisma was about as thick as algae, but that could be enough to convince someone who didn't know any better.

"Do you charge him with both brewing an illegal potion and feeding it to you on the autumnal equinox of this year?"

"Yes," said Fudge, without missing a beat. "I did not know at the time that the potion was illegal, of course, but the healers at St. Mungo's have examined me, and they could find no traces of it that matched any known potion. They did find unusual traces in my bloodstream, however."

Harry closed his eyes. Snape let his will to vengeance overcome making it untraceable. I bet he used ingredients that he knew would cause pain. Honestly. That is something I'll have to talk to him about.

"What were those unusual traces of?" Madam Marchbanks asked. Harry opened his eyes, and leaned around Fudge to see Snape. He winced. Snape had gone slightly paler, which was not in and of itself a testimony to Fudge's trustworthiness, but was as good as a shout to someone who knew how to read the signs. He had not expected anyone to find the traces, then.

"Feverfew and Fire-Crab shell," said Fudge. His voice was smug, now, as though he considered having borne those ingredients in his bloodstream sufficient price for bringing down an enemy. He probably did, Harry thought sourly. He's a politician. "And also, death angel mushroom."

A hiss traveled around the court. Harry winced. Yes, ingredients to cause pain. And of course no one but a Potions Master could brew a potion that would keep that toxin from taking effect in a few hours. Damn it, Snape!

He could feel unease bubbling in the back of his mind, too, at the thought of how much Snape must have wanted Fudge to suffer.

He heard Madam Marchbanks asking the expected question—how was Fudge still alive?—and Fudge giving the expected answer—through Snape's skill. He took a deep breath and looked down at the window again.

"We must concede that it is extremely likely a Potions Master could brew such a fatal draught," Madam Marchbanks was saying, her voice uneven. Harry was reminded of something Snape had told him once, how it disconcerted many wizards to think that someone could do something to them that did not require waving a wand, and might take effect hours, days, months, years, after it was ingested. "What side effects have you noticed from this potion, Mr. Fudge?"

Harry raised his brows as he watched Fudge flush for the first time. I hope Scrimgeour is doing this.

"Well, none," he admitted grudgingly. "The only things I know about it are that it smelled like chocolate, and Snape—the prisoner—made me lick it from my fingers." A titter went around the courtroom at that. Fudge tried valiantly to persist, though his ears were turning red now. "And there's the traces in my bloodstream. But that's all, really." He rallied. "But that's more than enough! Who knows what horrible things this potion could have done to me?"

"Thank you, Mr. Fudge," said Madam Marchbanks. "That is all for now." Fudge lifted his head and paraded back to the stairs. "The Wizengamot calls the second witness for the prosecution, Augustus Starrise."

There was a long silence. Harry stared into his window, and then glanced up and around the courtroom, but saw no one moving.

He did catch a glimpse of Rufus Scrimgeour grinning like a fiend.

"Augustus Starrise," Madam Marchbanks repeated, sounding a little less sure of herself this time. "Where is Mr. Starrise?"

"I can answer that, Madam," Scrimgeour's voice called. "It seems that Mr. Starrise recently fought a duel under the Sunset Accords, and lost, so he's forbidden participation in politics for a year. I'm sure the Wizengamot understands the impact of this sacred tradition. Should Mr. Starrise testify in court today, he could literally pay the price of an arm or a leg."

Madam Marchbanks was blinking. "But—such circumstances are not usually binding in the case of legal testimony," she said. "I have seen witches and wizards who feel themselves tied to the Sunset Accords still testifying during their year away from the bustle of the Ministry."

Scrimgeour shrugged elaborately. "In this case, Mr. Starrise felt that he should not be here. He sends his regrets, I'm sure."

Harry grinned despite himself. He had to admit that the expressions on many of the faces around them were worth watching for. Some of them were obviously trying to figure out why Scrimgeour would have fought such a duel with Starrise and how he had won, while others were figuring out what it would mean that Starrise was bound not to testify on the former Minister's behalf.

"I—" Madam Marchbanks shook her head. "Very well. There are no other official witnesses for the prosecution, then. Unless anyone wants to volunteer?"

No one did. Of course, Harry knew, even the ones who wanted the case to go against Snape must know there was really nothing they could add. Snape's original meeting with Fudge had been too private for them to be able to corroborate what he had said.

"The case moves to the defense," said Madam Marchbanks briskly. "Mr. Snape, the court will question you first."

"Very well." Snape had recovered entirely from the surprise Fudge had dealt him, and merely looked blank.

"Did you create a potion that you did not register with the Ministry?"

"I did."

"Did the potion contain the ingredients that Mr. Fudge detailed—that is, feverfew, Fire-Crab shell, and death angel mushroom?"

Harry saw Snape's shoulders tighten momentarily, but he said only, "It did."

The courtroom all but shrieked. Madam Marchbanks had to shout for order before she got it, and she went on more sternly. "Why would you include such ingredients in the potion, Mr. Snape?"

"As you may or may not know," Snape began, "there are many ingredients in most potions which, though fatal in and of themselves, lose their toxicity when combined with others. Death angel mushroom is one such." Harry felt a faint stab of amusement through the fear when he realized that Snape was lecturing. "It is a common cure for poisoning, actually, the theory being that the extreme venom of the mushroom helps to drive out the first poison. There are some Calming Draughts that require it. The Draught of Ceasing, used to cure convulsions, could not be made without it."

"The court did not ask for a lecture on potions making, Mr. Snape." Madam Marchbanks did sound interested, despite herself. "What was the potion intended to do to the former Minister?"

Burn him, Harry thought, and shivered.

"It was a prank potion," said Snape, with a little irritation in his voice, as though he could not understand why people would keep misinterpreting things. "I intended for the Minister to exhibit some of the more embarrassing side-effects such ingredients can cause on their own. Thus, he would undergo the cramping and diarrhea caused by the death angel toxin. It was not, and I repeat, not fatal."

There was a disbelieving murmur, and Madam Marchbanks said, "Is there any independent source that can corroborate this, Mr. Snape?"

"Of course not." Snape sneered openly. "I made the potion in private, and did not register it with the Ministry. That is the very thing I am charged with, if I may remind the court. I can tell you, if you really wish to hear it, that I was well-known, as a child in Hogwarts, for making similar potions. The Headmaster can testify to that, as can Remus Lupin and James Potter."

The court stirred and hissed among themselves. Harry could feel how delicate the balance was. On the one hand, they had no reason to believe Snape, and most of them would have been prejudiced by the mention of the fatal ingredients in the potion. On the other hand, it was undeniably true that Fudge had suffered no ill effects so far, and that, if it came down to what had transpired so far, it was the former Minister's word against Snape's. And this was the same court that had voted the Minister out of power only a few weeks before.

It was too delicate. Harry did not know if he could get Snape out of here as matters stood.

As matters stand. They have to be redressed. Better, they have to be redressed by some dramatic gesture.

Good thing I'm so good at those, isn't it?

"The court has no more questions," Madam Marchbanks was saying. "Do you wish to call any witnesses, Mr. Snape?"

Harry could almost feel Snape's eyes rising to pick him out, as well as see it in his window, but Snape simply shook his head. Harry hissed in frustration. Dumbledore told me that I'd be required to testify. I think he was betting on Snape calling me. And of course the stubborn idiot won't.

"Does anyone wish to volunteer as a witness?" Madam Marchbanks asked.

Now.

Harry stood. "I do," he called.

"And your name is?" Harry thought Madam Marchbanks knew it very well, but of course she couldn't see him directly from where she was standing.

"Harry Potter."

The court exploded in excited whispering again. Harry could feel his heart hammering, his world spinning like it did when he'd just seen the Snitch and was about to fall towards the ground in pursuit. He knew how great a risk he was taking with this. It could so easily go wrong. On the other hand, if he didn't do this, he was leaving matters up to chance, and he didn't want to do that. He did want to play some controlling part, no matter how small.

I guess I'm a Slytherin in that way, too.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," said Madam Marchbanks. "If you will approach the prisoner, the court will question you."

Harry didn't move. "I have one more thing to say, Madam. I wish to testify under Veritaserum."

This time, he might have set the court on fire.

Harry closed his eyes, and fell.

Snape would have gripped the arms of the chair if his hands weren't chained behind his back. As it was, he could only watch in horrified, helpless anger as Harry approached him, and Auror Mallory, her face white with her own shock, brought out a clear vial.

Harry did not watch her. He watched Snape instead, and he couldn't hide the faint flush on his cheeks, which someone else might have taken as born from nervousness or embarrassment. Snape knew better. This was born from exhilaration, from the incomprehensible pleasure Harry had in taking a risk.

He cannot take this one. He has no right to take this one. He cannot win if he does!

Except Snape knew there was a small chance he might win, as long as Madam Marchbanks only asked the right questions and not any of the wrong ones. And if he did, then the dramatic gesture—a child testifying in favor of his guardian, and a child hero besides, and willingly taking Veritaserum, which no one had even suggested to him—would swung support rapidly to his side.

He had no doubt that Harry knew that, too. It was the reason he would have chosen this course.

I will strangle him. The stubborn idiot! He has no right to make this sacrifice for me!

It was too late for that, though, and Snape had no right to protest when Harry was a voluntary witness. All was flashing uncertainty at the moment, like one of those damn Quidditch matches, and Snape could only watch from the sidelines.

Harry accepted the Veritaserum with a murmur of thanks, and placed three drops on his tongue without hesitation. Snape was not surprised that he did not look slack and inattentive. Harry had an Occlumens's mind now, and would be able to watch the pale chains sprouting around his thoughts and commanding that he speak only truth.

That did not mean he could break them. Snape had never been able to lie under Veritaserum, only control his own emotional reactions.

Control his own emotional reactions.

By all that is sacred. In the name of Merlin. That is what he means to do.

"What is your full name?" Madam Marchbanks asked.

"Harry James Potter," said Harry. He still hadn't looked away from Snape.

"Where do you attend school?"

"Dur—Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," said Harry, showing them beyond all doubt that the Veritaserum worked, though he'd had no need to. He flashed a small smile at Snape.

"And your Headmaster is?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

Madam Marchbanks nodded. "The Veritaserum is in order, then. The questions may begin. Mr. Potter, what do you believe Mr. Snape's purpose in brewing the potion he fed to Minister Fudge was?"

Harry turned and glanced up at her, his eyes wide open and innocent.

"To hurt him," he said. "And he wanted to hurt him because he was protecting me. Minister Fudge abducted me at the end of August, and held me in a private room without benefit of legal counsel, or my legal guardian. I was at first informed that my guardian could come along, and then denied his presence. Then the former Minister tried to drain my magic. Professor Snape has a temper. He decided to brew the potion because of that."

Another murmur. Snape shook his head, a bit dazed. Harry was, in his own way, dancing through the interrogation even though he was under Veritaserum. It made Snape's ears ring.

"Do you believe that he would have killed the Minister?" Madam Marchbanks asked.

"Yes," said Harry. "He would do anything to protect me." He turned to Snape and offered him a smile. "I am intensely grateful for that about him. He's—" Harry's face closed for a moment, as though he'd almost changed his mind about whatever he was going to say, but the potion forced the truth from him. "He's the best parent I've ever had."

"Your blood parents are still alive?" Madam Marchbanks added a touch of sharpness to her voice, as well she might. She was pureblooded, and for most wizards, blood family was important above anything else.

Harry lifted his chin, and Snape saw sweat gleaming on his forehead. Oh, dangerous, this is dangerous, they might learn something that Harry would give his life to protect—

"They both are, Madam," said Harry.

"And you do not wish to live with them?"

"I do not wish to live with them," Harry said.

"You wish to live with Professor Snape instead?"

"I do." Harry took a deep breath, and forged on, before the witch could ask why. "Experience has taught me that I'm safer with Professor Snape than either of my blood parents, both physically and—and emotionally." He winced. "I believe that he would have killed to protect me, but most parents will kill to protect their children from someone they think is an enemy. And the former Minister might have murdered me, too, for all Professor Snape knew at the time. When the facts of the case came out, the Minister attempted to force me to return to the care of my blood parents, with whom I feel profoundly unsafe. I do not believe it is a coincidence that Professor Snape grew so angry."

Snape closed his eyes. He knew that someone else might think it was a sign of falsehood or weakness. He did not care. He could not afford to look at Harry right now without deeply betraying something that should more properly wait until he could speak to Harry alone.

I know what it cost him to admit that. But this is a sacrifice not torn from him against his will, but freely laid down. We shall speak about that, about his tendency to do that, but to hear the words, after all that has happened in the weeks before I was arrested…

Snape startled himself by feeling a profound moment of pity for both James Potter and Lily Potter, who would never understand what they had lost.

"I see." Madam Marchbanks's voice was deeply shaken. She cleared her throat, as if attempting to recover herself. "Do you believe the potion would have any fatal effects, Mr. Potter?"

"I think it might," said Harry. "I am utterly ignorant of whatever other effects it could have. Professor Snape never confided in me while he was brewing the potion."

All true, Snape thought, but it was a fragile tissue of truth that could be torn down if the right questions were asked.

"He never told you the name of the potion?" Madam Marchbanks demanded.

Snape stiffened. He could not discount the possibility that Harry might have seen his notes.

Then he ran the phrasing of the question over in his head again, and wanted to laugh. Once again, one step away from disaster.

"No, Madam, he did not," Harry said firmly.

"You do realize that he still tried to commit murder, Mr. Potter?" the witch demanded.

"I don't know that, no." Snape opened his eyes, and saw his ward's eyes darken as he glared up at the court. "I told you that I believe he would have killed the Minister, that he made the potion to hurt him, and that it might have fatal effects. But those effects haven't manifested, Madam Marchbanks. Until they do, we only have Mr. Fudge's word against Professor Snape's. And as neither of them testified under Veritaserum, they're both equally trustworthy."

Snape began to breathe deeply again, as he had not since Fudge revealed the Healers finding the ingredients in his bloodstream. Harry's claim would have been laughable in most other circumstances; who would trust a Potions Master who brewed potentially fatal draughts? But with Fudge his only opponent, with the dangerous Starrise witness removed, he had a good chance.

And thanks to Harry's utterly insane bravery, of course.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," said Madam Marchbanks. "No further questions."

Harry bowed to the court, then turned and bowed to Snape. Snape flinched a bit when he met the steady, open stare of those green eyes.

You are worth this, they said.

So Snape had better act like he was worth it.

He watched in silence as Harry turned and climbed the stairs again, and as Madam Marchbanks called for any other witnesses, of which there were none, and then for the Wizengamot to vote.

Harry sank into his chair and closed his eyes. His ploy had succeeded. He was still alive.

But Snape isn't free yet.

He opened his eyes, and forced himself to ignore both the curious gazes on him and the trembling in his muscles. That was close to the hardest thing he had ever done, not counting his confrontations with Voldemort. This isn't done yet.

He watched as the voting moved around the Wizengamot. Amelia Bones was gone, as well as one other witch, and that left an uneven number.

Umbridge, of course, voted Snape as guilty. So did the other two Elders Harry remembered as supporting Fudge. Three to nothing, then.

Harry refused to bolt out of the chair, or gasp.

Madam Marchbanks looked down into the center of the courtroom. "Innocent," she said softly.

Harry closed his eyes.

He heard the votes after that, and tallied them up in his head. No one was abstaining on this one.

Thirteen guilty, twelve innocent…

Fourteen innocent, sixteen guilty…

Seventeen innocent, eighteen guilty…

As if in a dream, Harry heard the voting tallied at twenty-four guilty, twenty-four innocent, and then the voices paused right in front of him. He opened his eyes.

"Innocent," said Albus Dumbledore softly.

Harry leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, feeling tears burn behind them, while all around him the court erupted, yet again.

Snape received his wand back from Auror Mallory herself. She gave him a tiny bow and a wry smile.

"Very well done," she said. "I don't know how you did it, but it was well done." She paused. "Tell Harry hello for me."

So it's Harry now, is it? Snape did his best to stifle his protective snarl, and merely nodded to her. "I will," he said, and then faced the stairs, his eyes finding Dumbledore at once, but not noticing Harry until he broke away from the shadows at the foot of the steps and came towards him.

Snape studied his charge intently. Now he could make out that the exhaustion he had seen was no deception; Harry's face still showed the effects of lack of sleep, and intense emotional labor. But his eyes were shining, and his face wore a slowly widening smile, as though he could not believe he had achieved what he had.

Scolding can wait.

Harry halted in front of him, and they looked at each other for a moment.

"Harry," said Snape.

"Professor," said Harry, and then blinked and swallowed. "I—are you all right?"

Snape would have valued the concern in his tone in a different way just two months ago—as a sign that Harry was paying attention to him in the way he should, as something soothing. Now, he valued it as a sign that Harry cared about him—

If that is not too disgustingly sentimental a thought to entertain.

"I am, Harry," he said quietly. "And though there are no words for what I have done or what you have, I will say this. I apologize for what I put you through before I left Hogwarts. I had no right to do that to you. I will not ask for forgiveness until you feel truly ready to give it. And I thank you for what you have done for me today, and for all that you are."

Harry stood staring at him. He swallowed again, as though he wanted to speak, but found himself too choked to do so.

Snape did not even care anymore that people were watching. He knew what he wanted to do.

He took a deep breath, because there were still parts of him that objected to this and whose censure he could not so easily escape, and held out his arms.

Harry made a sound that had no name as he lunged forward and returned the embrace, and was caught in Snape's.

Snape lowered his head and half-closed his eyes. Whatever I have done evil in the past, may it be made up for by what I will do in the future. I am not letting him go again. He said he felt I would kill to protect him. Well, I may do other things, also.

Albus turned away from the scene on the floor below him. It could not have been prevented, of course. He did need Severus back, and Harry had kept his side of the bargain. He had voted for Severus's innocence because he had to.

He had had no idea that Harry would do what he had, however, and he was surprised and unnerved at the extent to which the boy relied on Severus. Now that he had his guardian back, he was unlikely to run headlong into the traps Albus had set for him, and thus the wizarding world was likely still to be in danger of his unbalancing power.

It is good that I have plans already in motion, and that their fulfillment will come soon. I am sorry, Severus, Harry, but I cannot allow you to do what you could so easily do, together.