A/N: I have "read" the entire Harry Potter series about 20 times. However, I don't actually have copies of the books – I've listened to all of them, repeatedly, on Audiobook (3 Jim Dale!). Therefore, I may occasionally misspell or improperly capitalize certain HP world only words. Please let me know if I have done so! (that's actually just another excuse to get you to review… reviews are wonderful and addictive!!)
Disclaimer: JKR probably knew where her story was going as she wrote it. I, on the other hand, am totally making it up as I go along. Thus, proof that it rightfully all belongs to her.
CHAPTER 3: Astringere Terminos Exolutos
Harry looked up to see Hermione walking briskly into the Great Hall the next morning. He rose from his seat and began to run towards her, but stopped as he saw her grasp the arm of one of the various healers sent from St. Mungo's who still remained to administer healing to the few with minor injuries who still remained. Hermione leaned her head towards the healer's ear and gestured franticly as the whispered. Harry began to walk towards the pair again as he saw the look of shock and surprise on the healer's face. She broke contact with Hermione and trotted out of the Great Hall, grabbing another healer, and gesticulating wildly out the door as she moved.
Hermione seemed about to follow the two healers until she saw Harry. He took in her exhausted face and especially-bushy hair, and knew she had not rested as well as he had after last night's historic events. He pulled her into a hug, and then held her at arms' length.
"Did you get my note?" Hermione enquired quietly.
"Yeah, and it's a good thing too. You really shouldn't have left like that, 'Mione. You're lucky that everyone else was so… distracted, or there would have been a panic. You didn't say much though. Where were you all night? You look a mess."
Hermione sighed, and took another long look around the hall.
"It's such a long story, Harry. Where is Ron? Where are the Weasleys?"
Harry's face softened as he registered the agitated concern in Hermione's eyes.
"Back at the Burrow. They have to… make arrangements, I guess. I was going to head over there in another hour or so. Honestly though, I just don't know what to say or do. Mrs. Weasley is a mess, and Ron just seems to still be in shock. There are some house elves who made breakfast, if you want a bite to eat before we head over there. I doubt Mrs. Weasley will be up for much cooking."
Hermione shook her head distractedly. "No, I can't. I have other things I have to do. Listen, Harry, if you have a few minutes, I have something I need to show you… it will explain what I was doing last night."
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing as he followed Hermione out of the Hall and out of the building. They walked across the grounds, and he recognized the healers he had seen earlier standing near the Whomping Willow, speaking quickly in lowered voices. He turned to look at Hermione inquiringly. She stopped to respond to his unspoken question.
"Yes. I don't know how, and I won't even try to claim that my pathetic healing skills had much to do with it, but, mystery of mysteries Harry, he's alive. He's a mess, but I was able to get him through the night. I asked the healers to accompany me back. He has to get to St. Mungo's, and it needs to be somewhat quiet, because despite everything you said last night, I'm not so sure the rest of the wizarding world is going to be so accommodating for Professor Snape."
Harry stared at her in shocked silence. She returned his gaze, and her eyes pleaded with him. Would he still feel the same hatred towards Snape as he had always done? Or would his feelings towards the Potions' Master have changed so drastically in the course of one evening? She had hardly slept a wink all night in the shack, despite her exhaustion. Lingering in the back of her mind was a feeling of misery, of deep, dragging, mournful sadness that she refused to recognize. She could not mourn for the loss of her friends, for the sadness she knew Ron was feeling right now. She could not think about Remus and Tonks, and the cold, detached look on their faces as they had been lain out on the stone floor. She refused to acknowledge all the blood and stench of death she had witnessed the night before. The only blood she would allow herself to consider was that of the one person she felt she might save.
An obsession was growing from deep within her, though she refused to acknowledge it as such. She did not want to have to deal with all the pain and misery that she knew she would have to, at some point, accept. With that acceptance would surely come some peace in knowing that it was over, all of it. But before she would be able to have that peace, she would have to deal with every piece of the pain she had witnessed, and she just couldn't do it yet. Her sharp mind danced away from the thoughts, and avoided them. Instead, every thought was focused on her new project; something that could give her purpose, make her feel as though her efforts for the past few years had not resulted in so much horror. If she could take one of the great tragedies of this whole wizarding mess of a war, and turn it into a happy story somehow, she would give every last breath to make it come true. She could not deal with any of the pain until she could somehow find a way to make everything okay for Professor Snape.
Perhaps it was the fact that for the first time in weeks, Harry had finally had a decent night of sleep; Maybe the sudden dullness of his scar allowed the rest of his mind to suddenly register the rest of the world better than before. It might have even been his not-just-near-but-actual-death the night before that had granted him some form of clarity. Regardless of the cause, standing in front of Hermione's trembling form as she begged him without words to understand, he was able to do so. He could see not only that this meant so much to her, but he could also understand why. She was not able to accept or handle the reality of last night's events yet, and this was her way of staying sane.
After a few moments of quiet consideration while studying Hermione's face, Harry simply nodded. Relief washed over her, and then she schooled her face into one of determination.
"Alright. I stayed with him through the night in the shack, but now we've got to get him to the hospital, and it needs to be a quiet affair. Once he is safely under the eye of a few trained healers, we can figure out how to spare him from the wrath of the Ministry, and Azkaban."
Harry considered this for a moment. "Everyone has a lot on their hands at the moment, so it may take a few days for anyone from the ministry to find out about Snape anyway. You lead the healers up to him, and then get him out of the shack, so that he can be apparated to the hospital. Once you've got him settled in there, meet me back in Dumble… in the Headmaster's office. I'm going to have a long talk with Dumbledore's portrait and see if he has any ideas on how we can handle this."
Hermione looked at him in surprise. "Harry, don't you want to see Snape? Come with us!"
Harry simply shook his head, and then looked sadly at her. "Hermione, he won't want to see me right now. Think about it. Seeing me is just going to make things harder for him right now, and as it stands, he's got a lot he's going to have to deal with. Plus, until last night, I never realized how much I reminded him of my mum."
Hermione blinked, and then absorbed this insight. "Yeah, I guess you're right." After a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. "Okay, I'm going to lead the healers in then. I hope I won't be gone any longer than an hour but… I honestly don't know. I'll meet you in the office; I still remember the password," she ended with a grimace.
They nodded at each other seriously, then went their separate ways.
An hour later, Hermione knocked timidly on the door to the Headmaster's office. A voice from within told her to come in, and she hesitantly opened the door. Inside she found Harry sitting on a chair in front of the Headmaster's desk, having a serious discussion with a certain twinkle-eyed portrait.
"Ah, Miss Granger! And how is our dear Professor?"
"Hello, Headmaster. He is doing better than could be expected, although the only way I could convince the healers at St. Mungo's to treat him was to hold him in a high security room with all kinds of charmed doors." Hermione took another seat next to Harry.
Harry eyed her carefully. "Did they say anything about turning him over to the Ministry, or sending him off to Azkaban?"
Hermione sighed. "They said that once he was in stable health, which will probably only take 2 or 3 days, they felt obligated to inform the ministry of his presence. Truth be told, he wasn't really helping matters. He seems unable to speak right now, but… well, he can still sneer."
Harry rolled his eyes, and the portrait chuckled merrily, mumbling something that sounded faintly similar to "Attaboy, Severus!"
Harry and Hermione began to discuss what they could do to defend Severus once the Ministry was informed of his survival. After debating for sometime, they decided the best course of action was offence, as opposed to defence, and that they would inform Kingsley Shacklebolt later in the day. Perhaps if they explained the whole story to him, and asked him, as a private favour from the Boy Who Lived Yet Again (Harry shuddered at this), if he might take up the matter personally, he would be able to handle it with all the necessary delicacy. They also wanted to be sure that if it appeared things might be swaying against Snape, that he would at the very least be given a fair trial.
In the meantime, Hermione decided to take it upon herself to begin preparing the necessary evidence to prove Snape's innocence in the event of a trial. As she wondered aloud whether Pensieves were acceptable as a form of evidence, Dumbledore's portrait merrily cut in.
"Ah, I am so glad you asked that Miss Granger. As a matter of fact, Pensieve testimonies are not commonly used in court, due to their very biased natures. While one cannot easily create a false memory without it being quite obvious to the viewer," at this he nodded knowingly to Harry, "they can still be tainted in some unrecognizable form by the individual whose memory is being observed. Therefore, they are not accepted by the Wizengamot without corroboration by a memory presented from another witness present at the same event recorded in the Pensieve."
Harry's face fell, and Hermione's shoulders slumped. With a tired voice, Harry began describing Snape's memories he had viewed the night before to Hermione. As they considered each memory that would be relevant in exonerating the Professor, they dejectedly began to realize that while many of them had other wizards present, through the course of the war, each other wizard was now dead. Most importantly, the only other wizard who could provide true evidence in defence of Snape was now twinkling merrily at them from his portrait, which, in and of itself, proved the futility of their plan.
"If that is the case, Headmaster, then how can we prove his innocence? I can only imagine they will not accept the testimony of a Wizarding portrait, no matter how lifelike it may be," Hermione stated sadly. Her hope was beginning to fade, and that hope was the only thing protecting her from the deep grief that she was avoiding. "Even if we did try to count on the possible ability of Harry's particular present fame to lend strength to his own testimony, they will undoubtedly presume that he has simply been misled himself."
"Well now, young students. There is no need to look so woebegone. You don't really think I would leave Severus without any sort of defence were this occasion to arise, now do you? I have quite a few secrets stored behind my back!" Dumbledore's knowing chuckles were beginning to aggravate Hermione. Just as she was about to snap at the former Headmaster that his utility was beginning to prove overestimated, his portrait swung forward, revealing a small opening. Harry stood in bewilderment, and reaching deep within the once hidden chamber, he pulled out a small wooden box. Upon opening the box, he found several vials containing an immediately familiar silvery liquid. In shocked disbelief, he looked up at the portrait that had now swung back to its previous location.
"Headmaster, are these what I think they are? Are these your very own memories?"
Dumbledore chuckled again before explaining. "Why yes, they most certainly are. There are quite a few different memories there, though none of them should hold any more surprises for you. While I do not precisely know what Severus' memories contain, I have little doubt that at least a few of ours must overlap."
With a bright-eyed look of wonder, Hermione gazed gratefully at the portrait. "You know, Headmaster, I have a sudden urge to paint a still life of sherbet lemons to decorate this office."
Dumbledore clapped giddily.
Severus eyed the healer standing closest to him with supreme indignation. Surely she did not think he was fool enough to ingest that ridiculous excuse for a potion she held in her hand. Despite all her exasperated assurances that the draught would aid in the healing of his vocal cords, she had not specified when it was made, or if the ingredients used to concoct it were of the freshest available, and until she could read his mind and answer his unspoken questions, the trademark Snape Sneer would not budge. He had been confined to this intolerable bed within this stuffy, darkened hospital room for all of 24 hours, and he had already begun to regret his decision to allow the Granger Know-it-All to convince him to be carried here.
The healer in question threw her hands in the air in frustration, and placed the potion on his nightstand. As she strode towards the charmed door and tapped her wand to the charmed keyhole, she mumbled something about it being better that his vocal cords never healed, so that she would not have to deal with his undoubtedly insufferable complaints for the rest of his stay. She let herself out, glaring down at Snape, curtly saying as she left, "You know, you were truly a miserable instructor when I was at Hogwarts. It's obvious to me that you have healed completely, since you are now behaving exactly as you did when I was in your intolerable potions classroom!"
Severus smirked at her as she huffed out the door, and slammed it shut. He appreciated the compliment.
There were few things Snape hated more than being treated like an invalid. It was his intention to retain at least some of his pride, and be sure that all the staff at St. Mungo's who knew of his presence would positively hate him by the end of the day. He much preferred their hatred to their pity.
While he was silently considering the benefits of being stuck in a high security room, where no one could visit him, he heard the familiar click of the charmed door being opened again. He turned to snarl mightily at the healer, just to see if he could cement her disgust of him, and was surprised to see the stately Kingsley Shacklebolt enter the room. He eyed the Minister carefully, as the gentleman in question walked gracefully to the side of Snape's bed, and pulled up a chair. He seated himself comfortably before turning his dark eyed gaze to Severus, who returned the look with schooled caution.
Kingsley considered Snape for a long time, never dropping eye contact. When he opened his mouth to speak, his deep voice was calm and quiet, despite the absence of any potential eavesdroppers.
"Dumbledore wanted you to end his life, Severus Snape. You allowed everyone to hate you and despise you, curse your name, and hunt you for a year, knowing that you had done everything you could to fulfill Dumbledore's wishes. Even with the death of the great mastermind of the Light, you still kept your oath to him. You kept your oath to the entire Order, even with the Oathkeeper dead, and all your colleagues believing you a traitor. There is no point in asking why you told no one. Had you told anyone, it is unlikely any of it would have been a success."
Snape dropped his eyes, crossed his arms, and shifted uncomfortably in his bed. Although Kingsley continued to calmly gaze at him, Snape could no longer meet his gaze. No matter how others might phrase it, he still felt like a murderer. Despite his lifelong desire for recognition, acceptance, and perhaps even validation for all his sacrifices, he still did not feel comfortable on the receiving end of commendation. The more justified others felt in awarding him with such praise, the more awkward it left him. He absent-mindedly began rubbing his dark mark, caught himself, and then sighed hoarsely. It did not matter how much praise was given, or due, him. The signifier on his forearm would forever taint every good deed he had done, proving that it was not from a kind heart, but out of guilt, shame, and a desire only to atone for his sins.
Kingsley remained quiet, and finally Severus reluctantly raised his eyes to meet the Minister's, and swallowing thickly, finally nodded with a grimace.
This seemed to be the gesture Kingsley Shacklebolt had been awaiting. He nodded formally, then stood, withdrawing his wand. Snape cautiously pulled farther back from the man in front of him, eyeing him with trepidation.
"Harry Potter and Hermione Granger came to me last night, and told me of all you have done. Though I had heard some rumors from the night before, I did not believe any of it. Even when Harry told me himself, insisting you were innocent and begging that I protect you, I still doubted the sanity of my young friend. Finally Potter and Granger produced two Pensieves. One contained a few select memories of your private conversations with Albus Dumbledore regarding his fate. The other produced the exact same memories, from the late Dumbledore himself. It seems he did not want to leave you defenceless in front of the Wizarding world, should you survive the final battle.
Miss Granger informed me that out of respect for you, she would prefer that I handle this delicate situation individually, instead of making these memories public. I am convinced of your innocence, Severus Snape, and therefore extend to you a full pardon for your previously accused crimes. In addition to this full pardon, I also would like to award you the honour of Order of Merlin, first class. The awarding ceremony will be in a few weeks. We have many new heroes to recognize."
With his speech complete, Shacklebolt tapped the bindings on Snape's bed with his wand, dissipating them. He then nodded respectfully at one very shocked Snape, and exited the room. Snape saw a shimmering effect on the door, and it swung open, all high security charms having been removed.
Bloody hell, Snape thought to himself. There goes my privacy. Now the Prophet will be scampering in here, photographing me in a hospital gown, and asking me all forms of ridiculous questions about the Dark Lord and Dumbledore.
But he was wrong. Despite the announcement on the front page of the Prophet in a special evening edition that very night, no reporters came to bother the ex-Headmaster in his hospital gown, not even the nosy Rita Skeeter.
In fact, no one came to visit him at all.
