A/N: There's a new, and hopefully improved, Chapter 4 up. I expanded the story of what happened to the Weasleys, thanks to a suggestion from a reviewer, which I really appreciate. I also edited Chapter 3 a little bit, but the only new thing there is that the death eater letters were not published in the Prophet until after Voldemort's death. Once I finish this, I'll look for a beta, and then things will probably change all over again ;) But if you have any thoughts, please feel free to let me know! Thanks for reading; hope you're enjoying :)

Chapter Five – How Long?

I can't believe the news today
Oh, I can't close my eyes and make it go away
How long… How long must we sing this song?
How long? How long?
Cause tonight, we can be as one
Tonight…
Sunday, Bloody Sunday – U2

When Snape came back in, he opened the door himself and shut it softly, working deftly around the hindrance that was his wheelchair. Hermione looked up and made eye contact as he wheeled himself closer to her; something was wrong, she could tell.

"That fool of a man barely knew what he came here to say," Snape spat. Hermione waited patiently for him to continue, and he eventually did so. "My trial's been set."

"When is it?"

"Five weeks, nine o'clock."

Hermione frowned. "That soon? They've given up on your legs healing already?"

"So it seems. It's actually been a fairly long time, much longer of a reprieve than they should have given to a headmaster-murdering Death Eater."

"Still, I thought we would be dealing with months to work this out, not mere weeks." She sighed, then said, "Well, no matter. I'll be ready. Let's just go over some preliminary things, and then I need to do some research. Best to start as soon as possible since we're on a time limit now."

Snape nodded. "Do you have any sort of plan of action yet?"

"I was thinking I would first go to Hogwarts to talk to Dumbledore's portrait. He might have some insight, maybe some clues to what happened that night that the Wizengamot might listen to, because obviously they won't hear a word you say. Then I'll look up other murder trials, and you can help with that. We'll just to try find some case law, see if there have been any similar trials where the suspect got off. And later, probably next week sometime if we have to get all this done first, we'll work on what I should say when I testify about the death eater letters."

"You seem like you know what you're doing," Severus commented, seeming surprised.

"Well, that's because I've been to plenty of war trials. I'm usually testifying for the prosecution, but I understand enough about defence, I think. That reminds me… Do you perchance have any character witnesses?"

Snape laughed hollowly. "I'm assuming you mean people who will say good things about me?" Hermione nodded. "In that case, no. Plenty of people willing to describe the snarky, terror-of-Hogwarts Potions master, though," he said dryly.

"Yeah, that won't be too helpful." Hermione grinned despite herself.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Hermione considering the trial, and Snape considering Hermione.

"You're different than the girl I taught at Hogwarts those years ago."

"I've been through a lot since then. So have you. I expect your perceptions have changed."

"At least my perceptions of you have."

Silence again, but this time Hermione felt awkward. She stared at her hands. Hearing a familiar sort of sound, she looked up—Snape was rolling his wheelchair slowly, coming closer to her where she sat on the window seat. He stopped just in front of her, a little to the left, and reached over to put his hands on top of hers. He held them there, watching her.

She closed her eyes, almost forgetting to breathe. Seconds later when he placed his lips softly, chastely upon hers, she leaned into him and returned his kiss.

"Hermione…" he said, breaking their contact. She flickered her eyes open and stared straight at him. He didn't move away from her, and she made no sign that she wanted him to.

Still at close range, he looked back at her, holding her eyes with a steady gaze, and she could tell this was going to be another moment of Snape's uncharacteristic honesty. The pain he'd gone through so recently, and the paralysis most likely, had affected him in some way that still unsettled Hermione. She'd come to expect a certain persona from Snape—but now, at every turn he was confusing her.

"Too soon?"

"Maybe," she whispered. "I don't know."

"There's something else…"

"Yes?"

Another long silence followed, in which Hermione and Severus alternated between making eye contact and turning their gazes embarrassedly away.

"I just wanted to thank you," he said finally.

Hermione didn't know quite how to reply.

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione said politely. She was sitting at the desk in the Headmistress's office at Hogwarts, awkwardly perched on the edge of her seat and anxious to try talking to Dumbledore's portrait. First she had to get through Minerva McGonagall, and that task was proving to be difficult.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall replied, voice low and slightly cold. Hermione almost wanted to shiver.

"Thank you for meeting with me," she began. "I'm really here just to see if you might be willing to let me talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were unhappy with the reason for Hermione's visit. "Why would you need to do something like that?"

"I'm… preparing a defence for someone, and I think hearing from Dumbledore might point me in the right direction."

"Who might that someone be?"

"I don't think you want me to bring that up, Professor," Hermione said quietly. She had a suspicion that she knew the reason McGonagall was acting so distant.

"Ah, yes. If you won't, then I shall bring it up: I've heard you've become close to Severus Snape lately," McGonagall commented softly. "Keeping him out of Azkaban now, are you?"

"Professor, I do want to apologize for not turning to you," Hermione said quickly. "You know, before, when I was having trouble… I know you would have supported me and helped me—but I just couldn't come back to Hogwarts. Not after… Not after…" Hermione wasn't sure she could say it.

"After Mr. Weasley's death."

Hermione swallowed. "Yes… It's hard enough to be back here now, but if I had tried before…"

"So you're able to come here for Severus' sake, but not for your own?"

"Professor, it's not like that. It's not, not that I didn't want to come, that I didn't want to see you. I'm happy to be with you now—or I would be if you would—" She bit her tongue before she said something she might regret.

McGonagall's eyes softened immediately. She reached her hands across the desk to take Hermione's. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger. I shouldn't be so selfish. I expected you to turn to me, but when instead you chose to take your own life… I felt that I had done something wrong. It is an immense surprise to see you here today."

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered.

"Let's just move on, shall we?" When Hermione nodded in relief, she continued, "Tell me. Why are you defending Severus?"

"Mostly because it's giving me something to do. Part of the reason I tried to… do what I did was because I felt so empty without the Order to worry about."

"Hmm. But it seems like such a waste of time. Do you even have any proof?"

"A little." Hermione grinned. "He wrote them."

McGonagall's eyes widened; she had been one who suspected along with Hermione that Snape had written the death eater letters. "You're sure?"

"Very. He admitted it… and that made him weirdly sad."

"You don't suspect that he was lying, at all?"

"No… I suppose I have reason to believe he would admit it, just to get me on his side…" Hermione frowned. "You know, I should have checked his story more fully. Why did I just take his word for it?"

"Perhaps you were blinded by something, your need to work again, perhaps," McGonagall said. "It's not too late to fix it, in any case."

"I still should have been more careful. Where is my head lately?"

McGonagall didn't answer. Instead she stood up and walked around her desk. "I'll leave you alone to talk to Albus now," she said. "I don't think you'll get very far with him, I'll be honest, but please try. And… Hermione, keep in mind that you can always come to work at Hogwarts, once you're better able to deal with the way in which Mr Weasley died."

"Thank you," Hermione said, truly touched. She smiled and stood up too, bringing her professor into an embrace. They parted a few seconds later, both smiling.

"Say goodbye before you leave, will you? I'll be in the staff room." With that, McGonagall left her office, closing the door behind her.

"All right, Professor Dumbledore. Where are you?" Hermione said, mostly to herself. She glanced around her at the walls, looking at each of the portraits. The view out the window caught her eye suddenly; she could see a Quidditch team practicing on the pitch, the sun bright and the grass green, and she was seized with a feeling of intense sadness—maybe it was miserable regret for what she'd missed as a student; maybe it was heartbreaking reminiscence of what she had had.

Her days at Hogwarts had never been easy, and they'd been over far too soon… She had sacrificed her school days to make the wizarding world safe for these new students, these carefree students able to play Quidditch on a Saturday morning. Certainly she shouldn't regret leaving school to do something so important.

But she did; she wished desperately that she was still a twelve-year-old girl, boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time, anxious to learn what being a witch truly meant.

Oh, and how she had learned just that.

Suddenly she thought she knew exactly how Severus must have felt when he'd locked himself up, refused to see her, when he was drowning in his memories.

She would take her own advice; she had to. Memories are important, but they're for the past.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she said loudly, and saw a portrait near the back of the room stir suddenly from sleep. She walked closer until she was standing just in front of the man who had been her headmaster.

"Hermione Granger?" asked Dumbledore. "How nice to see you."

"And you," she said, smiling.

"You're doing well, I hope? You seem well."

"I'm well, Professor," she acknowledged. "You know, I came here to see you."

"Did you now?" asked Dumbledore, his face taking on a slight look of puzzlement.

"I wanted to ask you about… about the night you died, sir."

"You're trying to save Severus, I've heard."

"That's right. If you could just tell me what happened, truly…"

Dumbledore smiled broadly. "I'm sure you've deduced that I asked Severus to kill me."

"I suspected, but I wasn't sure and of course I couldn't just take Severus' word for it..."

"Well, it's true. We shared a moment of Legilimency up on that tower. I told him how weak I was, and asked him to kill me, at great personal risk to himself, for it meant he could never return to the Order, or he would have to find his own way to do so. No one would ever trust him again. But Severus would never disobey me, though I saw it pained him. His face was terribly twisted and I could feel his anger, but then he cast the spell…"

Hermione didn't speak for a few minutes. She was afraid if she did, "speaking" might end up as yelling; she felt a surge of anger at Dumbledore for being so uncaring towards Severus.

"So you used the fact that he would never disobey you to… to do what, exactly?"

"Oh, my dear, I wasn't using him, if that's what you think. I had to die, it was time, and if I died then we could save Draco Malfoy, an innocent child."

"Hah!"

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Professor. Draco just wasn't that innocent. Listen, is there any way I could convince you to say all that before the Wizengamot?"

"I'm afraid I can't be much help in that regard, my dear," Dumbledore said sadly, shaking his head. "The Wizengamot, as much as they respected me, will never believe that you haven't enchanted my portrait to make me speak what you want. They'll never believe that I'm speaking of my own accord; portraits are, unfortunately, very easy to enchant."

"So what do you suggest I do?" She barely restrained herself from adding, "If you care at all?"

"I hear that you're quite the influence these days; just say all that yourself."

"I don't think that will work as well as you think. People hate him… and their hate for him far supersedes their love of me."

"You'll figure something out, Miss Granger. You're a brilliant witch, and Severus is counting on you. I think I'd like to go back to my nap, now, if you don't mind."

"Sure, sure. Sorry for bothering you," Hermione said. She left the room quickly, feeling angry and sad, but mostly disappointed in the one man she'd thought would help her.

After she left, a few of the other portraits pretended to wake up from their pretend sleep.

Phineas Nigellus, looking a little upset, told Dumbledore, "You're being a fool. She just wanted your advice; she trusted you at one point in her life."

"She's an adult, and she has to figure out how to do things by herself," Dumbledore retorted. "Severus knew I was going to leave him on his own one day, to deal with the consequences of all we did. She just doesn't understand that yet."

"You won't help them at all?"

"No. That is no longer my way."

"Well, Dumbledore was useless," Hermione said, walking into Severus' hospital room. She took a seat in an armchair that she moved next to Severus' bed, where he lay reading from a couple dozen wizarding law books and history books about murder trials. Hermione had given them to him.

"Always has been, if you want my opinion," he said, without looking up from his current book, Wizengamot Murder Trials: Who got off and How.

"Yes, well, I didn't know that," she replied huffily, grabbing a book--Trials of Voldemort's First War--and starting to read, ignoring Severus as fully as he was ignoring her.