Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener, sorry.

Another huge thanks to my BEsT betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

oo0oo

Chapter 02 – If He Squeals…

Monday afternoon, pre-trial.

"Minister, Auror Moody is here to see you," his secretary announced, and Clearwater waved the old Auror in. Moody took the seat offered and accepted a cup of tea, all the while looking about warily, his magical eye spinning around in his head like a demented snitch. When the old wizard was as comfortable as Constantine could make him, the Minister coughed slightly. The Minister froze as the Auror suddenly dropped his cup and drew his wand in one blurred motion. Ye Gads, the man was a nightmare, the Minister thought. "Auror Moody, please! Relax! I've only brought you here for a little chat, not a disciplinary action."

"Humm," Moody temporised, banishing the tea stains and conjuring up another cup. "Alright… to what do I owe this 'little chat' then, Minister?" Moody inquired cautiously.

"You are aware that we have Severus Snape, the last of the Death Eaters, in custody as we speak?"

"I am so aware; I put the poor bugger in his cell not an hour ago, as your owl requested, and a right mess the Dementors have made of him, too. Something of a human Dementor himself is young Snape, but he didn't deserve that."

"I see. Auror Moody… Alastor, I'd like you to be the Chief Interrogator at the trial on Wednesday; administer the Veritaserum, and ask the questions."

Alastor gaped at the man, spluttering and coughing as a mouthful of tea went down the wrong way. "Me? You must be joking! Why me?"

"Because you are a horrible old man," Constantine muttered, then blushed vividly when the old Auror laughed aloud. The Minister hadn't realised his comment was made audibly. "Sorry. Look, let me be brutally honest with you, Alastor. The Ministry is in a shambles; key personnel are dead or missing, no one knows who they can trust or who had affiliations with the Death Eaters. Our one 'key' to this Gorgonian Knot is a brain-blasted Potions Master with the personality of a sidewinder and the temperament of a dragon guarding a clutch of eggs! I'm betting my Ministry on the fact that Severus Snape has more dirt on more people than any ten other wizards left alive! He knows where the bodies are buried and who has blood on their hands. If Severus goes on trial, a lot of people will be shaking in their boots or fleeing the country, if they can. Simply by telling the truth, demonstrably the truth, Severus Snape will clean out this administration for a long time to come. The only way to accomplish that is by public trial. Oh yes, Albus wants all the due process behind closed doors, under wraps and kept close. He even accused me of using 'Bread and Circuses' to keep my administration alive. But keeping this trial quiet would not serve the purpose of clearing the air. There would always be a taint of the cover-up hanging over the proceedings. Eventually, little patches of Darkness would spread like a cancer once again and soon we'd see the rise of another Tom Riddle."

"Yes, yes, I understand all of that, but again, why me? Why do I have to interrogate the man? Can't someone else be called upon?" Alastor demanded, deploring the whine that crept into his voice. "I'm tired, Minister Clearwater. Old and bone tired. I have not been an Auror for over two years and I planned to hand in my honorary commission after this year. I want to go off and plant some potatoes and lettuces and stuff, pretend to be an old man and all."

"You'd be bored to death in a few weeks," Constantine dismissed in amusement.

"Perhaps I would be, but for the third time, why me?"

"Because you are the best. You have the reputation of hating Death Eaters and Dark wizards, you've spent a lifetime hunting them down and catching them, dragging them back kicking and screaming, or at least bleeding profusely, to face justice. You are seen by many to be incorruptible and the best at what you do. Anything you get out of Snape will be the Honest-to-Merlin Truth, without a doubt."

Chewing his lip thoughtfully, Alastor stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. "You do realise that I don't consider Snape to be my enemy. Don't you? I've worked with Severus for a number of years and have established a working relationship with him that is quite satisfactory. He's the consummate professional; I realised that a long time ago. And I quite admire his sheer gall. Not many men could look a Dark Lord in the eye and convincingly lie year after year, which brings us to another consideration. Snape's a Master Legilimens, a Master Occlumens, and he's pretty much immune to Veritaserum, you know?"

"Yes, I do. I also know you brew your own Veritaserum potion, the strongest in the world, isn't it? Or that's what the gossip says; a special batch used on Aurors when they need to testify, or be questioned, under the potion."

"True, true, but still, the man can circumvent it, quite handily really, and he gets playful too, tells the absolute truth with enough venom to make your hair curl! Snape's a nasty piece of work," Alastor reminisced cheerfully. "You wouldn't think he had a sense of humour until you get him liquored up, then he and Minerva McGonagall are a bloody riot, er… well." He coughed in embarrassment and straightened in his chair. "So, you want me to get as much as possible and you don't care who gets caught in the fall-out. You want 'The Truth' - with capital letters, in italics - to be demonstrated before the entire world and his uncle. You do know what they say, Minister, 'be careful what you wish for; you might get it'."

"So be it. Will you do it?"

"I will, I will indeed."

oo0oo

Sitting in his room at Hogwarts, Alastor contemplated the desk before him. On his left was a tea service, a half-emptied plate of Fig Newtons. On his right were a number of potions bottles, small, blue crystal bottles of a very distinctive size and shape. Veritaserum was a restricted substance. By law having six bottles in your possession was an offence punishable by a term in Azkaban Prison. However, Alastor had always been the exception to the rule, especially as he had helped write a lot of the rules the Ministry worked under.

Using great care, as it was an expensive and complicated potion, the old man tipped about a third out of each bottle into a larger decanter and sealed it carefully. Once the plain bottle was secured, he put it aside and picked up a small bag of white powder, carefully dropping a one-gram spoonful into each of the opened vials. Lastly, he refilled the vials from yet another bottle of plain brown liquid and closed them back up with his own personal seal. This was his special mix, his special Veritaserum. He knew very well that a Potions Master would be able to tell exactly what his secret ingredient was, or at least he hoped one particular Potions Master could. After all, Severus had demonstrated a remarkable capacity for identifying ingredients by taste and smell alone in the past.

Once his task was completed, Moody pulled out his small dragon-hide bound notebook and began jotting down questions and lines of questioning he wanted to pursue in the soon-to-be infamous interrogation he was to partake of the following day. He dearly hoped Constantine knew what can of worms was about to be opened when the Minister asked that the contents of Severus Snape's head be investigated.

Satisfied that he could do no more, the old man made sure his most suitable Auror's robes were smelly, crumpled and ready for the show. He planned to wear his old working robes, torn, stained and mended in a hundred different places with a scorch-mark over one shoulder and acid holes splayed over the back. He had a feeling that a few witnesses in the audience would recognise the robes and feel the terror of having him breathing in their faces as they were asked pointed and hard-to-answer questions about their past activities. Oh yes, the show would go on and he would be the best ringmaster they had ever had!

oo0oo

"Lord Snape goes to trial tomorrow, according to the Daily Prophet. Are we representing him?" The senior partner of Japhett, Montcreiff and Balmholmn, one of the oldest wizarding law firms in the British Isles, asked of Balmholmn the younger, in the desiccated tones of a preserved mummy only animated by Egyptian magical artefacts.

"No, Sir, he hasn't asked for a Defence Council. One assumes Albus Dumbledore will be the Defence Attorney," the Junior Partner replied deferentially, with a deep bow toward the sarcophagus set upright in the main suite of offices. He wondered where the old man managed to get his information from, often knowing facts before they were published or even hinted at in the corporeal world.

"Prepare a brief and be ready to Floo at a moment's notice," the mummy murmured distantly, bandaged eyes contemplating the age-darkened ceiling.

"Certainly, Sir." The elderly Wizarding Queen's Council bowed again and went to organise the brief. He paused momentarily, then shook his head. Being a junior member of staff at the age of one hundred and six would be unacceptable anywhere except here where the eldest member of staff was over two thousand years old and not slated to fully pass on, ever. Still, it was a very prestigious position and Avelius Balmholmn was quite pleased with his place in the wizarding world.

oo0oo

"Professor Snape is on trial tomorrow? How can they do that to him?" Lavender Brown-Crabbe exclaimed in high, anxious tones, snapping the Daily Prophet straight with a glare sharp enough to ignite the paper minus a spell. "And a public trial, too! How dare they! They're making a spectacle of a very private man; disrespectful, shameful, rude, uncouth... A public disgrace! How dare they!"

Vincent Crabbe, husband of two weeks and very proud of his wife, blinked slowly, not entirely sure if he was the target or the contents of the paper that was now being balled up and pelted into the fireplace, one sheet at a time. "Not fair, at all. We had better go and make sure he's okay."

"Good thought," Lavender agreed, bending to kiss his cheek. "You have those splendid blue robes and the navy suit, and perhaps that lovely silvery shirt. I'll wear my navy blue dress with the silver trim and that darling lapis lazuli necklace you bought me for our honeymoon. Humm, I wonder if we can hex the prosecution. Do you remember that really neat spell Hermione taught us when the Carrows were nosing around? I wonder if we could get away with it."

Vincent chuckled and nodded quietly, a soft, understanding smile curving his lips. He might be Slytherin but Lavender was pure Gryffindor and as brave as anyone in the Lion House. A little unworldly perhaps, but his job was to keep her safe, even from herself.

oo0oo

"You have two choices at this point: give in gracefully or end up in a full body bind!"The words were harsh, the expression harder, as the Boy-Who-Lived gave his ultimatum.

"Now, now, don't upset yourself, my dear, dear boy; the world can get along very nicely without you for just this once. After all, no one would expect you to perform even more heroics in your condition," the healer said teasingly, while shaking her finger even though the patient could not see her. She jumped in fright as every piece of glass in the room exploded.

"That's it! I am sick and tired of your condescending tone and 'oh-so-superior' attitude! Shove it!" Harry Potter roared furiously. He wandlessly Accioed his wand and Disapparated from his hospital room in St Mungo's, a feat that was supposed to be impossible.

Landing awkwardly, Harry winced when his carpet slippers lost traction and his ankle gave away. As he landed on his backside on the gravel that had betrayed his footing, his breath woofed out of him. He froze as cold water seeped through the thin cotton gown he wore. It was an almost automatic reaction to cast lumos, then he moaned when he remembered he would not be relieving the darkness any time soon. Chucking a tantrum seemed like a good idea on the spur of the moment, but now he had no idea of where he was.

About to despair, he suddenly blinked and stiffened when a voice demanded to know who the hell was out there at this time of night. "Ginny?" he questioned, when he realised the voice and tone were familiar.

"Who… Harry? Is that you? Oh, good grief, what are you doing out there half naked?" Ginny demanded, her voice coming closer, and then a warm hand settled on his arm then her delightful personal 'smell' enveloped his senses and he knew he was safe.

"Making an utter fool of myself, I suppose," Harry replied grumpily as he allowed her to pull him to his feet, then limped along beside her to the house. Obviously, he had unconsciously Apparated to the Burrow, his home away from home.

Molly made a vague comment as Ginny sat him at the kitchen table and hurried off to find a warm robe of Ron's to wrap around him. A cup of tea and some hot buttered toast made Harry feel much better and, in recovering his temper, he remembered why he had lost it in the first place.

"They're putting Severus on trial tomorrow morning; I heard one of the Medi-wizards flapping his gums about it in the hallway this afternoon. I tried to get them to Floo call the Headmaster and make sure he knew about it, but they began treating me like a simpleton and I guess I just lost it! I'm blind, not frigging stupid!"

"Language, Harry," Molly rebuked half-heartedly, as she spelled his twisted ankle better and found a sprains potion in the family first aid kit.

"Sorry," he muttered, mutinously feeling Ginny squeeze his biceps in commiseration.

"Albus knows all about it and he is not happy, believe me," Molly told the young man softly as she straightened and sighed. "Ginny can take you to the trial tomorrow; I'm sure she'll look after you properly."

"'Course I will," Ginny averred, giving her fiancé another comforting hug. "You'll stay in Ron's room tonight, right? And we'll Floo in tomorrow."

oo0oo

The Boulevard was wide and white where it joined to Diagon Alley. Playhouses, top quality restaurants, and snug little bistros lined the brightly lit expanse. As the long road wound away from Diagon Alley, the character of the businesses changed; the bistros became bars and the playhouses strip joints, the exclusive shops became purveyors of dubious merchandise, and the clientele were rather more careful to keep their hoods up. Where the Boulevard, now more of a back street, joined to Knockturn Alley, it was a rat-infested, ill-lit row of bars and potions houses, Apothecaries dealing in illegal ingredients, and whorehouses selling kinky sex.

A well-dressed wizard slunk into one of the dirty shop fronts, its wares hard to decipher at a glance. The man glanced around furtively before sliding into the gloom and scurrying over to the counter at the far side of the shop. "Do you have it?" he muttered out of the side of his mouth, his voice a mere wisp of sound in the cloying darkness.

Something stirred and creaked in the darkness before a gnarled hand placed a very odd set of six translucent rings on the counter top, each joined together in three rows of two. The material was odd, with a greasy feel to the slick flatness. "Takes two adults, two kids, and some luggage to the Americas. To activate it, just say 'America Ho, Portus'," a cracked and croaking voice muttered from out of the moving shadows.

The man took the illegal Portkey and dropped a purse containing one thousand galleons onto the splintery wooden counter. It was a very expensive Portkey, but getting caught would be even more costly. If Snape was forced to take Veritaserum, then the man's and his shady associates' gooses were well and truly cooked. Better to spend some of the bribe moneys on a Portkey to freedom, than keep it all and end up trying to spend it in Azkaban Prison.

The door closed behind him as the shopkeeper laughed a short, sharp bark of laughter containing absolutely no mirth. He straightened his back and pushed his hood up a bit before turning to the others hidden in the shadow.

"That's Beamish taken care of. Even if Snape manages to name him, he will not be pulled in to face Veritaserum. No truth serum, no squealing on us," the man gloated.

The group of five behind him nodded agreement until one of the furthest figures pointedly cleared his throat. "We still need to silence Snape if we can. Any thoughts?"

"He's in the holding cells at the Ministry, being guarded by more than enough Aurors who hate Death Eaters with a passion. I am very sure we can manipulate one or another to deal with him. After all, we're all aware of the value of a well-placed Imperius, are we not?"

Again there was a murmur of agreement as the small group began to disperse, slipping away into the night undetected.

oo0oo