MONDAY, 9 MAY
This had been done swiftly last time. He had not even been allowed to speak on his own behalf; Albus Dumbledore's testimony along with a few statements taken under Veritaserum by the Aurors before he'd ever set foot in here, had been enough. He'd been 'small fry' at the end of the first war, there were bigger Death Eaters to catch and the ministry had been nearly as fragmented then as now. Then, the feeling had seemed to be, if Albus Dumbledore wanted his own pet Death Eater, then Be It On His Own Head.
This time, however, most of the Death Eaters were already dead, and the Wizengamot could conduct this at their leisure. He did not doubt for a moment that this was a fine day's entertainment for some of them, glancing over the faces. There were only about thirty figures on the benches, with Kingsley Shacklebolt at the front and center.
Proudfoot had kept a grip on his arm since they'd taken the portkey from Hogwarts to the entrance of the Ministry of Magic. He was not ungentle and although Severus would never admit it, he would have fallen more than once without the Auror's support. Savage trailed behind them as Severus' silent shadow.
Minerva had pleaded with them to allow him the use of a cane, at the very least, to preserve his dignity, but the Aurors had not relented. He supposed they did not want him to have anything which could be even interpreted as a weapon. As though he'd get far whacking at the Aurors' shins with a mere stick. He didn't even have a wand.
The Aurors led him to the chair at the center of the room.
"I think we can dispense with the shackles today, Proudfoot."
Severus glanced at Shacklebolt. The man's expression revealed nothing and he did not have the courage to attempt Legilimency; Aurors were generally competent at Occlumency, if rarely adept (by Severus's standards, anyway) and the man would possibly notice.
Proudfoot nodded and helped Severus to sit before moving back to stand directly behind him with Savage. The chains on the defendant's seat rattled at him but he paid them no mind. He balled his hands into fists, trying to still the tremor.
He was not nervous or afraid, not this time. He tried to muster up some sort of emotion about this, but felt only exhausted. If they threw him in Azkaban, so be it. He may not technically have murdered Albus Dumbledore, not in the strict sense, but he'd done plenty enough in his thirty eight years of life for it to be a fitting coda.
Perhaps there, at least, they'd leave him alone and let him rest. The Dementors had disappeared after Voldemort's fall, and human guards held no terror for him. It sounded peaceful, really.
"Mr. Weasley?"
Severus glanced down the line to where Percy Weasley sat, parchment and quill in hand. He'd apparently reconsidered his resignation from the Ministry.
"Ready, sir."
"Judicial hearing of the Ninth of May," Shacklebolt stated blandly, as though he were reading the weather report, "The Defendant, Severus Snape of Number Two, Spinner's End, Cokeworth, England, has been charged with Murder, Premeditated, committed against one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, et cetera... perhaps most known as the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Kingsley Shacklebolt paused, clearing his throat loudly before continuing. "This offense is alleged to have been committed on the Thirtieth of June in the Year Nineteen Hundred and Ninety-Seven, at or about Midnight, corroborated by witnesses who were in attendance at the time, whose statements have been provided to the members of this tribunal."
The Minster of Magic glanced at Percy, who was writing swiftly but calmly, the long, white plume of the extravagant quill twitching like a squirrel's tail. Shacklebolt paused, his eyes darting slightly to his right and to his left, as though he could somehow see those seated behind him.
"I would like to take this moment, on record," he pronounced, glancing again to Percy Weasley, "To remind the esteemed witches and wizards of the Wizengamot (those of who are still here, that is) that we are present today to make a judgment on this specific charge based upon all relevant facts pertaining thereto. I will not tolerate any member who attempts to turn this into some sort of drumhead court-martial. The war is over and we shall not treat this court of justice as an ersatz battlefield. Despite the... difficulties... that the Ministry has had following the defeat of Lord Voldemort, I expect the highest degree of integrity from those who remain."
He paused, perhaps to see if any would object, or merely to let his words sink in.
"Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic (Interim); Gawain Robards, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (Interim); Percy Ignatius Weasley, Court Scribe..."
Shacklebolt paused, staring at the paper in front of him, then lifting his gaze across the long room at Severus Snape.
"You do not appear to have submitted a single name as Witness for your defense, Mr. Snape. If this is an oversight, we may call a recess to—"
"It is not."
Shacklebolt glanced to the Aurors standing behind him, but Severus did not hear any response and assumed they must have indicated a lack of knowledge.
"Neither do you appear to have any legal counsel with you. May I take it that this is also not an oversight?"
"You may."
Shacklebolt continued to stare at him, his lips parted slightly for a moment. Finally he raised an eyebrow at Severus and glanced toward Percy Weasley, as though to make sure he'd gotten everything down, before turning back to the defendant.
"Do you understand what you have been accused of?"
"Yes."
"Do you understand that you may be sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban without any hope of release, if you are convicted?"
"Yes."
A shadow of something passed over the Minister's face.
"Very well. How does the Defendant plea?
Innocent, he meant to say. A heartbeat passed. Percy Weasley shuffled his parchment.
"Guilty."
Severus trembled where he sat on the bench outside the courtroom. A recess had been called for members of the Wizengamot to review the contents of the Hogwarts Headmaster's pensieve individually. The investigation report of the Auror's office had included a description of those portions related to Albus Dumbledore, but a pair of especially aged witches had demanded to see it themselves, and soon most of the rest had chimed in as well.
As soon as he saw it appear in the hands of some junior Auror, Severus had wanted to rush out of his seat and snatch it up, dash it to the floor perhaps. He hadn't moved a hair's breadth.
The ever-present shaking in his hands had spread to the whole of his body. He slumped forward in his seat, his elbows on his knees above feet spread in front of him in an attempt to brace his weight up against the floor, the curtain of his black hair obscuring his view of the hallway. Savage and Proudfoot were seated on either side of him so closely that he could feel the heat of their bodies through his robe.
His life had been reduced to a Muggle's circus sideshow exhibit, a pitiful, deformed thing to be gawked at and reviled by a crowd. Perhaps they would let schoolchildren throw peanuts at him in his cell at Azkaban, next.
I should have died. It was my right to die. Curse that bloody Potter boy, why did he send his idiot friends into the Shrieking Shack?
He could have gone to his grave never knowing. Never knowing that Lily had borne him a son. That she had then hidden him in the one way sure to guarantee that Severus would never have the slightest interest in the child. Oh, but I did , Lily. I didn't have a choice, not then. Not after I'd gotten you killed.
Shacklebolt had repeated the same questions of him, worded one way and then another, until he wanted to scream at the man.
Yes, I killed him. Yes he asked me to do it. Yes, several times, I've said this already, I've said why, why do you keep bringing it up? Yes, I used the damned bloody killing curse, shot him down off the bloody astronomy tower in a flash of green and had to flee like the goddamn coward they all accuse me of being. And then return, yes. The bloody sword of Gryffindor, like he told me to, he left orders and orders and orders. The Doe. Yes, the Doe is Her . Why does any of this matter . Just send me away already. Azkaban, fine . I am prepared.
What difference did it make, in the end, that Albus Dumbledore had begged him to do it? If he didn't deserve prison for this, then they could send him for the countless other sins he'd committed.
By the end, the collected heads of the Wizengamot looked down upon him with varying levels of scorn and pity. After a couple of hours which felt like days, Shacklebolt finally dismissed him so that the Wizengamot could deliberate.
He tried to stand and fell to his knees, sharp pain flaring when he landed hard on the stone floor. His hands spasmed as he tried to push himself up. In the end, Proudfoot and Savage had to lift him, a firm grip on both arms, and all but frog-march him back outside. He had not felt so humiliated since the last time he'd found himself on the wrong end of the Marauders as a boy.
He was not long waiting on the bench, this time. An hour, perhaps, no more. He was able, at least, to return to the Accusation Seat under his own power this time. He was ordered to rise again almost immediately. He stood, this time without falling, staring blankly at a spot on the floor halfway between himself and the assembly.
"The Wizengamot will now make its decision on the charge brought against the Defendant. Those in favor of clearing the witness of all charges?"
Severus did not allow himself to look up.
"And those in favor of conviction?"
"The defendant, Severus Snape, has been cleared of the charge of Murder, Premeditated. Let the record show that the Wizengamot has included consideration of wartime provisions in this matter with regard to extenuating circumstances surrounding the use of an Unforgivable Curse during deliberation."
Severus could not look up. He could not move. The shuffling of papers, shifting of robes and tap of shoes on stone indicated that the assembly was breaking apart. His hands began trembling again and he shoved each under the opposite elbow, pressing them against his ribcage.
The room felt empty, finally, and he looked up. Savage had departed but Proudfoot was standing close by, looking at him with a worried expression.
"Do you want me to fetch somebody?"
Severus realized the Auror had never actually spoken directly to him before. His voice was soft and sad and kind. It reminded him vaguely of Remus Lupin. He wanted to push the man aside, but he could not make himself move.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was the last member of the assembly remaining in the room. He came around the benches used by the Wizengamot and was approaching him with a swift stride.
"Come along, Severus. I think we need to talk."
Shacklebolt nodded at Proudfoot and swept toward the door. Proudfoot took hold of Severus's arm again, pulling at him until his paralysis left him and he began to walk forward, jerking from one foot to the other like some sort of automaton.
Several hallways & lifts later, Severus had been ushered into the private office of the Minister of Magic. Proudfoot guided him to a padded leather chair in front of Shacklebolt's desk. Shacklebolt seated himself on the other side, steepling his fingers in front of his chin as he leaned forward to study the ex-Death Eater.
"Well, that was quite possibly the strangest hearing I have ever attended."
If he expected reply or comment, Severus did not offer one.
"Pardon me if I am presuming too much, but one could almost suspect you want to go to Azkaban today, listening to you speak in that room. There were some who were ready to give you your wish."
Another pause. Severus could hear a ticking somewhere, like that of a small clock. Two inter-office memos winged their way past his head to land on the Minister's desk.
"I find I am worried about you, Severus. Not long ago I had, indeed, believed you to be guilty of this crime, as Albus Dumbledore no doubt intended me to believe, but I am more grateful than you know that I was wrong. I've always considered myself a good judge of character, after all, and had found you to be a worthy member of the Order of the Phoenix in the past.
"I will not discuss what I saw in the pensieve today as I know much of it was very personal and likely not intended, given the circumstances under which they were obtained. Your memories will be returned to you once everything has been filed, of course."
A slight twitch began under Severus's left eye.
"Severus... I know this may be difficult for you to believe, but you are not alone. You have friends, more than you are probably aware of. There are people who care for you, or would if you would only allow them to. You have a son, you—"
Red washed over Severus's vision and only the knowledge that he would be under a full-body bind before he'd gotten two inches kept him from leaping across the desk at the infuriatingly calm man sitting there. As it was he could only utter his reply through clenched teeth, with a look of pure loathing.
"Do not! Never! Never again speak to me of Harry Potter!"
He shoved himself to his feet and moved as quickly as he could risk to the door, slamming it behind him.
Shacklebolt breathed a sigh and turned to the stunned Auror.
"Do see that he makes it back to Hogwarts, at least."
Minerva sighed and refused to look again at the clock. Classes had resumed for the fifth and seventh years studying for their exams but that still left her more time than she'd have liked to brood. The Aurors had carted her young Headmaster off to the Ministry early that morning and they had not yet returned.
She wondered if Arthur Weasley had gone back into work this morning and considered firecalling him at the Ministry for news, but stopped herself. It was beneath her to allow herself to become this distracted, but she had nasty feeling that Severus's trial might not go well. Not the least because the man's black mood that morning left her in doubt as to whether he'd even bother to defend himself at all. She'd offered to stand as a witness; he'd flatly refused. She'd made her statement several days before, as had numerous others. She just hoped it was enough.
Until told otherwise, she considered him to be the Headmaster of this school, as did the school's magic, still. He'd quite possibly become the youngest in the post in several centuries, if not the entire history of the institution. Maybe she'd look it up later and find out for certain. She'd spent the last year resenting his presence, hating him with all her heart. Now she shuddered to think of the damage the Carrow twins might have done, had he not been subtly sabotaging them. What if instead of Severus in the position, it had been, say, Bellatrix Lestrange?
She dropped the stack of parchment back onto the Headmaster's restored desk. He will be allowed to return to his private quarters upon his return, and the improvised hospital/prison that the room had served as would no longer be needed. If he returned.
The shock of the day before came back to her. Oh, if she could only get her hands on that Skeeter woman. Preferably around the woman's neck. She had hoped that father and son would have some time, at least, to cope with what they now knew, but with it forced out...
The notion that Severus might simply pack up and leave gave her a deep foreboding. He was a deeply private man, and to have so much his past and his life ripped out into the open light of day – first with the overflowing pensieve, and now this .
He needs looking after, she thought. Then she laughed at herself. He's no child in need of mothering, he's survived everything the world has thrown at him.
But would he survive himself?