NOTE

Warning for mentions of sexual assault and miscarriage.

80. Hornibus Hiltch

It felt wrong, opening the door of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. It had been Severus's classroom in recent months, but felt like an eerie time capsule which contained the ghost of my own years in school. The dragon skeleton hanging from the stone ceiling. The candles on the cabinet-tops. The golden instruments and books. I closed the door behind me and the sound echoed in the deserted space. The diamond-paned windows were both pale and dark, from the thick white snow.

I walked up the aisle between the desks and hurried up the steps into the teacher's chambers. I'd not set foot inside them since Halloween day. Within, I felt no more comfortable. This had been my bedroom, and beforehand the room where Remus and I had slept. I kept myself numb to that fact as I took a pair of trousers and a jumper from the chest of drawers, and carried them into the bathroom.

My hair seemed so fragile as I washed it. I was surprised it didn't fall out, that my skin didn't wrinkle and my bones become brittle under the hot water of the shower, revealing me to be the old hag I felt myself to be inside. The mirror was fogged when I stepped out, and I moved slowly as I combed my hair, dried myself, and dressed, without the threat of my reflection to hurry me.

The reality still had not hit–that Remus was alive, in a bed in the hospital wing–that I could go to him at any moment–that his mind, his memories, his soul, he was really there, sleeping somewhere inside the shell of his body. I knew it would hit me eventually. That I would know it so completely as to be driven to some display of madness. But I hoped the moment would wait a little longer to arrive. Whatever this impending visit from the Ministry heralded, I needed to be able to face it head on, with no distractions.

It was unlike me, but I deliberated over how to do my hair. Should I leave it down, to make myself look more innocent? Would it have the same effect, now it was such a shocking white? In the end I braided it again. Whoever came from the Ministry could make of it what they would. Whatever conclusion they reached regarding my actions last night would have nothing to do with my hair–its lack of colour, its being up or down.

Fighting back nervous shivers, I descended the stairs and went to wait in the great hall.

He arrived precisely at noon.

A special floo connection had been opened, specifically for this purpose and time, between an unknown office at the Ministry and the wide fireplace in the great hall. Arthur was there to receive the emissary along with me. The others had gone elsewhere.

A sudden green flare of the flames was the only warning we received, and the next moment a lean wizard in his middle thirties emerged, stepping out of the fireplace and onto the flagstones, holding a briefcase at his side.

I recognised him at once as the wizard who had visited me at the Burrow the previous February, to deliver the news of Lucius's incarceration. It took my mind a moment of searching to recall his name. Hornibus Hiltch.

"–at your service," he said, extending his hand to me. "I believe we've met before."

There was something theatrical about the moment. As though I'd been coerced onto a stage, unversed in the craft of acting and unaware of the line he was waiting for me to deliver. I took his hand and held it a bit too hard, released it a bit too soon.

"What on earth happened to your hair?" he said. He didn't look very concerned. Probably he felt the need to make small talk.

"It's unimportant."

Hiltch covered his discomfort with a nod and turned from me slightly. "Arthur," he said, in acknowledgement.

"Hornibus. Thank you for coming. I hope you'll understand. The circumstances…"

"Of course," said Hiltch, but I didn't entirely believe him. He looked down at me, a wall of professionalism hiding the humanity in his eyes. "Mrs. Snape, I understand your husband was nearest to you at the time of Greyback's demise."

I nodded once. The title contained many layers of uncertainty, but I lacked the ability to address them now.

"Is he here in the castle?"

"Brewing. Downstairs."

"Can this be interrupted?"

"No."

"Well, would you ask him how long we can expect to wait for his presence?"

"Sorry, why does he need to be present?"

"We need a close witness in order to confirm your testimony. Of course, it is inconvenient that your husband will be biassed in your favour, but–"

I scoffed.

Hiltch looked uncomfortable, and Arthur apologetic. I stared at Hiltch blankly, and he looked to Arthur for help. "I will ask him," Arthur said, and he left the hall for the dungeons.

I stood there silently, Hornibus Hiltch holding his briefcase, the flames of the fire crackling behind him. He looked at me, and I looked blankly back.

"The Marriage Law has affected us all," he said, at length. I had known he would attempt small talk after his question about my hair, but had not thought he would choose the law as a subject. "I would like to extend my personal apologies for the upheaval you must be experiencing."

So they all knew, then, about Remus. At the Ministry. I remembered the first time I'd met Hiltch. How he'd sat on the couch at the Burrow and told me without emotion that the Ministry had no way of tracing Remus's whereabouts. Perhaps if they'd put more effort in they could have. Perhaps they'd believed he'd reverted to his old ways, and had been unwilling to waste energy on a man they believed didn't want to be found. Perhaps they had sensed that something was wrong, but had been too afraid of knowing the extent of it, so had let his disappearance slide.

I stared at Hiltch, giving him nothing. He reminded me of Percy. Empty words; no empathy. I let him suffer for a while in the silence, and my witty side invisibly smiled a small bitter smile. I want to extend my personal apologies for the discomfort you must be experiencing.

Soon there were footsteps in the entrance hall and Arthur appeared in the doorway, followed by Severus. I glanced at him for a moment only before looking at the wall, but I gathered from that glance that he was more than irritable at having been dragged away from his work. His hands were behind his back and he looked just as he had always done when I'd been in school. Apart from the fact that he wasn't wearing his robes.

"The potion can sit unattended for half an hour only," he intoned.

"Then there's not a minute to waste." Hiltch spoke in an almost cheerful tone. "I would prefer to speak somewhere private. Perhaps the office of the headmaster?"

Of course a man like him would want to go to the room with the most power. But none of us protested. Severus led the way up the marble stairs, and I followed last. Arthur stayed behind.

The castle was quiet under the snowfall, and the pale white flakes drifted past the window at the top of the stairs. I focused on the sight, blocking out the memories of Greyback's blood, trickling down these very steps. We turned the corner at the top of the stairs and stopped at the end of the corridor, towered over by the gryphon and its outstretched wings.

A heavy silence radiated from Severus. Heavier than the centre of the earth.

I stepped forward and addressed the statue. "Dumbledore."

With a loud sigh of stone the gryphon began to turn, exposing the spiral staircase which carried us upward.

The headmaster's office had changed. No obvious damage had been done to the magical objects, or to the portraits, as I'd imagined when I'd first seen Greyback's name on the Marauder's Map. And yet the very air felt corrupted by his presence. I imagined I could smell a deadened trace of that vile breath I'd smelt the night he died–last night.

Portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses turned their attention towards us when we entered. Painted eyes narrowed at me in curiosity and suspicion, as though the word had already gotten round that I was responsible for Greyback's death.

Most of them I did not recognise, but one I knew very well. Dumbledore spoke in his calm voice, his painted eyebrows kindly lifted. "Thank goodness you're here, Severus. Fenrir was not very pleasant company." My senses had mostly cut themselves off from Severus, but even a rock could have felt the tension which increased in his body at the sound of Dumbledore's voice speaking his name.

Dumbledore's calm blue gaze then rested on me. "Miss Weasley. What a curious change in your appearance. You will see, most of us here have grey or white hair. You've joined a rather peculiar group, but not a dishonourable one." His chin lowered slightly, and he looked at me over his half-moon spectacles. I nodded my head with due respect.

Perhaps Severus was right about my searching for scraps of love wherever they could be found. Here I was, feeling kinship with the portrait of a dead man.

Hiltch walked around the side of the desk, paying no heed to Dumbledore's comments, and sat down in the headmaster's chair. How he had the gall to do so in full view of the portraits of every witch and wizard who had ever sat in it deservingly, I could not imagine. Perhaps he thought there was nothing of their souls in the canvas. I disagreed.

Hiltch set his briefcase on the wide oak desk and unclasped it. From it he took a scroll of parchment and a magical quill which went to work at once, writing down the date, location, and persons present. It was similar to Rita Skeeter's, but certainly not charmed to embellish, and waited patiently and attentively for the interrogation to begin. Hiltch also set a heavy glass ball on the desk, reminiscent of a snow globe. I had never seen one before but I knew this must have been a veritametre. It would cloud, if I began to lie.

"Please," Hiltch said, looking up at us expectantly. "Sit."

I followed orders, but Severus did not. He remained standing, against the wall.

Hiltch seemed to accept this, and moved his briefcase aside. "This should not take long." He acknowledged the quill, and the official business had begun.

"Mrs. Snape. I will start by saying that you can expect to be involved in the trials that will inevitably follow the conflict we are currently experiencing. This is a preliminary questioning. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"How old are you, Mrs. Snape?"

"Twenty."

I watched the quill writing down every word that was spoken, the feather moving quickly in the air.

"What was your primary role during the war?"

"I went on missions with the younger members of the Order of the Phoenix, who were out of Hogwarts. Mostly protecting households we thought were under threat. I also helped keep Potterwatch from being infiltrated by the Ministry."

"Potterwatch, the underground radio station."

"Yes."

"And you did this alongside your adoptive brother, Fred Weasley."

His name unwound time in my mind, set back the clock to years of peace I'd taken for granted and would never get back.

I keenly heard the scratching of the quill, and the moment of silence as it waited for my reply.

"Yes."

"And you were never on trial for fatally harming anyone during the war."

"No."

"Do you personally believe you ever fatally harmed anyone during the war?"

"No."

"Not during the Battle of Hogwarts?"

"No. I never killed anyone."

"Do you believe you brought about the death of Fenrir Greyback on the night of the thirteenth of November?"

"I didn't intend it."

"But you believe it was your responsibility, his death?"

My hands had come together in my lap, my fingers twisting. I could feel Severus's silent presence behind me, and it wasn't a comfort. I didn't know what to say.

Hiltch glanced at the veritametre, but it remained clear and unclouded. I swallowed dryly.

"We can return to that later," Hiltch said. "I understand you severely harmed Augustus Rookwood one week ago. Relieved him of his manhood."

I looked at him, uncomprehending. That's the best they could come up with?

It was difficult to form a response.

"Yes."

"Was this revenge for his murder of Fred Weasley?"

The silence was so long that Hiltch looked over my shoulder at Severus. But he could not answer, either. I understood that the Ministry must have only been told about the Cruciatus Curse. Not about… everything else. I knew I had to be the one to say it. To explain myself.

I became very still in my chair, feeling the portraits watching. "Augustus Rookwood raped me on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. A second attack took place before I… relieved him of his manhood."

I felt no nausea. It was only a fact, now. I could have shouted about it. I could have shouted about many things. But what good would that have done.

I watched Hiltch and felt an empty amusement at his shocked expression. For a strangely comforting second he was speechless, watching his quill write down what I had said, as though to ensure he'd heard me correctly. Then he placed his hands on the edge of the desk, fingers interlaced. His arms subconsciously forming a shield against me. Against something he would never, ever understand.

I relaxed. Slightly.

"This will be taken into account. As for the matter of Fenrir Greyback. Was it your intention to fatally harm him, before his death last night?"

"No, it was not my intention."

"Do you acknowledge, though, that his death is a result of some… action… by yourself?"

I looked up at Dumbledore's portrait, and let the truth come out as I considered his tired blue eyes.

"I didn't mean to kill him. But I knew, afterward, that it… was my fault."

The quill scratched down my answer, and Hiltch paused before he continued. "We at the Ministry could not blame you if the killing was deliberate. Given the circumstances of the Imperius Curse you'd been subjected to, and the lengthy imprisonment of your first husband. Greyback was a wanted criminal, after all, and only narrowly escaped death in the trials which followed the final battle."

"They all did."

"Pardon?"

"They all narrowly escaped death."

Hiltch looked at me with a studied patience in his eyes, as though he wanted me to understand how lenient he was being.

"I need to know, very simply, whether you deliberately killed Fenrir Greyback."

"No, I did not."

"But you believe it was your fault."

"Yes."

The scratching of the quill was becoming maddening, and it was a relief when Hiltch looked over my shoulder and addressed Severus. "Mr. Snape. Did you observe anything in the course of the battle which would prove contrary to your wife's testimony?"

"No," Severus said. "There was no outward sign."

The quill scratched, and Hiltch nodded, looking back to me. "Mrs. Snape. Do you know exactly what took place… between the two of you, to bring about his death?"

"I don't know."

"Did you experience anything out of the ordinary in the moments which preceded that of his death?"

"I don't remember."

Hiltch glanced at the veritametre, which remained unclouded. I stared at it for a long moment, nearly expecting it to say I was lying. I almost wished it would, just to have a clear answer, to do away with my uncertainties.

"If it is true that you cannot remember, will you consent to memory extraction?"

This was a reasonable request.

"Yes."

Hiltch nodded, then looked over my shoulder. "Mr. Snape, if you would be willing, also, in order to corroborate–"

"Yes."

I silently thanked Severus for cutting Hiltch off. I didn't know how much longer I would be able to listen to his voice without throttling him.

"Good. Our interview concludes here."

The quill scratched a few more words. After the final full stop the scroll dried itself with a flourishing ripple in the air, and rolled itself up, settling down in Hiltch's briefcase. Hiltch picked up the veritametre and put it away, and then brought two small vials into the open, placing them on the desk in front of me.

"I trust you're familiar with the technique."

I'd seen Severus extract his own memories before, on the night he'd sent me to the pensieve. But I hadn't the first idea how to do it myself. Severus stepped forward and I remained seated, watching his hands as he worked. I felt the faintest echo of his demonstrations in class, when I'd been young and fascinated, a mere child, still shocked by the existence of my new world. Amazed that one could combine water from the river Lethe with mistletoe berries and valerian sprigs, to produce a liquid that, if swallowed, would make you forget your own name.

He uncorked the vial and filled it three-quarters full with water. Then he pressed the tip of his wand to his temple, withdrawing a long, thin strand of memory as easily as if he were pulling a straw of hay from a bale. The strand curled and clung to the tip of his wand, and he placed it into the water. He pressed the cork in again, and gave the vial a slow swirl, three times counterclockwise. I watched as he opened it again, and the original blue strand of memory was drawn to the tip of his wand as by a magnet. He replaced it, setting the tip against his temple until the blue flowed from it and glowed briefly in his skin, before disappearing. The water in the vial was also blue, but a paler blue, and it moved gloomily inside the glass. A copy.

Severus handed the vial to Hiltch, who took it, and then looked at me expectantly. "Do you need assistance, Mrs. Snape?"

I hated to admit it, but I had to nod my head. The process looked simple enough, but I didn't even know how to complete the first step.

Severus spoke bluntly. "May I."

I nodded again and turned my head, leaving my temple exposed to him. He stepped towards me and the tip of his wand pressed there, with a dispassionate gentleness. I looked at the window and the snow outside, and glanced once at Dumbledore, who seemed to be waiting patiently for us to finish, so he could return to his nap.

Severus repeated the process with the second vial, and afterward placed his wand to my temple again. I winced as the memory re-entered my mind, like a worm probing a path through the tissue inside, until it found its place again and came to rest.

Hiltch took the second vial and placed it in his briefcase. "Thank you. Now, I wonder if, while I'm here, I might take a vial from Mr. Lupin as well."

I stiffened. "He can't give consent. He's asleep."

Hiltch offered a yielding smile, but I could see the disappointment under it. "Indeed. Then the sooner he wakes, the better. And if you would, Mr. Snape, when he does come round…" He handed Severus a third vial from the briefcase. "We will need evidence of his experiences over the past ten months, to be sure he was, indeed, an unwilling captive."

"He was," I said, bristling.

Hiltch lowered his chin politely. "Of course, Mrs. Snape."

I could have wrung his neck.

"Will that be all?" Severus said.

"It will. Thank you."

With that Severus turned and departed, his footsteps sounding across the stone floor of the office, the gryphon's staircase grinding softly as he descended.

The air felt a bit cooler, a bit clearer, without him there. But I still had Hiltch to contend with.

"I have a letter for Poppy Pomfrey," he said, bringing a sealed envelope into view as he latched his briefcase shut. I wondered if it was something about Remus.

"I can deliver it to her," I said, standing and extending my hand.

But Hiltch kept the letter close to his chest, and stood up, holding his briefcase at his side. "I think it best if I do that myself. Would you lead me to her, please?"

Before I could glare at him I turned and went to the stairway, Hiltch following behind. Dumbledore's voice drifted across the room just before the stairs took us down. "Good afternoon."

The weather could be felt in the hospital wing. There was a dampness, a sense of cold, which no quantity of heating charms could erase. Poppy had put more blankets over Remus, who remained as deeply asleep as he'd been when I'd left that morning.

Pale light filled the room, and the flickering shadows of the lamplight and the snow. Pouncer had remained on the bed at Remus's side. He'd known that the bedridden man needed his warmth and his soft vibrations. He'd resisted the temptation to roam silently in the castle, and I was grateful to him for it. The kneazle's green eyes took in Hornibus Hiltch with a lingering glint of dislike.

"Poppy?" I called.

She stepped out of her office and her eyebrows knitted together, her jaw tensing at the sight of Hiltch and his letter.

"Madam Pomfrey," Hiltch said. He went to her, offering the letter, and it did not escape me that he gave Remus's bed a wide berth. Clearly some prejudices were so strong that not even a change in the law, or the Order of Merlin, First Class, could change a mind such as Hiltch's.

Poppy took the letter with a stiff nod, and held it with both hands.

"Well," Hiltch said, turning to me. "I'd like to thank you for the bravery you've displayed so far in this conflict. And do extend my gratitude to your husband."

I felt like a soldier, dirty and cold and ill, being congratulated on a recent victory by a pompous politician on his way back to the safe white halls of the capitol city. Hiltch made room for a response, but I did not fill it.

"I'll see myself to the great hall," he said, turning to Poppy. "It's been a pleasure being back here."

There was another silent pause, longer, and then he left at last. Blown from the room by the unexpected coldness of two women.

We both waited quietly until the sound of his footsteps had faded completely, and there was only the soft fluttering of the lamp flames. I hoped the wolves would gnash their teeth at his ankles on his way out.

Poppy looked away from the entrance arch and down at the letter, which she proceeded to open. I watched her eyes as she read it, having learned to expect bad news. Her face grew grave, and she looked up at me as she crumpled the paper in her hand.

"What?" I asked, though I already sensed the answer.

Poppy's face was stone-still with anger. "They don't care."

"About the miscarriage."

An affirmative silence.

"It's a risk to your safety."

I wasn't surprised. "Next week will be two weeks."

Poppy shook her head. "I refuse to allow it."

Already she'd set off towards her office to write a letter in response.

"It's no use," I said. But she was already across the room, and my voice was so quiet that Pouncer was the only one who heard me.

Poppy closed the door to her office, leaving me with the snow, the flames, the kneazle and the man in the bed.

I wrapped a spare blanket around my shoulders, but it did nothing to melt the ice in my stomach. I stood there motionlessly for a while, and then sat in the chair at the bedside. I watched Remus's breathing, the slight, slight movement of the blankets which proved he was alive.

Pouncer purred and stood up, arching his back in a luxurious stretch. He stepped over the narrow gap between the mattress and my knee, and climbed into my lap. I received his weight, running my fingers through his warm fur as he curled up, sending his calming purrs through my body.

I remembered what Hiltch had said, about my taking part in the trials once the conflict was ended. I worried for myself, but for Remus even more. His absence would be viewed with understandable suspicion. But I believed he'd only deliberately stayed away for a short while before his capture. I knew it in my bones. Soon he would wake up, and then the others would see, too.

For now though, there was nothing I could do but wait for him to stir. I watched him the way a child watches a painted saint, hoping for the slightest movement, the slightest hint or instruction.

My head had begun to ache, and I took my hair down with one hand, stroking Pouncer with the other. The white strands lay over my shoulder, reflecting the colour of the falling snow.

I sat and waited for my mind to accept this changed world as reality.

NOTE

The veritametre is an object of my own invention, inspired by the remembrall.

I don't know whether or not memories can be "copied" in canon.

Thank you much for reading!