Chapter 43

Snape had spent the days after the disaster at the manor in hiding. He had been sure that Aurors would be knocking down his door at any moment. How could they not? He was a Marked Death Eater and he'd massacred ministry employees and Wizengamot members.

Almost three days after the disaster at the manor, Regulus had apparently recovered from the candy induced sickness and nearly stormed down his door. He had been frantic. The first thing he'd done after recuperating was to run to Malfoy Manor, hoping to apologize to the Dark Lord before he had him hunted down and punished. When he stumbled to the edge of the wards and saw it crawling with Aurors, he panicked and raced to Spinner's End.

"Severus, Severus, what's going on!" His long hair, usually so well kept, was tangled and mussed. His tie, deep green of course, hung askew. "There are Aurors all over Malfoy Manor and I can't find the Dark Lord! What happened at the revel? Bloody hell, he's going to torture me to death, isn't he? I've missed something huge."

Still feeling unstable himself, Severus didn't know what to tell him. "Uh… they're dead."

Regulus blinked stupidly at him. "What?"

Severus shrugged, waving his hands, his friend's hysteria feeding his own. "They're dead! Everyone. The Dark Lord, loads of Ministry toadies. More than one ancient family has been wiped out and Reg, us two and Lucius are all that's left of the Marked Death Eaters. Dead! They're dead!"

His only real friend stood in his sitting room, his chest rising and falling rapidly with panic. Gray eyes stared at him, disbelieving. "What? Dead? How can they be dead? How can he be dead?"

Taking three breaths through his nose, Severus tried again. "He is dead because I killed him. I killed all of them. It was me that got you sick. That candy I gave you." The more he spoke the more incredulous his friend looked.

"I've been working with the Prewetts and we made a device to kill them. It was muggle science and a little bit of magic and Lucius knew, that's why he opened his home and fucked off to France. They're dead and I'm going to be arrested any minute for mass murder."

The Black heir flopped back into the tatty sofa. He stared at the ceiling. Then he laughed. Then sat forward and stared at Severus as if he'd just suggested he fuck a manticore. "You're mental. Muggle science? What the hell even is that?"

He threw himself back against the cushions, pressing his palms into his eyes. Then he sat forward again. "So you really were working with the Prewetts? You actually are a traitor?"

All Severus could do was shrug.

"But… why?"

Severus ran his hands through his hair, growling in frustration when his fingers caught on unwashed tangles. "Come on, Reg. I know you know how fucking insane the Dark Lord was becoming. Can you honestly tell me you were happy with how things were going? He was only waiting until you graduated to make you start murdering muggle families because of your name."

Regulus frowned and looked away. "Well… no. I mean, I don't really care about muggles, but I don't want to kill them." He looked down at his arm, Dark Mark hidden by his sleeve. "So. We're really… free of him?"

He scoffed. "Oh sure, of him. We'll likely be hauled off to Azkaban."

"We could… always go to France too?" Regulus held out a hand as if offering up the idea. "I know where Cissa and Lucius are. Why don't we just… join them?"

That was… actually not a bad idea. Severus stood slowly, considering. Would they extradite him? Would Lucius let him stay with him?

He was about to open his mouth and ponder this aloud when there was another banging at his door. "Shite."

Gray eyes met black, both pairs increasingly panicked. The banging didn't stop. He was trapped. If he fled he would only be admitting to guilt. Hermione and George had promised from the start that they would make sure he didn't end up in Azkaban. But that had been before the manor. He could choose to trust them, but that all meant shit for Regulus.

By the third barrage of banging, he was crossing the room and answering the door. Hoping he wasn't making a serious mistake, he opened the door… to see Bartemius Crouch Sr. standing on his front step.

"Ah. Mister Snape. A pleasure, I'm sure." He inspected Severus through dark, beady eyes. His immediate response was to flee from the head of the DMLE but there was nothing about the older man's appearance or demeanor that suggested danger. And he'd come alone.

"I'm sure. What can I do for you, Mister Crouch?"

"I'd appreciate an invitation inside, for a start." When Severus hesitated, the Auror smirked. "I am not here to arrest you, boy. I assure you, I'm much too busy for such trivial matters."

Not convinced but seeing no better option, Severus stood back, letting him enter. Once inside, he looked around the shabby house. He sniffed once and if he had any opinions on the state of the place, he kept them to himself.

When he noticed Regulus, sitting rigidly on the sofa, he arched a brow, inclining his head slightly. "Young Master Black. Good afternoon."

"Mister Crouch."

Crouch eyed him shrewdly for a long moment before humming to himself and turning back to Severus. "As I said, Mister Snape. I did not come to arrest you. It would be in your best interest if what I'm about to say does not leave this room." His eyes flicked back at Regulus. "If you're comfortable sharing with friends?"

"I trust Black."

He pursed his lips and nodded. "Very well. I have been made aware of your involvement in the events at Malfoy Manor three days ago. Both about your involvement with the Prewetts—and what exactly you were doing for them—and about the Mark on your arm. There will be no charges brought against you. Anyone who knows about that…" He inclined his head towards Severus's arm. "Is either dead or also somehow involved with the Prewetts and in a similar situation as yourself."

Turning, he addressed Regulus. "I can only assume, Master Black, by your presence that you must share at least part of Mister Snapes… political associations. Do I need to open an investigation into the sixteen-year-old scion of the most noble and ancient house of Black?"

"Uh…" Regulus looked at Severus and straightened. "Of course not, sir. The Ministry has the full support of the house of Black, as ever. We're just as relieved as everyone else that the self proclaimed Dark Lord has been dealt with."

"Hmm. Yes. I'm sure." The doubtful expression told Severus he didn't believe a word of it but also was totally uninterested in the potential threat posed by a sixteen year old. "May I call you Severus?" He did not wait for a response. "Severus, no one knows about your involvement with Voldemort and now that he and all of his followers are dead, that whole mess has been dealt with rather nicely."

Crouch sniffed, his hands on his hips as he took a few steps around the room. "Lucius Malfoy will take the stand next week. He took the Mark under pressure from his father but never fully approved of Voldemort's goals. When he began murdering blood traitors and muggleborns, he realized he could no longer sit by." He waved a hand and shrugged. "He opened his home and organized a trap to kill them all. He is a national hero."

Severus was aghast. "A hero? You must be joking?" For just a moment, his pride got the better of him. "All he did was lend out his mansion. I—"

"Had absolutely nothing to do with any of it." Crouch gave him a hard look. "Unless of course you'd like to explain to the Wizengamot and the Daily Prophet about the objects you were retrieving for the Prewetts and what exactly it was that the five of you cooked up to kill the Dark Lord?"

This time it was Regulus that interrupted. "I don't understand. You're the head of the DMLE and from what I know, rather an enthusiastic hard liner against any crime. Why are you letting him off? Why are you going along with whatever story the Prewetts gave you?"

The old Auror pursed his lips and peered at the ceiling for a long moment before answering. "As I said. Voldemort and any of his actually threatening supporters are dead. The only ones left actively aided in that death." When he looked back at Severus, there was something devious and a little smug in his expression. "Suffice it to say lads, you're unimportant and I have a much bigger fish to fry."

GH

His cell in Nurmengard was, without doubt, better accommodation than he would have had at Azkaban. Gellert may have been cruel to his enemies, but he'd never managed to ally himself with the Dementors. It was chilled and his window was narrow, the view of the snow covered alps a stunning reminder of his isolation. But there were no dark soul thieves stalking the halls.

Albus stood before that window, staring out at the mountains. Across the hall, his former partner sat cross legged on the floor, his mad laughter at sharing a prison with him finally having died. It had taken three days. He was speaking to him but Albus did not hear. The former hero of the Wizarding World was lost to his own thoughts.

When he'd first received the summons to stand before the Wizengamot, Albus had foolishly complied. In his pride, he had assumed it was to speak against some Death Eater or other. Speaking as a witness was something he'd been asked to do before.

It was a slow dawning realization, standing in the center of the courtroom, that he had been wrong.

The first clue was the requirement to give up his wand. It was strange, to be sure, but not for the first time that day—nor the last—his pride betrayed him.

Striding into the courtroom, it took several minutes to fully comprehend. The full Wizengamot was assembled, minus those suspected or known Death Eaters. This gave him pause. So far as he was aware, there had been no major happenings on the war front in recent days. Had they all been arrested without his input?

Certainly that was why he was there.

And then Barty leaned over his plinth, the smirk beneath his mustache another warning.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you have been brought before this court to answer for the crimes of ward tampering, attempted murder of the entire Weasley family, the placement of a compulsion charm on the only heir of the ancient and noble house of Potter, an action that nearly resulted in his death, and finally, through aforementioned actions the responsibility for the death of Fabian Prewett, of the ancient and noble house of Prewett."

He sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers and watching the reactions of the Wizengamot members around them. Cries of outrage and confusion rang out, the clamor filling the small domed room and ringing in Dumbledore's ears.

Fabian was dead? Because of James? There must have been a mistake.

He said so. He shouted over the din that the charges were absurd. That he was Albus Dumbledore. All he had ever done was fight to defend the greater good against the forces of darkness.

But he was ignored.

A shackled chair rose from the floor and he was magically compelled to sit. Fury boiled in his chest but he held his tongue. He would get out of this. They may have the Weasleys, but no one would take their word over his. He was Albus Dumbledore. His reputation alone would save him.

Indeed, Arthur and Molly were the first witnesses. One of their infant twins slept in Molly's arms. The emotional picture she painted, Death Eaters and the beast Grayback let loose on her and her babies by the Hogwarts headmaster and supposed leader of the Light, was truly a moving sight.

A broken Gideon Prewett followed his sister. This was when he learned that the Dark Lord was dead. He did not believe for one second that Lucius Malfoy was responsible for that, but somehow amidst whatever had happened, James Potter had gotten in the middle.

Fabian had made the choice trapped, behind anti-apparition wards, to sacrifice himself for the Potter scion. The scion who had only been there because he'd been compelled to follow and investigate the Prewetts. They had been there for intel gathering and observation, allegedly—another detail Albus did not believe.

The 'cousin' George and his wife Helen testified as well. Having been present at the Burrow when it was attacked, and Malfoy Manor as well, they were as impassioned as Gideon and Molly. It was all quite damning… Assuming anyone believed them.

He was not surprised then, to see James Potter take the stand, nor long time Order member and his greatest detractor, Kingsley. As the head of an ancient and noble house and recent member of the Wizengamot, young Longbottom's testimony held more weight than even Kingsley's. Having been part of the trio Albus had sent too late to the Burrow, his confirmation visibly swayed the court.

It was not until Alastor Moody took the stand that Albus truly admitted he had lost. If even a man known to be one of his oldest and closest friends was turning against him, what chance did he have?

When he was at last given the chance to defend himself, all he could say was the truth. There had been a prophecy—which he did not recount—and he had done everything he could to see it fulfilled. It was for the greater good. All he had ever done was for the greater good of British Wizarding society. If they could not understand that, then who was he to argue.

It had been nearly unanimous.

Some hours later, as he sat in a holding cell, he received a not altogether unexpected guest. George Prewett strode slowly down the hall, hands in his pockets, a dour smirk on his face. He stopped on the other side of the bars, watching.

"We visited the hall of prophecies, my wife and I." He sniffed, scratching the side of his nose. "Interesting thing about prophecies. You can only retrieve them when they're about you." He might have laughed, he might have sighed, Albus couldn't tell. "You were right, Albus. Though, from the little you shared we already knew that."

From his pocket, he withdrew the small, milky sphere. He rolled it in one long hand for a moment before reciting the prophecy.

"Two with the knowledge to vanquish the Dark Lord, across a river have traveled… With fire and serpent they will change the course. Souls will burn to blackened ash, once and future heroes cast aside. Life and death, they know all, hold all. Two with the knowledge…"

He smirked.

"I could explain it to you, line by line. From our perspective it's rather on the nose actually. But if I told you what it meant, what I know, what my wife knows…" He clicked his tongue and shook his head once. "It would be so much more satisfying to let you go off to Nurmengard with this left unanswered."

The fury that had filled him during his trial returned. How dare he? Who did he think he was?

Apparently his mask slipped and the young man saw the rage he'd elicited. His smirk widened somewhat. "What you've done to my family, what you've cost us… I am not ashamed to admit it will bring me some small amount of joy to think of you, locked in a tower across from your ex-lover."

A sharp inhale stirred Albus's long mustache. How did he know about that? There were precious few alive who did.

"Almost as much joy as I felt standing over Bellatrix Lestrange as she died in agony." He chuckled to himself. "Almost. You never personally tortured my wife, after all."

Seething and confused, Albus glared hard at the man. "When did Bellatrix Lestrange torture your wife?"

"Oh. That hasn't happened yet. At least, not for Bella. Now, thanks to our efforts, it never will." His face darkened as he glared right back. "Changing things won't erase her memories unfortunately. It won't take away her nightmares, or mine. But it was still the right thing to do. It will always have been the right thing to do."

Hasn't happened yet? Never will… changes… they hadn't crossed the channel. The river in the prophecy was—

"It was a cheeky metaphor, I suppose. Rivers. Helen—or Hermione rather, Helen's her mum's name—says time is sometimes referred to as a river. That bit must have really thrown you." The damned smirk was back as he shrugged. "That's all you'll get from me, Albus. Have a nice time in Nurmengard. My wife tells me the Alps are lovely in the spring."

A storm of emotions raged in his breast as he watched George Prewett or—he now wondered if it was Weasley—saunter back the way he'd come. Just before he was out of sight, he turned and looked back at him over his shoulder.

"Oh. Don't worry about Voldemort returning. I don't know if you'd figured out about the horcruxes yet. But we've taken care of all of those."

And then he'd gone, leaving Albus alone with his anger and his confusion and his regrets. Now all he could do was stare out at the snow capped mountains and think. He would have years to think. Perhaps Gellert's mind was not so addled that he could help him unravel the mystery of the prophecy. Perhaps it no longer mattered. Perhaps nothing did. With a heavy sigh, Albus Dumbledore turned from the window. It was late summer; spring and its supposed beauty was a long way off.

A/N Well there it is! That's the end of the story. I have two epilogue chapters and then we will be done. I hope you have all had as much fun as I have. Drop a comment!