"Name?"
"Kingsley, honestly,"
"No exceptions, name?"
"Hermione Jean Granger, Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic."
Kingsley winced at the bite in her words.
Her eyes slid over to the stoic Potions' Master, he had yet to say a single word. However, Hermione knew all too well the reason for his attendance that morning in the chilled interrogation room. Dementors floated 50 feet above them, lurking by the ceiling as the brilliant glow of the Minister's silver lynx Patronus kept them at bay.
"There's no need for him," the words were a near growl, her chin lifted in defiance as the man in black stared her down. "I told you everything, Kingsley. There's really no need to involve Master Snape."
Something shifted across his dark eyes and he turned to the Minister. "She speaks true. She did not omit any truth. May I be excused?"
Kingsley nodded curtly. "Of course, Severus, thank you for your time. This must not be easy for you."
There was a slow sigh and the shifting of files. The heavy wooden chair grated across the stone floor as someone stood and Snape froze in the doorway that had materialised within the wall. "Hermione Jean Granger, you are to be held until your retroactive trial for conspiracy to harbour known fugitive and murderer Deatheater Severus Tobias Snape."
A cold, humourless laugh left her before she could stop it. What an absolute farce of a trial. The man had been excused of his crimes ages ago and sat before them. Now retired from teaching, the most powerful man in his field worked for the Ministry for a very comfortable sum—something about everyone feeling guilty for how they treated him after learning of his role in the war.
And now, clearly quite far in the list of cases to get through, Hermione Granger was being held for having protected him. Accused of conspiracy and quite possibly... treason.
The word burned sharp in her mind. This world she so loved, that she had devoted her life to, that she had cast her parents aside for, that she had fought a war for. They intended to put her behind bars.
All because she had saved a man three years prior. Rescued her most hated professor. Pressed dittany with blood-soaked hands to his ravaged throat and shoved a bezoar past his gullet. Cast every diagnostic spell she knew and stuffed him with all the blood-replenishing potions left in her beaded bag. When the battle had finished and he was stable enough, she had apparated them both to her abandoned childhood home, where she nursed him back to health until he was fit to go back to his own life. She had been by his side throughout the entirety of his month-long trial, opting to forego her seat by the Minister, in order to be closer to him. To offer a comforting presence as he was put in question before everyone.
And he had been called in to help put her away. He had not so much as opposed to the charges against her.
The road to hell was paved with good intentions.