Trials and Tribulations

Darkness was on the Face of the Deep

Harry sighed softly and turned his head to the right, looking out of the small, dirty window at the Northern end of Portabello Road Market. Fewer people visited this end of the market, for it was further away from Notting Hill Station and the items sold were generally of a less desirable nature. Harry knew that there would be quite a few wizards down there, trying to off load Dark items to whom ever would have them. It was really a pretty good place to have the main London Branch Office for the Department of Mysteries. Who would suspect that a run down block of flats that had only been half-heartedly repaired after their demolition in World War Two, would hold, on its uppermost floors, a suite of offices full of Unspeakables?

He looked back down at the file in his lap and sighed again. He flicked it shut and read the cursive script that denoted that the file contained the ‘Record of Criminal Offence – Professor Severus A. Snape’. Harry had dropped into the Department for Magical Law Enforcement on the pre-text of visiting a few old friends. It was really quite useful having Ron work there, even if he was rarely in his office. Whilst there, he had managed to sneak the file out. After all, he was an Unspeakable and could do pretty much as he liked without too many questions asked.

Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back, thinking over what Hermione had called the ‘order of events’. Harry was entitled to look at whatever files he felt were necessary to the case and had access to all the evidence but did not have to officially declare himself as Snape's acting defence. Not yet, anyway. He would also need to visit Snape and soon. After all, it was only fair really that he knew who was conducting his defence. Harry felt a persistent thrum in his temple at that thought. He could just imagine Snape's response. "You are conducting my defence, Potter? Well, I suppose I had better get used to shower time fun with the Dementors. Who knows, I may even be here long enough to make someone my ‘bitch’!" Harry groaned. This would not be easy.

"Harry?" His eyes snapped open and instinctively moved to the door. "Harry, are you there?"

The voice was familiar and came from the fireplace. Harry grinned and slid his feet from their resting place on his paper covered desk. "Yeah, I’m here Ron." He dropped down by the fireplace, leaning close to the flames.

"All right there, Harry?"

"Not bad."

"Not bad? You look like you haven’t slept properly for a fortnight!" Ron’s semi-transparent head frowned at him. Harry simply nodded. "Well, anyway, I’m afraid I’m not stopping in for pleasantries."

'Uh oh,' Harry thought. 'That’s his ‘business’ voice. That’s the voice he learned from Hermione.'

Harry gulped faintly and nodded again. "Go on."

"You’ve heard about Snape, of course. I think everyone has, it’s been all over the papers."

"Yeah, I dropped by your office earlier. I was hoping to talk to you about it. Listen, Ron, you’ve been to loads of these trials…"

Ron interrupted him sharply, "Sorry, Harry, but I don’t have much time. I just wanted to let you know. Der Führer-" ‘Der Führer’ was an affectionate nickname Ron had bestowed upon the Minister for Magical Law Enforcement, "-says he’s ready to give me my big break. He’s put me in charge of the prosecution for this one. Says he wants someone with an inside view on the guy, and figured an ex-pupil was probably as close as you’re going to get to a loner like Snape."

Harry managed to cover up a choked sound of surprise with a small coughing fit. He didn’t need a mirror to know that the colour had drained from his face and his mouth was probably gaping like that of a dead fish. His mind’s voice was keeping up a steady litany: 'Bugger! Bugger, bugger, bugger!'

Ron was grinning proudly at him. "When you’re done choking there, mate. I know, it shocked me, too. I’m actually going to get a chance for revenge. Seven years of long, hard Potions lessons full of insults and I’m finally going to get my own back."

Harry tried to keep his voice as controlled as possible but knew it would still sound strained, "You don’t think perhaps helping the Ministry hand him over to the Dementors is a little much for just having a crap attitude and not liking his job?"

Ron frowned at him again. "What? Harry…" The red-haired head turned away for a moment and said something Harry couldn’t hear, before turning back to him again. "Look, Harry, I’ve got to go. Der Führer is patrolling the ranks again." Ron grinned and rolled his eyes. "I’ll speak to you soon, yeah?"

Ron had disappeared before Harry could answer.

"Sooner, maybe, than you think."

Letting out his breath in another big, long sigh Harry stood and returned to his desk. He sat back, resting his hands behind his head and lifted one boot-clad foot onto the desk, followed by the other. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. His eyes fell on the innocent looking red folder once again. Harry reached for it for one more inspection. His brain, however, had other ideas and was starting to wander.

* * * * *

Harry’s back ached. So did his shoulders. His neck, too, for that matter, and while he was at it, his arms had definitely felt better days. 'I’m getting old,' he thought with a certain amount of irony. He was half way through his last year at school, and already felt like a Grandfather. The raven-haired boy wandered down the stone steps into the Hogwarts dungeons. Even though school had finished for the Christmas Holidays two days ago, Harry still wore the thick black robes and cloak of the school uniform, more for practicality than anything else. Scotland was not the warmest place in winter.

Harry’s hand brushed over the icy cold, damp stone walls as he bypassed the maze-like corridors. His feet knew exactly where they were taking him, so no actual thought was required. This was probably a good thing as Harry had a feeling the dull throbbing in his temple meant his brain ached as well.

Nearing his destination, Harry pulled out the small, neatly folded piece of parchment Dumbledore had given him to pass on to the Potions Master. "If you should see him, Harry. No need to go out of your way, it is not urgent." Harry smiled to himself. He was usually quite pleased for an excuse to descend into the dungeons, for some unfathomable reason.

He was just a corridor away now. His nose could tell him that as much as anything – he could smell the sharp scent of Dragon’s blood mixed with ground rosemary flowers. It was not this, however, that made Harry pause. He could hear something strange and unfamiliar. It sounded like voices but with a musical quality. Harry frowned. 'No, he couldn’t be!'

Harry slipped silently up the final corridor and risked a glance around the doorframe. It was, indeed, music. Muggle music at that. Harry slipped into the room, smiling widely but made no sound as he watched the most feared teacher at Hogwarts sing softly along to a piece of classical music, in German no less, whilst he stirred his potion.

"Wem de grosse, Wurf gelungen," 'Not a bad voice,' Harry thought, leaning against the door jam, "Eines Freundes Freund zu sein… Do stop dithering in the doorway, Potter. If you are going to come in then come in."

Harry almost jumped, then shook himself mentally. Of course, Snape knew he was there; he had a Sixth Sense when it came to people being in his dungeons.

"Is this…?"

"’Ode to Joy’. Beethoven’s Ninth, the choral symphony, performed by the Chor und Orchester der Bayreuther Festspiele and conducted by Furtwängler. A rather good recording of it, actually," Snape glanced up at Harry briefly, "Not, I suspect, that that means anything to you." The Head of Slytherin did not continue singing, but hummed along to the tune, inclining his head at intervals when a cymbal crashed as though he were conducting the orchestra in his head.

If Harry had had this scene described to him when he was in his first year, he would have laughed until his stomach hurt and he couldn’t breathe any more. The reality, however, was actually quite in character for Snape. The music seemed to fit him quite well and while obviously taking pleasure in it, he refused to smile or show it in his features.

"I didn’t know you spoke German."

"Which just goes to prove Potter, that you are not omnipotent," Snape lay down the ladle he was using on the workbench before turning around and wiping his hands on a rather grimy-looking hand towel. "Of course I speak German. Half of the Death Eaters, having been educated at Durmstrang, speak nothing but and I would be rather useless in Austria if I only spoke English, would I not?"

"Austria?" Harry frowned.

"Yes Potter, Austria. It is a small country adjoined to Germany, famous for its mountains, its yodelling and a ridiculous Muggle film called ‘The Sound of Music’." Snape gave Harry a calculating look before seating himself behind his desk. "It is also incidentally, where I will be spending Christmas. Voldemort’s orders. I suspect that is what Dumbledore’s letter concerns."

Harry looked down at the folded piece of parchment and handed it to Snape. He took it, unfolded it and read it quickly.

"Anything fun?" Harry regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. He regretted them even more when Snape looked at him as though he had just asked ‘Are you a blue-spotted mongoose?’

"Strange as it may seem Potter, I find very little about Voldemort or the war in general to be ‘fun’," Snape sighed, and dropped the note onto his desk. "It is simply about contacting Dumbledore and the Order while I am away. Nothing particularly important."

"You might not call that important but I’m sure there’s more than one of us who would consider making sure you’re still breathing reasonably important!"

Snape raised an eyebrow at him with some amusement. "Careful there, Potter. You'll be professing your undying love for me soon."

Harry’s eyes widened only slightly, before he turned abruptly and stared at the potion Snape had been brewing. It was smoking gently so he couldn’t quite see its colour, but he knew the smell. It was Lupin’s Wolfsbane potion.

Harry turned back around when he felt that his face had cooled off again. Snape had leant his head back against the chalkboard and closed his eyes, still muttering the words to the song under his breath.

"So tell me," Harry ventured to break the silence between them, "How would you say ‘My name is Harry Potter and I am the supreme cool person of the Universe’ in German?"

Snape raised his eyebrow but did not otherwise move. Harry perched on Snape’s desk, leaning back with his weight braced on his hands. The Potions Master sighed, perhaps in resignation, perhaps in something else and said, "Ich heiße Harry Potter und ich bin einen Dummkopf, den seinem Lehrer nich in Ruhe lässt"

Harry looked slightly suspicious. "Is that really how you say it?"

Snape just smirked and said, "You shall have to find out, Potter."

* * * * *

Tap tap tap!

Harry was pulled from his reverie by a brisk knocking on the door. He looked around him quickly, getting his bearings before saying, "Come in."

The wooden door opened and Hermione walked into his office, smiling rather falsely.

"Hello, Hermione."

"Hi Harry."

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Harry removed his feet from the desktop after a pointed look from Hermione and sat up straight, putting on his ‘work’ face.

"It’s about the trial," Harry didn’t need to put on his ‘work’ face any more. That sentence snapped him back to the present. He nodded at Hermione to continue. "You know how I said you wouldn’t have to declare yourself as Snape’s acting Defence until the opening hearing?"

"Yes, I remember how you said that." Harry said warily.

"Well, there’s been a slight … change of events. Ludo Bagman hanged himself in his cell last night, Harry."

Harry’s eyebrows hit the roof. "He did what? Hanged himself? But he was supposed to be the next man called to trial!"

Hermione nodded and waited for a break in this speech. "I know Harry, and Snape was going to be after him. Well, things have changed now. Snape’s hearing will be in two days." Hermione stared straight down at the desk top, determined not to look at Harry’s face. "That means we – you – have two days to tell Snape that you’re representing him, find witnesses who will agree to testify for him, get them to write accounts and check over them – I can do that, I suppose – and write your opening speech."

Harry let his face fall into his hands, only peeking up at Hermione through his fingers. "’Mione," he mumbled, but was interrupted.

"Please Harry, let me finish. So far as all that is concerned, I’ve gotten together a list of people who might help. Those most likely are at the top. Suffice to say Sirius is at the bottom," Hermione heard a short, somewhat hysterical giggle slip from between Harry’s fingers but continued, "You have to contact them though, by owl or in person. At a push, by fire. Do that as quickly as you can. Then get yourself over to Azkaban, because that’s something else that has to be done by now. With the change in trial dates the MLE will have sent someone over to tell him that he’s got representation, so he’ll be expecting you."

Harry groaned and shook his head, before looking up at the girl before him. "I can’t do this, Hermione."

Hermione’s brisk manner softened, and she walked around the table, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. "Yes you can Harry, because you must. If you don’t, no one else will. He’s depending on you. We all are."

* * * * *

Azkaban was not a pleasant place for the nicest of people. It was full of screams of pain, both physical and mental. Walking in, he had seen people who had pulled out their own hair and shredded their own faces at the torment of having their guilt forced upon them and multiplied.

Severus Snape however, was not a nice person. He had rarely been a nice person and, should he ever leave Azkaban, would probably not change into a nice person. Therefore, Azkaban was living torture for him. He dared not close his eyes for the images emblazoned on the lids and sounds, which rang in his ears, screamed around him and through his head.

Clang!

He turned his head to the side slowly, wondering if this was another torture device from his mind. He frowned. It was a bloody strange one if it was. Perhaps he had gone mad.

"Severus Aquila Snape, I am authorised to take you from this place to a holding cell at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the duration of your trial. Will you come peaceably or must I sedate you?"

Snape sat up with some effort and looked blankly at the MLE official, dressed in suit-robes, wand out and pointed towards him. "I shall come peaceably," he muttered softly before standing. "But you have made an error. It is too soon for my trial, I have at least another week."

The MLE official took Snape’s arm and turned him, muttering a spell to bind his arms behind his back. "Your luck’s in, then. There's been a change of plan. The trials from here on take place a week early."

"But I have no representation…"

"That’s what you think. You mean no one’s told you?" The MLE talked in a conversational tone, even as he held Snape firmly by the arm and escorted him down the bar-lined corridors. "Someone stepped forward to represent you. Seemed quite eager about it, actually."

Snape felt a dawning dread that had nothing to do with the passing Dementors. "Who?"

"You’ll never believe it – Harry Potter!" The MLE grinned at him excitedly, seeming to forget for a moment that Snape was a suspected convict. "It’s going to be a good one, this. There’ll plenty of media attention…"

"Potter? They are allowing a barely post-adolescent fool of a boy with no head for logic or reason to head my defence?" The MLE nodded rather enthusiastically. Snape looked around him at the grey stone walls and rusty bars of Azkaban, and muttered dryly under his breath, "I wonder if they’ll let me put up curtains after the first ten years…"