Mist and Vapors

Chapter 28: The Show Begins

When Pettigrew entered the empty room, his jaw dropped. He stood there, disbelievingly, for several heartbeats before his eyes narrowed.

"Saeran! Come! They're gone." Like a petulant child, Peter Pettigrew stomped his foot on the ground. "Where did they go? Now what? Now what do I do?" He would have to hurry; it wouldn't do to stay here too long. Pacing the room, he chewed on his fingernails. How much time did he have? It wouldn't do to be caught like a rat in a... no, that was not a good thought. Not a good thought at all.

He should be safe for a few minutes, at least - after all, his escaped prisoners were not in any condition to communicate clearly. Nor were they in any condition to go for help quickly. He chortled at the memory of the unconscious man and the whimpering woman.

So - how to make sure he wasn't caught? There was so much still left to do...

Couldn't Disapparate from here, not without leaving the house...couldn't Floo...a Portkey? Yes, that would let him get away in time should unwelcome company arrive outside.

As the thought struck him, he stood still in sudden consternation and closed his eyes in for a moment. A Portkey. They must have had a Portkey. That was how they had left. Peter cussed under his breath, resuming his pacing while Saeran looked on with concern. Everything had been going so well - why was it something had to go wrong at the end? It should have all worked out beautifully...

First things first. A Portkey, then. He looked around the room and finally settled on the water tumbler that still stood on the credenza in a small puddle of spilled liquor. The glass glowed briefly as Peter secured his way of escape. Once that was taken care of, he breathed easier.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and thought hard, his forehead wrinkling up in concentration. How could he still turn the situation to his advantage? There must be a way...

"We just have to change the story a bit. The basic idea should still work. A bit of staging...Get rid of their things - no one will believe they just took off and left without their wands...He did touch the knife, they can prove that... It will be your word against his... It would have been better had he been caught here. It won't be as good, no, but it still might work out just fine. And if not, I can simply kill him afterwards." With that mollifying thought, Peter set to work.

.-.-.-

The next thing Hannah was aware of was that her eyelids seemed to be made of lead. They might as well have been glued shut for all the effect her feeble attempts at lifting them had. She felt like she had gone ten rounds with a Hungarian Horntail - every last bit of her was aching and sore.

There was a bitter taste in her mouth, and she could hear voices murmuring, drifting to her ears as through a layer of cotton wool.

Languidly, she lay there, trying to figure out exactly what had happened. There was something... Quite suddenly, her eyelids snapped open, and she attempted to sit up in bed - an attempt quickly aborted as the room started spinning around her in dizzying circles. There were faces, going in and out of focus, distorted like people in fun-house mirrors. She quickly closed her eyes again.

She felt a cold something press against her mouth, and the bitter taste returned with a vengeance, but as she obediently swallowed, the buzzing in her head let up and the world returned to a stationary state.

"Well, she didn't fight it this time," she heard a voice. Who was that? Oh yes - grey hair, and stern. She had made her sleep. Hannah grimaced.

"She should be more lucid in a few minutes," the voice continued.

"Hannah, can you hear me?" Now that voice she knew for certain - high-pitched, gentle. Flitwick.

She nodded.

"We need you to wake up." His small, papery hand was stroking hers. There was a quiver in his voice. Quivers weren't good. Hannah slowly dragged her eyelids open again. This time, she could see them. Lots of them. Flitwick, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Pomfrey, Remus Lupin. They had looks on their faces she didn't like. But someone was missing...

Her eyes widened, and she looked around the room as she struggled to sit up, eyes flitting from face to face, until they settled on Filius with something akin to panic, wordlessly pleading. "He's all right, Hannah, don't fret yourself. Severus is all right." Flitwick's voice coaxed as he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down. Hannah didn't miss the looks the others were exchanging. It didn't seem as if they agreed.

Her voice. Something had happened to her voice. Gingerly, she tried it out.

"Where is he? Can I see him?" Gads, that hurt. Every word was painful, and her voice sounded like sandpaper. But it was working.

"Your voice will be right as rain soon. Once you have settled a bit from the last potion, I'll have you gargle. Something happened to your vocal chords. It took quite a bit of fancy spellwork to fix those, I tell you that," Pomfrey said in an over-hearty voice.

Nobody had answered her question. "Where is he? How is he?"

Pomfrey spoke in a soothing voice. "He woke up a little while ago. He'll be feeling quite out of sorts for a few days, but he should be fine. That is...well, if..." She cast a helpless, searching glance at Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster looked down at Hannah with grave eyes. "I confess I don't know how to tell you this. It was quite hard on all of us, but there was simply nothing we could do. A little more than an hour ago, you see, a delegation of Aurors showed up. They arrested Severus for the murder of his father and took him away. Shortly thereafter, everyone on the Wizengamot got an urgent owl from the Minister of Magic with orders to convene this evening for a trial. It seems that your father is not wasting any time. And we have a lot to talk about."

.-.-.-.

The cot the guards had unceremoniously dropped him on was lumpy and hard. If he were a very skinny ten-year-old boy, it might have been long and wide enough to rest on comfortably. As it was, he had simply given up and stretched out on the concrete floor. Flat on his back, he stared at a crack in the ceiling, waiting for them to come back. After a while, exhaustion taking over, his eyes drifted shut.

"So glad that you are making yourself comfortable." The grating voice of Frank Hannigan woke him from an uneasy, fitful sleep. He reluctantly opened his eyes. Hannigan was flanked by two burly guards, wands trained on him. There was undisguised elation on his face.

"Get up, Snape."

Not that he didn't try, but in spite of Poppy's best - if abbreviated - efforts, the effects of the Cruciatus curses had left him bone-tired and exhausted, nauseous and trembling, and as much as he wished otherwise, his legs simply would not cooperate. They watched him struggle for a while, fighting to at least sit up. Finally, Hannigan nodded to the guards.

"Do something. I don't have all day." They approached him cautiously, the younger of the two keeping his wand trained on him while the older one hauled the weakened man up on the cot as if he were no more than a sack of potatoes. They propped him up against the wall, and then retreated to their positions next to Hannigan.

The beefy Auror stepped to within an arm's reach of Severus.

"This, Snape, is without a doubt one of the best days of my life." He paced back and forth the length of the cell, four steps one way, four steps back. "I honestly can't see how you can wriggle your way out of this one. Your own mother as the key witness. This should be glorious." He stopped, and bent forward until his face was only inches from the Potions master's. "I told you I would get you. I didn't expect you to render me this much assistance in finally ridding the world of you, but I am most grateful and delighted." He gave a contemptuous half-bow.

His mocking sneer disappeared instantaneously as Snape leaned forward and, never breaking eye-contact, spat at him, spattering the front of Hannigan's robe before leaning back against the wall in satisfaction.

For a second, Hannigan stood as if frozen, staring into Snape's eyes, both faces contorted with the hatred of twenty years. Then, slowly, deliberately, Hannigan lifted his hand and struck his prisoner across one cheek, then back-handed him across the other hard enough to whip Snape's head around. The heavy signet ring on his finger left a gaping gash across the cheekbone. Breathing heavily, Hannigan stepped back between the guards.

"In a few hours, you will pay, Snape, for everything you've ever done. And none of your connections will help you." As he turned to leave, he looked at the guards and motioned with his thumb over his shoulder at the prisoner. "Clean him up as well as you can, and mend that cut. We wouldn't want anyone to think we are mistreating our prisoners around here, now, would we?" he said with a smirk.

The guards advanced towards the prisoner as the door of the cell closed behind him.

.-.-.-.

Early in the afternoon, the Hogwarts members of the Order of the Phoenix sat in a huddle around Hannah's bed in the hospital wing.

"So, do we know what is going on?" Minerva McGonagall asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Dumbledore shrugged in frustration. "I can barely get a word out of the Ministry. The only thing I have been told is that they plan on calling only one witness, and that there is physical evidence they will present. The Wizengamot will hear the rest at trial at the same time as everyone else. I admit, there was a grin on Frank Hannigan's face as he talked to me that I did not like in the least."

It had been decided to let Flitwick take the Advocate's role this time. Everyone only too well remembered the near-fiasco at the last trial when Dumbledore had temporarily resigned his position to defend Severus. There would be no repeat of that performance, and Dumbledore would retain his influence as Chief Warlock.

"I don't like it," Hannah said. "What can he be planning?"

"All I know is that with the kind of speed he is pushing the trial through, he must think he has all the evidence he is going to get, and doesn't want to lose the advantage by giving anyone time to mount much of a defense."

"Can he do that?"

Dumbledore nodded. "If the Ministry wants the Wizengamot to convene at a certain time, that is when it will convene. So yes, Harvey can do that."

"And if you had ever met Harvey Graham," Flitwick said bleakly, "you would know that that means that your father can do that."

"Should I go in? Would it help if I went to the Aurors' Office and told them what I saw?" Hannah asked, her voice raspy and raw.

Remus shook his head. "As far as I can see, the only thing that would gain you is an arrest as an accomplice to murder."

"I agree," Flitwick piped up. "The very fact that they didn't arrest you means that they don't know about you. Pettigrew either doesn't know who you are, or decided to keep that information to himself."

"I don't think he knows," Hannah said thoughtfully. "I have been wracking my brain, and I don't think there was anything with my name on it in my bag, just the usual clutter. The only thing that would have identified me is my ledger, and that stayed behind in Severus' office."

Dumbledore stroked his beard slowly and deliberately. "That, my dear, makes you our ace in the hole. I would really like to keep the element of surprise on our side, if we can. I believe it would work in our favor if Frank does not know that his daughter is involved. That we know what really happened, and that we have an eye-witness, is really the only advantage that we have."

"So what is the plan?" Hannah asked.

Flitwick shrugged, an aggrieved expression on his face. "It's hard to make a plan if you have no idea what story or evidence they are going to present, isn't it, now? Worst case scenario, you simply appear as a witness for Severus. Your word against theirs. Best case scenario, they hand us something that we can use as they present evidence. After all, you were there; they weren't. We'll just have to hope for the best."

Dumbledore patted Hannah's hand and then rose from his seat. "Well, dear, I think we better let you rest now. You will need all the strength you can get later today. Filius, Remus and I will go ahead and see if there is anything we can find out or do. Minerva, you will stay here see and that Hannah gets there all right?"

The older witch nodded grimly. "I will."

.-.-.-.

"It's time to go." Minerva's voice startled Hannah out of her thoughts. "Are you ready?"

Hannah had tried to sleep, but sleep had proven elusive. Too many thoughts kept running around in her head. She stood up carefully, trying out her legs. That morning, while she had filled Dumbledore and the rest of them in on what had happened, Poppy Pomfrey had worked her magic, and it was a testimony to the mediwitch's skills that, other than a lingering all-over ache and bone-deep weariness, no effects remained of the assault she had withstood the night before. Her voice was still hoarse, but it didn't hurt too much to speak anymore.

Pomfrey looked on with satisfaction as her patient rose unassisted. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers, as if remembering something she had forgotten. "Just a second."

While she was gone, Hannah turned to McGonagall. "If you don't mind my asking - there was something I was wondering about. How did you all even know that we were gone?"

McGonagall shrugged with a thin-lipped smile. "Blame Severus' fastidiousness. When Gwinny - she looks after Severus - went to clean in the Potions classroom just before midnight, she saw light still on in the office and went to investigate. When she spotted the pile of scrolls on the desk she became alarmed - Severus apparently never leaves anything on his desk when he leaves for the night. On closer examination, she found your ledger, as well, and a rather disgruntled owl, which apparently had been stuck in the office for quite some time. Now, obviously Severus is not in the habit of leaving owls to wander around his office, either. When she checked in his quarters and his work room and he wasn't there, she got even more worried. She rallied the rest of the house-elves, and when they could find neither hide nor hair of Severus or you anywhere, they alerted the headmaster. Who in turn got us out of bed. So there you have it."

At that moment Madam Pomfrey returned with her hands full of small phials. "Take these. The Aurors didn't let me give them to Severus when they came to take him." Her voice was outraged. "I could come up with several rather colorful phrases to describe what I think of the conduct of those fiends, but I will restrain myself for the moment." She took a deep breath. "Anyways, the blue ones are for pain, the dark brown ones are Strengthening Elixir, and this one," she pointed to the smallest one, "is for sleep. He should have the first two every two hours. And so, by the way, should you." She handed her a small bag filled with lozenges. "Keep sucking on these about every two hours or so as well, and it should help with your voice. You will need to be able to talk."

Hannah took them and put them in the pocket of her robe. "Thank you. I'll do my best to get them to him."

"Here." McGonagall held out a thick, hooded cloak for Hannah to wear. "Put this on. We don't want anyone to recognize you until it is time."

Hannah obediently pulled on the cloak and nodded to the older witch. "I am ready."

.-.-.-.

It was early evening when the door opened again and admitted the two guards. The younger one again held him at wand point as the older approached him with a phial of potion.

"Hannigan says y'er to have this." He held the small, dark green bottle out to Severus. "Ya don't have to look so 'spicious," he continued. "It's only Invig'ration Draught. Should help get ya on yer feet."

Snape took the phial, uncorked it, and smelled the content. He debated with himself - it stuck in his craw to do anything that Hannigan wanted. Yet the idea of being dragged in front of the crowd by the guards because he could not even stand on his own held no appeal whatsoever. With a bitter shrug, he lifted the phial and drank the contents. As he sat back and closed his eyes, he could feel the effects almost immediately - streams of warmth entering his limbs, making his skin prickle.

"Can you walk, or do we have to float you?" the younger ask with mock concern.

"I can walk," Severus spit out through clenched teeth, hoping he hadn't just told a bald-faced lie. Steadying himself against the wall, he slowly stood up. He ached all over, especially his leg, where Pettigrew's curse seemed to have aggravated his old injury. Slowly, laboriously, he made his way down a long, empty corridor. Another guard stood watch over a heavy oaken door at the end of the passageway.

Severus paused for a moment as he approached the threshold. This was familiar territory now. His face grew even whiter. He stood up as straight as he could and carefully schooled his face to show no emotion. There would be nothing to indicate to Frank Hannigan that he was anything but in control.

.-.-.-

When Hannah and McGonagall arrived in the foyer of the Ministry, they were met by Remus Lupin. He gave Hannah a quick, worried hug, and then turned to McGonagall. "We have some seats reserved. Follow me."

They took the elevator down to the basement and followed Remus into the courtroom. As Hannah looked up at the high bench, she saw Dumbledore in his seat as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, in the same plum-colored robe as the rest of the council. Next to him sat a small, balding, pedantic-looking wizard - Harvey Graham, the current Minister of Magic.

Most of the seats were already filled, and Hannah, her features hidden under the dark shadows of the hood, followed Remus to a row far in the back. She spied Filius Flitwick already sitting at the far end of their row with a furious expression on his face, quite obviously in a considerable state of anger and aggravation.

"What are you doing here, Filius? Aren't you supposed to be with Severus?" McGonagall asked abruptly.

Flitwick looked close to the boiling point. "So I would have thought. I am supposed to be his advocate, after all. It would have been nice to talk to him beforehand, but according to Frank, there is nothing in the statutes that would require him to let me. Told me to sit tight and he'd call me when he needs me. Pigheaded, stubborn, obstinate jack-a...Ehem." He wiped his face with a checkered handkerchief and looked at Hannah. "If it weren't for you, we'd be completely in the dark."

As the last seats filled, the court was called to order. Hannah finally located her father, who had been conferring with a couple of Aurors at the far end of the judges' bench. As the audience settled with an expectant hush, Frank Hannigan stood up. The reporter and photographer in the front row readied their notebook and camera as everyone looked on with anticipation. Well, Hannah thought bitterly, looks like the show is about to begin.

Hannigan cleared his throat dramatically. "Bring in the Accused."

The two Aurors who had been with him walked over to an oaken door, drew their wands, and took position on either side of the entrance. The door opened. Hannah's heart rose into her throat as she saw him. If she had not known him so well by now, she might have been fooled - but she saw the stiffness in his stride, the way his eyes stood out like coals against the chalky whiteness of his face. He was not well. As he walked closer, she could make out a dark bruise across one cheekbone, and white-hot anger threatened to choke her. Nothing Pettigrew had done had caused that bruise - he had been careful not to leave physical marks on his victim. There was steel in her eyes as she looked at her father, who had come down from the bench, and now stood leaning nonchalantly against the judges' balcony. She would make him pay for this.