Mist and Vapors

For a moment, Hannah's words hung in the room, echoing in the silence. Then, an excited clamor of voices erupted in the courtroom, as the charged atmosphere of the room rose to a feverish pitch. All eyes turned with vivid interest to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

Frank Hannigan had sunk into an empty chair. His face was ghostly white. "Does shaming your family mean nothing to you?" he hissed at his daughter.

"Not when it will cost someone else his honor or his life." Hannah's voice was harsh.

Up on the high bench, Harvey Graham sat up. "I say, Frank, is that true? Your daughter is a Squib?" For the first time that morning, he looked positively animated. "Well, speak up, man."

All around the courtroom, people were talking excitedly to their neighbors, gesticulating wildly. Hannigan's Adam's apple bobbled, and his jaw muscles worked feverishly as he struggled to speak, his voice barely audible over the hubbub. "I request that the courtroom be cleared. We cannot continue proceedings under these conditions."

After a long look, Graham nodded. Aurors began herding the audience out the door, and within a few minutes, the courtroom was empty except for the members of the Wizengamot and the jury.

Hannah had used the break to turn around and steal a look at Severus. For a moment, their eyes met.

Nothing. Not even a raised eyebrow or a pinched nostril. Well, of course he wouldn't show any reaction, Hannah chided herself. Not in front of all these people.

The sound of the gavel called her attention back to the high bench.

"So, Frank..." The Minister continued where he had left off. "Is she, or isn't she?"

Hannigan looked close to apoplectic. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Yes. She is," he finally choked out.

There was more than one member of the Wizengamot who all of a sudden tried to hide a grin. Color rose in Hannah's cheeks as she noticed all the amused and pitying glances cast in their direction.

Holding out his hands in supplication, Hannigan turned to the court. "I had no idea that my witness was unreliable. We were called in to a murder scene; she told us this story, all the evidence added up - how was I supposed to know she was coerced?"

"You squibbed?" Harvey was now grinning widely.

"Yes." Hannah stepped up close to the Minister, cheeks flaming, and looked from him to her father. "He squibbed. Awful, isn't it? He thought so himself. As a matter of fact, he has been trying to hide that fact for decades - the fact that he, Mr. Perfect-Family-Tree-Hannigan, squibbed; his one and only daughter wholly devoid of magic. He is so ashamed of that fact that he will go to just about any length to hide it. Like telling anyone who would ask that he was sending me to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts, because no daughter of his would go to a school where Albus Dumbledore was headmaster. And sending me off to Muggle boarding school instead. - Should I tell them about that performance you put on for the family?"

"Stop." The word erupted explosively from Frank Hannigan's throat

"Oh, I don't think so. It was quite funny, really. You see, there was this great-uncle - Uncle Theo, wasn't it? - who started to ask questions when I was nine and still showed no signs of magic. So Father took me back into a bedroom, handed me his wand, and showed me exactly what to do and say to imitate a Levitating Charm. And then had me go into the sitting room, and repeat the motions. Which, of course, wouldn't have done a thing. So, would you like to know how he solved that problem?" She raised her eyebrows, looking at the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot with a smile that stood in stark contrast to the scorched, bitter quality of her voice. "Well, I'll tell you. He hid our house-elf behind the door, and when I, with Father proudly looking on, performed the incantation, the house-elf did her bit, and the ball I was aiming for rose into the air effortlessly. And thus Uncle Theo was persuaded. Pitiful, isn't it?"

Some among those on the bench had the grace to look embarrassed for her, but even more snickered and laughed, whispering to their neighbors behind their hands. Her father looked at her with hate-filled eyes.

"I didn't know you had it in you to be so cruel," he whispered to her hoarsely.

"I guess I did get a few of your genes then after all, didn't I?" she hissed back at him. "And while we are on the subject of cruelty, maybe you would like to explain to me how it is that you keep insisting on putting someone who is obviously ill and hurting on trial, and why he would come out of your tender care with bruises and scars he didn't have going in?"

She straightened up and addressed the Wizengamot. "But be that as it may, the fact is that Mrs. Snape's testimony can obviously not be trusted. I simply could not have hexed her. So I would ask you to please dismiss the charges against Severus Snape."

.-.-.-.

They hadn't dismissed the case. They had made her stand up and recount to them the entire story of what had actually happened last night, in detail after excruciating detail. And then submit to more extensive questioning.

Severus looked over to where his mother was still sitting. His heart contracted painfully. She looked so small and so old. Right now, she also looked furious. He sighed inwardly. Pettigrew would have made sure that she had no recollection of the actual events. He wondered how she would take it once the curse was lifted and she found out that Hannah had been telling the truth.

Frank Hannigan had taken his seat at the end of the bench again, sullen and resentful. He had not spoken another word to his daughter since her plea to dismiss.

Hannah was still standing up, looking dead on her feet now that the adrenalin of the first confrontation had worn off, answering question after question, her face pale and drawn. Her voice was getting hoarser and raspier by the minute, every word sounding like it hurt. Didn't anyone else on that court see that? Couldn't they see that she needed a break, or at least a chair? They had just listened to her talk about being subjected to the Cruciatus again and again. Didn't it occur to anyone that the effects of that did not wear off in less than twenty-four hours? Peter was long gone by now, surely they must realize that. There was nothing to be gained here that couldn't wait until tomorrow. He clenched his teeth in frustration.

It was Dumbledore who finally put an end to it.

"I think we have heard enough," he said as he stood up. "I suggest we ask the jury for their verdict now. I don't think we will learn anything new. Mr. Hannigan?"

With raised eyebrows he looked toward the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

The man knew only too well when he had been beat. "Very well." He turned towards the jury box. "You will have five minutes to think over the evidence that was presented, and then you will be asked to give your vote."

As the witches and wizards on the jury started talking to their neighbors in low whispers, Hannigan turned his head and looked at Snape with burning hatred. Severus met his eyes with bitter satisfaction - the man had been so certain that this time he would win, that he finally had him for good. Third time's the charm. Instead, he had lost for the third time, and all that it had brought him was public humiliation. No, Hannigan would not sleep well tonight.

Dumbledore had waved Hannah over, and they were talking together in low voices. He wondered how much it has cost her to stand up there today. Her body language spoke of strain and utter exhaustion.

When the five minutes were up, Hannigan stood up. For a moment, Severus held his breath, suddenly uncertain. What if Hannigan had stocked the jury with those loyal to him? He cast a covert glance at the man. No, judging by the defeated look on his face, that wasn't the case.

Hannigan's grating voice rang out through the courtroom. "If you believe that Severus Snape is guilty of the murder of his father, please raise your hand now."

Only a thin, bespectacled man in the front row and a tall, red-haired witch in back corner hesitantly raised their hands, looking at Hannigan with nervous smiles.

Hannigan acknowledged them with a nod. "Carl, Lucy, thank you."

"If you believe that Severus Snape is not guilty of the crime he is charged with, raise your hand now."

All remaining ten jurors lifted their hands in the air. Hannigan stepped back with a bitter grimace on his face, and Dumbledore stood up, leaning forward against the railing of the bench. "Since the jury did not come to a unanimous decision, the case is dismissed. Severus Snape is free to go."

With a rattle, metal on metal, the chains retreated from his arms. He found himself rapidly blinking away tears at that sound. It was over.

She came over to him as soon as the verdict was read, crouching down in front of the chair. She hadn't bothered with 'blinking away'; tears were running down her face unheeded as she looked up at him. There was uncertainty in her eyes, as if she wasn't sure what kind of a reception she would get. "It's over," she said, her voice trembling and hoarse.

He stretched out his hand, half-closed, and gently brushed off her tears with the back of his forefinger. "Yes. It's over." For now, he thought. Pettigrew was still out there. But right now was not the time to remind her of that.

There were more tears as he touched her, but she let out a breath and smiled. "How are you?"

"Tired," he admitted. Which, granted, was quite an understatement. The potion they had given him had not worked for very long. Probably part of Hannigan's plan, too, that - to have him give out physically halfway through the proceedings, so as to have him dragged out by Aurors after being found guilty. With chagrin, he noted that it would have worked, too. He wasn't at the moment sure if he could get out of this chair unassisted.

"That reminds me." She pulled a hand-full of phials out of her pocket. "Compliments of Madam Pomfrey. Believe me, I need some, too." She handed him a blue one and a brown one. "The blue one is for..."

"I know what they are," he interrupted her with a glint of amusement.

"Well, of course you would." She looked at him with a small smile. "You probably bottled them. - Well, cheers, then."

He was not convinced that he would be able to get the stoppers out on his own - fine motor skills still seemed to be a problem - but he finally managed and drank the potions, watching as she did the same. Bless you, Poppy, he thought, as the constant throbbing ache that had been his companion throughout the day ebbed away. When he looked at Hannah, he saw some color slowly returning to her cheeks, as well.

She stood up, swaying a little as she did. "Let's go home."

He regretfully shook his head. "I can't. I have to look after my mother."

"Severus, right now she is under suspicion of murder, and she still firmly believes that you are the one who killed your father. And you know how hard an Imperius Curse is to remove by anyone other than the one who cast it. Not to mention other ways he may have messed with her brain. I talked to the Headmaster," she looked over to where Dumbledore and Flitwick were obviously trying to persuade Saeran Snape of something, "and he will go with her to St. Mungo's and make sure that she gets the care she needs. And make absolutely certain that my father has nothing to do with how she gets treated. At least one good thing has come out of today - at least for the moment, Graham seems a whole lot less intimidated by my father." She cast a look of grim satisfaction over to where Frank was still sullenly seated at the far side of the bench. Then she turned back to Severus, and her face softened. "Go home, get some rest, and then go and see her tomorrow when you may actually do her some good. There is nothing you can do for her today."

Judging by the furious glance his mother shot at him just then, she was right. With a sigh, he gingerly got up out of the chair. "Let's go home, then."

They had almost reached the door when they heard a voice from behind them. "Wait!"

It was Flitwick He was coming after them as fast as he could, arriving out of breath and red-faced. "Here." He pushed his wand into Severus' hand. "I think you need it more than I do. You can just give it back to me tomorrow."

Severus' hand closed tightly around the slim wooden handle, worn smooth with age. He hadn't until that moment realized the cause of the niggling apprehension at the back of his mind. To be without a wand felt like missing a hand or an eye.

He looked down at the Charms professor. "I can't accept this. The offer is much appreciated though." In spite of the words, he didn't let go of the wand.

"Don't be daft, Severus. Take it. I insist."

Hannah all at once knelt down and hugged him fiercely. "Thank you. For everything. You are wonderful, you know that?"

Flitwick finally pushed her away, color rising in his cheeks. "Well, you two go now. And don't worry, Severus, we'll take care of your mother."

.-.-.-.

Remus and Minerva were waiting for them when they had made their way up into the foyer. By the time they got there, it was more than evident that no potion was going to make up for the fact that Severus' body had had more exertion than it could take in its present state. The simple motion of picking up a foot, moving it forward, and putting it back down took all his concentration and energy.

Minerva's face fell with relief as she saw the Potions master. She strode over and gave him a short, hard hug. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you. They let you go, then?"

He nodded, too tired to point out that she was stating the obvious.

Remus stretched out a hand. "I'm glad to hear that."

He hesitated, but finally took it. "Thank you." He turned back to Hannah, too exhausted to continue with pleasantries. "Ready to go?"

At that, Minerva held up her hand. "Just a second...I got something..." She rummaged around in the pocket of her robe and pulled out a fabric pouch. "Albus left this with me. He thought you might want to arrive home sooner rather than later. Judging from the looks of you, it was a wise idea - you look like death warmed over." She ignored his glare and put the pouch in his hand. "It's an authorized Portkey - it will take you right back to your quarters. We'll see to it that Hannah makes it home all right."

Hannah threw him a sudden look of panic. At the pleading, fearful look on her face, he put a protective arm around her shoulder. "I think she is coming with me." He ignored Minerva's scandalized expression. "There are still some things we need to talk about." He heard Hannah exhale softly at that. "Ready?"

When she nodded, he opened the pouch, and with his arm still around her, held it out to her. She stuck her hand in the pouch, and a stomach-turning moment later, they were standing in his parlor.

Hannah let out a breath of relief.

"As knackered as I am, I have no idea how you are still standing. You got hit so much worse than I did," Hannah said with a shiver. "And I've had much better care than you. You should probably be in the hospital wing, not down here."

"All I need is some rest," he said shortly.

"Let's get you to bed then."

He would have protested if he hadn't felt his bad leg give way right then. He managed to shift his weight to the other one just in time to keep from stumbling, but Hannah had noticed the sway. She wrapped one arm around his waist while bracing his arm across her shoulders. "Come now."

With the support, he was able to walk into the bedroom. He had not been this glad to see his bed in a long time. Carefully, she lowered him onto the side of the large four-poster.

"Where are your nightclothes?"

He pointed to the wardrobe. "In there."

She opened the door, and took a grey nightshirt off the hanger. "This it?"

"Yes."

When she handed it to him, he said, "I can manage from here. You may go now."

"I am not going until I see you safely settled." The mulish look on her face told him arguing would be fruitless.

"Fine. Turn around, then."

"Are you sure you can...?"

"Quite sure," he interrupted her sharply. When she turned her back, he managed to pull the robe up over his head and slip on the nightshirt, shifting his weight from side to side to pull it all the way down. By the time he was done, his hands were trembling from exhaustion. "There."

As she turned back around, he leaned forward to take off his boots, but a sharp stab of pain through his temple as he bent over warned him that this was not a good idea. He sat back up with a hissing intake of breath. Quickly, she knelt down in front of him. "Let me?"

She untied the laces, and then tugged off the boots and his socks. It seemed like such an intimate task - he looked down at her bent head with discomfiture. Well, things were about to get a lot worse...

When she looked up, she could see the embarrassment on his face.

"I need to..." He didn't finish the sentence, but looked over towards the bathroom.

Comprehension dawned on her face. "Of course." She helped him up and assisted him over to the bathroom door.

"Thank you. I can manage from here. - And I am quite sure I can," he added as she opened her mouth, a dubious look on her face.

.-.-.-.

A few minutes later, she pulled back the covers, and he stretched out on the bed. The feeling of his whole body being supported, of his muscles finally being able to relax, was pure bliss. He closed his eyes, and let out a long slow breath - as hard as it was to believe, this day was finally over.

"Madam Pomfrey gave me some sleeping potion for you, too. Do you want it?" she said as she put a handful of phials on his nightstand.

"No. I don't think sleeping will be a problem," he said dryly, his eyes still closed. "You can go now."

"Severus..."

When he opened his eyes, he saw the same look of fear that had been there when McGonagall had suggested he go on without her. "What is it?" he asked resignedly.

When she spoke, the words came out fast, tumbling one on top of the other. "Please don't make me go. Let me stay here. I'll sleep in a chair or something. Just don't make me go."

He looked at her with furrowed brows. "It isn't proper..."

"I know it isn't proper," she interrupted him, desperation in her voice. "I was raised with the same code of conduct as you, remember. But no one will know. I will leave in the morning. No one will see me. Please - I just can't. I just can't be by myself tonight."

He gave her a long, searching look. He could see the need in her eyes, reflecting the horrors she had been subjected to over the last twenty-four hours. His heart softened - in one day, she had probably experienced more strain, terror, and pain than in all of her previous existence. Small wonder she was coming undone. He could understand that, could understand the need for someone to be there when the inevitable nightmares came, for someone to hold at bay the ghosts in the darkness. There had been times enough when he had in vain wished for the same. With a sigh, he acquiesced. "Stay, then."

"Can I borrow a nightshirt?"

He smiled at the incongruous nature of the request. "You may."

A couple minutes later, he opened his eyes again as she came out of the bathroom. The corners of his mouth twitched. With her hair down, wearing a gray nightshirt much too long for her, sleeves rolled up and the hem dragging on the floor, she looked twenty years younger, like a little girl playing dress-up. He slid over to the far right side of the bed. "There is plenty of space in here for both of us. I don't think I am much of a threat to your virtue at the moment. And you need to sleep as much as I do."

Without objection, she climbed in on the other side, a two-foot-wide no-man's-land between them.

"Good night, Severus."

"Good night. Nox." A wave of Flitwick's wand, and the lights winked out.

He rolled over on his right side, and had just started to drift off when he heard her voice, whispering in the darkness.

"Severus?"

"Hm?"

"Did you watch?" It took him a minute to figure out what she was talking about.

"No."

"Neither did I. But I can't get the sounds out of my head..." He could hear the tears in her voice.

He should have remembered. One of the blessings of being an Occlumens was the ability to partition his mind. Something he didn't need to deal with could be pushed away into a far corner, unheeded, ignored until later. Tomorrow, he would deal with the fallout of what had happened - look after his mother, make funeral arrangements. But for tonight, the memory of what Pettigrew had done - to him, to her, to his father - was as good as erased from his conscious mind. She, of course, had no such defenses. With a sigh, he rolled on his back, and stretched out his arm. "Come here."

Hannah caught her breath, her heart in her throat. She rolled over, closer to him, until her head lay on his shoulder. Tentatively, she slid her arm across his chest. In response, his arm wrapped around her back, pulling her closer to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," she whispered.

"Tell me what?" he asked.

"That I'm a Squib."

"Don't be a goose," he said, his voice thick with sleep. "I've known that for months."

Her heart was racing all of a sudden. He knew?

"How did you...?

"How thick do you think I am?" he muttered, half asleep. "Did you think I wouldn't notice that in all the months I have known you I've never once seen a wand in your hand? Look, can we go to sleep now?"

"All right," she whispered. She nestled closer against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, firm and rhythmical, slowing down as he drifted off to sleep. Right now, she was just grateful that he was alive, that she was here, safe, comfortable, and warm. Everything else could wait until morning.