Severus stirs with a grunt. Light stabs him in the eye.
His throat is aflame and his head pounds. As he stretches his fingers and toes, he feels crisp bed sheets. Someone force-feeds him a draught, and he is helpless but to yield to the blissful darkness.
When he awakens, he discovers a Potter snoring in a nearby chair. It seems he has died and gone to Hell.
On his fourth foray into consciousness, he disputes the potency of the antidote, the quality of Blood-Replenishing Potion, and the quantity of painkillers.
The next time he wakes up, he makes a Healer cry. His heart is unmoved.
On the sixth occasion, he self-discharges. He signs a parchment saying that he is returning home against medical advice. The 'professionals' fear he will expire in his bed, and no doubt when someone notices there might be an investigation. And so, they send him home with instructions on what potions to take and when, how to measure his blood pressure (honestly!), and innumerable useless nonsense.
Naturally, as he shuffles towards the fireplaces, Potter catches up with him. He is scarcely aware of the crowds staring at them.
"Professor! You're up! You don't look well, are they sure you should be going home—"
"Mr Potter," he begins. His rasp turns into a hacking cough.
They are beside a poster emblazoned with the words: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS. Good Lord.
When his coughing finally subsides, he is politer than planned, and goes on to say, "This does not concern you."
He takes the Floo to a long-abandoned mill. He is profoundly glad he connected it to the Network twenty years ago.
It is raining in Cokeworth.
His street is just as he remembered: an awful place.
Upon entering his house, he is arrested.
****
Grim-faced Aurors flank Severus and usher him into Courtroom Thirteen. They won't meet him in the eye; they were once his students.
The bowels of the Ministry have not changed one bit. The walls, made of black stone, are dimly lit by torches. Witches and wizards are crammed into benches that rise on either side of him, some with Quick-Quotes Quills and cameras. Ahead, on the highest bench of all, sit many shadowy figures. They wait in silence as he enters. His shuffling footsteps echo loudly on the flagstones. When he sits, gingerly, on one of the centre chairs, chains snake across his arms to bind him. Predictably, excited whispers fill the cavernous room.
Before he closes his eyes, he sees fifty elderly Wizengamot pure-bloods peering down their noses at him.
"Severus Snape." The not-question comes from the familiar voice of Shacklebolt. There is no need to reply.
"Order! Settle down, please. Let's get this over with," Shacklebolt calls.
A moment passes, and some people shut up.
"Criminal justice hearing of the seventeenth of June," Shacklebolt says in a booming voice, "into offences committed under the Decree for the Unforgivable Curses, the Homicide Act, and the Reasonable Use of Force in Schools Act. These infractions were allegedly perpetrated by Severus Tobias Snape, resident at number seventeen, Spinner's End, Cokeworth, Merseyside.
"Interrogators: Kingsley Darius Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Gawain Rhys Robards, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Priyanka Bhanu Wallace, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Yang Zi Chang, Court Scribe—"
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The Space Between Failing and Falling • Snarry •
FanfictionA very long time ago, Severus resigned himself to the reality that he doesn't have a soulmate after all. He's finally a real Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and his life is perfectly tolerable, thank you very much. However, at the age of thirt...
