Disclaimer: Thanks to J.K. Rowling for allowing me to take her characters for a lengthy stroll through my imagination.
Twenty-Nine
Tea with the Dowager
She agreed to meet him in a tea emporium not far from the British Museum so Remus was familiar with the Apparition points. Nonetheless, he found himself uncharacteristically nervous as he gazed at his reflection in the shop window.
Perhaps he shouldn't have worn a coat and tie, he considered for the hundredth time. Something more casual and friendly would've been a better choice. But as Tonks had reminded him, it was too late in the season for a jumper, and jeans with an open-collar shirt were much too casual for such a bastion of doilies and elderly ladies.
Well, it certainly suited her, he noted silently as he caught sight of the Dowager waiting primly in the far corner. In regal repose, the phrase came unbidden to him, reminding him of why he'd bestowed that private nickname in the first place. Amid the chaos of life, she was as unruffled and in control as ever; just as she'd been when she kept the unbending rules in the werewolf relocation compound from running roughshod over her and countless others. It was not so surprising to find her clothing starched and fastidious, but he'd often wondered how she'd managed to do likewise when slumming among that pack of castoffs and misfits.
In the dainty mirror above the obligatory umbrella stand, Remus straightened his tie one last time. He resisted the urge to run his fingers self-consciously through the grey which liberally peppered his once sandy hair. Allowing a deep breath to fill him with confidence, he concluded that his dignified presence was better suited to that of a prospective employer.
Without waiting for the hostess to scurry over with a menu, he strode across the deep patterned carpet to her table. She looked up immediately as he issued softly, "Why, Bridget Brandeis, you haven't changed one bit!"
Remus caught the amused twinkle in her soft blue eyes as she rejoined, "So goes the secret password to this establishment. That's a fair representation of Whitehall attire, are you incognito as a civil servant today?"
He laughed outright as he settled himself into the facing chair. Casting a Muffliato charm out of long habit, he proposed, "Call me Remus. Would you have preferred I wear my sartorial robes to complete the look of an academic?"
As the waitress arrived tableside, Remus considered the empty tea cup at Bridget's elbow, but decided it didn't really suit his mood for once. "Sherry, please," he instructed the comely lass who was easily the youngest person in the room. With a lift to his eyebrow, he caught Bridget's small nod in response. "Make that two. And some of those cucumber and watercress sandwiches, please."
Alone once more, the Dowager took up the line of inquiry. "Linguistics, Sera said. Not the sort of thing most wizards pursue."
He shrugged easily. "I've also taught Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Languages were simply something I learned in my all too ample spare time. I never expected it to bear fruit."
"So you don't come with an Oxford or Cambridge degree?" the Dowager posed with a daring tilt to her head.
"I dreamed of University in my youth; but without a Muggle education, that avenue was closed to me."
"Yet you managed to pass yourself off as something you weren't under other circumstances."
"Under very dangerous circumstances, I might add. Hardly a blueprint for life." Under his breath, he added, "But make no mistake, the werewolf part was genuine."
Now it was Bridget's turn to throw back her head and laugh. "Is it the sherry which makes your words so bold?"
With a broad smile, he affirmed, "Happiness -- and a place in the order of things that doesn't require me to hide my true self in the shadows."
Bridget's steely grey bun clung resolutely to the nap of her neck as she nodded. "Acceptance. The most elusive muse of all."
"What about you?" he urged. "I'm uncomfortable being the center of attention."
"Even after that glowing testimonial in the War Museum? Was the Minister coerced into giving you an undeserved medal?"
Remus chuckled at the irony of her comment. "An amusing story that I would not like to make common knowledge. Save it for another day. But I wouldn't say it was undeserved, just unexpected." He didn't have to elaborate; he could tell by her eyes that she understood only too well the prejudice heaped upon werewolves on a daily basis. It had to contrast bitterly with the way she'd been treated in the former portion of her life.
"I always suspected there was more to you underneath that perfectly placid surface," she volunteered as a tray of dainty prawn canapes was placed before them.
Recalling her vivid ability to weave entrancing tales, he responded, "I'm surprised you didn't concoct a complete dossier behind my back."
She laughed sharply. "Oh, I did. It was something to keep Sera from fretting after your disappearance. I assured her the photo being circulated of your broken body lying in a ditch could so easily have been doctored. "
"Is that what you thought? That I'd been snatched away against my will?"
She smiled enigmatically. "Not really. I was more of the mind that you'd escaped, but it was dangerous to voice such thoughts aloud. Sera would've been incensed enough at being left behind to draw everyone's attention. And I do mean everyone."
He caught the gist immediately, silently recalling that among the werewolf mug shots Harry had procured for Viktor's use was included one of Nicholas Salton, Sera's contentious cousin and self-anointed camp chieftain. A red stamp across the lower border certified the date he'd been sentenced to Azkaban, but no other details. Remus hadn't cared to follow-up on the two minor thugs who had accompanied Nick everywhere short of the gent's lavatory.
"I understand you left soon after," he put forth in an attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"My nephew, Cory, was instrumental in that. He was incensed that the Minister's Undersecretary had turned a deaf ear to all his pleas. After all, I was retired and drawing a pension. No one should require me to return to the workforce just to avoid relocation, he argued."
"Let me guess: Dolores Umbridge still held the post at that time."
Bridget nodded grimly. "And the Minister himself was much too embroiled in the immediate Death Eater threat to be bothered with anything else. Although I think Cory was prepared to storm the man's county estate if that's what it took."
"He would've been cut down by the guards," Remus attested.
"Obviously, he'd need drug the water supply first," Bridget rejoined with her renowned flair for storytelling.
"How did he manage it in the end?"
"He played their game. Showed up with an employment contract setting forth terms, salary, and living arrangements for a live-in nanny, a post which he offered to me."
"Very clever. Did he actually have to pay you?"
"Oh, yes. The cheque had to be sent directly to the Ministry's overseer, Umbridge's assistant, who then deposited it directly into my Gringott's account." Softly, the Dowager confided, "It was a sham, of course. My niece signs on my account so she could reimburse her husband."
"Didn't they suspect?" Remus chuckled.
"They would've been ruddy fools not to," Bridget agreed with a self-satisfied smirk. "Even if Lorinda did use her maiden name. But what could they do? We'd jumped through all their sodding hoops. They didn't exactly have the extra personnel for a full-blown investigation, not in that climate -- and they knew that we knew it as well."
Remus laughed outright at her deviousness. "Apparently, I'm not the only blackguard in the room."
"I just don't have a medal to prove it." The Dowager grinned in return. "I'd love to hear your end of the story sometime. Something tells me the overview in the Museum just scratched the surface once again."
"Perhaps if I ever feel comfortable revealing such secrets," Remus maintained. "Is that a tacit condition for you to forgive my lies?"
"Lies told in the line of duty can hardly be held against you. Even if it was a mission undertaken voluntarily."
"And at no pay," Remus added dryly.
The Dowager's eyebrows shot up. "Really? No recompense of any sort?"
Remus found himself blushing under her relentless scrutiny. "It would be fair to say that my controller offered me the use of his vacation house for a leisurely honeymoon."
"So the love-sick puppy routine was genuine," Bridget harrumphed. "I didn't think you were that good an actor."
Double-checking that the privacy charm still held, he offered, "Would you like to meet my family, Bridget?" Withdrawing a small square from his breast pocket, he stealthily enlarged it to photograph size before sliding it across the table to her. "Personal details were purposely omitted from the Museum display for reasons of safety as well as privacy."
The Dowager's eyes widened at the measure of trust he'd bestowed upon her. The snapshot showed a formal wedding scene, Remus and the groom in white tie with their Order of Merlin medallions clipped elegantly at the collar. At Remus' side, a boy with turquoise hair grinned rakishly into the camera as he clutched a satin pillow to his side. To the other side, a thirtyish woman with dark wavy locks leaned upon Remus' shoulder as she laid a gloved hand on the bride's shoulder. Sitting at their feet was a little girl with long blonde hair holding a glowing basket in her lap.
Bridget looked up into Remus' smiling eyes. "The press would give a fortune for a single look at this," she whispered.
"Luckily, Rita Skeeter was deported some time ago..." Making an exaggerated show of searching the rafters and then swatting an imaginary midge from before his nose, he added, "...and she didn't leave any worthy successors. Thank Merlin for that!"
"So the rumor's true," Bridget hissed as she leaned forward conspiratorially.
"A beetle, smaller than the button on your jacket," Remus confirmed under his breath. "But you didn't hear it from me."
"So tell me, Remus: did Harry Potter invite all his comrades at arms to his very private wedding?"
Remus shrugged playfully. "He's godfather to both my children. As for the guest list, my wife was in charge of the invitations; you'll have to ask her."
Clearly in awe, Bridget posed, "So these two are yours?"
Remus laughed light-heartedly. "You could say they're all mine, just as I'm theirs. A rather unconventional family cobbled together at will, but a family nonetheless. The boy, Teddy, is our first born. Phoebe followed two years later; she turned four just last month."
"Obviously, she got her straw-colored hair from you."
"Not entirely. Blonde hair runs erratically through my wife's family. As for Teddy, he inherited his Metamorphmagus abilities from his mother. Some would say that his dogged persistence comes from me."
They spent a companionable half hour catching each other up on the major events in the past seven years like the old friends that they were. Supplementing the brief outline Sera had provided, Bridget recounted how much she'd enjoyed teaching her grand-nephew the rudiments of reading, mathematics, and any other pursuits that caught his fancy. Her niece was convinced that the local primary didn't properly challenge young minds and only capitulated when their posting to Sri Lanka provided Tin the opportunity to attend an exclusive Swiss institution which catered specifically to diplomatic offspring. Although he'd be away from home for the first time, Tin was delighted with the comprehensive sports program that included mountain climbing and skiing. Not that he'd been immune to homesickness, the Dowager was quick to assure Remus. That first year had seen Tin religiously return to Waterloo Station on the bullet train the one weekend a month they were allotted for home visits. But as he made friends and began to see his dormitory as a second home, he came to prefer the organized alpine activities available at the weekend. These days, it was rare to see him except for the major holidays and term breaks when the school closed its doors.
"There's only so much redecorating, painting and planting an old lady can do," she complained. "It's only a tiny cottage with a postage stamp garden."
"No hobbies?" Remus inquired politely.
"No artistic talent," she confirmed. "And not much taste for the local amateur gossip's society." With a mischievous glint, she added, "Although I suspect some of those busybodies could compete in the professional division!"
Remus chuckled heartily at her succinct encapsulation of village life. Heartened by the easy camaraderie between them, he launched into his proposition. "I was hoping to offer you a post tutoring my children. It's only during the week and you'd have weekends as well as one afternoon a week to yourself. You can even choose which afternoon and vary it at will. We're very flexible." He caught himself before he ran out of breath. Scribbling quickly on a paper doily, he slid it across the table. "I'm prepared to offer you monthly salary as indicated."
Unfazed, she returned, "Is this a live-in post or am I allowed to return home in the evenings?"
"Whichever you prefer. Although you'd be welcome to spend your evenings however you wish in our home; join in with the family. It can get quite lively at times."
She eyed him shrewdly enough to make him glad he'd not loosened his tie as he settled into his second glass of sherry. "What sort of living arrangements do you offer?"
With a deep breath, Remus enumerated all the options: she was welcome to one of the guest rooms in the far wing or she could claim his living quarters at Hogwarts that had been vacant since the completion of renovations at Godric's Hollow. The Headmistress had already agreed that daily lessons could be conducted within those rooms as well. Hogwarts would not supply her meals, of course, but she could avail herself of the various pubs in the nearby village of Hogsmeade. If she chose to stay with them at Marauder House, then obviously their house-elf would pack her a lunch along with those of the children.
"You seem to have done quite well for yourself. A fringe benefit of marriage?"
He chortled at her blatant insinuation that a wastrel like him must have married into respectability. "I'm afraid my wife is a teacher just like me. I inherited half of the Potter estate from Harry's parents."
"So that explains the extended family." After a moment's hesitation, she proffered in a bare whisper, "I don't suppose I have to ask about the full moon."
"There's a root cellar that's nothing but packed earth if you're a purist, but I can supply you with Wolfsbane as an added benefit. Have you taken it in the past?"
With a discreet nod, she confessed, "When I can get it. That's one of the reasons why Sri Lanka was not an option for me. Too dear to obtain, if at all -- and I didn't want to burden Cory with the added expense."
Remus smiled benignly. "That will no longer be a problem. My wife's an expert brewer, learned at the hand of the Hogwarts Potions Master himself."
"Would that be Severus Snape?" the Dowager prodded with a knowing arch to her brow.
"None other."
"Wasn't he also responsible for killing the previous Headmaster?"
Remus' heart sank. So this was going to be the deal breaker. "There were extenuating circumstances."
"Must have been if the man isn't rotting in Azkaban. If I'm not mistaken, his case was dismissed before it came to trial."
Remus sighed in frustration as he considered his options. What bit of the internal machinations could he share with her without violating Severus' hard-won confidence?
It had been a delicate thing, he clearly recalled. Catastrophe and imprisonment balancing on the blade of a finely-honed knife. For a man whose life had been filled with ironic contradictions, it was somehow fitting.
Despite Kingsley Shacklebolt's most eloquent arguments that the killing of Dumbledore deserved to be categorized as an act of war, the overriding fact remained that the mighty wizard had been unarmed at the time. So the grand inquisitorial circle of the Wizengamot, the Federation of Mugwumps, convened to determine what charges should be laid at the feet of one Severus Snape, former Hogwarts Potions Master, former Death Eater, former double-agent for the Order of the Phoenix.
It was much to the Mugwumps' surprise that they were faced with first person testimonials by virtually every member of the organization which Snape had purportedly betrayed.
As Head Auror, the sole concession Kingsley had been able to wrangle was that of a closed session with complete exclusion of the media. It had been his intent that they convene with minimal fanfare until such a time as a carefully worded memo was prepared for public scrutiny. He had argued that it was the very least they could offer a man whose life was about to be placed under the proverbial microscope.
It was unclear how word of the time and date had leaked, but the Mugwumps had been forced to march through a phalanx of vociferous journalists protesting closed-door deliberations. Having had the presence of mind to arrive two hours early, the members of the recently disbanded Order of the Phoenix had been ushered in through the back corridors to avoid that their very presence fuel wild speculations.
Tiers of long curving benches for spectators remained empty as they were directed to a double row of plain armchairs that had been hastily lined up on the floor of the formal audience chamber deep within the lower levels of the Ministry. Remus took a seat next to Kingsley as Arthur Weasley settled to his other side. Minerva had consented to take over his Transfiguration lessons for the day while Tonks insisted on remaining behind to personally helm the Dark Arts classes despite offers of assistance from both Ginny and Luna.
Remus secretly suspected she didn't want everyone's attention to be diverted by her pregnancy to the exclusion of more serious matters. Apparition and the Floo Network were not always recommended for expectant mothers as nausea and dizziness often plagued even the most seasoned travelers.
Harry, Ron and Hermione had claimed the seats immediately in front of Remus and were surveying their surroundings with varying degrees of awe and apprehension. He was amused at how easily they fell into their traditional roles from school even though Ron and Hermione had recently announced their engagement.
"Sour memories from your own hearing?" Ron remarked to Harry's fidgeting.
"Some. The room was further down the hall, though," Harry confided. "It was even more over-sized, if you can imagine."
"The better to intimidate," Hermione nodded sagely.
"It certainly worked; I was practically beside myself when Arthur told me he'd have to remain in the corridor outside," Harry elaborated with a grimace. "If Dumbledore hadn't shown up..."
Their conversation was interrupted as everyone was urged to their feet. In the far corner, a door materialized within the ornate wall paneling and the Mugwumps filed to their elevated seats. Remus couldn't help noting that their peculiar felt caps made them look like rows of chess pieces lining up to engage their opponents across the expanse of black and white marble tiles.
"Why purple?" Harry muttered to no one in particular.
"Those at your hearing wore red and black?" Hermione surmised. "That was to signify their status as either elected or appointed members of the Wizengamot. The Mugwumps serve for life, unless they resign or are ousted for high crimes such as treason."
"Why the difference?" Ron urged.
Hermione sighed as if the answer was obvious. In an indulgent tone, she continued, "This is not a trial, but a deliberation. The Mugwumps are acting as a Grand Jury of sorts."
Remus watched Harry stop himself from asking where she'd learned this. After nearly a decade of friendship, it was not really necessary. Besides, there was always Ron to take up the slack.
"Where did you read that, dear? The Ministry of Magic: A History?" Ron quipped.
"Don't be silly, Ronald, dear," Hermione simpered playfully. "It was Mysteries of the Ministry Unveiled. Talk about a misnomer; the information about the Department of Mysteries was nothing but pure conjecture."
And here Remus had begun to think the author had employed a bit of gallows humor in reference to the Death Chamber. No need to borrow that book, then.
As head of the current government, Scrimgeour had jumped at the opportunity to preside over the proceedings. "Please be seated," he intoned grandly. "We are here, learned wizards and witches, to formulate our response to the reprehensible actions of Severus Snape, who on the night of 16 June 1997 did willfully kill one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, he himself a member of this august assemblage..."
"Why is the Minister in black?" Harry hissed.
"He's not technically a Mugwump," Hermione whispered. "He wields no power expect in the rare case of a tie vote -- which has never happened."
"Politics as usual," Moody leaned over to growl lowly.
From his observation post, Snape himself had looked on impassively, staring at the far wall more often than not. Although the hands clasped tightly in his lap were not manacled, the bluish glow surrounding him indicated the presence of some sort of restraining spell. Only his compressed lips showed that he was listening intently to every word. In the few instances in which he looked directly at anyone, his eyes burned with a deep outrage that he adamantly refused to uncork.
Kingsley spoke first, re-establishing many of the facts that were already known. He stressed that his office did not feel this case fell within their jurisdiction as Snape had not been a dark wizard. Spying on the enemy necessitated that he give the appearance of being one of them, nothing more. Without Snape's ability to mask his true allegiance, it was unlikely the man would be alive before them today. For those reasons, the Auror Department was declining to press charges.
"This tribunal is convened only for the most capital offenses," Hermione whispered. "Snape is being accorded a great honor."
"Forget it, Hermione," Ron dismissed under his breath. "Snape's not one to rightly care if they convict him with honor or dishonor. The view from Azkaban is the same either way."
"Save the abstractions for Remus," Harry returned, unconcerned that he might be overheard.
"What are you three whispering about?" From Ron's right, Moody's magical eye swiveled at an alarming rate as it took the measure of each of them in turn.
Hermione gulped as she offered in a small voice, "Just explaining the legal procedures is all."
"Lesson time's over," Amos Diggory interjected. "Kingsley's opening remarks are almost at an end."
The character witnesses had come next, many of them voicing arguments that Remus himself had presented before them when he'd argued Snape's innocence. In the end, Remus had been left with very little to add but a few words of support. But by the very ripples he'd caused among the assembly, it was clear that many still recalled the schoolboy enmity that had once existed between Snape and himself.
Hermione had turned more than a few heads with her presentation of the nature of Snape's Patronus and how its change in the wake of Dumbledore's death indicated the inner ambivalence Snape felt about his actions.
Harry's testimony had been left for last as it would likely lead to cross-examination by the Mugwumps themselves. In deference to his long legal career, Elphias Doge had been allowed to act as advocate for the defense, expertly pacing the chessboard tiles before the arbiters of the tribunal. Due to the less structured nature of a closed hearing, those testifying were not forced into a solitary chair in the middle of the floor, but rather allowed to simply rise to their feet. The special amplification spells which permeated the chamber guaranteed that their voices would carry.
Heading off the objections that were sure to arise, Elphias deliberately put Harry's words into question. "Now, Mr. Potter, Harry, you are the only witness who came forth after the events on that fateful night atop the Astronomy Tower?"
"Yes, I was on hand to give a preliminary statement to Magical Law Enforcement. The acting Headmistress insisted that it was my duty to do so."
"Yet there were in fact other witnesses to the event. Witnesses besides the accused, Mr. Snape. Am I correct?"
"Yes. Draco Malfoy, for one. He'd been assigned to assassinate the Headmaster but he lost his nerve at the end."
"Lost his nerve how?"
"Dumbledore seemed to take Draco's measure and then convinced him that he was not a murderer. Went so far as to offer to hide him from his enemies if he chose to change sides."
"Would you categorize these as the ramblings of a sick, old man on the brink of death as others have suggested?"
"No, I would not. Dumbledore was not so much bargaining for his own life, but begging Draco not to take a path he would come to regret. His arguments were more selfless than what has been previously presented."
"And you know this how? Did you confer with Draco Malfoy about this perhaps?"
Harry stood up a little straighter as he solemnly responded, "My vision of what happened that night has never faded. In the intervening year and a half, I've sought to come to terms with what really happened. Unfortunately, Draco was killed by Voldemort for failing to complete his mission. I never saw him alive after that night."
"So you feel you've gained some perspective on those events?"
"Yes. What's more, I think we are short-sighted to categorize Dumbledore as being unarmed."
Amid the sharp mutterings that Harry's statement caused, Scrimgeour himself rose to his feet. "Surely, Mr. Potter, you're not changing your previous testimony that you were ambushed atop the tower and watched Dumbledore's wand fly from his hand?" The Minister's tone was ripe with condescension as he added, "You assured us that you'd been immobilized under your Invisibility Cloak and were unable to come to your Headmaster's aid."
Before Harry's eyes could flash with indignation, Elphias Doge deftly cut across, "I will thank everyone to recall that Mr. Potter's actions are not under suspicion. While there were a number of shadowy figures who ran away from the Astronomy Tower that night, Harry was the only one who returned to face the rest of the students and faculty. If that doesn't speak to his innocence, I don't know what does!" Turning a kindly smile on Harry, he urged, "Could you please elaborate for us?"
Harry swallowed noticeably before continuing, "As a mighty wizard, Dumbledore had other weapons besides his wand. He could offer the assistance of the Order which he led; his words alone could be very persuasive. It's likely that he could also influence others non-verbally."
"Non-verbal spells still require a wand!" a nameless voice protested.
"Dumbledore was a renowned Legilimens," Harry countered. "That's common knowledge. He could persuade others by casting images into their minds. Images of past events or possible outcomes." Granted, it had been Snape himself who had confirmed this, but Harry chose not to elaborate.
"Yet despite all these powers, Dumbledore was unable to change the outcome," Elphias surmised.
"Quite the contrary," Harry asserted to everyone's surprise. "I believe he was able to alter the events to prevent Draco from committing murder."
"This is irrelevant," a stately witch proclaimed from the second row. "He was unable to prevent his own death; that's the issue we are examining here."
Elphias acknowledged her with a polite nod before turning to Harry. "Why do you feel this is such an important distinction?"
"Dumbledore's actions to the end were altruistic. If he couldn't save himself, then he was determined to at least save another. He didn't want the soul of a quavering sixteen-year-old to be torn in two by murder!"
"So he valued young people," Scrimgeour scoffed. "Hardly surprising from the headmaster of a school. This does nothing to convince us of Mr. Snape's innocence or guilt. Why didn't Dumbledore try to influence Snape? Answer us that!"
Harry turned questioning eyes to Elphias who nodded slightly in encouragement. "He did," Harry provided. "But as Auror Shacklebolt established at the start of these proceedings, Dumbledore had exacted a promise from Professor Snape to kill him rather than allow him to fall into the hands of the enemy. The visions that he thrust into the foremost of Snape's mind were to convince him that the time had come. Snape's fundamental disagreement is evidenced by the change in his Patronus. An unrepentant man would have taken it all in stride; Severus Snape did not."
"It was a fool's errand,"a stout witch proclaimed darkly. "Dmbledore neither prevented his own death nor that of Malfoy in the end."
"You cannot hold Dumbledore accountable for the actions of others, Ms. Tournay," Elphias defended. "If Albus had been able to single-handedly keep Voldemort himself from committing monstrous deeds, he would have done so."
Harry nodded emphatically. "Dumbledore showed me a memory from Voldemort's youth -- he was known as Tom Riddle then. Demonstrated how even as a lad, he'd resisted all efforts to guide him in a more productive direction."
"Albus' nobility is not in question here," a wizened wizard who leaned on a long staff put forth. "Were there no other witnesses that night?"
"Yes," Harry conceded. "Other Death Eaters were present, including Fenrir Greyback."
"The werewolf?"
"Yes, Elyssium," her neighbor attested, holding forth a parchment sheet. "See the testimony right here. It was obtained as part of their questioning before being sent to Azkaban, the lot of them."
Taking up the thread, Scrimgeour posed, "Statements that all bear witness to Snape cutting down Dumbledore with a snarl. Why you yourself indicated that hatred had burned in the man's eyes as he raised his wand. Are you taking back those words in retrospect, Mr. Potter?"
"No, Minister, I am not," Harry returned evenly, demonstrating the wisdom of having rehearsed his testimony under the harshest questioning his colleagues could provide. "But to be able to perform a Killing Curse, hatred is a necessary factor. Snape could just as easily been expressing his feelings for the Death Eaters at his back; he would have been a fool to present such to their faces if he wanted to remain alive. Remember that he was unaware of my presence under the Invisibility Cloak."
"Are we to ignore that Snape employed an Unforgivable Curse, then?" Ms. Tourney proclaimed to much muttered support. "That's enough to establish guilt right there."
"Not if there are extenuating circum -- " Elphias began.
"This is not an act of war as Mr. Shacklebolt would have us believe," Scrimgeour barked. "Dumbledore and Snape were supposed to represent the same side."
"But did they?" Elphias interjected in a bare whisper.
"Then throw him in Azkaban with all the other Death Eaters!" came a cry from the back of the room.
"You cannot have it both ways," the Minister remarked smugly as he eyed the Order members in turn.
"In that moment, Snape's role was to present himself as Dumbledore's enemy," Harry argued.
"That does not absolve him of employing an Unforgivable Curse," the rotund Ms. Tournay intoned. "Even an Auror has to defend his use of such measures when apprehending dark wizards."
"Why did Snape not simply Stupefy Dumbledore?" Elphias presented rhetorically. "Mr. Snape, are you willing to speak in your defense? Or is that out of order in these closed-door proceedings?"
At Scrimgeour's curt, "I'll allow it," Snape rose slowly to his feet.
The room fell to absolute silence as Snape coolly drawled, "That was the very situation that Dumbledore feared above all else: being taken alive by dark forces and then tortured for information. He felt that his advanced age would have put him at a distinct disadvantage. Rather than risk all the Order's secret plans -- many of which I was unaware at the time -- from falling into the hands of the enemy, Dumbledore trusted that I would kill him. By my very hand, if necessary. Anything to keep the enemy from undermining our chances for victory. He was prepared to die for that victory."
"Others have testified that you argued with Dumbledore about this."
"Yes, it was not a role that I relished. I would rather have sacrificed my life for the good of all than have it come to this. Dumbledore was more important to the cause than I was."
"But you killed him anyway?" the wizened wizard peered quizzically into Snape's saturnine features.
"A promise is a promise. And as the old man conveniently reminded me, I had other duties to the cause that had yet to be discharged at the time." Despite his pallid outward appearance, Snape clearly resented the choices he'd made in life and was resigned to suffer the consequences.
"What sort of duties, Mr. Snape?" Elphias coaxed gently.
"I was to destroy an object that had been entrusted to me by the Dark Lord. Only it was no longer where I had hidden it."
"So you were in the midst of searching for it?" Elphias prompted.
"No," Snape returned to everyone's consternation. "Dumbledore forbade that lest I give myself away. As long as the item remained lost, it could not fall into the Dark Lord's hands, either."
"A waiting game then?" Scrimgeour cried indignantly. "A madman's errand, you'd have us believe!"
Snape shrugged impassively without meeting the Minister's eyes. "Dumbledore was convinced that the object would resurface in due time, or so he told me. What he failed to tell me was that he had delivered it in a very underhanded manner to Mr. Potter here. Since Potter had no idea of the object's true significance, Dumbledore saw it as the cleverest ruse of all."
"And as Mr. Lupin eloquently outlined for us, you found a way to return to Hogwarts to assist Mr. Potter," Elphias summarized.
"To complete my assignment, yes," Snape clarified. "Given the opportunity, I might've argued with Dumbledore about the indignity of being saddled with such an unproven accomplice; but it does no good to argue with a dead man."
"There are those who would say there was no point in arguing with Dumbledore when he was alive!" Moody grumbled from the sidelines.
In the echoing silence, Snape concurred, "As Auror Moody so aptly put it: I was trapped."
"Still doesn't give you the right to toss Unforgivables left and right," a tiny powerhouse of a witch hissed from Scrimgeour's right.
"So very true, Amaranth," the Minister acknowledged her contribution. "Care to elaborate on that, Mr. Snape?"
"It's not possible to undo the past," Snape returned with an icy glare directed at the wall.
"If I may?" Harry cleared his throat hesitantly.
Elphias flashed him a warning look as the Minister nodded absently.
"What we're overlooking is that Professor Snape acted out of mercy," Harry volunteered. "Regardless of the letter of the law. Just compare his actions to mine when I finished Voldemort."
"That was clearly as act of war," the wizened wizard flashed a gummy smile at Harry. "Self-defense, even."
Harry gave a small smile in thanks before elaborating, "Yet I never used an Unforgivable Curse." He waited for the inevitable nods of approval before delivering his coup de grace, "No, instead I employed the Sectumsempra Curse, a spell that cracks the victim's chest open before his very eyes as the life force bleeds slowly away."
"You were justified, son," Elphias pronounced sympathetically.
"Perhaps," Harry allowed gravely, "but that's not really the point. Even with such harsh measures, Voldemort was able the seal the wounds somewhat -- although I can assure you his demonic eyes were shrouded with pain."
"So how did you dispatch him in the end?" a whip-thin witch demanded.
With a deep breath, Harry conceded, "The old-fashioned way: I stabbed him through the heart with a sharp object."
Scrimgeour's strident tone rose above the gasps, "Is it your intent to have us rethink your actions, lad?"
Harry did not allow the Minister's guerilla tactics to unnerve him. "No, sir. My point is this: if you can absolve whatever means necessary to stop a madman intent on taking over the world, why is it so abhorrent to think that Snape used the Avada Kedavra on Dumbledore? Seems to me that an instant death is the most merciful of all."
It had been a risky move; Elphias' slack jaw was proof enough of that. But Harry stood his ground, heartened by the hands of support that Remus and Kingsley placed on each of his shoulders as they rose to their feet behind him.
Recovering quickly, Elphias proclaimed, "Then it seems that the only charge that can reasonably apply is that of a conspiracy between Dumbledore and Snape."
"Don't be ridiculous, my good man," Scrimgeour protested. "You can't condemn one co-conspirator without the testimony of the other."
To which Moody stumbled to his feet. "Should we petition Minerva McGonagall to present herself before the assemblage? Perhaps she can bring Dumbledore's portrait to bear."
Even Snape's lip had twitched at that remark, but most everyone's eyes were focused on the Minister's reaction. Quickly composing his features, he issued a stymied grunt as he called for the official balloting to begin.
Into a large crystal bowl that appeared on the lectern, little winged marbles in purple and silver neatly deposited themselves. In some cases, a single wing detached and fluttered to lie before the Minister. Scrimgeour's features twisted in frustration as he peered at the comments before him.
Remus held his breath. There was no telling which direction these august witches and wizards would take. Like the Wizengamot, the Mugwumps were hardly renowned for their logical approach -- not by a long shot.
The constant writhing of the balls made it impossible to tell if the silver ones which signified dismissal outnumbered the purples ones to indict. The exact count would be visible to the Minister's eyes, though; Remus remembered studying the unique properties of adjudicatory crystal from which the bowl was fashioned.
"By Merlin's scraggly beard!" the Minister harrumphed. "There are more sides to this case than a seven-tier trunk. The only consensus of guilt seems to come from that mangy bank of Death Eaters who maintain that Snape was one of them. But as Augusta pointed out--" For the first time, Remus caught sight of Neville's grandmother in the very back row. No wonder Neville had begged off with some vague excuse about being superfluous. " -- they are equally adamant that the Malfoy lad was in charge of the mission and Snape only stepped in when Draco faltered. And there's just as much evidence, if not more, to suggest that they had simply been taken in by a masterful performance. Why else would the Order of the Phoenix, almost to a man, stand up in defense of Severus Snape if he was not their comrade?
"Not to mention Mr. Potter's perfectly viable assertions that Snape's actions were nothing more than an attempt to circumvent disaster for Draco Malfoy. An attempt no less heroic for its ultimate futility." He stared at the marbles which had finally quieted to show only three purple ones among a sea of silver. "Clearly this is a case that would stump even the most adept Legilimens." He held up a hand to forestall the angry murmurs behind him. "And yes, before anyone takes to their feet to denounce me, I am fully aware that Leglimency is prohibited in a court of law. As for Veritaserum, it's only marginally effective when administered to a trained Occulmens like Snape -- and a garbled confession is less than useless."
With his innate talent for grandstanding, Scrimgeour scanned the faces in the crowd one by one over the frames of his reading glasses. "So you see my dilemma," he pontificated. "Do I have doubts? Of course. How can anyone truly measure the contents of another's soul? But whose testimony are we to trust: that of a group of freedom fighters who have been decorated by the current administration? Or that of a lawless band of hate-mongers who would likely say just about anything to save their own skins?
"Let the official decision of this inquest be that we have declined to press charges against Mr. Snape. May the deities that judge us at life's end find the true answers where we have failed." The smallest rap of Scrimgeour's gavel resounded in the cavernous chamber. "This tribunal is adjourned."
By the flare of his nostrils as he left the room, it was evident that clemency did not sit well with Scrimgeour -- although he was too accomplished a politician to ever admit it.
Remus had never been prouder of Harry than at that moment, but the somber surroundings did not invite congratulations of any sort. He'd looked up to offer a salute only to find that Snape had already been spirited away to prepare the final paperwork.
"That faraway look tells me there's more to this story as well," Bridget pronounced with an indulgent smile.
"The official determination that Snape colluded with Dumbledore himself was dropped when it was pointed out that it was patently unfair to condemn one conspirator without the other," Remus paraphrased what had been printed in the Prophet. "What was never reported, of course, was how many of us felt that Severus' actions in the very maw of the enemy required a sang-froid that went beyond ordinary bravery."
"Did any of you think to petition the administration to award him some sort of medal?"
Remus chuckled at the notion. "And risk Severus hexing us in the bargain? No, he wanted nothing more than to fade into obscurity so he could start his own pharmaceutical business."
"Didn't you just say he taught Potions at Hogwarts?"
"He only resumed the post recently," Remus explained. "Once he felt that his business was sufficiently grounded that he could begin to propagate many rare ingredients in his own greenhouses."
"So he stands to revolutionize the production of Wolfsbane, you're saying?"
"Among other things. Please don't think me intentionally vague, but Severus closely guards such proprietary secrets."
"As a savvy businessman should," the Dowager concurred. "But you said your wife was adept a brewing the potion herself."
"Snape taught her personally and often supplies rare ingredients from alternative markets."
"Sounds like you have it all figured out."
"Except how to deal with my children's immediate educational needs," he reminded her.
"So you're in need of a governess."
"Except for the sexist Victorian connotations of that word. We prefer the generic term: tutor."
"You won't be expecting Mary Poppins then?" she shot back with a twinkle to her eye.
"I won't deny that I was entranced by those tales as a young lad, even though magic was a staple in my home."
"What about the Muggles at its core?"
Remus considered briefly. "The Banks family. Magic as a metaphor for the lack of parental love and interaction."
Bridget's eyebrows threatened to retreat into her hairline. "What sort of a child were you?"
"One who spent too much time in bed recuperating from a cycle that threatened to tear my limbs apart every month," he responded more candidly than he'd intended. "My mother read the tales to me when I was only five or six."
"So this was your mother's analysis that she passed on to you."
"No, it was my own conclusion. But it was only years later when I revisited the tales that the subtext became clear. A friend of mine wanted a unique angle for a Muggle Studies essay."
"So you gave him your thoughts. Isn't that remarkably close to cheating?"
"I gave him the idea. He had to come to his own conclusions and then set them down on paper." Remus clearly recalled how Sirius had claimed that such dis-parenting skills were not limited to Muggles; and, consequently, found the personal angle that made his words resound.
Bridget tilted her head in thought. "So you approached it the way a Muggle would, interesting. Did you ever stop to think how wizards would interpret those stories?"
"Another example to justify the Statute of Secrecy. Proving once again that Muggles possess an innate covetousness for anything magical."
"Stock response," she dared him. "I would've expected more originality."
"I don't share your ability to improvise on the spot," Remus confessed. "Would I be wrong to assume you were holding the proverbial trump card?"
She nodded ever so briefly before leaning over the table to whisper. "That Poppins witch was a renegade. One step ahead of the Improper Use of Magic Office the whole way. Why do you think she had to keep leaving that poor family after a short visit only to return when her trail had gone cold?"
Remus couldn't resist a deep belly laugh at her outrageousness. Not that the explanation didn't make sense; only that it was so perfectly obvious when you looked at it through a skewed lens.
"You really should meet Harry's wife, Ginny. She and her mother like to dissect detective novels in the same manner. Ginny's thoughts on Hercule Poirot are the stuff of legend at Hogwarts. Not to mention how my children would be entranced by your winning ways with a story."
"But you know so little else about me," Bridget protested. "Don't you want to see my C.V.?"
"Only if one considers your career as a Healer a necessary job qualification," Remus contended.
"Should it be? Are your children accident-prone?"
"No more than normal." Neither child had inherited their mother's clumsiness at stealth, Remus chuckled to himself. "Teddy has the uncanny ability to sneak up on you, hence I nicknamed him 'Spook'. Turn your back and Phoebe has soundlessly disappeared."
"Did you give her a nickname also?"
"Rabbit."
"Because rabbits are mute animals?" Bridget urged with an amused smile.
"Because she carries a stuffed rabbit toy with her just about everywhere."
"How charming, Remus. But didn't you say they spoke French as well as English? I would be less than useless with that. I only know a few bits of German, I'm afraid."
"Why that's ideal!" Remus cried.
"I don't know enough to tutor them in German. It's been too many years."
"Don't worry about the French. We have someone else who takes them one afternoon a week for that. In turn, she may want her daughter to join in with Teddy's lessons; she's only a number of months older. Your salary will be adjusted accordingly."
"Another family member?" the Dowager surmised.
"Ginny's sister-in-law. The children consider each other cousins and that suits everyone just fine." He waved down a waitress to order more sherry as well as some curried shrimp pasties that had called to him from the menu. Returning his attention to his guest, Remus offered, "Tell me how you came to learn German at such a young age. I won't put you on the spot as I'm rather rusty myself."
He could see the curiosity playing across her features, but good manners won out as she tactfully inquired, "How many foreign languages are currently being offered at your school?"
"French, Spanish and Italian."
"And you speak all of these yourself?"
"I've had amply opportunity to practice with the instructors themselves. But as department head, I'm charged with recruiting native speakers to serve as instructors. It's how I supplement my income during the summer term break. This year I'm slated to go to Germany. It would be ideal to have someone else on board who could deal with household issues should any arise."
It took her a few moments to catch on. "Your family travels with you then?"
"I wouldn't want to be separated from them for a month's time and the school always arranges for spacious accommodations. Minerva has already booked a small villa along the Rhine."
"How small?"
"Usually three or four bedrooms," Remus supplied. "The Headmistress will come for a bit of holiday as she prefers to make the final selection herself. Other family members arrive at the weekend."
"Tell me your poor wife isn't stuck cooking and cleaning."
Remus laughed at the absurdity of the notion. "We'd be like the Borgias if Tonks cooked. Our salaried house-elf adores showing off his considerable skills."
"But doesn't that leave..."
"Harry and Ginny. They come most weekends. But what newlyweds won't relish a few days alone? Ginny knows her way around the kitchen; but when Dobby's about, he rarely permits what he considers to be a dereliction of his sacred duty." With a friendly grin, he prodded, "You never did tell me how you came to speak German."
"My sister and I grew up outside Munich. My mother had family nearby so Father jumped at an assignment. Later, he was transferred back to Britain and I finished my schooling at Hogwarts."
"Really? Did you attend a German school before that?"
Her response floored him. "Durmstrang."
"I thought that was a boys' school -- at least until recently," he stammered.
"Many years ago, there was a sister school for girls as well; both were considered to be part of Durmstrang. My sister graduated there and even started her career in the Harz Mountains. Being almost a decade younger, I only completed two years at Durmstrang before the girls' wing was phased out. My father arranged to return to Britain not long after."
"Did your sister return with you as well?"
"Why would she? She'd already established her career and even met a young man there. By the time her only daughter, Lorinda, was born, I was able to assist with the delivery myself"
Remus took a few quiet sips as his mind processed the new information. Teddy would be positively thrilled to have a first-hand account of Durmstrang, but Remus wouldn't rob the Dowager of discovering that on her own. Instead it was his moment to turn the tables on her. "The fabled Healer woman you once told me about -- Ferrucula, wasn't it? -- am I wrong to think she was a Rom?"
"Likely so. She certainly dressed like the quintessential gypsy, but I was in such awe of her medical prowess that I never really thought to ask. Does that seem naive in retrospect?"
Remus smiled warmly. "It just demonstrates your innate generosity of spirit."
"The girl with the werewolf baby really was from Wolverton," Bridget insisted. "She'd traveled all that way to consult with Ferrucula. Ironic how I would find myself so near years later."
"Life is full of such coincidences. Good things coming from the bad and vice versa." With as much sincerity as he could muster, Remus implored, "I really would like you to teach my children, Bridget. I don't need a long list of accreditations to convince me."
"Admittedly, I had a great deal of fun starting my great-nephew to read and write."
' "Tin? That's what Sera called him."
"Short for Constantine."
"A family name?" Remus inquired politely.
Bridget chuckled, "Hardly. My niece was convinced he'd been conceived during a weekend getaway in Istanbul."
"Constantinople," Remus supplied the centuries old name by which the city was also known.
"Exactly. There was no dismissing her romantic notions, so Constantine it was."
"And if it had been a girl?" Remus teased.
"Tinny, I suppose," Bridget laughed in response. "I'm just glad Cory's meeting hadn't been scheduled in Moscow!" After a dainty bite of sandwich, she caught him unawares with, "Say I decided to use one of the bedrooms in your house. You said they were located just off the billiard room?"
"It's a bright, airy room with a window seat that the children have claimed as their unofficial playroom. The billiard table can be relocated if you prefer."
She waved her hand dismissively. "How many rooms lead off the playroom?"
"Two guest rooms," Remus supplied after a moment's consideration. "There's a third door that's kept locked as it opens near the fireplace in Harry's and Ginny's room."
"The newlyweds?"
"You see why it would remain locked," Remus countered playfully.
"What if they have children of their own?"
"Neither of them seems to be in a hurry, but I can't speak on their behalf. Should that come to pass in the future, however, they'll probably use one of those surplus rooms for the baby. That still leaves an extra guest room."
She mulled this over briefly. "And you said I could decorate as I wished?"
"Unless you preferred to not be bothered."
"What if I decided to go with a totally unconventional theme? Say draping bright cloths along the walls so that it looked like a sultan's seraglio?"
Unable to tell whether she was joking or not, Remus responded with a casual shrug, "If that's your secret fantasy. But I assure you that Scheherazade's bed chamber is the ideal spot for storytelling, the children will tell you. Within moments, Teddy will have turned his hair black as night and transformed his clothing with either a short vest, curled slippers, or maybe a scarf wound about his waist to hold his dagger. He'd get one element for certain, but he's still growing into his morphing abilities."
"What about Phoebe?"
"She'd return in fifteen minutes with a whole series of scarves draped about her bathing costume. In two days time, Dobby will have sewn her a flowing harem outfit, complete with encrusted jewels."
"Your house-elf sews, too?"
"Only costumes for the children. It's his way of indulging them."
Bridget threw back her head and laughed uproariously. "I don't know whether you're putting me on or not!"
"Why not come for yourself and find out?" Remus proposed. "It won't be dull; that I can guarantee you."
"Will I get to meet the children first? Including the French girl?"
"Absolutely!"
"All right, Remus. I'll test the waters."