The room was relatively spare by hotel standards, but ridiculously luxurious by those of a Ministry cell. Hermione took in the wide four-poster and its thick hangings, the narrow windows and heavy, carved furniture, and (wonder of wonders) a full bath in the next room, and did her best to ignore the Enforcer who was rattling off instructions to Severus. (She processed the room visually, at least: a good portion of her brain was still busy shrieking Oh my God, he actually came after me. He didn't leave me stuck there.)

...Well, he wouldn't just leave her there, of course. There was too great a risk that she'd implicate him in something far more serious than a bit of contraceptive-brewing. Not surprising that he'd sprung her, really, even if she hadn't had the foggiest notion how he'd do it.

Lovely way he chose, by the way. And ironic, given how we started....

She heard the Enforcer leave, and sighed in relief: she thought she would scream if she had to spend another minute in the company of law enforcement, no matter that it was the ICW and not the Ministry....

Severus cleared his throat.

"Hermione," he said, voice level, "why, out of all bloody bureaucratic France, did you have to pick the one bloody Frog who is actually efficient?"

The accusation -- for there was no doubt by the time Severus had finished that it was -- knocked her for a loop.

As she didn't have her wand, couldn't hex Severus senseless without it, and wasn't at all certain that she could verbally rip him a new one without bursting into tears, she took the only exit available -- the bath: she gave him a nasty glare as she slammed the door, and relished the bewilderment she saw in his face.

Unfortunately -- as she discovered when she scrabbled at the latch -- the bloody door didn't have a lock on it.

She cleared an ugly, thick-legged little table of towels and bath salts, dragged it over to the door, jammed it under the latch, dropped her handbag, and turned the taps in the tub on full.

Oh, look how high we are, she thought as she looked out the window, savagely stripping off coat and clothes as she did and tossing them on a severe little chair. I wonder if I have the strength to push him out.... No. They've got the window nailed shut, of course, how cautious of them -- only damned thing that can get in or out is the draught.

*****

She'd calmed -- a bit -- after a thorough scrub to remove the general grime and the phantom sense of stickiness between her legs; but even though she'd been in the bath for a good half-hour, she couldn't seem to pull herself from it. (She excused it as not wanting to get back into her days-old clothes, but that wasn't true. She didn't want to face Severus, and that was all there was to it. Moreover, she still felt unaccountably dirty.) So there she stayed in the tub, listening to the sounds that filtered through the thick door -- she occasionally heard movement and talking, and she doubted Severus was talking to himself -- and ran more hot water to warm the bath whenever her teeth began to chatter. (Their prison might be more comfortable than most, but, judging by the lack of a fireplace in the room, the bath wasn't meant to be lounged about in.)

She got the crying over with then, muffling it in the bath-sponge, so she shouldn't do it in front of him later.

After another half-hour, Severus tapped at the door.

"Hermione?"

"Hermione? They've brought an early dinner, and you need to eat."

"Hermione, you've been in there for... ages," he called in his no-nonsense voice. "If you've managed to drown yourself and left me stuck with this bloody mess alone, by Merlin I'll... I'll --"

He didn't seem to know what he'd do to her cold, dead body, and she snorted at his helplessness.

"Hermione?"

"Go away, Severus, I'll be out in a while."

"I bloody well won't --"

She heard him try the latch and swear when he realised that she'd blocked the door: he shoved against it until he dislodged the table. It toppled to the floor, and he pushed the door wide enough to peer around it.

"Are you all right?" he demanded.

"Fine," Hermione muttered, and drew her knees up to cover her breasts. "They'll probably charge us for that if you've broken it, you know."

"I don't give a damn. And you're not fine," Severus shot back as stepped into the room and righted the table, staring at her exposed, deeply-pink arms critically all the while. "You've been scrubbing yourself raw. Not the mark of an ordered mind, that."

He didn't look particularly "ordered" either: he'd shed his coat and pulled his neckcloth loose, and his hair was mussed. (Well, more mussed than usual.) Hermione bit her tongue rather than counter-attack, and instead defended herself with, "Didn't get a bath last night, that's all. I feel filthy."

Severus sidled further into the room and stood, eyes fixed to her face, and leant back against the far wall. "Ah. The... examination, yesterday...."

"Horrid, was it?" His face was neutral, voice matter-of-fact: Hermione supposed his reaction could be far worse in the long run. He might be narked over the fact that another man had touched her, for instance -- she didn't think he'd take that kindly, Healer or no.

"No worse than it usually is," she said, and shivered. "I can now state conclusively that Healers aren't any better at it than the average Muggle gynaecologist. Not that I've been to a lot of them. His cow of an assistant was harder to put up with."

"Are you certain?" he asked. "They didn't harm you or mistreat you?"

"No, Severus. It was just uncomfortable, that's all. Very... thorough."

"How thorough?" he asked, voice sharp.

"I really don't want to t-- ...I take it that they want to make certain people aren't avoiding pregnancy by... by --"

"Resorting to buggery?" he rapped out.

"Exactly."

"Lovely," he muttered. "To be expected, I suppose -- that they'd make that assumption, I mean. No wonder you're.... Are you certain you're all right?"

"Yes, Severus. Physically, at least."

"Did they warn you beforehand?"

"No," she admitted. "They had me sign a release, of course, but it wasn't spelled out in that much detail. The Healer was quite apologetic about the whole thing."

"Still, it was done against your will."

"Yes, and no, that didn't help matters. But I didn't have much choice. I was fairly certain Bretchgirdle would have ordered it done even without my cooperation. Was it stupid of me to give in?"

"No. No sense in putting yourself in a situation where you might have been harmed. Harmed more. Where you might not have had any control," Severus said. "Although I bloody well wish you'd known about the law. That might have stalled them for a bit."

"Well, I didn't know about the bloody law." And if I had, I would have packed my bags and gone Muggle long before now.

"I said I wish you had. No reason you should have," he said. "One of our less laudable ones, more honoured in the.... I do hope you realised I didn't intend to --"

"Yes, I managed to figure that out. Though I probably shouldn't have two months ago."

Severus' eyebrows shot upward.

"It was very... in keeping with your behaviour in October," she explained quietly. "I know you a bit better now. I was serious about being pleasantly surprised."

Still staring at her, Severus shifted his weight to his bad leg, started to say, "I'm...." He stopped himself; and then, shifting back to the other leg, he folded his arms across his chest and stared out the window.

Severus seemed unusually and unduly concerned about it, however, to the point that he couldn't manage to finish a sentence.

"You really ought to come out," Severus muttered at last, pushing himself away from the wall. "No wand, so I can't keep the bloody food warm."

For the life of her, Hermione couldn't decide why it was so urgent that he stay -- it wasn't as though they were getting anything productive done, with her shivering in the tub and Severus staring moodily out the window: but it was important to her, and so she grasped at the first excuse that came to hand.

"Severus --"

He turned at the door, expression weary.

"I can't reach between my shoulders," she lied, and offered him the sponge.

He didn't respond immediately, but stared at her for a moment --

-- and then he began, deliberately and purposefully, to roll up his right shirt-cuff. It wasn't a particularly reassuring gesture: she'd seen him employ that -- and a similar grim look -- in class, before plunging his hand into a vat of fermented frogs' brains.

Unaware of her pentimento, he slowly walked to the tub, pulled the chair over and cleared it of her clothes before sitting, took the sponge from her, dipped it, and started -- quite delicately -- to run it across her back. Hermione hated to admit it, but it felt blissful against her knotted muscles: she leaned forward to make it easier for him -- and to protect her modesty -- and rested her forehead against her knees.

"Where've you hidden the soap?" he muttered.

She fished about for it under the water, and handed it back to him.

"How did you know they'd arrested me?" she asked when he'd returned to scrubbing (more vigorously, now). "Did they tell you?"

He snorted. "Not bloody likely. George Weasley called last night and said they thought you'd been. I left for London as soon as I could."

"And that's when you called François?"

"No. I... I told McGonagall to, and to get the rest of the documents to him. I'd no idea it would play out as fast as it did, unfortunately."

"Hah. So it's not so much a matter of French efficiency as McGonagall's."

"All right, yes, I should have foreseen that," he growled, and pulled the mass of damp hair away from her neck so he could scrub that as well. (Despite her unease with him seeing her nude, it still felt bloody wonderful. There was something to be said for being pampered a bit, even if Severus was the only and unlikely one available to do it.) "But I... wasn't confident that I should be able to have you freed."

"But if you knew about the law --"

"I didn't. That, too, was McGonagall's idea, indirectly. That is, I knew the law existed once, but I didn't know the specifics and that it hadn't been struck down. She made certain I left Hogwarts with the book and told me to do my schoolwork before morning."

"And being a good student, you did."

"Did you ever dare ignore an assignment from McGonagall?" he countered.

"Absolutely not."

"There you are, then." He took a moment to dip the sponge. "She's lived rather longer than either of us. It's foolish to ignore her suggestions."

"I thought you felt she's a meddlesome old biddy."

"She is, and you feel the same, don't deny it. That doesn't mean she doesn't give eminently sensible advice. On occasion."

"Did she tell you to wear the cloak?"

The sponge slowed in its soothing circuit of her back. "No. I suspected that if I were able to see you, we'd be watched. It was the only thing I could think of to signal you."

"Oh. It worked."

"Eventually. It took you a bloody long time to notice." He remembered himself, and the sponge began moving briskly over her skin again.

"Well, it would. You looked furious with me, and I was tired. So," she said quickly to interrupt the inevitable commentary on her poor observation skills, "what will they do with us, do you think?'

"According to that pompous git -- if I understood his mangled English properly -- we're to meet with our counsel tomorrow."

"Are we? I mean, the ICW allows representation?"

"Apparently."

"Oh. They do that deliberately, you know. He probably speaks proper English better than either of us."

"What?"

"Whatshisname. The mangled English, keeping the German sentence-structure."

"If you know the bloody language, then why --"

"As little of it as possible. I hate it, it's very inefficient -- forces you to listen to the whole, convoluted sentence, puts you in your place."

He snorted. "And you think I'm prejudiced...." He wrung the sponge out, stood, and glanced uncertainly at the pile of clothes. "Shall I ask if they'd clean those? There are dressing-gowns in the wardrobe.... I should have thought to bring you one, actually.... But no fresh clothing, of course."

"Yes, please."

He bent to pick up the pile, knee cracking, and then limped from the bathroom.

Such as the sulking was. Hermione was beginning to suspect that what she'd always thought of as his "uncommunicative" mood wasn't so much the sulks as it was a loss for words -- surprise, or unease with a particular emotion....

But does that matter, particularly? she thought as she ducked under the water's surface for a final rinse. It would make things immensely less complicated if he could say things outright..... But isn't it his actions that count most?

She surfaced, gasping, and pushed her hair out of her eyes before reaching for a towel.

She knew she would never truly understand the enigma that was Severus Snape; but she suspected she was beginning to crack the code, and might be able to learn it sufficiently well to manage as long as she needed.

Or as long as I want.

Despite the nastiness of the entire situation in which they'd landed, she was glad of that.

*****

The food was cold by the time she wandered out of the bath, but at least her bathrobe wasn't: Severus had thrown it across a chair by the fire, and it was comfortably toasty.

"Not much here to your taste," he muttered as she slipped into a chair at the table and sipped at the glass of wine he'd already poured for her. "One of those horrid noodle and beef concoctions. And cabbage."

"Spaetzle," Hermione identified the meat dish, ladling a portion onto her plate. "I'd guess the sauce is too spicy for you?"

"Probably. I shall be up most of the night," he said, expression morose. "But the wine is unobjectionable."

The wine probably wouldn't help his dickey tummy either, but Hermione again bit her tongue. He deserved to salvage something enjoyable out of the experience, even if he paid for it with a sleepless night.

"I suppose," she said between bites, "you might want to know why we're here in the first place?"

Severus grunted.

"I'm guilty -- presumably -- of falsifying Ministry reports to the ICW," she said. "Increasing the reported birthrate of normal children and minimising the figures on still- and squib-births. Not cricket, I'm afraid -- they take the reports seriously, so it's an international offence, not only one against the Ministry."

"Isn't that what Corcoran directed you to do anyway?" Severus murmured, eyes still fixed on his plate.

"Yes, and I never did, so I should be able to wiggle out of it. I knew he was changing many of the reports before he signed and sent them off, so I had them -- and copies of them -- date- and time-stamped before they went to his office. Moreover, the originals are charmed to reveal any jiggering that he did with the figures, so --"

"And you think he wouldn't have noticed that?"

"It's not a standard encryption, it's... well, it's something Fred and George and I worked up, a very neat and sneaky little trick. He didn't catch it, because the figures that appeared in the ICW's last two annual reports are different to what they should --"

"This charm," Severus interrupted her, bothering to glance up and looking marginally more interested, "I don't imagine you've considered protecting your part in it?"

"Thirty-three percent share in a legal patent. Assuming the boys don't determine it's more profitable to leave it, erm, unacknowledged, for nefarious purposes -- then my share drops to fifteen percent, as I'm a silent and protected partner and they'll be taking on the risk of exposure entirely."

He snorted. "I thought they'd gone legitimate except where the Ministry was concerned."

"They have, mostly. I think they just like to keep their hands in sneaky business for the thrill of it. Anyway, the accurate copies are among the things I sent to François. I've sent him all my drafts and the statistics from St. Mungo's to back those up with, too, and to compare with the originals...."

She paused, not really wanting to go on to the next bit: she anticipated a truly awful tantrum on Severus' part. (At the moment his attention had wavered, and he seemed more interested in pushing the spaetzle about his plate than what she was saying.)

"Don't you want to know?" she prodded him. "I mean, you're going to be accused of something, so --"

"What did you do?" he said wearily. "What horrific bloody conspiracy did you involve me in?"

"You gave me the idea, actually. You've sold illegal potions to an undercover member of the FAS. Very illegal ones -- Liquid Imperius and Eternal Sleep."

His eyebrows shot up. "How, when and where am I supposed to have done this?"

"In Calais, January fifteenth -- that would be a Monday -- at about eleven o'clock in the morning, and in the Muggle part of the town, no less. It was definitely you, they made a precise visual identification."

"You know bloody well I --."

"Um, this is the part you'll really hate," she admitted, and shot him an apologetic look.

His brows knitted, and then he glanced upward, eyes wide. "Hermione --"

"You got a bit careless on New Year's Eve, when you... when you were distracted. I found a hair in the bath-tub the next day...."

His cheeks flushed, and he looked ready to lay into her: she steeled herself for an explosion -- one that never came, for he bit his lips and held it in. (He looked more likely to implode. She didn't see that often.)

"Who brewed it?" he finally managed.

"Fr-- sssomebody whose French wife quite coincidentally went across to visit her family that week."

"Is there any mischief those two don't indulge in, much less involve their families with?" Severus asked her, face sour.

"Of course -- they wouldn't actually brew those potions. Unctuous Unction and a sleeping draught were all they were, totally harmless, so when the evidence is tested the ICW will find they've only got you for intent to sell. And for, erm, adulteration or false advertising or something since they were fiddled with to look as though they were proper. And there may be one or two French Substance laws you broke along the way, but, uh.... "

"Merlin's bloody...." Severus muttered, propped his elbow onto the table-top, and covered his eyes with his hand.

"It was only the one dose of Polyjuice, and Patrice -- Fred's wife -- did it herself, so you needn't worry. I really think she's trustworthy if Fred married her."

He was silent for a very long time, and then his shoulders began to shake.

"Let me --" (snort) "-- let me try to understand this," he finally said, hand still clamped over his eyes. "I'm supposed to have sold two quite illegal potions -- but not really, as they weren't as effective as they ought to have been -- in Calais --"

"Yes."

" -- on a Monday morning --"

"Right --"

"-- during Term-time, in fact during Third Period when I was almost certainly --" (snort) "-- teaching Wit-Sharpening Potion to a room full of Fourth-Year dunderheads --"

"Yes, right --"

"-- when there is no bloody way I could Apparate there, being restricted, and could not possibly have got there by broom -- broom-governor or no -- as there wasn't enough time to fly to Calais and be back in the ten-minute break between classes. And the same with flooing, presumably, as the trans-Channel connections are restricted and I should have been stopped on the British side."

"Exactly. Very careless of the FAS -- they lost you before they could make an arrest, and they didn't bother to check your alibi before turning the paperwork over to the ICW. And I suspect it sat in someone's Incomings box for a very long time before it was sent on, in any case."

"Thought it through with both hands for a fortnight, did you?"

"Not really. Working in a bureaucracy tends to give one ideas along those sorts of lines.... Are you laughing at me?"

Severus snorted again -- more a mixture of snort and chortle, actually -- groped for his napkin, wiped at his eyes, and finally sat upright again. "Of course not," he said, after taking a deep breath: he kept his eyes downcast, though, as if looking directly at her might set him off again. "No, I've absolutely no reason to laugh at what amounts to an air-tight alibi. Although the word 'overkill' springs to mind."

"Severus --"

"I'm not complaining. I'm damned grateful, however, that you didn't acquire such skill while still at school -- there would be a great many more unexplained events."

"Really? How about...."

"What?"

"No, never mind. You're probably still in a frothing rage about that one."

"Black's escape? A Time-Turner."

"McGonagall tattled --"

"No, she did not. That was Albus Bloody Dumbledore giving me a taste of my own medicine by dropping hints -- 'suggesting that so-and-so are able to be in two places at once', indeed. I thought of two possibilities, and as I didn't think you'd muck about with Polyjuice quite so soon again...."

"You checked the ingredients stores to be certain, didn't you?"

"Bloody right I did, straight away. And to be fair, it took me a few days longer to accept the alternate explanation."

Hermione fumed over that for a moment, and tried to ignore that Severus seemed unable to keep his lips from quirking upward.

"Anyway," she finally said, "you should be in the clear in short order. My case will drag out rather longer, I'm afraid."

"Ours, once they find out how deeply involved we are in the real matter. So they have your drafts, they can pull the originals from their own archive.... McGonagall will have sent DeLaine the Mangel and Mortars contract, the Azkaban data, and memos last night, as well as my notes from Bluett's consult and the more interesting bits from Cane Hill."

"Right, and he's already got my copies of the Ministry documents and.... Oh, bloody hell," she whimpered, disgusted with herself, and tossed down her fork: it pinged off the edge of her plate and landed on the floor.

"What?" Severus said as he bent to retrieve the fork and wiped it clean with his napkin.

"Ron. Flaherty's letter, the stuff we found at Arden --"

"On its way," he assured her. "Fred was watching your flat this morning, and I told him to have Weasley get it to McGonagall."

"Thank God. At least one of us was thinking clearly."

"I wouldn't say that," he muttered as he handed her the fork. "There will be a delay, but it will get here eventually."

She almost said something to reassure him -- he seemed on the verge of back-sliding into self-recrimination for losing his composure and setting the arrest in motion -- but she knew it wouldn't help in the least, not with him. The only thing that might help would be making a persuasive argument in front of the judges and getting them cleared....

So she just have to make certain that she did.

They finished their meal in silence, Severus rising once to request that the guard replenish the fire, and a second time to let him know they'd finished their meal and the remains might be removed.

It was only then, after the guard left, that she remembered the article in the Prophet.

"Oh, cripes," she said, and scurried for her handbag, still in the bath.

"What --" Severus called after her, halting halfway down in one of the chairs by the fire.

"No, no, nothing's wrong. Did you see yesterday's paper?" she shouted over her shoulder.

"No."

"There's a very interesting bit," she said as she left the bath and brought the paper over to him, flipping through to the right page. "I think it's the real reason they arrested me."

She folded the paper in quarters, handed it to him, and leaned against the chair-arm, pointing the article out for him: he squinted at it and held the paper at arms' length, and then grunted as he skimmed the text.

"Possible," he admitted. "I think it more likely that they meant you to be an example, though. If they really thought you were involved in spying on them...."

"I'm not sure they weren't, actually. Bretchgirdle asked about the spells I'd cast recently -- they did a Priori on my wand. I'd figured out innocent explanations for everything except the Obliviate...."

"So they might have intended to charge you with something minor first, and keep the other secret? Also possible. If Fudge heard about Cane Hill, he should have got suspicious. I doubt we'll ever know for certain, now."

"Ah." She let her hand drop to his shoulder, and kept it there despite the subtle flinch of muscles under her fingers; and then she suggested, as casually as she could manage, "It's been a bloody long day for both of us, and we'll need to be on our toes tomorrow. Are you coming to bed?"

He started to speak, paused, and then said, "I think I'd like to read the whole paper through. Best give the wretched food --"

"-- time to settle, right. Promise me you won't try to sleep in the chair, will you? I don't want you uncomfortable and grumpy on top of everything else."

He snorted, muttered "No, I'll be sensible," unfolded the paper, and turned back to the front page.

"Good. 'Night, then," she said quietly, bent to kiss his temple (ignoring the faint greasiness of his hair and the acrid smell of potions in it), and made for the bed, not bothering to remove her damp robe. She was determined, though, to make sure he followed through on the promise: so she fought sleep as long as she could, even seeking out the lumpiest part of the mattress when she became too drowsy.

"Is the light bothering you?' Severus softly asked from across the room, after a particularly vicious tussle she had with the bed-clothes. "Pull the hangings closed."

"No," she lied. "Can't quite shut my brain down, that's all. And it's too cold over here, with just me," she added to try to guilt him into turning in. "The fire's not doing much, but it's something."

He didn't answer, but continued to read; and after a while Hermione couldn't resist any longer, and fell asleep.

*****

Saturday, February 11th

When she woke, curled up in her usual, uncomfortable ball, she discovered that Severus had kept his promise: he'd closed the bed-hangings when he'd joined her, and they were snugly cocooned, their body heat conserved in the covers and hangings. It didn't hurt at all, either, that he had curled up behind her, and the blast-furnace that was his metabolism had warmed her back: and while spooning usually embarrassed her -- for it almost always meant he intended a morning shag -- he'd made no attempt to shuck her out of her robe, so she relaxed.

If she were entirely honest with herself, something familiar -- even sex with Severus -- would be welcome, and not in the least embarrassing. What was embarrassing, and more than a little surprising, was that Severus was already awake, and was smoothing her fringe back from her eyes: he stopped when he saw that she'd wakened.

"The guard knocked a few minutes ago," he whispered. "He brought your clothing. Breakfast in half-an-hour, and our barrister... or whatever they call him... will be here at nine o'clock."

"Right," she mumbled. "The bath's all yours for now. I don't think I've the skin to spare after yesterday."

He paused for a moment, managed a pained, rusty chuckle -- Hermione rather wished she could see his face for a moment, as she suspected he'd smiled as well -- and dragged himself out of his side of the bed and through the bed-curtains. She rolled to her back and watched him before the snow-reflected light in the room dazzled her eyes: she noted the ungraceful, shuffling little dance he performed as he unwisely put weight on his bad knee first, and the way he shivered and his scrawny, nude flanks clenched in the chill of the room, before he carefully pulled the curtains closed and stumbled toward the bath, leaving her alone in the warm, dark nest of the bed.

She stopped in mid-thought, puzzled, and stared through the gloom up at the canopy, piecing out the pattern woven into the fabric as her eyes re-adjusted to the darkness.

It was all thoroughly confusing, this see-saw of her feelings toward Severus. She hated how they'd begun; she hated herself for the way she'd trod rough-shod over his feelings, and the way he'd taken advantage of her idiocy. Nothing in the intervening months made either of those wrongs right, not even their work on a common goal, and yet --

No, two wrongs didn't make a right, but considerable good might still be discovered from an experience -- if one could be bothered to dig for it.

She'd wondered, once, if they might salvage something useful and rewarding from the whole bloody mess when it was all said and done: and she thought she had her answer now. They could continue -- not as they were, perhaps: but now they'd got through the nastiness, and now that she thought she'd discovered the key to Severus' mind and behaviour, a marriage with him -- something like a real marriage -- wasn't such an outlandish idea as everyone seemed to think. (Not the romantic kind, certainly, but then she'd always known Romance was highly over-rated.)

It wasn't as though either of them had anyone else clamouring for their attention and company, after all. She hadn't seen any evidence that anyone gave a damn about Severus, not as a partner and companion, and she knew she hadn't anyone: Ron would have been it, and she'd passed that chance up quite willingly.

I don't love Severus either, though.... But I certainly care for him in a very different way than I do Ron. Caring, respect.... Sex is still a thorny issue, but half the problem with that is my bloody pride. That I can fix, eventually. But the other half.... Well, we'll just have to see, won't we? Who's to say I'd feel any more... fulfilled with someone else?

There was always the question of what Severus wanted, of course. Hermione didn't imagine he'd give up the more tangible pleasures of having her about quite so easily as he'd threatened, but she wasn't going to make the same mistake and assume his willingness again. She'd just have to think of a way to bring the idea up with him, and in a way he'd find attractive and beneficial in the long term.

She stretched, yawned, and then laughed at herself.

She decided to brave the cold, as breakfast would be arriving soon: so she crawled out of bed, raced for her clothing -- the guard had lit the fire and put the clothes on one of the chairs by it, and that side of the room was far warmer -- dressed, made up the bed, and scanned the pages of the Prophet that she'd missed before....

Severus had beat her to the crossword, damn it. But he'd been stumped toward the end, because he'd bolloxed Twenty Across -- Cupid's arrow -- for which he'd answered "bolt."

She smiled as she scrabbled for the pencil he'd left on the table, and marked over his mistake, in heavy strokes, "love"; the remaining, partially-completed words scrambled amongst themselves, filled in the missing bits, and a tinny little trumpet heralded success.

That was a good enough sign for Hermione, whether she'd always despised Divination or not. There was something to look forward to at the end of their troubles; and while a life with Severus didn't promise to be the easiest path, she sensed that it might be very satisfying in its own way.

The guard announced himself, brought in the breakfast-tray, and left with a courteous nod to Hermione; she hid the Prophet under the chair-cushion, knocked on the bathroom door, and called, "Severus? Breakfast." He mumbled a response, and she returned to the table and poured herself a cup of coffee -- and then stopped and wrapped the pot in her napkin as well as she could, as there was apparently no such thing as a coffee-cosy.

He'll hate having coffee instead of tea, she thought, but at least it'll still be warm....

The bathroom door opened eventually, and Severus -- damp hair clinging limply to his face and head -- took his place across the table from her, and managed a weary sneer at the sight of the coffee-pot before giving in and pouring a cup: Hermione hastily lifted her own to her lips to cover a smile that she knew bloody well wouldn't be appreciated.

She looked forward to seeing that familiar sneer across the breakfast table on a more regular basis.

*****

Their counsel -- a distinguished, older wizard with only a faint hint of an accent, who introduced himself as Wilhelm Schell -- called shortly after the breakfast-things had been cleared; he laid a parchment and Dicta-Quill for note-taking on the table, drew up a chair, and got down to business.

"So," he said, and adjusted his pince-nez, "we have quite a pair of problems, here --"

"Before we proceed," Severus interrupted, and crossed his arms over his chest, "I'd like a clarification. Are you here as a representative of the ICW, or are you here to defend us?"

Schell's brows shot upward, and then he smiled and nodded his head. "I understand completely. The Wizengamot does not allow the Defendant counsel, correct?"

Severus nodded.

"The ICW procedure is quite different.... Perhaps I should explain more fully?"

"Please," Hermione murmured.

"The Confederation itself is a larger body, as you know, with two seats granted to each member-nation. The judicial panel which will hear your preliminary hearings, on the other hand, is comprised of only five judges. Each is elected to a three-year term, with alternates in reserve to allow for recusal -- so, for example, while Bertha Snodgrass is currently on the Judicial Council," he said, "she is prohibited from judging the merits of the charges against you. She will, however, be allowed to sit in on the hearings, as one of your representatives."

"That doesn't answer my question," Severus said, voice sharp: Hermione very nearly reached for his arm to calm him, thought better of it, and kept her hands to herself.

"I'm getting there, Professor Snape," Schell said patiently. "I hoped to make two things clear -- firstly, that these are preliminary hearings. Defendants are not brought before the larger body for trial unless it is determined that the charges have merit, or if the Defendant admits guilt. Secondly, that you need not fear any prejudice, either way, from the British seats -- nor from the ICW, as Defendants' Counsel is drawn from a pool of independent... barristers, I believe Muggle English call them?"

"Right," Hermione said, and added under her breath, "a far more civilised system than ours, as far as I'm concerned."

Severus' fingers twitched on the chair-arm: Schell smiled again. "I believe the ICW has encouraged reform in the Wizengamot for several decades, but alas, it's fallen on deaf ears. And before you ask," he added to forestall Severus' next, inevitable question, "Defendants' Counsel are paid from a portion of the national dues submitted to the ICW -- not directly, but through a well-respected firm of Swiss solicitors. It's far less than we make in private practise, of course, but then we regard it as part of our civic duty. I was chosen because of my fluency in your language... but if I might boast, I have an enviable record. Now, is there anything else at all --? No? Good," he said when Severus gave a grudging shake of his head, and he pulled a stack of papers from his satchel. "It appears that the lesser of the charges are those against Professor Snape, namely that you are accused of selling illegal potions across national boundaries --"

Severus gave an impatient snort.

Oh, bloody.... Let's just cut to the chase.

"That isn't why we're here, actually," Hermione blurted out.

"Hermione --" Severus muttered.

"No, Severus, there's no need to muck about with these, really," she said. "Herr Schell is in a far better position to know how to proceed if we tell him everything up-front. Severus wasn't in Calais that day, he was teaching at Hogwarts," she explained to Schell, whose eyebrows had shot up again. "It's a spurious charge. I arranged the whole business, start to finish, by sending in a... a doppelgänger, if you like."

Schell's lips quirked upward. "May I?" he asked delicately of the Dicta-Quill, and Hermione nodded (much to Severus' disgust). "How, and to what end?"

"By Polyjuice, and done by a person I'd rather not involve at the moment. I did so because he's on the Ministry's Flight Risk list," she said, raising her voice a bit over the scribbling of the quill. "I needed a way to get him out of Britain, one which wouldn't have the aurors chasing after us, not to mention giving him -- both of us -- protection from Ministry reprisal. So I manufactured a reason for his arrest."

"You feel you're in danger of reprisal?"

"We will be. We've some charges of our own to make with the ICW, against two highly-placed people in the Ministry."

"I'd speculate, then, that the charges against you," Schell said, flipping through his papers and finding the Hermione's arrest warrant, "namely, falsification of ICW required reports, are also false?"

"Yes and no. The damned things have been mucked about with, but by Dennis Corcoran, not me. And I've the documents to back that up. Or will have, rather, when --"

Severus suddenly cleared his throat and kicked her shin under the table.

"-- Ow --"

Schell gave Severus a reproachful glance. "She'll have to tell me eventually, you know, or I won't be able to defend her capably -- and I shall have to do that before any claims you make are taken seriously. Your case seems straightforward, given that you presumably have witnesses to your actual whereabouts --"

"Quite right. But we've absolutely no proof but your word that your allegiance is to us," Severus said, voice taut. "And I should prefer not to implicate anyone else before we're certain of you."

Schell looked irritated, and then shrugged. "For what it's worth, it's not necessary for me to disclose that information -- although it would be helpful to demonstrate what we call the 'chain of evidence.' I can make an educated guess, however," he added, and flipped through another document attached to Hermione's warrant. "François DeLaine, perhaps?"

"Right," Hermione said promptly, and ignored Severus' groan. "He's only given the ICW the documents that support the charges?"

"I believe so," Schell said, and ran a gnarled finger down what appeared to be an evidenciary list. "No, nothing extraneous here. DeLaine, DeLaine.... Has he a cousin in Austria, a prosecutor? I think I've argued a case against a DeLaine."

"I really don't know."

"I shall have to inquire," Schell said absently, and nodded to the quill, which quickly underlined the statement and dotted it with a pulsing, urgent little exclamation mark. "That might expedite matters if your DeLaine is being cautious. So, our first course of action is to investigate your husband's alibi, and to acquire the documents from DeLaine that prove you are not responsible for the falsification."

"I should think so, if that's what it takes to get the other matter heard."

"Ah, yes," Schell said, removed his pince-nez, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I admit, I'm intensely curious as to what might require such drastic measures on your part."

There was nothing for it, though, but to get it all out -- never mind that she'd have to go through the bloody litany all over again before the ICW Judiciary. Assuming, that is, if she were lucky and Schell got them cleared of the charges.

"Best start at the beginning, hadn't I?" she said lightly. "In late 2001 I was appointed to my... former position, ICW Consultant for Wizarding Populations, Britain. It seemed straightforward at the time. The statistics were just beginning to show a significant problem with the health of the population -- with squib births and birth-defects, specifically -- but the trend wasn't initially terribly alarming. It wasn't yet proven that it was a genetic problem, rather than environmental."

Severus shifted in his chair, and she risked a glance at him: he actually looked interested, and was giving her all his attention.

"By mid-2003, however, it became clear -- to me, at least, and to two researchers at St. Mungo's and one at the Ministry itself -- that it was a genetic problem. The ICW came to the same conclusion independently at about the same time, and that's when most nations began to investigate the genetic implications and research potential solutions. There would be a long fallow period while everyone caught up on the field, of course, and in which some more social fixes would have to be resorted to -- but the general consensus among my fellow consultants was that we'd see progress within five years, as most of the governments involved admitted that Muggle research and technology had far outstripped us in that area, and that they ought bend enough to take advantage of it."

She paused and took a deep breath before launching into the most galling part of the story. "The British Ministry, however.... Well, you know recent history, and I'd be surprised if the ostrich-head-in-the-sand attitude that let that happen isn't notorious on the Continent. General British prejudice against all things Muggle isn't as isolated as one would like to think, particularly when it involves spending a great deal of money, and admitting that there are things Muggles are more adept at than any wizard can accomplish with magic alone.

"When the researchers and I made recommendations about the course we felt the Ministry ought to take, our reports were sent back with instructions to 'tone down the language.' They felt the problem could be solved through 'less extreme and wholly magical measures.' We simply couldn't seem to make them understand that this was not a matter of morals or turpitude or preference, but a real, biological crisis that couldn't be solved with current medimagical means. We said, look, we have what amounts to an epidemic among our children -- something that requires an immediate medical response for which we're not equipped, at the moment -- and they wouldn't hear of it. We were all flying off the broom-handle, and so, frankly, was the ICW, and it wasn't our job to pander to the ICW. When we insisted that the statistics bore out our conclusions and that magic alone was wholly inadequate to dealing with the problem, we were reprimanded and punished."

"How?" Schell asked softly.

"The researchers at St. Mungo's were demoted -- those would be Harold Featherpenny and Gerald Hoskins. They're in separate areas, now. Featherpenny is on the evaluations board for new Healers, and Hoskins does the round of apothecaries, testing the efficacy of potions. The Ministry man, Lakewood.... I never did find out what happened to him, he simply disappeared. As he was the most vociferous of us, I imagine they couldn't shut him up that easily."

"And you?" Schell prodded.

"I was put on probation," she admitted quietly. "As a bean-counter I was the least of Fudge and Corcoran's worries and -- though they didn't say as much -- it would have been a bugger to explain to the ICW why they were sacking me outright, since it's a mandated position. I was told in no uncertain terms that I was being given special 'consideration,' as they imagined my stridency was due to bad nerves left over from the war, and they felt it would be a pity to let go of someone who'd served the population so well in that. It was also implied -- not by Fudge, of course, but by Corcoran -- that I'd be turned out without any recourse to what little pension I'd acquired, and that I should find it very difficult to get another job in the Wizarding World. Anywhere, because rumours will fly, you know. People might get the idea that I was mentally unstable, or a huge troublemaker."

That great, leaden lump of a statement kept them silent for a moment before Severus noted, "Not like you, to take something like that lying down."

She smiled. "I didn't. I wrote four bloody resignations over two weeks, and binned all of them before I calmed down. But the more I thought about it, the less it made sense to walk away from the problem.... Well, all right -- it made a good deal of sense for me personally, or would have if anyone were hiring higher-level Arithmancers. But I decided to stay and watch because I felt it possible that Corcoran -- I wasn't convinced then that Fudge was as deeply involved -- would do something harmful to the population, something even worse than ignoring the problem.

"We weren't a careless or stupid lot, not at all. All three researchers were bloody good at their jobs, and what I know of Genetics -- what I made it my business to know, after the initial results were questioned -- convinced me that they, and I, were right, especially as the other Consultants told me their governments came to very much the same conclusions. So the problem was with Minister Fudge and with Corcoran. It wasn't too wild a speculation as it was totally in character with their previous behaviour to ignore and discount anything they found threatening or distasteful.

"Instead of sucking it up and putting the time and money into concrete and effective research and potential therapies, they piddled about. The budget for the Public Relations department -- the Propaganda Department, really -- trebled overnight. All that muck, the slogans and the 're-education' efforts that they started after the war," she said with a glance to Severus, not bothering to disguise the malice and disgust in her voice, "that was their big plan, only more so. I think they hoped everything would turn itself around on its own. But it didn't, and then the ICW started taking a more active role in overseeing progress, and it hit the government where it hurt most -- in the pocket-book. They couldn't very well go back to the research, as that would mean admitting they were wrong. That's when Corcoran began mucking about with the statistics in the reports, in September of 2005, to make things seem better than they are and to lower the fines."

"And last year they passed the Mixed-Marriage laws, correct?" Schell murmured.

"Right. I'd very much like to know why the ICW hasn't objected to those, by the by."

"Sovereignty issues in general, I should think. If it does not violate the Statute of Secrecy in any way, the ICW tends to take a hands-off approach. They might suggest, but they won't impose something which doesn't affect all the nations."

"They don't meddle with each nation's penal system, for example," Severus added in a low rumble. "That's why the bloody Dementors are still used."

"Yes, exactly," Schell agreed with him.

"In any case, it's been getting worse," Hermione said. "They've resorted to detaining individuals they feel will flee the country, as that will, supposedly, deplete desirable traits in the genetic pool. They've greatly restricted access to contraceptives, and punished people who try to get round the laws. They've got a lottery scheme going to pair people up whether they like it or not. And then, last December, we -- Severus and I -- discovered quite by accident that they've been developing a potion to coerce people into having children."

Schell perked up immediately. "A potion? Along the lines of a Lust potion?"

Hermione glanced at Severus, turning the narrative over to him.

"Not quite that simple," Severus said. "There may be -- for we haven't seen it in practise yet, only the data from the trials -- a significant aphrodisic component, one with nasty side-effects, particularly for males. There is also a potential fertility-boosting component, although that ingredient hasn't been tested for effectiveness in wizards.... Or rather, tested in valid clinical trials."

"We think," Hermione said as she rose, pulled the Prophet from under her cushion, and turned to the article, "that they're getting ready to use it on the population. The Ministry had me arrested two days ago -- that's why DeLaine sent on the information for the false charges -- and it's possible that Fudge and Corcoran wanted me out of the way before news of this became widespread."

Schell took the paper from her and held the pince-nez before his eyes, scanning the article as Severus told him, "That's the story they're giving to the recipients, that it's a valid therapy which will cure the genetic deficiencies. In fact, all it appears to do is compel copulation with a view to increasing the birth rate, which will, of course, result in an increase in healthy births --"

"And of defects as well," Schell said, "which is a good reason to rid themselves of your wife, as she would continue to insist on accuracy, and probably make the connection between the new therapy and the defects -- even without knowledge of the illicit potion." He lowered both paper and pince-nez, looked at Hermione, and added, "What is puzzling to me... granting that I have yet to see your evidence... is that this is so unnecessary. Why could they not accept the scientific methods? All the other member nations have. Do they hate Muggles that much?"

"I don't think it's hate," Hermione said slowly. "I don't think they feel anything nearly as strong as that toward Muggles. More of a pigheaded self-sufficiency. Hubris. And I know they resent the ICW for requiring compliance."

"It's the Isolationists they hate," Severus grumbled. "Corcoran certainly does. From what I've seen of his writings I'd say that as far as he's concerned, Pureblood intermarriage is the entire reason for the defects. He in particular seems behind the anti-Pureblood acts. It's a case of having a good opportunity to finally get the Isolationists under control as much as it is the Muggle issue."

"May I keep this?" Schell asked Hermione of the newspaper. "I should like to hold it as evidence of their intent -- assuming this therapy is indeed a fraud. Not that I doubt you," he added at Severus' displeasure. "Just that I need to keep an open mind until I've seen the other documents."

"Yes, keep it if it helps," Hermione said.

"Now, let me just look back through...." Schell mused, flipping through the transcript that the Dicta-Quill had produced. "You said.... You said you discovered about this plan by accident?" he finally asked, glancing at them in turn. "How did that happen?"

"A man named Martin Flaherty -- an executive with Mangel and Mortars, a potions manufactory -- became aware of the real nature of the potion," Severus explained. "He had access to the government contract for production of the substance and to an ingredients list. He hid duplicates of these and a letter leading to their location, and then...."

"It was very like the scenarios that I used to frame Severus," Hermione chimed in. "He travelled to Calais, intending to get a key to the hiding-place to someone who could expose the whole business -- but he couldn't before he was apprehended, as he was on the Flight list. We're... we're fairly certain that he deliberately set himself up to be killed, as a protest or for the publicity value."

"Suicide, actually," Severus interjected. "He had to act on it before he was able to get the key to his contact. A source in the FAS forwarded it to DeLaine, and he to Hermione."

"Those documents... aren't with DeLaine at the moment," Hermione admitted softly. "They're on their way, though."

"There are also notes from the laboratory where the potion was demonstrated to Fudge," Severus said.

"Is the laboratory still --"

"No, it was destroyed, unfortunately. But we have the names of the brewer and his assistant, and confirmation from their notes that it is the potion Flaherty meant."

Schell leaned back in his chair, looking more than a little stunned.

"Is it any use at all, or have we been chasing our tails for the last five months?" Severus pressed him. "What violations are present here, assuming the ICW didn't approve it in the first place?"

"There's no international law that directly applies, although my clerk might find something when he works through your statement," Schell said, thoughtfully twirling the tip of his beard about his forefinger; Hermione saw, out of the corner of her eye, Severus' hand clench on the chair-arm so tightly that his knuckles whitened, and she fancied she could hear a faint crack from the chair-frame. "However, there are statutes on the ethical treatment of member-nations' citizens, and foremost among these is freedom from magically-induced influence. It was enacted to restrict government use of all behaviour-modifying spells, like your Imperius, on the population.... It was meant to address things like potential voting fraud, of course, but the statute is very broadly worded. There's room for interpretation."

"And you think the Judiciary might feel it applies here?"

"I would," Schell said bluntly. "If they're not informing their patients what the potion actually does, then it's the same principle, and it's being used to benefit the government, not the population. But then, I'm not one of the justices," he added with a rueful smile. "I shall simply have to make the strongest case I can for you."

"And if you can't?" Severus challenged him.

"If I can't, then your case will be dismissed. There might be minor charges levied for making nuisances of yourselves, but I doubt that would go much beyond censures and a significant fine. The real problem for you would be your Ministry. They would probably file for extradition," Schell admitted, brows furrowed, "and I very much doubt if you'd wish to go back under those circumstances, would you? But extradition we can fight, as well.... Why don't we wait until I've seen the evidence before brooding over the worst-case scenario?" he suggested to Severus, smiling gently. "There is no point in worrying over that yet. In fact," he added with a glance at the transcript, "I think you'll have a longer... holiday than you anticipated, given the amount of material I'll have to examine."

Hermione imagined Severus was near aneurysm by now.

"Let me just.... Cornelius Fudge is Minister for Magic, of course," Schell muttered, and the Dicta-Quill scribbled away. "And Corcoran --?"

"Dennis Corcoran, Head of Wizarding Resources."

"Very good. I think," he said as the Dicta-Quill cleared itself away at a snap of his fingers, "that this will do for now. I shall apply immediately to reschedule your hearing -- a few days at least, until I have time to acquire the documents from DeLaine. In the meantime, I will supply you both with parchments and quills, and I would like you to write everything out in full -- anything at all that might be helpful with both matters -- as precisely as you can. And I'll see if I can't manage some other materials to occupy yourselves with for the duration."

"Change of clothing?" Hermione said under her breath, trying very hard not to sound as though she were whinging.

"I shall do my best," Schell said courteously as he stood. "For the time being, please calm yourselves, and try to stay in good spirits, yes? I will keep you informed of all developments."

Hermione saw him to the door, thanked him, and waited while the guard let him out.

By the time she turned back to the room, Severus -- who'd obdurately remained in his seat, and refused to say another word to Schell -- had risen without a sound, and was just shutting the bathroom door considerably more forcefully than the situation warranted.

*****

Needless to say, Severus behaved like a total, surly git for the rest of the day. She didn't blame him for being bored: they had absolutely nothing to do but sit about and glare at each other, although he would frequently break the routine by pacing the room and staring out the window at the mountains behind the castle.

A note and package came from Schell, just before dinner -- the package had been searched, of course, but everything seemed to be there, as he'd included an inventory.

In the package were the promised parchment and quills, two nightshirts, toothbrushes and a jar of toothpaste, nicer soap and hair-wash than the ICW provided (but no antiperspirant, damn it -- Severus seemed to do without, but she wasn't used to doing so), and a few motley books, including a reprint of Artemis Nigellus' 17th-Century magnum opus Priscilla: a Witchly Lass and Her Randy Muggle Paramours; a thick edition of Shakespeare (in English); and Hesse (in the original).

Hermione hoped Priscilla wouldn't give Severus ideas. Parvati and Lavender had found some rather shocking things in it, especially in the very graphic illustrations.

"Bloody hell," Severus muttered in disgust, and tossed the Shakespeare on the table. (Priscilla, thankfully, followed it.) "Would've been happy never to see that hack again. What kind of tripe does the man think I would appreciate?"

"Oh, would you just.... Bear with it?" Hermione shot back, ending the statement with far less exasperation and more gentleness than she felt. "Schell's doing his best. We gave him quite a shock, after all. He thought it was a simple, straightforward matter, and we dumped a great snarly mess in his lap."

That earned her a glare; and then Severus snubbed Shakespeare -- and her -- in favour of quill and parchment, and spent the rest of the evening scrawling out his version of the investigation, while Hermione (who couldn't quite bear to think through everything again so soon, even though she knew she had a great deal more to write) curled up with Hesse, and struggled through the god-damned German as best she could.

*****

Hermione had mellowed a bit toward Severus by bed-time. All her frustration had been focussed on Hesse; and she'd taken pains to remind herself, often, that Severus probably had his friend Kingsley foremost in his mind, and feared going the same way despite Schell's assurances.

Severus shifted beside her, stretching out his bad leg, and muffled a grunt in his pillow before flopping onto his back.

She wriggled closer, insinuated her torso against his, and burrowed her face against his shoulder: he tensed for a moment and then said, in a voice nearly as glacial as the air outside the bed-curtains, "I don't think that's a good idea as you aren't on the potion."

"Mmmm, I don't think it is either, and that's not what I meant," she mumbled. "I'm freezing." She cuddled her feet up against his to prove it, and caught a patch of bare shin.

"Merlin's bloody --"

"Look, you've got socks on, so you're much better off than I. You don't want me catching cold, do you? You're sure to get it, and we've no Pepper-Up. Or enough handkerchiefs."

He wrestled with that for a moment -- she could feel his jaw working, the muscles clenching as he bit back a retort -- and then he sighed and gave up, struggled to free his arm from between them, and after an awkward tussle, he slipped his arm about her shoulders and pulled her a little closer, muttering something about 'bloody inadequate fires.'

He meant 'bloody inadequate Liechtenstein fires,' she knew: he couldn't possibly mean his libido was dampened, not after all the demonstrations she'd had in the last two months. She rather hoped he'd give in, or forget his very sensible reason later, in the midst of his usual morning sleepiness and arousal.

She dropped off once she was thoroughly warm, with the steady, even beat of Severus' heart in her ear.

*****

Chapter 23 Footnotes.

Link to Chapter 24